Title: Sorrow Yet To Come

Archive: Yeah, just ask. ;)

Rating: G

Feedback: I am not ashamed to beg.

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Sorrow Yet To Come

It was strange, this odd mixture of bliss and sorrow.

I'm holding my children – my children. I had given birth to them mere hours ago, and by all rights I should have been sleeping, healing from the agonizing pain that is childbirth. I was lying down in my bed in the MedCenter, in my room. It was a very comfortable room, sterile but with more of homey feel than many such rooms. The ceiling was a light pink, the walls white, and medical equipment – for safety's sake – against the wall.

My neck aching and tired, I look down at my twins. Jacen is already asleep, his face scrunched up tightly, still red and wrinkly. Jaina had finally calmed down – she was going to be a fighter, I could tell. She certainly kicked like one. Her fine, downy brown hair moved slightly under the force of my breath, and I smiled. They were the most beautiful things I had ever seen, and looking at them made me want to weep for joy.

Han, of course, was with me. He sat in a chair, his head pillowed on his arms on the side of my bed, asleep. All I could see of him was his scruffy hair. My rough smuggler; my husband. He had been worried, throughout the childbirth, for both our children and me. It went well, though, or so I'm told. I was in too much agony to do more than worry for my children. He had wept, as had I, when we saw our children for the first time. I had known them in my womb, had felt them in the Force. He had only known their kicks through my skin, through medical equipment.

The lights were dim, as I had ordered. They had hurt my Jaina's eyes, at first – I remember frantically calling out something to that effect, and the nurse telling me it was all right, it was normal, and that her eyes would adjust. And indeed they had, but the lights were still dimmer than was normal. Besides, I was supposed to be resting.

I couldn't tear my thoughts away from my children. I kept thinking of what the future could hold for them. Grand Admiral Thrawn was a threat – to the Republic, to my children, to Han. I didn't even know where my brother, Luke, was.

I wondered, again, what kind of galaxy my children would grow into. Would it be peaceful? Safe? Or wrought with war, and dangerous? I sincerely hoped for the former. It worried me, bringing new lives into existence during such an uncertain time. But I could not regret having them. I wondered, briefly, if my mother had felt that way – for Luke and I had certainly been born into a time of turmoil, if anyone had.

The most frightening thing is that I can't protect my children – they are outside of me, complete and unique beings on their own. I no longer carry them within my body, knowing they are safe when I am. I have no way of knowing, except through the Force, if they are safe when out of my sight.

I would kill anyone who hurt my children.

It is a mother's instinct, to be so fiercely protective of her young, and I am no different. For now, I can keep try and keep them safe, and do my duty not as a mother, but as Leia Organa Solo. I hope that in the completion of my duty – a steady government, the destruction of the Empire – my children will be safe along with the rest of galaxy, even when out of touch, out of sight.

But what of the future? My hours-old children will grow up, and seek independence in the way that all young do. They will make their own decisions. They will decide their own futures, their own paths in life, as I have chosen mine. They will choose whether to fight and die for what they believe. They can choose whether to keep to the Light, or whether to succumb to the Dark.

I will not always be able to make choices for my children, and it is that thought which gives me grief. What if they choose wrong? What if they make a decision, and fate takes them from me?

What if. What if. What if.

I know that later I will think again of the New Republic, give it my time and energy so that more beings than myself will know freedom.

But for now, all I care about is that my children live.

I sighed softly, breathing in the air and watching my children do the same, small and soft breaths. I stretched out with the Force – quite likely more clumsy than my ever patient teacher, my brother. But I can sense the bright, strong presences of my children, and surely that is enough. I can hear their needs, the quietness of their thoughts in sleep. I can feel them reach out for me constantly, seeking the warm, comforting presence of their mother.

Finally, the gentle sedative I was given, after the exhausting birth, overtakes me. My thoughts slow and drift. As I gently fall into sleep, my husband by my side and my children in my arms – a family – I know I can only stay in the moment, in the bliss of my children. And forget the sadness for what has not yet passed, and that will no doubt come.

Fin.