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Epilogue, Part I

[2 years post-Identity;
1 year + 1/2 post-marriage]

Standing atop the ancient stone dais at the center of sacred Massassi Temple, she gazed out over the ancient sanctuary hall, admiring its quiet, strong beauty, burdened with sad, bittersweet memories, yet finding solace in the place as it was now – preserved, honored, a breathing, cherished testament to a lost planet.

The Alderaanian Haven was at last open, a hard-earned beacon of solace to a community that had existed in limbo for too long. The Diaspora converged on Yavin to see the memorials and resorts and homes and hearths that had been constructed for them on this oasis, the place from which Alderaan's devastating end had been avenged, where the Empire had turned the tide inadvertently and ensured the galaxy would answer their weapon with a refusal to cower and have oppression ministered to them as if it were the nectar of life.

The efforts of House Organa and the Alderaanian Council were tangible; beloved and awe-inspiring – the way they had preserved Alderaan's appreciation of nature in their efforts to build their safe harbor within Yavin, rather than on it – elements of the Alderaanian tradition of blending homes and communities into their natural surroundings tangled with traditions of other planets that had a wholesome respect for their wildlife and forestry.

The preparations leading up to the consecration of the Haven had been lengthy and meticulous – Rouge Organa's determined planning, Winter Retrac's logical organization, Bail Organa's sage attention, care, and guidance, and Leia Organa Solo's heart and mind – all went in to ensuring this place was a spectacular refuge, where now the scattered Diaspora gathered both to venerate and eulogize fallen Alderaan.

The opening ceremonies consisted of several weeks devoted to rites and sacraments traditional to Alderaan, many that had not been performed since the planet's destruction – whether it be because they required a monarch, and their monarch was in desperate fear for her life, hiding and fighting in the shadows of the Empire, or because they were too painful to carry on with, with the survivors so scattered, struggling to find a reason to go on –

This place was a reason, she hoped – this place would be like a lighthouse, a buoy in a storm, a quiet corner of the world, where the healing might really begin, and with therapy and support and a central location to gather again, perhaps, perhaps the suicide rates would go down, and Leia wouldn't have to watch her people suffer quite so much.

She knew the Haven was no replacement for what they had lost, but she had so much hope for the place –

She knew her family did, as well – and these consecration days were the most she had immersed herself in Alderaanian culture and traditions since her wedding day, and prior to that, she could not remember when she'd felt so connected, so intimately woven into the fabric of the society that raised her – and she needed it; she needed it so badly, more than she had realized, until this very moment.

She felt closer to her mother than she had in months – years even – and it eased the tight feeling in her chest, and the ache in her abdomen – Leia tilted her head up subtly, to feel the sun on her face as it streamed through carved runes in the stone awning – and she took a deep breath.

She remembered the last time she had stood on this dais, resplendent in white, the only colour she had ever worn back then – cool jewelry at her throat, hair braided neatly and coiled on her head – standing with the leaders of the Rebellion, and somehow still so alone, as she arranged her mouth into an elegant, royal smile, projecting emotion she did not feel, presiding over the medal ceremony for the Battle of Yavin.

She had barely known Han Solo then, barely wanted to; he had winked at her when she placed the medal around his neck, flirtatious and charming – and she had been a devastated teenaged princess who thought he must have been daring indeed, to think she'd care about a handsome face when she had just lost everything –

- and now that man was seated behind her, at her right hand, attired in robes native to her home planet – Leia knew he occasionally leaned over to mutter a question to Winter; she knew he was likely slouching, only a little, and Rouge was subtly giving him stern looks across the raised platform, but thinking of him there, knowing he was there – it gave Leia strength.

She had imagined these days of ritual would be things of joy, glorious even, devoid of the heartache and loneliness she had felt the last time she stood on this dais, and yet though she felt no loneliness this evening, she did feel heartache – it was this specific rite more than the others, this –

Her father said something quietly to her, so quietly his lips barely moved, and no guest was the wiser, and Leia turned her head back a little, turning towards him with grace and certainty, her eyes meeting his for a moment.

She looked back at her father, reaching out to take the baby from him, dipping her head in the smallest, earnest nod in answer to his silent question, and for a brief moment she glanced back at Han, and he gave her the smallest smile.

Leia nestled the baby securely in her arms, paying careful attention to make sure her head was supported and she was comfortable – and she turned to face the crowd, a smile pulling demurely at her lips –

She felt the same heaviness she had felt after the battle that had obliterated the last of her youth and innocence, though this time the weight was not on her shoulders, but in her arms – she felt such a hollow emptiness for a moment, amplified, somehow, by the baby she held against her chest.

She took a deep breath – the child's parents knelt before her, humble and delighted, their heads bowed respectfully and their arms crossed across their chests – next to her, the Viceroy presided over his part of a traditional christening ceremony, speaking reverently and clearly – speaking about duty, love, the special responsibility of parenthood –

Leia looked from the parents, to the baby in her arms – she stared up at Leia with calm, wide eyes, curious and bright with wonder – was it wonder, or was it confusion? Did she know it was not her mother who held her? – Leia relied on a technique her mother had taught her, a way to breathe in and out slowly, and calmingly, without the world seeing she was nervous, or scared, or –

Sad, Leia thought simply – sad.

She lifted her hand and placed it on the infant's stomach, worrying suddenly about her gown – it was petal pink and detailed with fine silver gems, and she hadn't thought that such a design might scratch the baby's skin – she shifted her, holding her head up higher on her arm – the little girl turned a little, giving a small, sharp cry.

Next to her, her father trailed off, an amused look on his face – the parents looked up – the father looked mortified, the mother merely looked concerned, and Leia gave her a soothing look, tilting her arms a little – she's alright, she's alright –

Leia was suddenly and sharply afraid that the baby would start crying, and she would not know what to do – she had seen ceremonies before, in which her mother had soothed a sobbing child during a christening; the ritual went on – and, as it happened now – quiet, fawning laughs went through the crowd at how oblivious babies were to royal ceremony.

It had been so long since Leia held a baby – she had performed a ceremony like this during the war, when she had come across a hiding Alderaanian couple, but that little boy had not been so young, so newly born, and she had been distracted, hurried – before that, the last baby she held – she could not remember.

And this, this baby – was not the baby she wanted to be holding.

Her arms were tense, and she tried to relax them – the baby looked at her without making a sound, and Leia felt a sharp pain in her chest – was this how she had looked at Bail Organa, when he held her for the first time, when he brought her home to his barren wife? Or had she closed her eyes and cried for her dead mother and all the suffering in her world?

Leia.

Her father said her name softly again, the sound hushed, whispered as his head was bowed – she looked at him, and he gave her a supportive nod; she saw no reproach on his face, no disappointment that he had to nudge her for her part yet again, and she swallowed hard – she had steeled herself as well as she could, she only hoped that her voice was steady when she spoke –

"What name have you given this child?"

Steady – she breathed a sigh of relief; she sounded like herself; she sounded okay, and perhaps that was because she could feel Han's eyes on her, and when he looked at her with determination like that, she felt like he was holding her up.

The mother held her hands out, palms up.

"Your Highness," she said carefully. "If it please you, and if we could be trusted to bear the honor, we have named her Breha."

Leia nodded – only when a family chose to give a name of the royal family to their child did they add the words about trust and honor. She was not quite surprised – within the Diaspora, those that had recovered, and had gone on to have children, had a penchant for giving the last queen's name to their daughters.

She turned to her father.

"Viceroy, are you pleased?" she asked quietly – another addition, only in the ceremony, again, when the parents wanted the blessing of a royal name.

He inclined his head.

"It pleases me."

Leia turned.

"It pleases me," she answered likewise.

Raising her hand to let it drift to the baby's forehead, she looked down to the child, murmuring a lullaby-like ancient hymn as she named the child, forming the letters of the name B-R-E-H-A over her in their peaceful sign language. She lifted her head, faced the onlookers, and took a deep breath.

She spoke clearly, and warmly, her voice almost musical, offering the requisite blessings – closing out the ceremony, effortlessly performing her duties, while thinking – Mama, how many times did you feel like this over the years?

Mama, Leia thought, sighed to herself – where did you find your bravery?

In the very last moments of the christening, Leia asked the parents to rise – she thanked them, she wished them well; her father did the same – and she handed the baby gingerly back to her mother, taking a moment to place her palm to the foreheads of each parent, and bless them as well.

She stepped back, and as she clasped her hands in front of her, she noticed, with some confusion, that she felt hollow again, without the tiny, warm weight of the baby.

She caught her breath, and the theatrics of the ceremony's end passed in a gentle blur; she held her own, and yet she felt drained – she prided herself on her comportment, knew she made her father proud, knew her mother would have loved her for it, but in the end, she wanted to run, she…wanted to cry.

The rites ended, and Leia heard the scrape of seats behind her as Winter and Rouge rose, no doubt to begin walking through the crowds with polite greetings – Leia was required to do so as well, though she recognized she needed a break, a little haven of her own for a moment.

"Leia," her father asked, turning to her. He reached up to cup her cheek, a kind, paternal gesture that meant the world to her. "You are so like your mother. I find you as heroic as I always thought she was."

Leia smiled at him, and drew her eyes away from his only when Han stepped up behind him, clapping Bail on the shoulder firmly, and then stepping forward to take Leia's hand. He gave her a knowing look, and Bail let her go, nodding in understanding – she had done her part, and he would let them have a moment.

Han led her out through a secluded exit behind the dais; he cut a path through the brush with his boots, and her gown slipped over it easily – she held his hand tightly as he walked, until he found a cluster of trees, and stopped, pulling her close underneath them, and resting his palms on her shoulders lightly.

He caught her eyes, his hands moving soothingly, thumbs brushing her collarbone.

"How hard was that for you, Sweetheart?" he asked softly.

Leia closed her eyes lightly, and shook her head, her lips parted. She nodded slowly.

"Hard," she admitted in a small voice. She looked up at him. "Very hard," she said.

Her voice cracked. Han nodded. He brushed his knuckles under her chin, and slid one of his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close. She breathed out quietly, her shoulders trembling.

"You?" she whispered.

He rested his chin on her head for a moment, and nodded wordlessly. He closed his eyes and shifted so he could press a kiss to her temple and then her brow, just above her eye. Hard for him because he so hated seeing her in pain, and startling, in how difficult it was to look at her holding that baby, because it was the first time the loss had felt tangible to him.

She tried to take a deep breath and it stuttered hoarsely, fighting her in her throat – if my make-up smears, if my eyes are red, they will all see something is wrong – but she couldn't help it; she pressed her face into Han's chest, and surrendered to a quiet sob.

His hand pressed into the nape of her neck gingerly.

It's all right, Leia.

She knew it was alright – and she was okay, she was, she just needed a little more crying, a little more healing – the Haven was the right place for her – she felt like her mother was with her, and her mother gave her strength –

Epilogue, Part I

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