Chapter Text
November 6, 1938: New York City, United States
Tucked into the dark recesses of the Stork Club, behind a haze of heady cigar smoke pierced by the faint flickering of table candles and atmospherically dimmed lighting, sat a decidedly peculiar pair. It was the thirties and it was New York City, but the two were so opposite—so uncannily dissimilar—they elicited curious stares from their fellow silk swaddled, penguin suited patrons.
The man on the right, hunched over his empty stout glass of whiskey and scowling fiercely, was past his fiftieth year with a nearly white head of hair to show for it. Yet, his frame was slim and skin tanned, attesting to time spent outside in an arid climate, and he wore his smart checkered suit well. He had the air of a man who was no stranger to finely tailored clothes but not against a uniform of loose khaki. Meanwhile, his companion was completely dissimilar in almost every respect: skin the coloration of rich mahogany, the muscle mass of a legendary warrior, and an engaging gaze. The second seemed far too kind to keep acquaintanceship with the first, an outwardly sour man.
Still, the two sat at a small table, nursing their drinks at varying paces in companionable silence, obviously waiting for something—or someone.
“Chewie,” the older man spoke, pushing aside the whiskey after the waiter replaced it for the fourth time. “What time did he say he’d get here?”
Checking his wristwatch, Chewie replied in heavily accented English, “About fifteen minutes ago, Professor.”
The Professor sighed heavily, swallowing down another mouthful of whiskey with a barely disguised desperation. “I thought so.” A pause. “Dammit; after all this time, I was hoping it wouldn’t be all cloak and dagger and shit.”
“It’s always ‘cloak and dagger and shit,’” Chewie replied, voice disinterested as he stared towards the front door.
Snorting, the Professor nodded, conceding the point.
Without glancing to the Professor, Chewie questioned, “Was that telegram from the wife?”
The Professor needed no further elaboration; on the train in from Fairfield, a telegram had arrived, stamped ‘urgent’ and from Morocco. To Chewie’s knowledge, the only person in the Professor’s acquaintance from Morocco was his beloved, and estranged, wife.
“You can just read it, if you’re so curious,” the Professor replied gruffly though Chewie took no offense. After a moment, the Professor fished out the crumpled telegram from his sports jacket, offering it over to his friend.
A moment of silence followed, the Professor studying Chewie’s steadily climbing eyebrows. Finally, Chewie handed back the telegram, questioning, “Do you think they really found it?”
Shrugging as he stuffed the telegram back into the pocket, the Professor replied, “It’s possible. Most manuscript accounts place the temple on the northern side of the main complex but I have heard of one scroll claiming it to be on the southwest. It would certainly explain why it hasn’t been found before now.”
Chewie nodded, somewhat distractedly. “The temple of Ma’at,” he said, voice hushed at the name. “You don’t think…they…would be there?”
“It seems Leia's informants think so,” the Professor observed, tone matching his friend’s. “And she does, too. Otherwise she never would have sent the telegram.”
“Even though she doesn’t believe in them,” Chewie added. The Professor nodded but, when it became apparent he wasn’t going to willingly elaborate, Chewie prodded: “But what do you think, Han?”
“I don’t know any more, Chewie,” Han replied, crossing his arms and leaning away. “After all these years, after Luke disappeared; I just don’t know anymore.”
Chewie frowned, displeased by the answer but only shook his head. Both of them knew Han was lying; the history, the archeology, the possibility of discovering the lost temple of Ma’at, and the mere thought of ancient, dormant magic was all Han really believed in anymore. It was the one thing he still could cling to: the one hope, of all the many foolish hopes he had pursued in his long life, that hadn’t entirely failed him.
Chewie knew. He felt the exact same way.
Silence settled between them and they allowed it, both men content to their thoughts. When next the waiter came, asking if they were ready to order, they decided to put in their meal orders. If their associate appeared hungry, it would be his own fault for not keeping their appointment.
It was after eleven when Han and Chewie finished their desserts and decaffeinated coffee and the waiter left their check in his wake some twenty minutes prior. The patrons around their table had either vacated for the evening or were in deep conversation, too inebriated with drink and engrossing, drunken discussion to pay any attention to the two odd men anymore.
The bell over the front door chimed again and, more out of habit than truly believing their man would finally show, Chewie’s eyes lazily slid across the restaurant to the front.
He was out of his seat in an instant.
“What is it?” Han asked unnecessarily, having caught sight of the man, framed by the front entrance. He hurried to follow Chewie.
Shoving his way past patrons and wait staff alike, paying no mind to upsetting dishes or drinks, Chewie barreled to the man but it seemed he couldn’t move fast enough. Time slowed as both Han and Chewie ran for the front door, eyes fixated on the familiar figure of Ben Kenobi. The old man—older than Han by a good thirty years—was hunched over himself, leaning heavily on a gnarled cane while one hand clasped desperately, and uselessly, at his side. Blood stained his old, knobby hands, seeping into his skin and clothes.
Ben’s eyes alighted on Chewie and Han, and he barely managed to remain upright until Chewie was in arm’s reach of him. Ben crumpled in on himself, felled like a leaf in a fall breeze. With a lunge, darting his large hands out, Chewie intercepted Ben’s fall, carefully lowering him to the plush carpet. “Chewbacca, my old friend,” Ben wheezed, staring up into the younger man’s face earnestly. “You’ve always been there for me.”
“Call an ambulance, dammit!” Han barked at the maître-d’ as he thundered past, shocking the young waiter into movement. Crouching down at Ben’s side, staring wide-eyed at his blood-stained tweed suit, Han asked, lowly, “Kenobi, what happened?”
“No time for that, my boy,” Kenobi replied, his shaking hand prying itself free of his cane and managing to draw an envelope from his trouser pocket. The thick stationary—Han readily recognized it as papyrus—trembled in Ben’s hands as he offered it to Han. In short, pained gasps, Ben urged, “Take it. It’s what I wanted to talk to…you two about…find her…find…Rey.”
With a great shuttering breath, a great last effort, Ben smiled up at them before his eyelids crept shut. His smile slackened as his breath rattled into silence.
Ben Kenobi was dead when the ambulance arrived.
August 15, 1939: Hungarian countryside
Since Rey was very small, she told herself stories, creating them only for her secret knowledge, to comfort her in the deafening stillness of night, when the press of loneliness weighed down on her most keenly. Most were idle dreams of her parents suddenly appearing, miraculously alive after all these years and their murders all a lie. The more practical ones, the ones far more attainable yet still fantastical, detailed her adventures on an archeological expedition to Egypt.
Now, aged nineteen, she blinked hard, staring out of the train compartment window as the Hungarian Alps blurred by. She pinched herself for the fifth time. Nope, she thought, not helping to smile at her reflection, Still not a dream.
Yet, it had to be: it was far more incredible than any of her dreams had ever dared to be.
Glancing away from the window, she stared across the short aisle between her bench and the one facing her, to Professor Solo. Reading glasses perched on his nose as he skimmed through the Magyar Nemzet, a local newspaper from their last stop in Budapest. He completely ignored her and Mister Chewbacca at his elbow. The much larger Chewie was puffing away at his pipe and caught her eye, grinning. She returned the smile.
“Just one more stop before Athens,” Chewbacca offered in his heavily accented English—he told her earlier his home was Morocco.
“I can’t wait,” Rey admitted, smile stretching wider, “When do you think we’ll get there?”
“Probably about mid afternoon,” Chewbacca replied, glancing out the window at the young sun only just peering over the high mountains. Silence descended again, both Chewie and Rey content to watching the world fly past their compartment window.
It may be the last time in a long while the Arlberg Orient Express line was making this trip, running from London to Athens. If what all the newspapers were splashing across their headlines was true, that Germany and Hitler were fixing for another war, the Orient Express would be hard-pressed to find patrons let alone travel from country-to-country. Rey thought it was a shame: the journey was so beautiful. It would be ruined by the ambitions of politicians.
She only hoped the politicking and warmongering wouldn’t extend to Egypt.
Tearing her eyes away from the view, she picked up her worn, dog-eared copy of Flinder Petrie’s Methods and Aims in Archeology. Running her hands over the worn leather of the cover, along the creases of the spine, she smiled down at the book. She remembered with a vivid clarity receiving it on her fourteenth birthday; it was the only gift to ever arrive on her birthday after her parents’ death and it came in simple brown paper wrapping. There was a plain note of well wishes attached.
Intrigued by the mysterious book, Rey devoured it, searching within for a clue to who the sender could be. Yet, her efforts were futile. The only result was her sudden and intense love for Egyptology. Her boarding school’s library wasn’t a particularly well-equipped resource on Ancient Egypt but she read the few books it did have multiple times. Rey supposed it was her method of loosing herself, of running from her grief, and she submerged herself in the study of long-dead pharaohs, pagan magical rites, and idolizing famed Egyptologists. She dreamt of meeting Howard Carter or Han Solo.
Staring back up at the Professor, still sitting across from her, reading his newspaper no matter how many times Rey checked. Just to make sure this really wasn’t all some lucid dream, she pinched herself again.
Still reality.
And it was a strange, but beautiful, reality for her, Rey Kenobi, to be the selected assistant of legendary Egyptologist, adventurer, and archeologist Han Solo, professor at the American Ivy league university, Barnett College. She was an orphan, a nobody, fed through the primary, secondary, and then adjoining university of the small girls’ boarding school of Niima Academy in the western reaches of nowhere, England. Of all the applicants at Niima, of all the applicants internationally, Professor Solo had found her most competent and offered her the job. A job she had only ever fantasize about, only ever dreamed briefly about for fear of losing herself to delusions: working on the excavation of what Professor Solo believed to be the lost temple of Ma’at at the Karnak in Luxor, Egypt.
Then, the train’s wheels were squealing and they were slowing, jolting Rey from her contemplation. It was a sensation Rey had become accustomed to after nearly twelve hours aboard the train. In the main corridor, the distant cry of the conductor echoed, growing louder as he made his rounds: “Next stop Belgrade! Next stop Belgrade!” The conductor switched to different languages—French, German, Hungarian—repeating the announcement.
Catching her eye, Chewbacca informed her with an equally eager grin: “After this stop it’ll be Athens. Afterwards: Egypt.”
Rey tried very hard to not squeal in excitement.
August 17, 1939: Alexandria, Egypt
To Rey, the great, black and white steamer took half a lifetime to chug into the Alexandrian harbor and dock. The city, white, crisp, and full of promise in the afternoon sun, rose from the azure blues of the Mediterranean. Breathing in deep breaths of air, the same air breathed by Cleopatra, Amenhotep, Ramesses, and Nefertiti, Rey imagined the city in ancient times. She saw the lighthouse on Pharos, the great domed library, the sacred mausoleum of Alexander the Great. Yet, in a blink of an eye, the Alexandria of antiquity gave way to the Alexandria of modern times. She was surprised to find she wasn’t disappointed.
Joining her at the railing of the top deck, Chewie braced himself against his forearms, saying, “I remember when I first sailed into Alexandria.” When Rey didn’t reply, only stared and waited for him to continue, he offered: “I was a little younger than yourself. I was accompanying Mace Windu on my first excavation.”
Mouth popping open at the famous Egyptologist’s name, Rey couldn’t help exclaiming: “You studied with Sir Mace Windu?”
Chuckling, Chewbacca nodded. “I met him in Morocco when he was studying ancient Mauretania under Roman control; do you know about King Jubba II?”
“Sure,” Rey replied, nodding enthusiastically. “He was married to Cleopatra’s daughter.”
“Right,” Chewbacca agreed, pleased with her knowledge. “Sir Windu was trying to trace the descendants of King Jubba II. I happened to be in university at the time and became his assistant. When he left Morocco, I went back to Cambridge with him. My first time sailing into Alexandria was when I accompanied Sir Windu when he came to Egypt as a personal favor for Howard Carter.”
“You mean the Howard Carter?” gasped Rey. “As in found-King-Tutankhamen’s-tomb Howard Carter?” With only the barest inclination of Chewbacca’s head, Rey was grinning in delight, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. “I can’t believe it; did you meet him? Did you get to see the inside of Tutankhamen’s tomb?”
“I see you’re already regaling her with all your adventures,” a dry voice interrupted then. Chewbacca and Rey turned over their shoulders to see Professor Solo standing behind them.
“Of course,” Chewbacca retorted, shrug easy and smile charming. “If you weren’t going to tell her any stories, I might as well.”
“He’s just trying to impress you while he still can,” Professor Solo informed Rey, sending her a secretive wink, sharing a private joke with her. Rey tried very hard not to smile a big, stupid, toothy grin. Before Chewbacca could splutter out a reply, Professor Solo continued, “You two better go gather your bags. We’ll be docking soon and Lando won’t want to wait.”
“Of cour—” Rey began to agree before falling abruptly silent, suddenly paralyzed as she stared at Professor Solo. “Wait, did you say ‘Lando?’”
“As in Lando Calrissian, yes,” Chewbacca offered, easily following her thought.
“Oh…my…Isis…” Rey managed to mutter faintly. Professor Solo and Chewbacca both stared, wondering if she was going to collapse in excitement.
#
After they disembarked the steamer, laden down with an impressive collection of luggage, and piled it and themselves into a private car awaiting them, Rey watched the modern city of Alexandria slid. Somewhere, beyond the distinctly twentieth century architecture, beyond the rumbling automotives, rising from the golden dunes of the desert were the pyramids, tombs of long dead and noble pharaohs. Somewhere, underneath rock and sand, waiting her arrival, was the lost temple of Ma’at.
As the driver navigated them through five o’clock traffic, Chewbacca and Professor Solo conversed in quiet tones. Initially, Rey was too consumed with her study of the world outside of the car to listen, but then her ears pricked as Professor Solo’s annoyed whisper drifted to her, saying, “…trust Calrissian but he surely won’t believe in Ma’at’s Sc…” Frowning, returning her attention to the inside of the car, she strained to hear what Mister Calrissian wouldn’t believe in. Yet, the conversation had moved onto transportation to Luxor.
Though she was a member of this expedition, Rey didn’t expect to be trusted with full knowledge of their mission. Archeologists, particularly Egyptologists, were notorious for secrecy while onto a big find for fear of credit being stolen, but she couldn’t help her curiosity to not eavesdrop. Yet, if Professor Solo and Mister Chewbacca were discussing something in whispered tones, debating if this ‘something’ could be trusted with famed historical fiction novelist, Lando Calrissian, than certainly it would be an earth-shattering find.
Maybe even bigger than King Tutankhamen’s tomb. The thought was mind-boggling.
But then the car was stopping before a high white wall, broken only by an exquisitely crafted and designed black iron gate. From over the wall peered tall palm trees while, through the slits in the gate, Rey discerned a handsome sandstone townhouse. By her reckoning, it was more a mansion or small palace.
She had no further time to observe the townhouse—Lando Calrissian’s townhouse—as the driver was springing from the front, swinging the door open and ushering her out. Following Chewbacca and the Professor’s lead, leaving their luggage for the driver to deal with, Rey followed as they were shepherded through the gate by a security guard, and led up the long emerald lawn to the front door.
The door was swung open within an instant, revealing the bright smile and charming physique of Lando Calrissian. Rey readily recognized him from the newsreels and the author portraits included in the back of his novels. At Niima Academy, when Rey thoroughly read and memorized all the nonfiction texts of Egypt, she moved on with a ravenous appetite to fictional works. This included the highly researched, highly acclaimed historical romances penned by Lando Calrissian.
“Han! Chewbacca!” Lando greeted, practically snatching up the men’s hands and pumping them each in turn. “So happy to see you; so glad you’re here! Welcome, welcome, come on it.”
Extracting his hand from Lando with slight annoyance, Han indicated Rey with a nod. “Lando, this is my new assistant, Rey.”
Lando’s amiable smile turned charming, gravitationally irresistible, as he turned his attention to Rey. She knew she was blushing but she hoped it wasn’t terribly obvious. “Well, hello,” Lando greeted, bringing her hand to his lips and planting a kiss there.
“She’s young enough to be your daughter, Calrissian,” Chewbacca said, flatly.
“I was only being a good host,” Lando assured, patting Chewbacca’s rather sizable bicep once he released Rey’s hand. She stared down at it in wonder, her mind not quite processing that one of her favorite authors and personal heroes had just kissed it. “Come on it; dinner’s all set out for you. I thought you three might be hungry. We can discuss our travel plans for Luxor as we eat.”
“‘Our?’” Rey couldn’t help repeating, voice vague and, to her embarrassment, rather stupid sounding.
Landor led them through a grand, airy foyer and into a brilliantly decorated dining room, all shockingly English in layout, a sharp comparison to the traditional Egyptian and tribal artwork on the walls. He laughed, asking, “Did the old Professor not tell you? He’s probably hoping to talk me out of it! I’m coming to Luxor. It’s research for my next book.”
For the second time in two hours, Rey was sure she was about to faint. Fortunately, Lando interpreted her expression as her growing light-headed from lack of nutrition and immediately rang for dinner to be served. Rey barely registering that the food was delicious as she shoveled it from the plate to her mouth. Eating allowed perfect cover for her to sort through her roiling, chaotic thoughts. Pinching her leg under the table, Rey could only think: How is this not a dream? This cannot be my life.
#
Some three and a half hours later, after it was determined the four of them—Chewbacca, Professor Solo, Rey, and Lando—were to take a ferry upriver to Luxor the day following next, everyone was sufficiently stuffed with food and imported French port. Lando offered his arm to Rey. “Allow me show you to your room,” Lando insisted, his usual prim speech slurred with alcohol.
Not helping her grin, Rey accepted the proffered arm, resting her hand on his forearm, and allowed herself to be guided from the dining room and back into the foyer to the staircase. Professor Solo and Chewbacca followed behind, neither displaying nearly the same affects of port. As host, Lando had declared he was obliged to match every glass his guests drank. He had held himself to this standard throughout the evening, much to everyone else’s growing mixture of annoyance and amusement.
Surprisingly enough, the stairs proved not to be a hindrance to Lando and, when they reached the top, he drew to a halt at the first door on the right. Giving Rey a key with a flourish, Lando said, “Make sure you lock up after yourself. I do have security patrolling the grounds, but this is still a major city and its really much better to be safe.”
“Of course,” Rey agreed, slightly touched by Lando’s obvious concern for her wellbeing. Accepting the key, she added, “Thank you and goodnight, Mister Calrissian.”
“And to you,” he replied.
Wishing goodnight to the Professor and Chewbacca, Rey let herself through the door, the three men not moving on down the hall until they heard the click of her door’s lock slide into place. Shaking her head affectionately at them, she turned to inspect her room.
It was a sizable bedroom with a balcony overlooking the front lawn. All the furniture was wicker save for a heavy oak wardrobe and the air was perfumed with sandalwood. Sniffing experimentally at it, Rey’s mouth twitched with the smallest of smiles as she shuffled farther into the room, exhaustion suddenly weighing heavily on her muscles. She suspected the sight of a warm, soft, inviting bed triggered it.
Glancing around, she noted her luggage was stacked neatly in a corner, their contents organized neatly away. Going to a door to the right of the balcony, Rey found herself peering into a bathroom. Flicking on the light, she began her bedtime ritual. Some time later, hair braided back for sleep and face cleaned of oils and dust from the day, she shuffled out, drowsy and close to tumbling into bed without bothering to change into her pajamas.
After drawing the curtains, she went to the wardrobe, prepared to rifle through for her nightgown only to freeze in shock, any thought of sleep entirely forgotten. A scream ripped from her throat.
Scuttling in reverse, narrowly avoiding bumping into a winged back chair and tumbling backwards, Rey barely dodged the swipe aimed at her head from a man entirely in black and wielding a glinting, mean dagger. He sprang from her wardrobe. She squeaked, dancing out of the path of yet another strike. Her hands scrambled, grasping and desperate, for a weapon to defend herself. She came up with nothing. Her mind, searching for a plan, was met with the same results: unthinking panic.
There were pounding footsteps from the hall and, with the approach of potential rescue, the man in black became more hurried. Though he wasn’t lackadaisical before, the flashing swipes of his dagger became near-blurs, impossible to dodge. The blade caught her cheek when she jumped at a hammering knocking accompanied by Han’s frantic voice calling: “Rey? Rey? What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
“Help!” she managed to choke out, ducking another swipe. This one caught the tip of her ear. Yelping, she acted on instinct. Lashing a quick foot, she managed to knock the man's right leg, temporarily perturbing his balance. The man’s hand flew out for a hold to steady himself and that hold happened to be Rey. With the unexpected tug on her wrist, Rey went sprawling across the floor, sliding on her stomach and propelled by the momentum. Heart hammering, breath lodging in her throat, she flipped onto her back, terrified and staring up at the man looming over her, dagger poised.
Many things happened all at once then: with a great crack, Rey’s door was splintered off its hinges, admitting a charging Chewbacca backed by Lando and Han. All three brandished pistols. They watched in horror as an assassin plunged the dagger down. In the last instant, she flung up a hand to halt the weapon’s progress and commanded: “Stop!”
To everyone’s astonishment, most particularly the assassin’s, he did. And, not only did the man stop, he seemed to have stopped being capable of any movement whatsoever.
Rey and the assassin blinked at each other in shock for only a moment before she was scrambling away and Chewbacca and Lando were going to pin the man’s arms to his sides. For some inexplicable reason, Rey knew the assassin wasn’t in need of restraint. He wasn’t physically able to move, let alone kill her, right then. “Security’s called the police,” Lando was saying. “They’ll be here to take him away soon.” Without another word exchanged, Lando and Chewbacca frog marched the assassin from Rey’s room.
She watched him with surprising calm, drowsiness resuming its hold on her, and she could only turn her sleepy gaze back to Professor Solo. Perhaps, she would think later, it was her body’s way of dealing with the traumatic experience: putting it aside until the morning to completely panic about, leaving the present to restorative sleep.
Now, staring at the Professor’s strange expression, her collectedness nearly evaporated. If she had to label it, she would think it somewhere between fascination and wariness. “What?” she demanded, incapable of any more intelligent inquiries.
For an instant, she was sure Professor Solo was going to answer, give her a deep insight into his thoughts, but then he shook his head. “We should probably leave for Luxor tomorrow,” was all he offered. He hesitated for a moment before taking the few steps forward, narrowing the distance between them to clap a hand on her shoulder. “You did good, kid. Get some sleep.”
Yet, what exactly Rey did that was deemed ‘good,’ how Rey even did whatever it was at all, Professor Solo didn’t explain.