Chapter Text
The whole mess starts when Leia arrives at the mess; she had been trying to enjoy Gruncle Wolffe’s tiingilar with Ailyn, Blythe, and Sabine. The four of them, raised on the food as they are, are laughing at the other padawans around them as they try to choke back the spicy casserole and match them bite for bite, when Leia strides through the doors like a storm. Arriving with all the dramatics that the princess was known for, her dark eyes sharp with intent, Mara had felt a shiver go down her spine when Leia’s gaze landed on her.
“I have it on good authority that you know classical ballroom dancing.” Leia doesn’t ask, instead she makes a statement, and Mara had swallowed her mouthful, eyeing her boyfriend’s sister suspiciously.
“Yes.” She had said slowly, and the smile Leia aims at her is frankly terrifying.
One thing led to another, and the next thing Mara knows is that Leia has declared that the Alderaani Moon Day Ball would be taking place in a week and that Mara would be attending as her plus one. Mara had been too stunned to argue, and found herself swept away by the determined princess, poked and prodded by handmaidens, and pinned in place by a tailor. Mara isn’t really the biggest fan of the whole process, not until Leia explains why she needed a plus one in the first place.
“I’m seventeen now.” Leia rolled her eyes as she studied the light yellow and orange fabrics that the tailor had decided on for Mara’s dress. “Perfect betrothal material, last year was bad enough. I had so many sons and grandsons thrown at me I was ready to scream, if I show up this time with a date, then it will stave off most of them. You were just the best candidate.” Leia offers her an apologetic smile, “If it makes you feel better, I really only need you for the opening dances, then we can stand by the desert tables and you can leave it all to me. We can make snide comments about Lord What’s-His-Face and Lady Who-The-Hell afterwards.”
“Sure. Free food right?” Mara had shrugged it off, and goes back to suffering in silence as Leia’s tailor flutters around her, pointedly ignoring Leia’s thankful smile so that she can maintain her reputation.
She also ignored Leia’s very obvious smugness when she drags her out in the dress to get everyone’s thoughts on the cut and fabric, trying not to let her flush become too obvious while the other padawans gawk at her, and Leia hangs from her arm, smirking at Luke and Ezra in particular. Mara tries to hide how flustered she gets when the younglings start falling over each other to complement her; she’s never worn something so fancy before, the floaty fabric barely a weight against her skin. It fades from yellow to orange through the layered skirts, the bodice is a gentle white, tight until her hips where the skirts flare out and continue to her knees, and the small sleeves slip off her shoulders. Decorating the bodice, growing from her hips with golden thread, are little vines of flowers.
It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever worn.
It feels weird, but not in a bad way.
“I’m so jealous.” Leia sighed, leaning against the taller girl, still smirking. “It takes a really special person to be able to pull off yellow like you do, you hit the genetic jackpot.” Leia had moved around her, humming thoughtfully, tugging the skirt just so and fluffing her red hair, twisting it over her shoulder. “We should braid some gold ribbon into your hair, it will bring out your eyes, a little gold powder…” Leia dissolved into a one sided conversation about makeup and hair styles that left Mara completely at a loss, and Ailyn had just scoffed.
“It doesn’t seem very practical if you ask me.” The twelve year old scowls, arms crossing over her chest, “It offers absolutely no protection.”
“It’s not supposed to.” Leia retorted, “But the skirts are great for hiding knives under.” She tugs on Mara’s skirt again to point out the purposeful and hidden slits along her dress, “All she has to do is reach through here and pull out a knife if anyone tries anything.” Mara had let the shorter teenager turn her around so that she could show off the cleverly disguised pocket along the small of her back, cushioned with fabric so that no one would feel the weapons hidden underneath. “She can slip her sabers right in here and no one will be any wiser.” Mara could sense the interest that Ailyn was trying to hide, strong and clear in the Force.
The rest of the time until the Moon Day Ball pass quickly, and soon Mara finds herself standing in the Alderaani Royal Palace, wearing makeup for the first time in her life, standing awkwardly beside her buir as he goes through the motions of dressing in the blue and green armour and drapes of the Palace Guard. She runs a nervous hand through her perfectly curled hair, admiring the glittering strands of gold woven through the red.
“You look beautiful, ad'ika.” Her buir sooths, placing a hand on her shoulder, and Mara smiles shyly at the gray haired man, leaning towards him to tap their foreheads together fondly.
“Thanks, Buir.” He smiles, kissing her cheek before moving away to pull up the hood of his disguise and fasten the delicately carved golden mask over his eyes, hiding the distinguishing features that made him recognizable as a clone.
“Have fun, Mar’ika.” He presses a kiss to her forehead before he’s slipping from the room, and Mara is left alone to catch her breath and mentally prepare. She does a final check on her hidden weapons, making sure everything is secured and in place; there shouldn’t be any danger, Leia and the Viceroy had assured her, but Mara had come to learn that preparedness never hurt anyone but her enemies. Her buir isn’t the only vod taking the place of Palace Guards, so she knows that she’s not the only one with a bad feeling about this whole thing; apparently there would be Imperials in attendance as well, and the royal family couldn’t get away with not inviting them, and there were plenty of neutrals that both sides would be attempting to sway.
There would be a lot more political playing then Mara was necessarily comfortable with; politics was her mother’s song and dance, but Mara had taken more after her paternal lineage. She may have sat through lessons on the art, but she still preferred shooting her problems then talking her way out of them.
She’s doing this for Leia.
Mara takes a deep breath, smooths down her dress, and straightens, pasting a politely coy smile on her face as she steps out of the dressing room.