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The Queen of Alderaan is supposed to be sleeping, preparing for her busy day. With the announcement that the war was over, she had been putting all of her efforts to aiding refugees that were misplaced. She knew that Bail too would be doing the same, though she can sense from lightyears away that her husband is anxious and worried. She knows, even from his limited call since it was announced, that he does not believe in such a conspiracy. The Senator of Alderaan is a friend to the Jedi. He would know much better than her what to believe.
His anxieties feed her own, twisting her thoughts. They no longer know which way is up and which is down. But as long as they are together, she is certain that they will do what is right for their people.
Her dark hair is free from the customary Alderaanian braids, brushed out by her handmaiden before she had retired for the evening. It hangs thick waves down her back, a natural curl from the buns that had been atop her head just an hour ago. It’s the vision Bail sees when she answers their private com channel moments later, her face worried (yet still the most comforting site amidst these tragedies).
“I had assumed you would be deep in work this morning, Senator.” It would be mid-morning on Coruscant. Now more than ever she thought her husband would be living at the building, speaking with his allies and trying to find his next move. His secret alliance could do little if they had not been in contact.
“Breha…..” The way his voice catches at her name, the way he looks so heartbroken makes her pause, sitting up in their bed.
“What troubles you, my love?”
Bail has never been without words since she had known him. It was one of the many things that she had adored. He knew just what to say to help assuage her worries or to make her laugh. His whole career was based on his ability to speak.
“It’s Padmè.”
The Senator from Naboo had been a most welcome accident. She was always cordial to Bail’s allies, but made few friends among politicians (Mon Mothma and Padmè being the exceptions). Her doctors had never recommended long distance space travel (with her lungs and heart they worried space travel would weaken her), but she would make her way to the capital when necessary.
After her last miscarriage and the threat it had put to her life, she had hardly left Alderaan (not once after the war started). Padmè had made the effort to come to her when she was able. She was here to visit not just Bail, but Breha as well. She had made a great friend from someone who understood what it meant to be royal.
“Are her and the baby well?”
Bail hesitates then, and the Queen can almost immediately tell that he is gearing to give her tragic news. She pulls a pillow close to her chest and reminds herself to breathe as her husband begins to speak, speaking of her friend’s death during childbirth.
On Alderaan, the health of the mind is of as much importance as the health of the body. Grief and management are taught during health classes. People understand that the outside world affects us in strange ways. She had never been more grateful of that until now, when the tears in her eyes are falling and there is no one to judge her.
“Oh Bail…. I am so sorry.”
She knows that he is keeping something from her by the way his eyes flicker next to him. He could not lie to his wife.
“I will be coming home shortly after her funeral. There is much to discuss.”
“Shall I send for my handmaidens? I could be there tomorrow. You should not have to bury her alone.”
Bail shakes his head, looking away from her once more. “Well, I will await your arrival then. Please… Um….” She’s already planning to have his office prepared, mourning clothes to be pulled out, and a memorial service to be prepared. Ever the royal, her face is a mask. The tears fall no more.
Breha thinks Padmè would understand more than anyone. That makes her heart hurt even more for her friend. “I love you.” Please come home soon is what she longs to say every time they speak, but now she feels the ache in her chest more so than ever before. It’s threatening to rip her apart.
“I love you too, my dove.” He can see it, that perfect mask she wears on her face, now the ruler of Alderaan once more. No longer does she have the teasing smirk of his wife or the sudden grief of someone who has lost a friend.
“I will send condolences to the Naberrie family immediately. Please Bail…. Send her my love.”
With that, the Queen stands, taking her robe off the nearby peg it hung on. “You need to sleep.” He wants to explain more, tell her that soon sleep may not be an option for them. He wants to tell her of Leia’s eyes that watch him so intently. He wants to explain that he intends to raise Padmè’s daughter as she would, but he can do none of that now.
Tomorrow he will call her and explain the adoption. He will make it so that it seems completely unrelated to those that may be listening. It would be of no shock. The Queen and Viceroy have long since hoped and prayed for a child. The war had left many children orphans.
“We will speak later on then?” his voice is hopeful and she hears it, which makes her turn to look at him directly again, tying her robe.
“Of course.”
“Goodnight.” he says, reaching a hand out as if he could touch her. It makes her breath catch in her throat and she wants to cry so badly.
“Goodnight.”
No time for tears.