Notes:

I may have gotten a bit carried away with this one. I apologize for the verbosity ahead of time, it's something I really need to work on, but my emotions got the best of me. This was inspired by the short reprise of Leia's theme song in the new Force Awakens soundtrack titled "Farewell and the Trip" which can be heard between the time markers 2:56 to 3:22 and was also heavily inspired by the following exchange between Luke and Leia in The Return of the Jedi:

Luke: Leia, do you remember your mother? Your real mother?
Leia: Just a little bit. She died when I was very young.
Luke: What do you remember?
Leia: Just images, really. Feelings.
Luke: Tell me…
Leia: She was very beautiful, kind, but… sad. Why are you asking me this?
Luke: I have no memory of my mother, I never knew her…

I hope you enjoy :) that is, if you don't cry reading this as much as I did writing it...

(also posted to AO3)

"I have lived long enough to see the same eyes in different people. I see your eyes. I know your eyes." - Maz Kanata, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens.

Leia was seven when she noticed just how often her father told her that she was strong, only he would not say it in those exact words. Whenever Bail would return home, it was often just the two of them. His eyes would go soft as he knelt beside her upon greeting her or saying goodbye, his thumb gently nudging her chin upward so they stood eye-to-eye.

"You are so very much like your mother," he would always say. Leia would conjure images of Breha Antilles Organa, the stoic queen that sat valiant upon the throne of Alderaan, yet somehow the images did not fit the sentiment that held her father's gaze. It did not match the sheen of his eyes and the melancholy warmth that emanated from the gentle grip of his hand at her shoulder, the brief sensation of his fingers upon her young face. Leia knew that there was something else to it, though she did not know what. "You have her eyes."

But Leia had Bail's eyes, too, if what he meant was that they were brown. But wasn't brown a common color among humans and humanoids alike?

Leia was ten when she realized that her eyes were not, in fact, like her mother's eyes at all. Leia and Breha shared dark eyes, similar in hue, but Leia knew they were different. Queen Breha was resigned, and oh so serene. Leia was tempestuous, outspoken, and much more like her father. Maybe Bail hoped she would become more like her with time.

Bail was stoic but known for his passion on the senate floor. He was also known for his ease of character and the casual calm he exuded around others, and so much so that they often forgot he was the Imperial Senator of Alderaan when in more casual settings. He would laugh quietly at the remark every time it was voiced, but his eyes would always reflect inward as if recalling a similar comment made by another colleague from long ago.

Breha would sometimes reprimand him for his outspokenness, for his way with words, for the liberal sentiments that found their way a little too easily off his tongue.

Leia was very much the same.

She was quick to argue, but just as quick to defend another. Her tongue was sharp and her teeth even sharper. Her peers, and later her contemporaries, would often accuse her of cold-heartedness if they did not know any better. Leia was known for masking most expressions other than malaise or discontent, and often took to disguising others as such. It came easy. Even as a child, Leia found that quieting her emotions beneath an intimidating visage calmed her – even if the waves still fought against the shore within. She was good at that. Leia could suppress the storm, but for a long time she wondered exactly what that brewing storm was, where it came from, and why it was there for her to feel at all.

She would overhear Breha call her an angry child, and Bail would always argue in her defense. The royal quarters were large, but all the better for eavesdropping. Leia wondered why no one ever said that she took after Bail, but it was only later that she realized just how different and unknowable her anger was in comparison.

Leia was thirteen when Bail began bringing her along on diplomatic missions across their branch of the galaxy. He claimed it was for the benefit of her education, having wasted no expense thus far when it came to her tutoring and training.

Bail was so very much like Leia, but it was the similarities that troubled her now. She knew when he was hiding something, when he was trying to teach her a lesson, when there was something more he wanted to say but stopped himself before the reveal. He still knelt down to meet her eyes and to tell her how proud he was of her, how "very much like your mother " she was. And still, she did not quite understand.

But it was Breha and Bail both that urged Leia towards diplomatic work of her own, by example at least, and in that sense she was very much like her parents. Her father's own contemporaries and her mother's most devout followers would remark on how much of an influence her parents had on her character. When she wasn't observing the world from half her guardians' height, her focus did not waver, for she was always found with her nose buried in a datapad, her dark eyes temporarily blue or hazy white in the remnant light – if she wasn't getting herself into trouble, that is.

But most of her nights were quiet, spent with herself and her thoughts. And Leia's thoughts, her burgeoning feelings of anger and the overwhelming sadness that clawed at her in the darkness of nighttime, both borne of unknown origin, urged her to find some sort of distraction.

It was this same unspoken mixture of anger and sadness that she came to recognize in Bail, mirrored but masked in a different way. She saw it in the way he spoke about certain things, like Leia's eyes and her likeness to her mother, and when he spoke of the Clone Wars.

Something about the Clone Wars fascinated Leia. Perhaps it was the way adults still talked about it in hushed tones, as if it was a secret to be kept from children's ears. Part of her wanted to know more, but she would see the momentary flicker in her father's face at the mention of it and wonder whether there was a good reason he did not discuss it at length – at least, not any more. The current state of the galaxy was something he threw his very being into, his heart and soul. He would tell her bits and pieces at times, details trickling into each of his answers as she got older. When she was younger, he would regale her with tales of the mythic Jedi, their now-extinct Order, and the feats they accomplished. He once spoke of General Obi-Wan Kenobi and his esteemed student, Anakin Skywalker, and the marvelous things he witnessed them achieve. But Bail began to speak of them less and less the more she asked questions, especially ones like "Could we go see General Kenobi?" or "Where are the Jedi now? What happened to them?"

Stories were soon replaced with factoids regarding which galactic conglomerates were now allied with the Empire, which were defunct, and which ones stood where within the imperium. He told her of the Emperor, Sheev Palpatine, at her request. Leia detected the curtness in his voice and his loss of enthusiasm as time went on and stories became myths, myths became legends, and legends became memories best forgotten.

But not entirely.

Bail never told her outright that he was a supporter of the Rebellion, but Leia knew it to be true, reaping the harvest that eavesdropping granted her. Leia heard mixed reviews, some senators speaking of the Rebellion with disgust whereas other spoke of the idea as a joke. And then there were others that seemed unworried by the idea completely, and then there was Bail who seemed particularly unconcerned…

She was fast to understand that her father's sympathies were not meant to be broadcasted. She would understand in time, but even at thirteen years old she wanted to know more.

Despite her age, she picked up on the tone of voice that her father carried, especially with others like Mon Mothma, old contemporaries that seemed to look on her with the same sad eyes when they told her that she was so very much like her mother. She smiled at the sentiment, despite the fact that she knew it was not true.

Datapads and holorecordings were things that her father soon had to forbid after hours, not because he did not condone her reading or researching, but because he found her weary-eyed and short with him in the mornings as a result.

"Everything will be shut off by nine standard hours, are we clear?" he demanded over dinner once, and Leia nodded, hands clasped in her lap, already eager to dive into what records she managed to pull from her father's personal console.

Bail might have been pleased, she thought, as Bail was in the holorecordings she now had in her possession. It was this thought alone that consoled her conscience despite the lie, and when she was sent off to bed she waited until approximately forty-five minutes after the ninth standard evening hour to retrieve her hidden treasure, turn the display setting on low and place a single sound bud in her ear to listen in on one of her father's early senate talks.

Leia's insatiable hunger to learn could not be quenched. Part of it was to better understand what Bail spoke of with his contemporaries when they thought she was not listening, as if she would finally understand the looming secret that hovered in her father's words whenever he spoke of the past. The other part of it was to better understand her father all together. The Clone Wars was something that seemed to weigh heavily on him, and in a way that other things did not. It was essential to he was, it guided his loyalties, and he had once spoken so fondly of the Jedi. Even though he no longer entertained her desire for stories, he would sometimes recall past missions aloud, especially on long hyperspace voyages between diplomatic meetings. He would grow starry-eyed, and stare fondly into some unfathomable distance as he spoke of it. Leia oft wondered what the galaxy was like then, and before, and wondered whether there was a part of her father that yearned for it again. Maybe it was why he did what he did with such fervor.

The record almost brought Leia to sleep but she persisted, picking up on words and names she was not familiar with – things to look up and research later. She began testing herself, naming each world and system as their representatives approached the stand. Leia noted their dress, observing which representatives wore traditional garb and paying attention to (and often giggling at) styles that had since gone out of fashion, and marked others she was not familiar with. And then there was Senator Amidala.

As a girl on the brink of womanhood, Leia immediately found herself enamored with the Senator's attire: her deep plum-dyed cloak, the gold clasps at her throat, the gold coil winding itself around the spirals of her curled hair held aloft in a style Leia was completely unfamiliar with – and, of course, her dark doe eyes. Leia absently tugged at her own brown locks, twisting a strand between her fingers as she watched. Words trickled through her active consciousness, as with the others, but something about this woman's smooth, sinewy voice stuck with her, keeping her awake despite the drowsiness threatening to overtake her.

And when sleep came, she slept soundly and softly.

The holorecording was mute when she awoke. Its contents had drifted over into her dreams, and despite the unusual comfort it brought her, she nearly threw the holodisc behind her bed should her father walk in and discover it. She tousled her hair, recounting the day's affairs, and calculated just how long she would have to wait until she could access her father's archives to continue her research.

As the weeks pressed on, she began to notice subtle patterns in her father's speeches that carried over, and differed, from the way he spoke when he was part of the now-defunct Galactic Republic. His earlier remarks were more energetic, more commanding. If she listened close enough, she could pluck out the same vocabulary, the same phrases used, but Bail's voice was much more passive now – resigned, but not weak. He wove sentiment and sound solution into his sentences instead of stating them outright. Bail was sowing seeds, not attacking the weeds outright.

Leia stayed up later, and she found herself sneaking into her father's study more than she ought to have, which was to mean at all. She borrowed more from his archives each night. She dug deeper, always eager to uncover more. There was still so much she did not yet understand, and though she took the time to look over detailed descriptions of battles and transcripts of senate talks, private meetings, and not-so-discreet secret treaties, it did not quite make sense to her. Was she just too young? Or was the record purposefully vague, designed to misguide those curious enough to look if they did not have the benefit of remembering? And yet, despite her frustration, Leia finished each evening with another holorecording, listening intently, often times more so to Senator Amidala in particular.

Whenever Naboo's Senator would speak, Leia found herself oddly calm, her heart quieted, though heavy. Watching Amidala, like so many of her father's' other contemporaries, Leia feared she may have perished in the Clone Wars. In fact, part of her just knew. She did not know how, exactly, but something simply told her… and Leia believed it.

Leia was already fourteen and she still did not feel brave enough to learn more about Senator Amidala on her own, outside of her father's personal archives.

Leia had keyed the woman's name into archive searches countless times, yet each and every time she did so, Leia failed to execute the command. Part of her liked admiring the Senator's name, Padmé Amidala, in neat print, and the other part of her feared what she might find. So many of her father's contemporaries from the Clone War era had either perished or had become a more integral part of the Empire. Few of them were still friends, even if they were amicable when it came to business affairs. Seeing just how many times her father's name appeared alongside Amidala's on various bills, movements and other documents, Leia began to wonder why he never spoke of her, why she was not among his group of old friends who would came by to visit and speak in hushed whispers of what once was, the way things were now, or simply drown their sorrows with hollow laughter over wine and old story swapping.

She would occasionally type in other names, namely of General Kenobi. She wondered what became of him, much like Senator Amidala, wondering whether even half of her father's stories were true. But fear stayed her hand. What if the Empire was watching? They surely were. There was a reason her father and a select few of his colleagues spoke so softly of such things. She was afraid.

And then there was the part of her that felt guilty for her curiosity, especially regarding figures other than her parents. Her mother, Queen Breha, remained on Alderaan at all times, often personally tutoring students in the history of the planet and its royal line, what their political philosophies were and where it may lead them in the future, shaping what the planet's legacy would ultimately hold for years to come. There was a time when her mother was her teacher, but Leia was too impatient. She asked too many questions, just as she was with all of her other teachers – save for a select few who piqued her interest and coaxed her curiosity rather than sought to restrain it. Her mother would sigh, but she would not reprimand her like so many of Leia's other tutors. Instead she would swallow her frustrations and look up at her daughter with a heavy gaze, with that painfully familiar look of knowing. But what exactly did she know? And it was in these moments that Leia wondered most what Bail meant when he said that she was so much like her.

Leia discovered the truth about Senator Amidala by accident.

It happened in passing, while eavesdropping. Though what had possessed Leia to do so this time was unknown to her.

Her father was speaking with an old colleague in the lounge, and Leia found herself with an ear at the door. She used to do this often, finding nothing better to do, but since she had been snooping around her father's study it was usually when the drinks were poured that Leia found it the opportune moment for sneaking. This time, she stayed. She heard the clinking of glasses, commencing the thoughtful drinking and swapping of stories. This was when the reminiscing occurred, and regret would rear its ugly head.

The best stories Leia ever heard were spilled over one too many drinks, over shared grievances and conversations she should never have overheard. It was how she knew so much about General Kenobi and about the Republic, about how her father fell in love, and almost everything else she yearned to know since her father stopped readily giving away details when she asked.

Mon Mothma had convened with her father for the evening, and had, as usual, cupped her face in her warm palms and smiled that same, sad smile she always greeted Leia with before her father sent her to bed. Mothma touched a gentle thumb to Leia's chin as she admired her eyes and bit back a few words before joining Bail in the drawing room, bidding Leia good night. Leia snuck off to her room, making her footsteps as audible as possible before disabling C-3P0 to silently tiptoe back to where Mothma and her father talked.

"Leia," Mothma said, her voice soft, almost a whisper, as if Leia's name were difficult to say. "How is she?"

Leia could hear Mon Mothma's fingernails clink on a glass her father must have just poured for her.

Bail did not speak at first, but Leia could hear him pour another tumbler and sigh.

"She's been sneaking into my room," he said with a laugh, his voice thick, as the sound of a body sinking into one of the room's lounge chairs met Leia's eager ears.

Mothma laughed, her voice smooth yet calming, twinkling like chimes on the wind.

"Oh?" she said through another faint chuckle.

Leia could sense the smile on Bail's face as he breathed in deeply, amused despite his tiredness.

"I don't think she knows that I know," he started, his fingers tapping to the rhythm of unspoken thoughts upon his glass, "But I have a feeling she knows, somehow. About-"

Bail stopped himself from finishing his thought.

"What makes you say that?" Mothma finally asked, probing the silence.

"She's been asking about him, about Kenobi. Not about… not about Anakin, but…" Bail had a hard time saying Anakin's name, almost as if he had forgotten how to say it at first, but he continued. "In her defense, I used to talk about General Kenobi quite a bit." He laughed again, though Leia sensed the bittersweet melancholy that tinged her father's voice this time. "Maybe more than I should have."

"I don't blame you," Mothma said, her voice soft and contemplative, "I miss him, sometimes. He was brash, perhaps, but Maker knows if there were ever a Jedi who could really get things done."

"It's not just that, though."

The silence felt thick, but Mothma gathered the courage to break it after a few moments.

"Has she asked about her?" her voice hesitant, insistent but not imposing. "About Amidala?"

Leia heard nothing, but somehow she knew her father nodded, that his gaze turned inward to memory, momentarily forgetting Mothma sitting before him.

"She's like her more every day." Leia heard her father say, his voice hitching before taking a sip from his cup.

Though Leia could not see him, she could imagine him, eyes closed, one hand forming a fist as the other held his glass vice-tight.

"Does it ever bother you?" Mothma asked, her voice heavy.

"How could it?" he responded, his voice catching in the slightest as he brought his cup to his lips once more, but this time he did not drink. Leia did not know how she knew exactly what her father was doing, but somehow she felt that she was right.

Bail breathed in deeply, and sighed. "She has her mother's eyes."

And Leia knew, then, that he did not mean Breha and that he never had.

Leia disliked showing any emotion other than mild discontent, but when she next found herself alone, she finally read Amidala's profile from the official record and found that the tears flowed without her consent. According to the official record, Padmé Amidala had suffered from distress and subsequent heart failure, dying just before the Clone Wars came to an end.

There was no mention of a child, but Leia knew.

But why? When had this happened? Was Leia already born? Did Padmé perish bringing her into the world? Despite the lack of detail, she knew Bail would not have 'acquired' her by unsavory means. Padmé's pregnancy must have been a secret. Judging by what records her father kept, it would seem as if Bail was one of Padmé's closest colleagues, if not one of her closest friends. That is, along with Generals Kenobi and Skywalker. They might have known something more about it had the Jedi not disappeared or died out themselves, and it wasn't as if the Empirical record would ever admit that the Jedi Order was anything esteemed to begin with, fueling whatever thought that they were nothing but myths as much as they could.

The official report dispensed nothing else regarding her death. Leia's eyes skimmed over a section detailing Padmé's humble origins on Naboo, listing her birth name as Padmé Naberrie - all details she would drink up and savor later - though the archives divulged little else. Nothing other than a full-color photo of Senator Amidala, that is. Her father's records consisted only of holorecordings that were tinted the standard white-blue. The official records were in color, and it was then that Leia truly saw Padmé's eyes for the first time. Oh , how she knew those eyes.

Leia knew now.

When anyone asked what vocation Leia might pursue, she would respond, "I will be a Senator, like my father before me."

And though Leia absolutely looked to Bail as a role model, that was only the half of it.

Padmé may not have appeared in her vocal response, but if anyone had done their homework they would know that Leia still channeled her, in looks at least.

As a child, Leia's aunts would reprimand her for roughhousing and for disrespecting her precious mane of thick chocolate brown hair. She resented it, at times, and despised wearing it in fashions where it got in her way. Her aunts would spend hours curling it just so, twisting her fringe this way and that, but it was at the age of sixteen that Leia began doing her own hair and began to resent it less.

At first, she heard whispers regarding her twin buns, and the variant of styles that came with it. To her aunts' approval, the style showed off the volume of her well-tended mane, as well as the color, exposing its multifaceted hues in the expertly twirled fashion that characterized the style. For Leia, the look was also practical. It kept her vision clear, and her head warm, and Maker knows how cold interspace travel was. Sooner or later, she spied other girls sporting the look, whether they were Alderaan's citizens or other girls in the diplomatic programs she attended across Imperial space.

The look spawned a variety of different iterations, and each of them screamed of Padmé. Leia admired herself in the mirror, for perhaps the first time in her young life, but she found herself staring when other girls wore the style. Part of her felt that it was hers , that it was inherited, somehow. Of Padmé's many looks, she had taken this from a later senate talk she had watched about a dozen times, at least, and judging by her own timeline must have taken place when Padmé first became pregnant. Leia was already a part of her, a part of Padmé, and she wanted to hold onto what little she had.

Breha would admire Leia's newfound style and would comment on the noticeable shift in her daughter's confidence - whenever they saw one another, that is. Leia would smile, and she would let Breha hold her close and kiss her cheek, but part of her felt guilty. Her title as Princess Leia of House Organa was known to all, but she often felt the urge to add another name whenever signing her signature: Princess Leia Amidala... of House Organa. Breha loved her, and Leia felt love for her adoptive mother in return, but there was an inexplainable emptiness she felt whenever she thought of her mother, her real mother. And still, that did not make Breha any less real of a parent. Leia had to remind herself of this, and she felt ashamed that she had to.

Once Leia decided that she would be a diplomat like her father, like Padmé, she felt a noticable shift, as if she had done something right or was at least moving in the right direction. She attended several programs where she was at least allowed to interact with others her age, people who may not judge her preemptively for being the daughter of a Queen. And though most Alderaanians thought of Breha, Leia sometimes thought of Padmé, too, voted Queen of Naboo at just fourteen, and already Leia felt as if she had accomplished so little in comparison. But here she was another student, another someone in study of a something.

And like most prospective delegates, she participated in field trips about the galaxy, a few of them sponsored and chaperoned by the Galactic Imperium itself.

Leia sat amongst other prospective senators, diplomats and other sorts of potential inhabitants of political station at the behest of the Imperium, and perhaps it was her father's doing but Leia found herself fidgeting in her seat whilst in the presence of those who presided over the wealth of the Galactic Empire. The fact that Leia only ever heard of Emperor Palpatine but never saw him unnerved her, and though without ever having been in his presence, she could feel the bile rise at the back of her throat whenever his name was mentioned.

And then there was Vader.

Leia was unnerved by the mere idea of the man, or whatever he was, though she would never voice her unease. Emperor Palpatine's enforcer was talked of in hushed whispers, disparate tones, and oft with concern or disbelief. Leia heard his name mentioned in reports voiced aloud, often populating topics of conversation, or most commonly having just left a room she had entered.

There were those who thought that Vader was a symbol of some old evil made manifest whereas others thought of him as more of a parlor trick, a means of scaring superstitious political opponents into submission. Leia was not sure what to think, until she found herself in the same room as Vader himself.

Leia was eighteen when she was officially elected Senator, and the youngest Imperial Senator at that. For the occasion, she was to be presented by her father as his successor to Emperor Sheev Palpatine himself.

Bail was quiet on the way there, and answered all of Leia's probing questions with curt responses.

She knew this day would come, though for some reason she did not expect the extravagance of it all. It was not extravagant in the sense that there was a lush reception to be had or any traditions of decorum that at all mirrored those on Alderaan, but it was extravagant in the sense that Leia was to come face to face with the Emperor, an occurrence considered a privilege by his most loyal supporters. Were all senators presented this way? Was there a ceremony for each of them, formally introducing them into political society? Had Leia chosen to succeed her mother, she would have had to endure a similar rite, but nothing quite as severe as this. Even being presented as a Princess or Queen of Alderaan was not nearly as nerve-wracking and at least involved fancy dress and drinking afterwards. Emperor Palpatine rarely saw anyone these days. He had representatives who did that now.

One of the things her father did admit was the fact that he had not seen Palpatine - correction , the Emperor - in quite some time, either. Not since he announced that the Republic was dead and he was the galaxy's sole inheritor.

The Emperor's halls were lined with guards, clad in crimson. Leia huffed at the display. Bail kept a steady hand on her elbow, keeping her unkempt anger in check.

Despite what she sensed of her father's discontents, Leia knew that everything about this "ceremony" was the stuff of Bail's very nightmares. She wondered what Padmé would think.

Every snarky comment that found purchase in her mind found some disastrous route to her mouth, and her tongue had no choice but to oblige. Bail did his best to abate her, to calm her words, but found himself finding no fault with her logic. Leia had a speech prepared for when she came face to face with him, the Emperor, but once she was in his presence she found that her skin grew cold and her tongue lay still.

The moment she entered the Emperor's chambers, she felt it. Darkness. It was as heavy as it was fathomless, and it quelled her voice like a stopper in her throat. Every step forward was a weighted effort, and Bail's hand at her elbow was her only comfort.

The room was cold and empty, yet it suffocated her. The Emperor's throne room overlooked all of Coruscant, situated at the highest peak of his palace, but the room was vacant, save for a single chair situated at the far window. The window took up the entire wall, allowing the Emperor an uninterrupted view of a small, bustling portion of his ever-expanding domain. His chair faced away from them as they approached, and though their footfalls were near silent, the Emperor was all-knowing and all-seeing for he held up a hand as they neared. Both Bail and Leia stopped, unsure, but Emperor Palpatine let out a low, grating laugh before beckoning them forward again as he turned his chair to face them. And it was as they neared that Leia saw what lurked in the shadows - the glinting eyes of Vader's mask, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his helmet gleaming in the light of the vast window's reflection.

Even as she neared the Emperor, Leia felt a strange and inexplainable pull from Vader's direction. And though he was most certainly watching her, it was more than that, it was… apprehension? And anger, so much anger. Leia was not sure whether what she felt was her own anger, the anger that manifested prior to her meeting with Palpatine, or whether it was something else, something she felt emanating from Vader himself. Perhaps it was both. Bail tensed at her side.

Palpatine broke her concentration.

Despite her earlier fervor, Leia lost all words. She had a speech prepared, a speech which she had already performed for Bail only moments before, voiced in his own typical fervor, flavored with equal parts passion and impatience. Yet here she stood, motionless and silent, unable to do anything but accept the Emperor's compliments. He spoke of her bravery, of her intelligence, and of her notorious wit. She was not sure whether he was threatening her in as polite of a manner as possible or if he truly saw her hardheadedness as an asset to the Empire. But Leia could not concentrate, for her attention was stuck on Vader, watching from the darkness. That palpable darkness, heavy and thick with anger.

As Palpatine made his closing statement, Leia's eyes found themselves ascending from their unwillingly submissive direction of the floor to look straight at Vader, suddenly unafraid, as if upon looking up that she would see his true face. His stance was unchanged, but she felt something different. She could somehow sense that the same uncertainty dwelling within her was welling from his direction, too. And yes , something told her that he was just a man, though she could not explain how she knew. As for the Emperor, Leia could not say.

Leia never felt Padmé's presence more than when she was older. Despite just how much of her mother she carried with her, she never knew the weight of it until later, and she never knew just how much of her father, her real father, she had in her as well.

Bail would always be her true father, no matter what she learned, and losing him felt like the beginning of the end.

There was a sadness beyond words that stuck to her bones the moment Alderaan was decimated, when her entire world shattered. Her parents, her people, and whatever she imagined the future to hold perished in a single moment, a flame snuffed out by Grand Moff Tarkin's blood-thirsty and callused fingers. But there was also anger... Anakin's anger.

Leia carried her parents unseen heirlooms with her at all times, but one of the only times she ever felt them both in full was when Han Solo threatened to leave for the first time. And the second time, and every time after that...

There was nothing at stake in letting him leave that first time, but Leia hated to admit that she was beginning to like the scoundrel and enjoyed the challenge of even trying to communicate with him. The way his eyes would go wide when she pointed a finger at him was especially satisfying. But all things considered, Leia didn't talk to Han any differently than she did anyone else. Any other acquaintance might call her "impossible" or "commanding". If she treated anyone differently, it was Luke. Perhaps it was the fact that he had tried to save her, or the fact that they both lost everyone they had ever loved in a single day. But Han, Han was different. Yet not so different all the same.

Whatever weight Leia carried with her, she masked it with confidence, with surety and with strongly-worded affirmations, though many would often consider such affirmations to be commands instead, and would deem her angry, her outbursts more like outlashes, and her determination more like untamed heatedness. Han always played the victim, his hands reaching into the air as if he were surrendering before she even finished her sentences, but he always found the strength to combat her somehow, though always a few moments later. Han thrived on having the last say, even if it took him a near-embarrassing amount of time to say it.

It was clear from the beginning that Han was only interested in money with a capital M, but it must have been something else that made him stick around.

Leia thought it was Luke, at first, and part of her knew that she was right to think so.

Something the farm boy said struck a nerve with the scoundrel moments before the Battle of Yavin, and whatever it was had convinced Solo and the Wookiee to come in clutch and save the Republic, even though they had their money and were well on their way to paying off whatever debts kept them on the fringes of space.

When he came back, there was this unexplainable pull she felt towards him. Maybe it was the simple thrill of victory, instinct and adrenaline coursing her veins. The first time Leia hugged Han, it was by accident, but when they embraced, she felt a universe welling with feeling just beneath her skin. Maybe part of it was the fact that Leia never allowed herself to get close to anyone, so any form of physical affection felt foreign. With Luke it felt natural, and hugging him upon his return felt like hugging her father, something that came so naturally it required no second thought. With Han, her stomach was all butterflies and she couldn't help but keep her distance the next time they spoke, using her fervor to forge a formative space between them, something that was more palpable and easy to handle. Arguing, Leia could do. But affection was still something she only knew how to deal with when her father was involved, or Luke perhaps. And with her father gone, there was something about Luke that felt comforting enough to let her guard down around him. There was something about Han that felt new, different, and totally other than the affection she was used to feeling for others - for people like Bail, like Luke.

Aside from arguing, Han often found himself at her side, speaking to her softly, teasing her with gentle joking, and though she rolled her eyes at him she never once asked him to leave. She might have derided his presence, once his one and only asked-of favor had been fulfilled, but she never once asked that he leave her alone. So when he was the one who brought it up, she was speechless.

What was she to say? If she admitted that he was unwanted, he would surely leave. But if she said otherwise, well, then what?

Then he would know, she thought, but what exactly Han would know was something that Leia was not entirely ready to admit to herself.

But as she watched Han leave, as she affirmed his fears and he turned on his heel, she felt her gut give way as if the floor were swept right out from under her.

And in that moment she felt an energy urge her against formality, to follow her emotions wherever they led, because one day it might be too late.

Han waited, and he stayed... for a while. He would always ask if she wanted him there, as if perpetually afraid that he was not needed or that she was obliging him somehow. But whatever emotions welled within her, Leia only knew how to reign them in with her own indignation, unable to allow herself to feel without feeling angry at herself for feeling something at all. Anakin's inherited anger fought with whatever inward softness and strength Padmé had bestowed with her final breath, another invisible heirloom weighing her down.

It was Leia's anger that stayed her hand, and let her watch Han leave, again and again.

Leia felt Padmé's presence the most when she first met her son.

She was so drunk on a mixture of relief that came with pain's end as well as the undeniable joy that followed, that it was no wonder the memory was still somewhat blurred with remembering. Han was at her side, his brow sweaty and unsure. Leia remembered meeting his warm, brown eyes for the last time as lovers only, for a moment later they would become parents and everything would change. More so than she could ever imagine.

The warmth of the small bundle being placed in her arms was the first thing that she felt, and the first thing that she remembered when recalling the memory. Leia's hand tugged at the blanket, velvet to the touch, so she could see her son's face. But before she could register his eyes, his nose, his mouth, and discern just whom he took most after, a tiny hand reached for hers and wrapped itself around her probing finger.

And in that moment Leia thought of Padmé, at a loss for breath, but still finding the strength to utter her final words, "Leia," she gasped, a smile spiriting over lips despite the pain, despite the life draining from her. Leia could swear she felt a ghostly flutter at her cheek.

Han broke her out of her reverie.

"Ben," he said, almost laughing, peering in to get a good look, to meet his son for the first time. Leia looked up at him, dumbfounded, still lost in a memory that was not hers but somehow imparted to her.

Padmé never had the chance to meet her, or even touch her, even as an infant. And yet, here she was, Leia, a mother herself, holding her unnamed son in her arms, his fingers grasping, already so desperate to take hold of this world despite how new to it he was.

Han repeated, "Ben. "

He smiled as a tear slid down the length of his cheek. Han swiped it away with a reflex, masking it with a laugh as if Leia wouldn't notice, and smiled before placing his hand over hers, cradling their son's head.

"We'll name him Ben," Leia found herself saying in agreement, imagining an almost ghostly auburn-haired man standing over her with a child, similar but not the same, as the name Leia echoed in her mind. Her other hand closed over her son's, his entire palm encircling one of her fingers in full. She felt him there, and still she felt separate, as if she were both the mother and the child being presented. Obi-Wan… Ben. The ghost of the auburn-haired man smiled at her, his lips curled in simultaneous mirth and melancholy beneath his mustache. Luke… and Leia.

"We'll name him Ben," she said again, whispering, retreating from the vision as her lips touched her son's forehead.

Ben, Luke's voice then said, resonating in her memory. The image of a wise old man imposed itself upon her mother's last memory of a young Kenobi, a man whose eyes had not met Leia's for another twenty years until that fateful moment on the Death Star when he surrendered his sword and let the Dark Lord strike him down. Luke screamed. Leia had seen the old man in his final moments, but caught herself wondering, Is that really him? General Kenobi? The Rebellion's last hope, come a moment too late... Old Ben and the young General Kenobi were one in her mind now, and suddenly the name and the sentiment the image carried made sense. Hope.

Bail's stories played in her mind in that flash of a moment as old Ben Kenobi disappeared into nothingness and he was gone, dissolving into the air before Vader's eyes and all those who watched on. And yet here he was again, at her side, watching over her and Han, as they brought their son into the galaxy. Just as she once was, so long ago…

"Ben Organa Solo."

Leia's hands cupped Ben's young chin, his face streaked with tears. The nightmares were growing worse, and his mood swings ever still. Leia was not sure how to help him, but she felt Padmé then, too. Leia also felt whatever remained of Anakin's anger welling beneath her palm, emanating from her son's warm skin.

Ben looked up at her with woeful eyes, dark and scared. And Leia did not know what to do.

Even though her son was there beside her, he already felt so far away. Whatever unknown force tugged at him and tore him apart, she knew nothing of, but she believed him when he said it was there.

In her son she felt that same darkness she sensed when in Vader's presence, torn between the promise of power and a memory; the power he drew from holding the galaxy by its throat and the memory of Padmé and the life they might have had. What her son felt, Leia was not sure, but the darkness felt the same.

Leia's hands trembled. She felt the weight of doubt in her every tremor and knew that it meant something, that something was wrong. In that same moment, she also felt ghostly hands grasping at the tepid air beside her for purchase as Padmé's voice pleaded, "You're going down a path I can't follow," as tears threatened to push past her eyelids before Anakin consumed by anger, changed and so unlike himself.

Ben looked up her his mother, hollow but hungry, uncertain of the things he felt, and scared to know why he felt them.

A pair of familiar brown eyes looked up at her, wide discs as dark and fathomless as the space between stars.

"You have your mother's eyes," she thought, in Bail's voice, but feeling his words in full, hoping that they would stick, hoping that some part of her would stay with Ben, wherever he went, wherever he needed to go.

Leia relived a series of her mother's memories within the span of a moment. When they came to pass, Leia felt Padmé's hands retreat from Anakin's shoulders as her bones shuddered beneath his power, unbelieving, before all thought of her faded. And yet as Leia's own hands stroked her son's still-soft face, she felt the same strain of fear that possessed Padmé, and it took hold of her. She felt that same impulse to pull away. But Leia's hand remained steady, her thumb caressing Ben's chin as it trembled. She would stay, for as long as she could.

Ben Solo carried many unseen heirlooms with him. He bore the name of the man who once protected the good of the galaxy. He was once the great General Kenobi, but he was also old Ben, the man who showed Luke Skywalker his first glimpse of the universe. He was the man responsible for bringing his parents together, for allowing their paths to cross on the off-chance that Han's trash-heap of a ship could bring them to Alderaan, a planet already decimated before they would leave port but whose sole royal survivor would still need saving, despite her complaining, for old Ben was her only hope. Leia's son was an Organa as well, of course, by right if not by birth. And Ben was a Solo, equipped with quick wit and a knack for breaking things he pretended to know how to fix. But Ben Solo was also a Skywalker. Ben would carry with him his uncle's fervor for learning and an unending eagerness to prove his worth. And despite Leia's best efforts, Ben had inherited Anakin's unfettered passion and Vader's untempered anger, threatening to swallow him whole. She could only hope that some of Padmé stuck with him too, with hopes of one day tempering that passion and drawing him back towards the light.

But Ben also had his mother's eyes, and maybe enough of her would stay with him while they were apart.