a/n: I was thinking of doing this sort of ... ghost of Christmas past thing, with Breha Organa? sort of a piece that focuses on her ... being able to somehow get glimpses into Leia's life, so she knows her daughter ends up okay? this is what came of that instead - i like it though. hope y'all do, too.

The Sight

All her life she had wanted this – all through her youth, when she'd assumed it was a given, assumed motherhood was a given, a natural part of what her life would be, and all through her adolescent courtship when she'd fallen in love with Bail in the whirlwind midst of preparing to take the throne, and then all through her adult life, when she realized she'd taken biology for granted, and her heart ached with every loss she suffered, every time a physician told her again – not this time; not this time, Your Highness – and when they told her she should never try again, because it would kill her, and Bail begged her to listen, she had still wanted this, even in the face of impossible odds.

And so, because she had been through so much, and prayed so much, and promised her heart, and her soul, and her best intentions, and all her kindness, to her people and her Gods – because she had begged and pleaded with unseen forces, over and over again, to have this – because of all of that suffering and struggle, it did not matter how often, and how enduringly, and how loudly Leia cried –

Breha Organa loved her, and wanted her, and felt such an overwhelming, fierce gratitude for this pure blessing she'd been given.

She hardly had it in her to question the circumstances surrounding this newborn child Bail brought home so suddenly; she feared if she inquired as to where Leia came from, that place she came from might swoop in to take her back, and since the moment Bail had sent a message to tell her he'd adopted a refugee, she'd wanted her, hoped for her, and from the moment he'd handed the baby to her and said, very quietly –

"Her name is Leia."

- she'd loved her, and she'd considered Leia to be hers, completely.

Strange how Bail had come by her so out of the blue, though Breha would never suspect her beloved husband of dishonest actions – and stranger still, how quickly Bail had to return to the galactic capitol to swear his allegiance to this rising black Imperial shadow – these were strange times, tremulous, quaking times, and all Breha could do for now was hold her planet and her people true to their convictions and their culture.

Hold them true, and learn how to be a mother to this darling baby girl, who had cried since the day Bail left – cried and sobbed and screamed like her tiny heart was broken, and through it all, Breha only kept a soothing smile on her face, because she had wanted to be a mother in every capacity, not merely if the child she had was happy.

She insisted on devoting her attention, when her time was free, to caring for Leia herself, enlisting only the help of a wet nurse – Daxa, one of the seamstresses, had recently had a daughter called Neena, and she'd been commissioned to help care for Leia, as well.

Breha hadn't really slept in days, but that wasn't so bad – her determination to soothe Leia held steady, but she felt lost – Leia was warm, she was snuggled in the best sort of blankets around, she was fed, she was healthy, there was no shortage of arms to hold her and fawn over her, and yet she cried.

The Queen of Alderaan wondered if it really could be because she missed Bail, but that seemed silly – she was so little, and he'd only been with her for a short while, for the trip to bring her home to Aldera – Leia quieted only when she exhausted herself and slept, and she slept so fitfully.

Breha had decided that Leia could have Bail's spot while he was gone, and so the baby lay on her back with Breha next to her. She fussed and turned her head unhappily, and Breha rested her hand on her stomach and kissed her temple and sang to her softly, filled only with worry and affection.

It had been a long day, and it would be a long night, yet Breha reminded herself, over and over again, that she was meant for this, and Leia was only crying because she couldn't help it, she needed something, and the poor little dear had no way of telling them what it was.

There was a polite knock on the door; a servant shuffled in – young girl, her hair braided up the usual way for her age, smiling sympathetically over at Breha –

"The wet nurse, M'lady," she said quietly, and Breha lifted her head, and nodded, letting them usher Daxa in.

The seamstress was a tall woman with plenty of meat on her bones, kind and sturdy and honest, and though Breha envied what she was able to do for Leia, she valued her beyond description.

"Evening, Daxa," Breha greeted, rising up on one elbow and resting her head on her palm. "How is Neena?"

"Asleep for the night, if I'm lucky, Your Highness," Daxa answered matter-of-factly. "She didn't eat much – I'm afraid the burden falls on the little princess to help me out."

Breha shifted, and picked Leia up gently, holding her close for a moment. Leia turned her face into Breha's nightgown, seeking comfort, still fussing hoarsely, and Breha handed her over to the nurse to be fed, nursing a twinge of disappointment that she could not do it herself.

Daxa settled into a rocking chair Breha had placed near the bed, and Breha laid her head down to keep an eye on them, sighing quietly. She rested her eyes, listening to the silence that fell, wishing she could understand what troubled Leia so.

"Daxa," Breha ventured in a murmur. "Do you think she is miserable with me?"

She meant it to sound somewhat like a joke, but her voice was a little hollow.

"She cries so desperately," Breha went on, opening her eyes. "Like her heart is broken."

Daxa watched the child at her breast for a moment, and then looked over, tilting her head.

"May I speak freely, M'lady?"

"Yes, of course," Breha allowed earnestly.

"It may be that her heart his broken," Daxa said quietly. "May I ask what happened to her blood mother?"

Breha took a shuddering breath, lifting one shoulder.

"I'm afraid my husband was unclear in that matter," she answered. "He heavily implied she died."

Daxa nodded.

"She misses her, then," she asserted. "She knows she's lost her."

"She did not cry so when Bail was here," Breha said.

"A sensory issue, perhaps," Daxa said gently. "If the Viceroy was present at her birth, she may have become attached to his scent, or she may sense her mother on him. Perhaps that comforted her, while he was here."

Breha studied the nurse for a moment.

"Do you think she's Bail's as well, then?" she asked mildly – for that was the rumor, of course, whispered through the palace halls, through the streets – and soon, probably, through the Senate halls of Coruscant, as well – that Bail Organa brought home his bastard to placate his wife.

Daxa looked sharp.

"I do not share in idle gossip, M'lady," she said honestly. "I think only the best of the Prince."

"As do I, Daxa," Breha murmured.

She sighed, and turned towards them a little more.

"The masses will think what they will think," she mused, "but I know my husband has never been unfaithful."

Daxa smiled, and shifted Leia, checking on her swiftly and then nodding to herself, wrapping her arms around her more firmly.

"She's only a little thing," Breha continued earnestly. "How could she – she's a baby. She can't possible know her mother is – gone."

Daxa looked wary for a moment, then thoughtful. She leaned forward.

"It isn't uncommon for infants to be particularly intuitive to separation," she offered slowly, "but Princess Leia's distress is – perhaps an indication of…sensitivity."

Breha considered the nurse intently, mulling over the statement. Sensitivity – she understood the word; a good quality in a woman – in anyone – and a particularly good quality in a future leader; but the way Daxa said it was – peculiar; ominous – knowing –

Thus she realized, with wide eyes –

"Hush," she said softly, sharing a wild, momentarily frightened look with Daxa. "Oh, Daxa, they're killing them – they're slaughtering them all."

Daxa looked pained, nodded her head – she'd suspected there was an subtle energy around Leia that could mean only one thing, and she'd kept quiet about it.

"Bail," Breha murmured, putting a hand to her chest. Brave, honorable man – how he had come by a Jedi baby, Breha had no idea, but it was so like him to be the savior, to try and hide her away, and of course it made sense that such a visceral connection to the unseen world wracked Leia's little heart with agony while she adjusted.

"Her anguish will fade," Daxa murmured, taking Leia's hand and running her thumb over tiny fingers. "The power, if left alone, will lie dormant. She will not be in danger," she assured the troubled Queen.

Breha listened, swallowing hard, transfixed –

"You have it in your family, do you not?" she asked. "Your people – where was your colony, before Alderaan?"

Daxa was quiet for a long stretch.

"Dathomir," she answered finally. She lifted her head. "My tribe departed when our clan chose the wrong path," she explained. "Through the years, my bloodline parted ways with the power."

"Neena?" breathed Breha. "Will she be safe? Will she need protection, like Leia?"

Daxa's eyes were heavy, worried.

"I don't know, M'lady," she said. "I do not understand the – the sensitivity – myself."

They so carefully avoided the word Force, even in the safety of the Antibes stronghold – the world was so dangerous, the wrong beliefs, the wrong loyalties, were so suddenly dangerous, in a time when a revered religion had been eviscerated and besmirched within the blink of a power-hungry, yellow eye.

"We will protect her, Daxa," Breha assured her. "Neena will grow up with Leia. They'll both be safe."

She said it to reassure herself – she knew nothing of the intricacies of the Jedi order and the intangible power they served, she only knew that it was beautiful, something to be respected, and something that Leia could never be allowed to touch – not now, not as things were going to be.

Breha's chest ached to think of the pain her new daughter must be feeling; the loss of her mother, perhaps the loss of a thousand souls, all burning and throbbing in her veins like angry points of unjust light.

She rose from her bed and took a robe from the bedpost, sliding into it, and kneeling before Daxa, her attention focused on Leia, nestled in the seamstress' arms. If Daxa was terrified to have the Queen of Alderaan at her feet, she did not show it, and Breha reached out to touch Leia's exhausted brow.

"What will life be like for you, little one?" she asked. "Are you mine only for a little while; then to be taken again?"

Daxa turned over one of Leia's small hands, presenting her palm to Breha. She hesitated, and then cleared her throat.

"Is that something you truly seek to know?" she asked.

Breha lifted her eyes, dark brown, searching.

"You have the sight?" she asked.

She held her breath – seers were revered on Alderaan, rare – even myths, if you asked some, but Breha was a faithful woman, a believer in anything that was good, and meant to help people, and though she was smart, though she was logical, she never discounted the preternatural merely because it could not be proven.

"It is the only talent I inherited from my Dathomiran roots," Daxa murmured.

Breha's heart leapt into her throat – foresight was dangerous, but it was never an exact science; if she could hear that Leia's life would be blessed and bright, it would sooth her – if she knew there would be trouble, she could prepare to fight it for her.

Her mouth was dry, and she hesitated, eyes pleading with Daxa for answers.

"It will not be specific, M'lady," Daxa said gently. "I sense – only feelings, only – trajectory."

She paused, rocking Leia a little – "And the future…moves constantly."

Breha thought a moment longer, and then gave one silent, succinct nod. Daxa shifted Leia as she fed, holding her little hand for a moment, touching the minuscule lines on Leia's palm. She closed her eyes thoughtfully, and then opened them, breathing in deeply.

"I see the childhood you want for her," she began softly. "Playful, educated, full of freedom – perhaps scraped knees and ripped frocks, all handled with kindness, and dignity," she murmured.

Breha hung onto her words, reaching out to brush Leia's fitful brow again.

"I see determination," Daxa continued. "Stunning successes before she's ready for them, yet exactly at the right moment," she mused. "Ah," she paused, meeting Breha's eyes stoically. "I see that this is not the first time she will feel agony as if it will never end, but when the time comes, she will survive, just as she will survive these next few days."

Breha caught her breath.

"What kind of agony?" she asked hoarsely. "Will I be there for her?"

Daxa's lips moved soundlessly.

"That is unclear," she murmured – what she sensed was a yes, but not in a physical sense, and she had learned long ago that to warn someone of their death was to destroy them in every sense of the word.

"A broken heart?" Breha asked, her voice light.

"She'll have her fair share of heartbreak," Daxa agreed, "though not for years to come."

Daxa ran her fingers up Leia's arm to her heart, resting them there.

"I see resilience, the humbling sort – strength so astounding that empires fall at her feet – and, there, somewhere down the line, romance; a man who will love her more than even she can believe."

Breha covered her mouth, pressing her hand against it hopefully.

"Happiness?" she asked through her fingertips. "Will she be happy?"

Daxa seemed to consider it for a long time.

"Yes," she answered finally – confidently, though she felt a sort of storm about the answer; yes, happy, but a battle born and bloody happiness, achieved only through blood, sweat, and tears.

Daxa laughed curiously to herself, looking at the queen a bit oddly.

"I see more in your little Leia's future than in any future I've looked into, of late," she remarked.

"Ah," Breha gasped, lowering her hand. "Well, perhaps the world is ending."

Daxa reached up to shift Leia again as she twisted her head away, satisfied, but starting up her achy cry again.

"We will bring her up as if it is not, eh?" Daxa asked wryly.

She soothed Leia for a moment, and then Breha stood, reaching for her. Daxa rested her hand on Breha's wrist before completely handing the baby over, smiling up at her intently.

"I think she will be all you hope she will be," she said softly, and the queen beamed at her, bright faced and relieved, turning her attention to the tiny, fussing baby in the crook of her arm.

Bail – oh, Bail would think she was silly, talking to a seer, setting any store by a myth such as the sight, but there was something so heartening, so inspiring about the words – strength so astounding that empires fall at her feet – and Breha did cherish the idea of Leia finding peace in both career and personal affairs – she wanted her to be a good leader, as renowned a queen of Alderaan as any natural born daughter of the blood, but she wanted personal happiness for her as well, and to know that Leia would be loved – by the world, and by someone all her own –

Breha smiled, sitting down on her bed heavily, absorbed in studying Leia. She didn't notice that Daxa had quietly excused herself and left her alone, and for a moment, so rapt was her reflection on the illumination of Leia's prospects, she did not notice that her distressed baby had finally stopped her crying.

She caught her breath as Leia looked up at her with wide, calm dark eyes, her expression calm for once, thoughtful even. Breha burst into a more affectionate smile, catching Leia's hand in hers, pressing her thumb into Leia's palm warmly.

"Le-li-la," she murmured, softening the name into a lullaby.

Breha sighed contently.

"You have given me so much hope."

*Dathomir is a planet of force witches. From 'The Courtship of Princess Leia.'

story # 323
-Alexandra