I once longed so badly for freedom.
As a senator's daughter and future leader of Alderaan, my childhood was filled with extensive education on the most boring of subjects: history, law, politics, sociology, etiquette, and other such forms of torture. My inborn desire for flying my way to adventure was immediately suppressed by the powers-that-be in my life; it wasn't at all suitable for the Princess to waste her life in the airborne military with the young rough-and-tumble hotheads that comprised the Rebellion. Instead, the nature I had inherited from persons unknown, other than those who had adopted me at birth, was stomped out to make room for proper grammar and perfect posture, and a necessity to have my life planned out by those around me. So contrary to my biological tendencies.
It was no surprise when my parents sat me down at the tender age of ten and told me that I was not their natural child. I had always been told that I look nothing like either of them, to say nothing of that which my behavioral tendencies betrayed. However, they had always lavished me with love and patience--far more than I had deserved, to be sure. I always took this for granted, of course, as children tend to do, and continued with my wild rampages to join my lower-class friends in random adventures--usually involving a "borrowed" speeder or two. I resented my position so much, yearning for the day when the bonds of status would break, leaving me free to do as I wished. My dearest dream was to join the Rebellion when I was old enough, and wasted many a boring politics class plotting my many yet-uncarried-out attempts to escape the unfortunate duty bequeathed to me on the unhappy day that I was presented as the Senator's daughter.
Needless to say, maturity was swift to come.
Only a few weeks after my fourteenth birthday, the unofficial war on the Empire was declared by the Rebel Alliance. I was thrust into a position of intense leadership underneath my father, and I had no choice but to grow up. I accepted the burdens of my station with little more than a dignified grimace, and completed my formal education with record speed. The hardest part was yet to come.
There are two kinds of people in the military: the leaders and the fighters. I wonder if anyone realizes what agony it is when one is by nature a fighter and by circumstance a leader. I wanted more than anything to have a go, just one go, at those Empire dogs, but instead was forced to grit my teeth and delegated that sweet taste of battle to young men with no desire for anything but to prove themselves men to a world that may soon cease to exist. I spent six long years as my father's second-in-command, doing my duty without so much as a complaint.
Until we received some valuable data that had to be transferred.
Though my father advised against it, I would trust no other. I was going to be the one to get the electronic blueprints for the formidable Death Star to our hidden base on the fourth moon of Yavin. The information was too important to just send off; this was our most precious chance to eliminate the opposing government. So early one morning I hugged my father and mother goodbye, took one last look back home, and boarded the small military spaceship that was to bear me and our data to the base.
After that, things went downhill. Though the data was able to slip through the fingers of Vader himself, my capture could have proved cataclysmic for the Rebellion. I knew this, but I can't deny that there was a part of me that was mildly enjoying the gravity of my situation. While I was truly, literally imprisoned for the first time in my life, the distinct element of danger and (more-or-less) adventure produced somewhat of a rush, despite daily torture and antagonization.
However, my world was shattered. Literally.
How ironic that I was the one whose life everyone feared for; I was the one in the dire situation. Yet I was safe--I, the only one.
I was forced to watch as everything I held dear was eliminated from existence. I was forced to watch as everything I knew and loved--my home, my planet, my friends, my family--my family! was obliterated, now nothing more than infinitesimally small particles forever floating in the vast expanse of space. However, I could not grieve. I had no time. I had to hold it together, for Darth Vader himself held me under his terrifying scrutiny. I was strong. I was stubborn. And my time for freedom had come.
Then when Solo and Skywalker appeared on the scene in their haphazard fashion, the rush of improvising our escape (me with little more weapon than my fiery self) did little to quell that.
Now I sit here, about to present the strategy of our last-stitch effort to eradicate the Empire's mind-blowing newly-completed battle station, and I can't help but contemplate the irony of the situation. After waiting all this time for freedom, this is my chance; I know I can do anything now.
The only thought running through my head is how dearly I long to be trapped safely in the suffocating arms of my family.
I want my prison back.