Chapter Text
“Separate them?”
“Another suggestion, you have?” Yoda’s ears perked up as he turned his gaze to the Senator, a small measure of curiosity in his jade eyes. Bail looked over at Obi-Wan, who seemed more interested in his hands than in the conversation.
“When you asked me to be here, I thought it would be to discuss the twin’s future together, ” his eyes slid carefully to Obi-Wan, even though he wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I didn’t know the decision would already be made.”
And without so much as his consultation. Or consideration.
“Our first priority, their safety is,” Yoda said, as if that were all the explanation needed. “No other choice, we have.”
Bail shook his head, aghast. “They’re twins. Siblings. You cannot just rip them apart like this.”
He looked back at Obi-Wan, searching for a spark, but he found nothing but that damned empty, vacant stare that has not left him since Mustafar. He still wouldn’t meet his gaze, his expression dark and shadowed.
“Powerful they will be,” Yoda began, tapping his cane on the floor twice as he speaks for the both of them. “Children of the Chosen one they are.”
“I understand that to a Jedi, separating them from their biological family may be of no consequence,” Bail began, “but we are talking about Padmé‘s babies; her children. You cannot possibly mean to raise them apart with no knowledge of the other. That is not what she would have wanted.”
“No,” Obi-Wan objected as he spoke for the first time since they had convened to discuss the twin's future. “It isn’t but it’s our only choice. Anakin had the highest Force potential of any Jedi in recorded history. It stands to reason that the twins will also have a very high potential on their own, but put them together and they will be a beacon in the Force.”
“The Galaxy is a very large place,” he protested weakly, looking between the two Jedi. “Would it really be that much of a risk to keep them together?”
Risk was always a factor in everything. Bail had learned that as early as his parents had let him sit in on Council meetings and partake in Statecraft. He had learned even more how much risk was a factor in everything when he had been elected to the Senate. But he wasn’t entirely convinced that that risk constituted separating the twins. He hadn’t spent countless years of his career trying to keep Refugee families together for him to do something like this without first giving it the consideration it warranted.
He would do that for Padmé just as much as he would anyone else.
“Palpatine is a Sith Lord,” Obi-Wan reminded him. “He doesn’t just have political power at his fingertips, Senator. He was able to hide himself in plain sight for years, long enough to play us like fools. We underestimated him. Worst yet, we trusted him.”
And oh, would Bail love to rectify that last statement. It was true that once upon a time, Bail had respected the Chancellor. The more he got to know the man, the more that respect had faded into something else. But that’s not what they are there for.
“You really think that he would be able to sense them?” Sometimes Bail wondered if people underestimated the sheer vastness that was their Galaxy. Even with major hyperlanes and hyperdrives, it was still too big to comprehend or even fathom sometimes. Which is why he was having a hard time picturing it. A hundred-quadrillion sentient lives in the Galaxy and over 3.2 billion hospitable planets and somehow — somehow he would be able to sense two little babies. Two.
“I don’t know,” was Obi-Wan’s honest response followed by a sarcastic, half-serious; “but do you want to find out?”
There was a long silence.
“If the Emperor senses them, he will come for them,” Obi-Wan continued as his face twisted with pain. “We can’t be sure what he would do. If he would see them as potential apprentices, or threats to be eliminated.”
Bail rubbed his temple. As far as potential candidates for Sith apprenticeship, two newborn infants don’t ping particularly high on his list. “They’re babies. Hardly anyone’s first choice.”
Bail was resolute not to think about the latter half of Obi-Wan’s statement. The thought alone was enough to make him want to vomit.
“Infants they are now, but not forever,” Yoda reminded him. “Ensure he never comes after them, we must.”
“How?”
“Made to still look pregnant, we will make her.”
There was something to the little green Master’s words, an idea already forming in his mind of how they could go about doing that. It wouldn’t be difficult, not with his resources and his influence, but this… This had potential. It could work, if they played their cards right, maybe this was the best way to keep the twins safe.
(Even if his stomach rolled at the thought of defiling her body like that)
“I can speak to the medical examiner and see if something can be done,” Bail replied, thoughtfully. “If we were to do this, the Naboo could never know. Her family can never know.”
It was just too dangerous. Naboo was Palpatine's homeworld, where he had eyes and ears everywhere. It would be foolish and unbelievably reckless of them to even suggest that her child lived and Bail didn’t know the Naberries enough to know what their reaction would be to finding out, if they would understand enough to stay silent or demand them back. They were wild cards in a game they could not afford to lose.
“Raised in anonymity, they will be,” Yoda hummed. “Until we can train them.”
That caught Bail’s attention for all the wrong reasons. “Train them?” he asked, glancing back at Obi-Wan. “Are you certain that is a wise idea?”
“Our only chance at defeating the Sith, they are,” Yoda replied, as if were the most obvious thing in the world, as if they weren’t talking about babies but pawns instead. Bail could understand how it might be easy to look at things through a certain (narrow) lens, but even he understood that killing Palpatine would not be enough to fix a Galaxy ruined through politics.
“It’s not that I don’t think they should be trained,” Bail objected. “I have no problem with that, but if you're only going to train them just to kill Palpatine then I do have a problem with it."
It wasn't fair to expect that of anyone, let alone a baby.
“What I think Master Yoda is trying to say,” Obi-Wan cut in, shooting the Senator an uneasy look, “is that Palpatine has proven himself to be a far more powerful Sith than we ever thought possible. We mistakenly believed Anakin to be the Chosen One — a being who was prophesied to bring balance to the Force. But we were wrong.”
His words were eerie, sad beyond measure — and there was that haunted look again, as the flaws in their thoughts were wrenched into the light.
Bail raised a brow at that. “And you think that his children will be able to accomplish what he couldn’t?”
It wasn’t a question so much as an open blade of criticism. This was too great an expectation to place on anyone’s shoulders, let alone two little babies who had already lost so much.
(It wasn’t fair, and Bail had no problem pointing it out)
Yoda bowed his head, unable to meet his gaze. Obi-Wan was quiet from his spot, an enigma wrapped in the skin of a Jedi.
“No,” Obi-Wan whispered, clenching both of his fists on the table as he closed his eyes. “No, you’re right. We made this mistake once before.” His voice was cracking. It was hard at that moment to think of this man as the Jedi General who had commanded Clones and battlefield alike. He was too broken, too splintered to be what he was supposed to be. “I won’t make it again. Not with Anakin’s children. I won’t.”
“Always in motion, the future is,” Yoda shook his head. His words sounded almost as small as he was at that moment as he leaned heavily on his cane. “Clouded, the future is. Yet to be revealed, their path is.”
Bail thought it was negligent to believe that Force potential alone would be enough to save the Galaxy from this mess, but he knew arguing about it further would get him nowhere. Right now all he could do was focus on the twins; not hypotheticals.
“My wife and I will take the girl,” he said, his voice cutting through the tension. “We have been talking of adopting a baby girl for some time now. She will be loved with us.”
He struggled not to think of his own babe, buried and gone for years now, or of the way his wife had screamed and screamed until her voice was raw and then some. That wasn’t even counting the ones who had been lost before they could ever be born.
His wife was a childless mother and while Leia could never replace what had been taken from them, Bail knew how much Breha would love her — and how much he does already.
“And the boy?” Yoda grunted, snapping Bail out of his reverie.
“I will take the boy to Tatooine,” Obi-Wan said. “Anakin has family there. Owen and Beru Lars. They may be willing to raise him.”
“What about you?” Bail asked as he leaned forward.
Obi-Wan was silent for a moment before he said, “I will stay and watch over him from afar. Tatooine is a wretched place to live, full of slavers and criminals alike. I cannot in good conscience leave Anakin’s son there without protection.”
Bail heard the unspoken words from the Jedi’s lips: this is my penance, they said over and over again.
“Shrouded in darkness, this Galaxy has become, “Yoda said. “Search for the light, we must — ponder our mistakes and ways to remedy them, we have no other choice but to.”
He seemed to be addressing Obi-Wan, but Bail knew that no amount of consolation in the entire Galaxy could make the man who had just killed his own brother, the boy he raised, feel anything less than sorrow. Grief had become his robe, and he wore it well.
Obi-Wan stood, his demeanor closing off. “I don’t mean any disrespect, Master, but no amount of meditation is going to fix what’s been done. The Order is gone. Palpatine is Emperor and Anakin…” his voice caught on the name before he inhaled deeply. “Anakin is dead. By my own hand. There is no remedying this.”
A long silence stretched.
“I’m done,” he said with cold finality. “I will watch over the boy. Protect him. But I will not fight anymore.”
Bail watched him take his leave, hands folded in his lap as he felt Yoda’s gaze on him.
“Lost the will to fight, he has.”
“He’s lost more than that.”
He shook his head then, realizing the extent of the damage done. He wanted to chase after him, grab him by the shoulders and make him see reason, but Bail knew it would do him no good against the insanity that was grief.
Yoda’s eyes were green, jade, and lined with sorrow that said I know.
He wished it wasn’t so.
Later, he could hear the sound of Obi-Wan’s muffled sobs.
Choking, “Anakin.” Anger and grief fighting for control. “Why did you do it, Anakin? Why?”
His sobs ricocheted off the walls as Bail winced. His words were swallowed by grief, barely even audible between the gasps and hiccups.
He stood at the door, unsure whether or not to comfort him or give him privacy. Grief was a demanding mistress, and seldom did she ever show mercy. An unpleasant image filled his mind at that thought, and Bail couldn’t get the image of burnt flesh and a blackened corpse left to the fires of Mustafar. He thought of mercy – and the lack thereof – as he listened to the Jedi curse his former Padawan.
Bail wonders whether he should feel guilty that he was glad he wasn’t Obi-Wan or not.
(He didn't)
He looked around at the medical examiner’s office, sterile and cold just like the rest of the station. The man seated across from him was young, not much older than Skywalker had been, his eyes narrowed in confusion as he regarded the Politician with a skeptical gaze.
“You want me to do what?”
Bail sighed. “I need you to make it look like she died still pregnant.”
He’d already explained it once, and his patience was beginning to wane.
The man’s eyes narrowed even further. “And I assume that also means you want me to forage her medical report as well.”
Bail shook his head, “No, that won’t be necessary.”
The look the examiner gave him was suspicious. A sweep over Bail’s robes, the intricate design on expensive fabric, the symbol of House Organ displayed proudly on the lapels. “This isn’t some sort of political scandal you want my help in covering up, is it?”
Bail huffed his indignation, knowing it wasn’t the first time someone had mistakenly assumed that he and Padme had been involved.
(And not just professionally)
“I am willing to pay,” he said. “Handsomely.”
Although the offer of money seemed to sway the young man, the suspicion remained.
“How much?”
“However much for you to do it and keep quiet about it.”
The man considered that for a few moments, biting the inside of his lips thoughtfully as he leaned back in his seat, his hands grasping the armrests of his chair. “Hardly ethical for a Politician such as yourself.”
Like Bail cared about that. “I am desperate,” he said, discreetly pulling his credit exchanger. “Not for myself but for the children.”
“Because of the father?” he asked.
Close enough. “Yes,” he confirmed. “Their lives depend on this.”
At least the examiner seemed to believe him. “There is a procedure I can do. It’s not legal, or medically ethical by any means, but I can do it.”
Bail breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said with all the sincerity in him. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” the examiner replied. “It’s going to cost you. A lot.”
“Of course,” Bail nodded. “How long will it take? I need to see her returned safely to her family as soon as possible.”
Time was of the essence and they’d lost so much of it already.
The examiner waved his hand in the air, dismissively. “Not long, a couple of hours at most.” He glanced up, taking a moment to add, “It’s uh— it is an invasive procedure, though. I know there are a lot of cultures around the Galaxy that forbid such practices post-mortem, so I want to make sure you understand what it is that you’re asking me to do, Senator.”
Bail nodded despite the way his stomach curdled at the thought of defiling a body, and decided not to think on it. “Do it.”
Bail prayed it would be enough.
Three hours later he was sitting in the Tantive’s conference room, utterly exhausted.
The medical examiner had been true to his word, and the operation to make her body appear pregnant had been completed, her belly as swollen with child as it had been before she’d given birth.
He had finally gotten both of the twins down to sleep. Leia it seemed, was the fussiest out of the both of them while her brother was content to sleep the day away, his sweet little hands curled under his chin as he slumbered, oblivious and unaware of the raging Galaxy around him.
(Bail’s heart still ached at the thought of not being able to take him — how much Breha would love that sleeping little boy)
That thought alone was enough to bring a smile to his face, their innocence a beacon of light in what had become the darkest of days, reminding Bail that in death there was life.
A quick rap at the door had his attention, his gaze meeting that of his chief aid as she lingered in the doorway.
Sheltay looked at him in that calm, understanding way that she always had about her as she made her way into the room, stopping wordlessly in front of him as she held out a steaming cup of freshly brewed tea to him.
“Thank you,” Bail said, accepting it. It was Alderaani tea, the smell of sweet honey and Jojoba lemongrass calming his senses as he took a small sip.
“You look exhausted,” she commented, gathering her white skirts as she sat down on the chair next to him. “Captain Antilles says we’ll be ready to depart soon after we’ve done refueling. Are you sure you don’t want to get some rest before we depart for Naboo?”
He shook his head, “No, I— I don’t think I could sleep even if I wanted to. There’s so much to do.”
“I could contact the Queen’s office for you,” she offered. “I know you’ve had a lot on your plate, and I don’t mind.”
“I haven’t even contacted her office on Coruscant yet. I’m not sure what to say to them, or…” he trailed off as he set his cup down, twisting it around as he tried to figure out the logistics of it. He needed to warn them before they sent word ahead to Naboo, partly because he knew they were worried out of their mind for the Senator and also because he understood how these things usually went down. In the end, it was just politics, but someone had to take the fall.
(His gut twisted at the thought, knowing that the first people the Naboo would look at it when they learned of Padmé's death would be those who swore to protect her)
The Naboo wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t understand when a large piece of the puzzle had been deliberately taken out. They would want answers, and Bail would never fault them for that, but the situation was as delicate as it was precarious.
“Stick to the basics,” she said. “Don’t tell them any more than they need to know.”
Which might’ve been easy if Bail knew for a fact that he wouldn’t have to face her family and lie to their face about how their daughter died (or the fact that her child— their grandchildren— had survived). Bail didn’t know if he could do that, and see the pain in their eyes and not hate himself.
He had thought he was glad to not be Obi-Wan, but at that moment he wished he was just so that he didn’t have to face Padmé's family.
“Perhaps that is easier said than done.”
“Like I said, I would be willing—”
“Better it come from me than anyone else,” Bail cut in sharply. Bail sometimes envied Sheltay's ability to turn off her emotions, but she wasn’t the Senator of Alderaan, nor had she been Padmé's friend. “This is my job. My responsibility.”
Sheltay bowed her head in deference. “Let me at least send a message to Alderaan. The Queen should be aware of the situation.”
Breha. Force, Bail hadn’t even considered his wife, the knowledge that she was safe on Alderaan enough to allow him to focus on other things. It wasn’t that this was uncommon with their careers, it was a given that they would go long periods without contact, but this was different. Today was different. Yesterday had been a Republic, today it was an Empire. And Bail had never felt more uncertain in his life.
(Millions of lightyears away, Breha felt the same, worried, worried, worri—)
“Tell her I'm safe, and I'll be home soon,” he said, not wanting to give an estimate for when he would return.
“Should I tell her about…?”
Bail pondered that for a moment, carefully weighing his options as he took another slow sip. “Do you think she’ll be mad if I show up with Leia unannounced?” he asked.
Sheltay gave him a warm smile. “I think she’ll be delighted.”
He looked back into his cup of tea, trying to imagine what she would say when she saw Leia, that little bundle of joy that was now theirs. Breha had always wanted to be a mother, the opportunity stolen from her too many times to count. “I hope so.”
Sheltay had just opened her mouth to speak when the sound of someone clearing their throat at the door captured their attention, the both of them looking up. “Sorry,” Obi-Wan murmured, skittishly. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all,” Bail said, beckoning him in. “Please, join us.”
He walked up, sliding the chair out before lowing himself down into it, his actions slow and hesitant as Bail took another sip of his tea, feeling himself relax as he did so. “Sheltay here was just telling me that we’ll be done refueling soon.”
“Ah,” Kenobi nodded, folding his hands over the table before glancing at the aid. He looked so awkward and out of place that it pained Bail. “All the better we put this wretched place in our hyperspace contrails.”
“I could not agree more,” Bail said, setting his cup down on the table with a click. “The journey to Naboo will require several jumps, but we should be there no later than a standard Coruscanti rotation.”
Obi-Wan nodded as silence permeated the room.
“If there is nothing else, Senator,” Sheltay began, “then by your word, I will take my leave.”
“Of course,” he offered her a genial smile. “Thank you, Sheltay.”
She bowed her head in deference before wordlessly taking her leave of them, her skirts swishing and swaying behind her as she disappeared behind the corridor.
“Your aide?” Kenobi asked, turning his gaze on him.
Nodding his head, Bail realized that he had forgotten to introduce them, a simple formality that he felt embarrassed for having forgotten. “Yes, Sheltay Retrac. My Chief aide.”
Obi-Wan nodded and stroked his beard. Bail wasn’t sure if that was a nervous habit of the Jedi or just a habit. He took another sip of his tea, something to do in the awkward silence that had descended once again upon the room.
“I assume since we’ll be leaving soon that it’s done?” Obi-Wan asked.
“Done and done.”
“You don’t look pleased.”
It was an astute observation as Bail took a moment to think on it.
“I don’t like lying,” he admitted. “Especially to a bereaved family, which is what I’ll be doing.”
It wasn’t that Bail was opposed to lying when the situation warranted it. He wasn’t. But the thought of lying to her family was enough to make him feel his borders seep.
“As you so poignantly put it, we don’t have another choice,” the Jedi said, not without sympathy. “But you seem up for the task.”
“We have to be meticulous if this is going to work,” Bail sighed. “Padmé was a high-profile official within the Republic. There will be inquiries into her death.”
It was just the way of things in their line of work. Their lives were not private, and so neither would their deaths.
“I don’t think I need to tell you how impeccable your work is,” Obi-Wan said. “You understand better the world of politics better than I, Senator. I trust your judgment.”
“I didn’t think the Jedi Council was apolitical,” Bail commented, idly.
Obi-Wan stiffened at that. “That’s a topic of conversation I fear I don’t have the strength for. Not now.”
Bail knew he had hit a sore spot with that one as he nodded, dropping the topic as he redirected, “what do you know of Naboo's funeral rites?”
Obi-Wan looked surprised at that, but then he realized that Bail wasn’t asking rhetorically. “It’s varied, as all things are. Nubian Religious doctrine decrees the dead should be cremated so their ashes could be spread in the lakes and rivers since they believe water is the source of all life,” his brows furrowed in thought. “Something about the soul's spiritual return to it. I was the one to arrange my Master’s funeral there, and the people were kind enough to share their beliefs with me.”
“Interesting,” Bail mused. “On Alderaan, we bury our dead. Cremation isn’t common, many people frown on the destruction of the body, so we put them in the ground instead, which we consider to be sacred.”
The entire planet was considered sacred, which was why it was their duty to protect it. To keep it intact, so that future generations could be able to enjoy and love it as much as their ancestors had.
“We Jedi cremate our dead,” Obi-Wan whispered. “It’s symbolic of our return to the Force when our time here has ended. Master Yoda always says we are luminous beings, not this crude matter.”
Bail wished he could comfort the Jedi, but an ocean of grief separated them.
“Have you met her family?” Obi-Wan asked, breaking the silence.
“No. She always said she would introduce me to them the next time they came to Coruscant, but it just never worked out with our schedules. Her father, Ruwee, has done a lot of work for the RRM. I wanted to bring him on as a consultant to the Senate regarding Refugee Policy…” Bail trailed off, getting lost in his own thoughts. “She always spoke fondly of them, especially her sister.”
Obi-Wan swallowed, “Did they know about…?”
“I would think they would have noticed,” Bail said before adding; “she was discreet, but in our line of work it’s not hard to tell.”
Not when the gowns became larger, and there was a lot a single padd or file could hide if placed in front of a growing belly. There were ways a PR team could easily hide a pregnancy, but as things progressed it became harder and harder to hide.
(Her pregnancy had been something of an open secret)
“Did they know Anakin was the father?”
“I don’t know,” Bail admitted. “I doubt it, but you never know.”
Padmé it seemed had many secrets. Bail didn’t have any delusions that she would share them with him, but he had a hard time believing that she would keep something that momentous from her family. Not with how close they had been.
Obi-Wan nodded, ready to drop the topic of his former Padawan.
But, “do you know why Anakin did what he did?” dropped out of his mouth against his better judgment. He swallowed, “Why he would—?”
Hands twisting, chin quivering, Obi-Wan looked haunted. “I don't know why,” he murmured. “I’ve been racking my brain, trying to figure out what in Corellian stars he was thinking, but I — I can’t seem to figure out the why.”
And now he would never know. Maybe that was the worst thing about all of this, not that it happened but that there seemed to be no rhyme or reason, the why a question that was as dead and lost as Anakin was.
“It was like he just snapped,” Obi-Wan continued, his words barely above that of a whisper. “I can’t explain it, I can’t…” he put his head in his hands, his brows furrowed in pained thought. “He was fine the last time I saw him. I said goodbye to him, told him…”
He shook his head, as if trying to will it away.
Bail frowned, “Were there ever any signs? Any clues that he was about to—?”
“In hindsight, yes,” he continued after a few moments of silence, taking a few deep breaths. “I just didn’t want to see them.”
“He told me he grew up in slavery,” Bail said. “Mentioned it once in passing. I could see that it troubled him greatly.”
It had been enough to change Bail’s perspective on the young Jedi, his respect for him having grown tremendously. Alderaan was always taking in Refugees from the Outer Rim, many of whom were former slaves. He had seen the cost of it, the trauma, and the pain. The former slaves he had met had carried a weight on their shoulders that was understood by few, especially in the Core where the issue was so far removed from people’s minds and attention.
Obi-Wan nodded, “It did. It was never something he wanted to talk about, though. Especially with me.”
If Anakin had not been able to talk to his own Master about his experiences, then who had he been able to talk to?
(Bail had a sinking feeling he wouldn’t like the answer)
“He lost his mother a few years back,” Obi-Wan explained. “She was murdered.”
“I’m sure that was very hard,” Bail said, finding himself empathizing with the young Jedi. While his parents had never been murdered, their deaths had weighed heavily on him. It was a pain Bail still carried with him, even years later.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. “Most Jedi don’t ever know their parents. Anakin was different in that respect. Even though they were separated when he was still a child, he remembered her. Losing her had a profound effect on him.”
Another layer to Anakin Skywalker that Bail had no idea existed until. It didn’t change anything, nor did it justify what he’d done, but it was a piece to a puzzle that was slowly but surely beginning to take shape.
He wanted more.
Maybe it was because Bail liked figuring people out, their motivations, and what made them tick.
(Or maybe it was because this boy had been Leia’s birth father, the question of nature and nurture eating away at him)
“And after he came to Coruscant?”
Obi-Wan frowned and looked down, seemingly surprised by Bail’s direct line of questioning, “It was hard, especially the first few years. I don’t think he ever adjusted well to Coruscant, or the Jedi as much as we would have liked.”
A feeling Bail could understand. The Core was already hard enough to adjust to if you weren’t from there, but the Jedi was a different ballpark entirely — not one that Bail understood all that well either.
“Anakin took a shining to the Chancellor,” Obi-Wan muttered, explaining without direction as his hands gripped the table again. “Looking back, it’s easy to see how he did it. How he groomed him, how he manipulated him. But at the time, I was just happy he had a mentor outside of the Order, someone I thought I could trust.”
It was a wonder to Bail how the Jedi ever thought giving an adult unsupervised access to a child that young, but then he wondered if that was even a problem in the Order, or if that was just something they were ignorant of because of their lifestyle.
Then there was the unrelated but related issue of a so-called Prophecy that Anakin had somehow been a part of. Bail had no idea what that was about, but from the way Yoda and Kenobi had spoken of it, it seemed important.
Had the Jedi been part of the reason for Anakin’s fall? It was a question Bail hadn’t considered until now, but now that it was in his head, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“You mentioned a Prophecy,” Bail began.
“The Prophecy of the Chosen One.”
Bail blinked, “what… what is that, exactly? Something about a being prophesied to bring balance?”
Obi-Wan nodded, albeit cautiously, “Balance to the Force.”
“And you thought Anakin was this individual.” It wasn’t a question but a statement as he tried to keep himself from scowling. He’d always been unwavering in his support of the Jedi, but he couldn’t help but wonder if the crushing weight of expectation hadn’t played a role in Skywalker snapping.
(The puzzle was becoming clearer and clearer)
Shame and guilt, the realization of a wrong, and the inability to fix it. The Jedi frowned, then shook his head. “We thought so.”
He would remember that. To right the wrongs, to make sure she never fell into the same trap that he had, but Leia would never know the name Anakin Skywalker or be forced to live in the shadow of his sins.
Bail would make sure of it.
Bail knew it was late on Coruscant. Much later than anyone should have been awake, but it only took one single ping before the holo-projector was initiated, Mon’s face materializing before him.
“I should have contacted you sooner, I know. I’m sorry,” he said, wishing they were having this conversation in person. He could tell that she looked relieved to see him, like a great had been taken off her shoulders. Even though the holo-projector, he could see the exhaustion in her eyes.
“I’m just glad you’re safe," she said, face pinched. “Where are you? You’re not on Coruscant and every time I’ve tried to get in touch with you your office has told me that you’re away on personal business.”
“Is this line secure?”
Mon blinked, then nodded, “I wouldn’t have contacted you on it if it wasn’t. ”
“I am enroute to Naboo,” he admitted. “After what has happened, I left for the Outer Rim with Master Yoda where we rendezvoused with Master Kenobi.”
“They’re alive, then.”
Bail nodded. “Alive, but not unscarred, I’m afraid.”
“We’d heard about the situation at the Temple, and after the Chancellor’s special session of Congress… It seems as though they attempted a coup?” Brows knitted in confusion, still not understanding. “Do you have any idea what that's about?"
“Do you remember what I told you?” he queried. “About the Sith?”
“The ancient enemy of the Jedi,” she nodded. “Yes, I remember.”
Bail couldn’t avoid meeting her gaze, especially with what he was about to tell her, the full implications of everything that had happened seemed as absurd as it was true.
“Palpatine is a Sith Lord,” he answered to a narrowed gaze. “The very same one the Jedi have been looking for ever since the invasion of Naboo.”
For a moment, she didn’t move. “A sith,” she repeated.
“Master’s Yoda and Kenobi were able to fill in the gaps a little bit,” Bail said, sweeping over her shocked features. “It seems he was the leader of the Separatist movement.”
As twisted and diabolical as it was, it made perfect sense. Especially in hindsight, when all the pieces had fallen together to paint a horrifying image of a man so clever and so evil, and who was able to commandeer democracy and shape it to his own liking.
And become Emperor.
“He was playing both sides of the War?” Shock and disbelief were giving way to fury and anger.
“I know it sounds absurd,” Bail agreed. “Unbelievably absurd, but it’s true. The Jedi realized the truth and they tried to arrest him.”
“Did they try to arrest him or did they try to kill him?” she demanded, spitting the question out.
Language, Bail knew, mattered. Especially in situations like this.
“I believe it was their intention to have him arrested,” Bail conceded. “I don’t think we’ll ever truly know for sure what went down in that room, though.”
There was no holo-footage. Nothing to corroborate either side of the story except for Palpatine’s word, and if there was any holo-footage Bail was certain it had been destroyed.
(The Emperor's control over the Military guaranteed that no one would question him anyway)
“Idealogical differences is not a crime,” Mon remarked. “Neither is being a Sith if we’re being technical.”
A valid point, but, “treason is, though. Warmongering two sides of a conflict in order to increase Executive Power is as well.”
“But if they suspected the Chancellor of being the Sith leading the Separatists, why did they not present it to the Senate? The fact that they attempted a coup in the first place is pretty indicative that they didn’t have the evidence.”
He knew the Jedi had acted outside of their jurisdiction, but Bail knew enough about the situation to know they didn’t have much of a choice either. Another thing that Palpatine was good at, it seemed.
Backing people into corners and crying wolf when they inevitably lashed out.
The Jedi had acted outside of their jurisdiction, and as much as Bail hated to admit it, he supported it, as undemocratic and illegal as it was.
(Because sometimes doing good meant getting your hands a little dirty)
“It wouldn’t have done much good,” Bail countered. “Palpatine’s influence over the Senate is unparalleled. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
How insanely popular he was, not just with the Senate but with the general public as well. Bail had never seen a more charismatic, compelling politician like Palpatine in his entire career.
(And he’d met a lot)
It was impressive and beyond disconcerting.
But after General Grievous’s death on Utapau and his refusal still to relent his emergency powers, somebody had to confront him. It seemed the Jedi were the only ones brave enough to do so.
“I find myself agreeing with you,” she confessed. “I’m just afraid the Jedi got in way over their heads with this one.”
“Somebody had to confront him. After General Grievous's death and his refusal still to relent his emergency powers, somebody had to confront him.”
The Delegation had tried, and they had failed.
Peace had never been an option.
“And they failed,” she said, her voice deep and troubled. “ And now we are left to pick up the pieces.”
Bail looked up at those words, taking in the depths of their meaning, frowning. He didn’t like that tone, “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”
“The Senate is in chaos. The Emperor is having members of the Delegation arrested and detained for questioning. Anyone who played a prominent role in it, or who has spoken out publicly regarding his abuse of emergency powers was arrested last night.”
“How many?”
“Around sixty or so. Not everyone, but enough to send a message. One was killed for refusing to comply.”
Bail looked up at that word, frowning.
“Killed?” he raged, furious. The room around him was spinning. “Who… Who was it?”
“Senator Alavar .”
Bail felt his breath hitch at the name, his hand coming over his mouth. The floor beneath him didn’t feel sturdy enough like it was about to give out him.
“We were taken into custody around the same time after the Emperor’s declaration,” she explained. “They’re saying it was an accident; that she was non-compliant and resisting arrest… A contact on Lorrd informed me that her residence there was ransacked, and her family was nowhere to be found.”
An accident? They actually used that word?”
“They’re covering it up. To make it seem like her death wasn’t intentional,” she said before adding; “it seems the tyrant does not want to start his rule a tyrant.”
“Well of course not!” he exclaimed as he began to pace. “That’s why he hasn’t dissolved the Senate yet. He has no choice but to keep up the pretense that we are still a Republic, even through the stench of tyranny.”
(That democracy was still preserved, but one day the mask would fall. It wasn’t a question of if but when. And when that happened, no one would be safe. No one— )
“That stench you smell is not just coming from the Senate building, I’m afraid,” Mon muttered, glancing down. “They’re piling bodies on the steps of the Temple. To send a message.”
(That this is what happens to Jedi… To anyone who dared oppose the Empire)
Bail felt his chest twist at the unwelcome image, Obi-Wan’s words echoing in his head about Jedi funeral rites.
“What does he plan to do with them?”
She shook her head, “I haven’t the faintest clue, but I do know that people are starting to complain. About the smell. ”
He didn’t have to imagine it for long before he felt his stomach lurch and roil.
“The Emperor is a depraved man,” he rasped.
“He was gracious enough to offer us a pardon and let us keep our seats in the Senate if we agreed to cease and desist with our… Seditious activities or face severe consequences,” she fumed, shaking her head.
“Severe consequences meaning death and or imprisonment,” was Bail’s bitter response.
He had to stop. Stop and take a few deep breaths, gathering himself and reorienting himself as best he could as he remembered what Mon had told him about Senator Alavar’s family and how they were nowhere to be found. It was one thing to put yourself in danger— that was easy, but your family?
That was different, and not something Bail could’ve done.
(Had Senator Alavar known they would come after her family too, or had she just been that brave?)
“We must be careful moving forward,” she entreated. “They searched your residence on Coruscant this morning looking for you and any evidence you might have there. I don’t think they found anything, but I felt the need to warn you in case they do manage to catch up with you. They’re monitoring us, which is why I had to go through great lengths to ensure that this line was secure before I attempted to contact you, but I haven’t been able to reach Senator Amidala. I was hoping she was with you.”
“She is.” The words stuck to his tongue as he mentally prepared himself. “But I’m afraid I have some very bad news, Mon. Regarding Padmé.”
Mon fell silent for a moment, her eyes growing narrower and narrower as her back straightened. “ Go on.”
“She passed away earlier today.”
Another segment of silence followed, deafening enough that Bail swore he could hear the beating in his chest, the ringing in his ears, the sound of two crying infants—
“May I… May I ask how ?”
She hadn’t been as close with Padmé, and until he had introduced them recently as part of their work in the Delegation, they hadn’t even known each other. But they had respected each other greatly, and it was because of that respect that Mon’s expression was tight.
“She went to Mustafar,” he explained, trying to keep it simple. “I’m not entirely sure what happened, but after Master Yoda and I escaped Coruscant, we were contacted by Master Kenobi. He had apparently followed her there.”
“Mustafar was where the Separatist War Council was located,” she hesitated. “I’ve heard of the Senator’s reputation for getting into trouble, but I can’t imagine what she would be doing there of all places.”
“We think she was there to meet someone.”
Her eyes narrowed, “Do you know who?”
He shook his head, wondering if there would ever come a day that he would be able to share with her the truth with her and not these half-truths and fabricated lies.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, “Force, this is a mess. Have you informed the Senate? Naboo?”
Ashamed, he ducked his head, “I haven’t had the courage yet.”
He’d been putting it off, dreading having to explain it to her people and her family. The Naboo would want answers. That was a given.
And it would be his job to give it to them.
(To lie to them)
Bail paused before he could speak, staring at the buttons on the console as the blue waves passed him by, carrying them closer and closer to their destination. They would arrive on Naboo at the end of the day, but time was still escaping him.
“You need to tell them.”
Bail could only nod his response.
He knew what he had to do.
Apailana was barely into her first term as Queen and even younger than Padmé had been when she had ascended the throne. It was the first thing that Bail noticed, even under painted face and ornate regalia.
“Senator Organa,” she almost seemed surprised to be hearing from him, but it was quickly hidden behind that heavy, thick accent that all the monarchs of Naboo adopted. “My aide’s told me that you wished to speak with me. Urgently.”
This was not a conversation he wanted to be having through a screen, but it couldn’t be helped. “Your Majesty,” he greeted, taking a moment to bow his head out of respect for her station, “there is a matter I wish to discuss with you regarding Senator Amidala.”
He’d had her attention before, but now it was undivided. “Is she with you?”
There was something in her tone that hinted at desperation, and Bail found himself regretting having put this off for as long as he did.
Of course, they were looking for her, worried for her safety. Bail would be too if he were in their position.
“That is why I’m contacting you. I do have her with me, but I’m afraid…” he swallowed. “I’m afraid I have some very bad news.”
He was stalling, buying time where there was none.
Eyes narrowing, the Queen said, “Go on.”
He couldn’t put it off any longer, mentally preparing himself. “She’s dead,” he said, internally wincing at the bluntness of his tone.
There was a long stretch of silence.
The Queen blinked. “Dead,” she repeated, as if testing the word out. Bail watched a flurry of different emotions flash across her face, shock, confusion, and disbelief until, with a shuddering breath she met his gaze once more. “ Are— are you certain?”
He nodded his response before adding; “I am enroute to Naboo as we speak.”
She nodded, but it was an absent thing. “Of course, I— how did this happen? How did she—?”
“She went to Mustafar to meet someone. We’re not sure who, but when I found her I could tell that she had been attacked.” Not quite the truth, but it had so much of it woven in that Bail had no problem saying it as he watched her reaction carefully.
“Mustafar is the location of the Separatist Council,” she faltered. “You say she was there to meet someone?”
It was more than a little demanding, and Bail knew it would only get worse from here on out. “That’s what it looked like, but whoever it was had already left by the time I arrived.”
Which was an outright lie, and one he realized with a sinking feeling that the Queen was not buying as he watched her eyes narrow through the screen. “And how did you know she would be there? Did she tell you?”
There was suspicion in her tone. Bail would have to work extra hard to quell that.
“Shortly after the Emperor’s special session of Congress, I received an automated distress signal from Senator Amidala’s Droid’s alerting me to her location on Mustafar,” he explained, trying to make himself sound as credible as possible. “By the time I arrived, it was already too late. She was gone.”
“Droids?” she asked, sounding almost hopeful. “Did they see who it was?”
He shook his head, “I’m afraid they haven’t been able to be forthcoming.”
She looked doubtful, and Bail made a mental note to have Threepio’s memory wiped. He could probably get away with leaving Artoo's memories intact, but he knew the Protocol Droid well enough to know that keeping his mouth shut was not his strongest suit.
“That is unfortunate,” she replied. Bail could tell that she didn’t believe him, but there wasn’t anything she could do or say otherwise, and so long as there was no trail to follow… Well, Bail could deal with suspicion.
(After everything he’d been through these past two days, it was probably the easiest thing to deal with)
Finally, she leaned back in her seat. “When can we expect you?”
“We will be arriving in approximately eight hours.”
“Then we will begin our preparations, and I will inform her family,” she said before adding; “you have done us a great service here today, Senator Organa.”
He bowed his head once more in solemn deference. “There is no need to thank me, your Majesty. Someone had to see her safely home.”
Her gaze softened as she nodded, “Of course.” Bail thought he might’ve gotten over the hump, until, “We will await your arrival, and we look forward to hearing whatever information you would be willing to provide us in our investigation.”
A promise. “I would be happy to assist in any way I can.”
He was ready for it. After all, lying was a large part of being a politician.
But even then, Bail knew that keeping the Naboo from knowing the truth of what had actually happened to Padmé Amidala on Mustafar wasn’t going to be easy.
Of that, he was certain.
When the time came to say goodbye, Bail wondered still if they were making the right decision, Leia tucked into the crook of his arm while Obi-Wan held Luke.
“I guess this is it,” Bail muttered.
“And so it is,” Obi-Wan agreed, adjusting Luke in his arms as he began to mewl, his little face rooting around the fabric of the Jedi’s robes in search of milk. The Polis Massans had been kind enough to give them formula, but nothing, Bail knew, could replace the touch and nurture of a mother’s breast.
“Are you sure his family will want the boy?” Bail asked, knowing it was a moot question. He wasn’t ready to separate them, to force them apart when they had come into this Galaxy together, just the two of them. “What if—”
“Bail.” Obi-Wan’s tone was kind, but firm, using his first time instead of his official title. “He cannot stay with you.”
Bail swallowed back his feelings and nodded.
“I am certain they will take him,” Obi-Wan said, glancing down at the boy’s sweet face. “And if they do not, then I will raise him. As my own.”
“Watch over him,” Bail pleaded. “Promise me you will watch over him.”
(It wasn’t fair that Leia should get to go to Alderaan while her brother was sent off to the wretched, Hutt-controlled planet. It wasn’t fair —)
“With my life.”
Bail could understand the sentiment as he stared down at Leia, who had finally managed to doze off, her eyes closed to the world, not realizing what was happening around her.
“Do you think they’ll find each other again?” Bail asked, glancing back up at the Jedi and the baby boy in his arms. “That they’ll be reunited someday?”
Obi-Wan considered it for a moment. “Perhaps,” he hedged. “If the Force wills it.”
And for a moment, Bail could almost see it, two beings out of more than a hundred quadrillion sentients finding their way back to each other, the promise of a reunion strong in his mind.
Bail didn’t know how to explain it, he just knew.
(And he hoped— prayed with all that was in him— that he would be there to see it)
He swallowed as he reached into his pocket. “Here,” he said, holding the commlink he had prepared out to the Jedi. “Take this. If you ever need anything. Anything at all, do not hesitate.”
Obi-Wan stared at the comm, hesitant. “I’m not sure that’s a wise idea.”
“Just… Take it. Please,” he begged. “If anything, to put my mind at ease, and it would be good if we ever need to contact each other for any reason…” he trailed off, holding it up once more.
Obi-Wan accepted it before Bail was pulling him into an embrace, albeit an awkward one seeing as both their arms were full, his arms wrapping around the Jedi, who had stiffened at the touch before relaxing.
They hadn’t known each other well, but after today— after their shared loss and grief— Bail was proud to call him friend.
“There was nothing you could have done,” Bail breathed, feeling the need to say it once more. This might have been the last conversation they ever had with one another for all he knew, and Bail knew he needed absolution. The reassurance that it hadn’t been his fault.
(Just like when he thought of that boy at the Temple, his throat thick with panic and horror as he watched, never having felt as helpless in his life as he did at that moment)
“I wish that were true,” Obi-Wan murmured, trembling. “I wish that were true.”
They pulled apart, but they remained locked in their grief.
“Take care of her,” Kenobi whispered, and then he was gone.
It took Bail a few moments, staring at the spot that he and Luke had once occupied, the sound of a cane dragging against the floor a backdrop to the heartache as he heard the lock to the bay disengage as a single Jedi Starfighter took to the stars.
“A powerful emotion, guilt is,” Yoda said, coming to a stop beside him. “Eat away at us, it can, if we let it.”
“Where will you go, Master?” Bail asked, swallowing. “Do you know?”
In that moment, Bail was certain he had never seen someone look more tired, more worn out or exhausted or—
“To Dagobah, I will go,” he replied. “Into exile.”
Bail frowned at his choice of words, but made no comment on it. He wanted to. But he could understand where Master Yoda was coming from, even if he didn’t see it the same way. What had befallen the Jedi had not been a failure, but a wrong done to them.
A wrong for which he hoped there would be justice.
But Bail had no illusions that justice would be long fought and hard-won, and not just for the Jedi either, but for the Galaxy as well. They had to stop the Emperor. The suffering he would bring (had already brought) had to be stopped.
They didn’t have any other choice.
And if the Jedi could not fight, then Bail would.
(Until his dying breath, when the mask had finally fallen and a second moon hung in the skies of Alderaan)
If not for them, then for the little girl in his arms, who deserved to live in a Galaxy that was as peaceful as the one he had grown up in.
(Even if it hadn’t been perfect.)