A/N: This is a translation from Russian, so if you see any mistakes, typos or weirdness, please, tell me. The original text is super huge (and super amazing), so for now I'll be updating every two weeks, but it may change depending on my future workload. Also, I wanted to touch on the subject of self-inserts. This fic is not a classical self-insert, but more like an OMC-insert. This genre is very, very popular in Russia, what with having the opportunity to throw some random person into your favorite universe and watch the chaos unfold, and I'm honestly a little baffled that english-speaking fandom is so intent on the "self" part of self-insert.
Huge thanks to darketo31, who wrote this behemoth of a fic, allowing me the opportunity to translate it.
Hope you all enjoy it!
PROLOGUE
Mustafar
The rage was driving him mad, clouding his sigh with a crimson veil, shading all things visible in ocher and purple tones, manifesting as a yellow poisonous glow in the iris. Making his hands twitch toward the source of the fury, and the Force - to seize his prey with a trapping loop, wounding tight around the neck of his victim like a noose.
She tried to resist, wheezing something, coughing and crying, but the Darkness was whispering in his ears, and he couldn't hear anything apart from the sibilating hiss of the greatest facet of the Force.
Two stars, shining in a soft cocoon and almost ready to be born, pulsed, struggling for their very existence.
" You!" yelled the young man, squeezing the throat of a heavily pregnant woman, which was struggling not to fall from the unsteady feet. "How could you! Liar!"
The cocoon crackled, squeezing the pulsing stars with its elastic walls tighter and tighter under the relentless onslaught of surging darkness.
It hurts! Hurts-hurts-hurts!
Scary! Scary-scary-scary!
Two unbegotten children of the Force were screaming, obeying the ancient instinct.
Survive!
Survive at any cost!
Escape, run, hide!
Anything to survive!
The bigger pulsar, shining unbearably bright, took the brunt of the attack, painfully shuddering under the pressure. He pushed back as best as he could, but the forces were not comparable. Darkness surrounded him, throttling him with its jaws, choking out his glow. He fought it for a few long moments, but in the end succumbed to the pressure and his glow began to dim. In a last desperate attempt to survive the star threw forward a few chaotically moving prominences, blindly groping in the dark, searching for anything that could help.
The smaller star pulsed with white light, trying to escape from the impending horror and pain of a broken connection with its twin. The pressure was growing more and more, the star was crying in horror... In the end the pressure vanished just in time, but the aversion of the Dark had already been firmly imprinted directly into the underlying structure of the forming consciousness.
She timidly, desperately extended a raylet of pure light towards her practically extinguished brother. The dimmed pulsar flashed for the last time, slowly fading away, but still dragging closer another small, but strangely dense multicolored spark. A sudden flare of the Force dislodged the hold the almost extinguished star had on a strange spark, and it started fading again even faster than before. The newcomer hesitated briefly, then gently touched the dying star with a ray - and was instantly sucked into its larger counterpart.
The delivery was difficult. It was hard for Padmé to keep herself conscious, her mind slowly but steadily giving in under the onslaught of raging hormones, driving her to extremity, killing all coherent thoughts. Anakin was dead. Dead. Obi-Wan had been averting his eyes, when telling her this news, taking her up in his arms and awkwardly dragging her in the ship right after. And Padmé… Her thoughts were rushing, whirling in a mad dance, contradicting themselves.
Anakin died?
Died.
Dead.
They landed somewhere and she was picked up again and brought to the ward. The contractions at this point were already going one after another, but she hardly noticed them. Padmé was slipping into madness.
Because Anakin was dead.
Dead.
In her mind she knew she must fight and that her children needed her safe and sound... But her unmoving body was unresponsive and rapidly losing sensitivity. Dangerous apathy was enveloping her with a thick feather duvet, drowning out the sounds of the outside world and crushing the panicked cries of self-preservation instinct. She felt like she was caught in a web, trying and failing to escape from the quicksand.
Anakin was dead.
Dead.
The same thought was spinning and spinning through her head, utterly destroying her will to survive.
Anakin was dead.
Dead.
She tried to fight the addictive call of apathy, because her children... Her children needed her! But then that same thought resurfaced and instantly ruined any progress.
Anakin was dead.
Dead.
Amidala hugged her children with weak fumbling hands.
Twins.
A boy and a girl. Her and her husband's progeny.
Her thoughts rushed about and her mind shook off the cobwebs of lethargy, gathering all the strength left in a single impulse and activating all resources. A logical chain of events, definite and indisputable, started to form, baring the ugly truth of the past and highlighting the terrible prospects for the future. Future, which was closed for her.
She wanted to wail from realizing the mistakes they made, wanted to take refuge in hysterics, that would surely bring the relief to her tormented by hormones body, but couldn't. She had very little time left. There was no future for her, based on how weird Obi-Wan behaved when informing her of Anakin's death.
Oh, he didn't lie, but he didn't tell the whole truth either. Something was very wrong. She sensed it with all of her being - with a mind, sharpened by long years of cut-throat politics, and with a heart, torn apart and bleeding after everything that had already happened.
She didn't see the threat in time and did not act on her vague suspicions, but, in her defense, all of Amidala's thoughts were centered on her children - it was the only thing that could excuse her.
But there was no time for self-depreciation.
She needed to name her children.
She was a pureblood Naboo, which was a very Old family with rich and bloody history. They were one of the founders of the realm; they built it up from the ground, protected and defended it against all enemies century after century. Her children will be the same. She just needed to properly discern their destiny.
Amidala saw the oddly pleased glance the Jedi casted on her as yet unnamed son, laced with deep regret and strange determination. He didn't pay any attention to her daughter, but it was understandable. A strange something radiated from the boy, the same thing she felt from her husband on Mustafar, when he stood before her consumed by thoughtless rage. Her daughter whimpered, but her son looked at her calmly with blue, cloudy eyes.
She needed to give him a strong name that will help him to stand up against future enemies, because there will be many, of that Amidala had no doubt. A strange calm descended upon her. In the end the choice was easy – it felt like her baby could only have that name and no other.
"Luke." Her voice shook with poorly hidden gloating.
The world trembled, as a new thread was woven into the fabric of the universe.
"Leia."
Obi-Wan had disappeared somewhere, and Padmé quickly began to speak. She spoke to her son, hastening to convey everything necessary. She was absolutely sure that even if he did not understand anything right now, a time will come when her child will remember everything.
Soft whispers flowed from her lips until finally her body grew too weak and she collapsed, losing consciousness for the last time.
Medical droids performed resuscitation under the watchful gray eyes, but it was futile. The medicine was powerless when the patient didn't want to live. Having recorded the time of death, droids carefully carried out both children and placed them in special cradle-capsules.
The man standing behind the glass sadly shook his head.
"Goodbye, Padmé. And forgive me. I know you wouldn't have approved, but we have no choice. This is the only option. Sith must be stopped. At any cost."
Approaching the door, he paused again.
"I'm sorry."
He did not look back.
Somewhere far away a dark silhouette, sitting next to a medical capsule with a charred stump of what had not so long ago been a person inside, smiled in satisfaction.
"Goodbye, stupid queen. You played your role brilliantly."
"What do you think, Master?"
"Young Skywalker on Tatooine should we send. The renegade dislikes his homeland, dislikes, and will not return to it. Send a child to his distant relatives we should. They will look after him. Look after him closely you also should. The dangers are always there."
"And the girl?"
"Someone who will take her I have in mind. Bail Organa. In love with her mother he once was, he will bring the child up with love as his own daughter."
"Is that not dangerous?"
"A vision I had. Only in this case they will be able to fulfill their mission."
"Very well, Master."
A small green-skinned creature braced himself against a gnarled walking stick and closed his heavy eyelids. Everything happened according to the will of the Force. A twi'lek and zabrak standing nearby silently watched the ships take off and go in completely opposite directions.
It is said that the soul settles into its future body at conception. I don't know. Could anyone really confirm this? Maybe someone can, but I've never met anybody like this. As for myself - I don't remember. There are only strange, vague memories that emerge in the morning when the dream and reality meet in a shaky unity.
I was flying somewhere through the darkness, filled with cold stars. Millions of them were being born and died before my very eyes. There were warm stars, cold stars, small and big, stars of all colors of rainbow, even black ones!
Suddenly I almost bumped into something strange: a double star, surrounded by a dark cocoon that was gradually closing around the twins tighter and tighter. Their light hadn't been able to pierce the dense wall of darkness. The bigger, brighter star was obviously tired of the fruitless struggle and after a few long moments finally started fading away under the onslaught, still covering the smaller star, wailing in terror.
In the last, desperate effort an almost extinguished star ejected rays of light in all directions, trying to find something, anything to help. But there was nothing. Another attempt - and I was being dragged forward to that almost dead star.
It was a very strange feeling.
The merger.
How to describe it?
My "ego" was merging with a chaotic mixture of instincts and an embryonic mind, as if we were two puzzles that someone scrambled together without any thought or reason. I don't know how else to explain it.
There are no such concepts in human languages.
The feeling was strange, as if my body had suddenly grown some extra arms and legs and acquired some new weird senses, and now the mind was trying to establish contact with all these unexpected appendages.
It was very strange, unusual and even painful.
Seeing sounds, feeling the taste by touch, hearing the tangible... I changed like a kaleidoscope that someone was twirling in their hands - it shows one picture at first, but if you shake the toy, it will show you another. The base material is the same, but the picture is already different.
And then... And then.
Then came the Darkness.
It was everywhere, viciously strangling me, drowning me, driving me into the state of helpless, hopeless panic. I darted around, trying to escape, but it was useless. I almost lost the will to fight, but then an unexpected thought flashed inside my mind: "If you can't beat them - join them."
It was very, very frightening.
But there was no other way out.
I tried to touch the darkness surrounding me... and it worked.
I sank to the bottom of the ocean, into the cold and dark waters of the Mariana Trench, where no light could reach me. The horrific pressure tried to crush my mind, making me twist in agony, scream in fear and rage, but here no one could hear my cries.
The pressure grew and grew, forcing me to compress myself into the smallest shape possible. It was like I was getting denser, trying to absorb at least some of the energy surrounding me, to assimilate it. Any other alternative meant death, final and irrevocable.
I trashed inside that trap, losing more strength with every moment, until finally something broke.
And I swallowed a first drop of the dark energy, surrounding me.
It was sweet poison, burning out its way inside me, bringing unbearable ecstasy and terrible anguish at the same time. First drop was closely followed by the second... the third... each time it was getting easier and easier.
The horrific pressure of the ocean was gradually replaced by weightlessness of the outer space with billions of twinkling stars all around.
I made a convulsive breath of air- and promptly lost consciousness, managing only to pick up the gradual fading of the cocoon of light around me.
Our carrier was slowly dying, not wanting to live anymore, and the connection between us was also dying.
However, there was another thread that connected me to someone else.
To someone of the same blood as me.
Obi-Wan looked thoughtfully at a peacefully snuffling baby sleeping quietly in the cradle for newborns.
Luke Skywalker.
The child of the Fallen.
The youngling amazed him with his crude, unformed, but nevertheless clearly perceptible strength. Thin searching rays were emanating from the sleeping baby in every direction, fumbling around, clearly trying to find the child's lost parents.
There was no need to worry about the tie to his mother, because her body died not long ago and Padmé clearly did not become a Force Ghost, but a possible link with his father was another matter entirely.
The baby whimpered, restlessly fussing in the warmth of the cradle, which immediately began to rock in response to displeasure of its small inhabitant. The Force stirred up, trying to find the link to the kindred blood of its little wielder, lost due to the increasing distance between them.
Obi-Wan shook his head, concentrating and immersing himself in meditation. A barrier appeared around the cradle, cutting off all of the child's feeble attempts to reach outward.
The baby unhappy opened his bleary eyes and screamed, showing off his vocal abilities in all their glory. He was crying, having abruptly lost the remaining bond with his parent.
Obi-Wan shook his head and stood still, fortifying the barrier.
"There is no emotion: there is peace."
Precise lines of the ancient Code resounded in a small cabin, drowning out the cries of disgruntled Luke.
There is no emotion...
The baby was crying - bitterly and desperately.
No emotion...
Obi-Wan stood up, soothing the baby with the wave of the Force. The child's crying gradually subsided and finally the silence fell inside the cabin.
No emotion.
Why was he suddenly feeling so sick then?
Why?
Bail Organa gently rocked the baby lying in his arms. The tiny girl was asleep, occasionally frowning and unhappy jerking her little hands around.
"Leia... my precious little girl."
"Bail."
Careful to not wake the baby up, Breha walked up to her husband, closely examining the child. Bail held the girl in his arms, cradling her like his own daughter. With a sharp glance the Queen assessed his tight grip, grim determination, reflected on his features, and an overwhelming, uncomplicated happiness, practically radiating from his eyes.
"Do you even understand what you've done? If someone finds out..."
"Nobody will find out. Doctors will confirm your pregnancy and no one would have been able to see anything anyway under your garments. Furthermore, we are on a holiday, there is no court. This is the ideal time."
"Bail," the woman closed her eyes with a tired sigh. "It's all very well, but what are you going to do if her ...special abilities emerge one day? Don't you remember who her father was, Bail?!"
The man's eyes scintillated anger, his face darkened.
"I'm going to hope that this won't happen. But if it will... I still have some connections, even now. There is always a way out, we just need to find it."
"So you say." Breha sadly shook her head, feeling a pang in her heart. Her husband still loved that bullheaded arrogant girl. Even now, or rather, especially now. It was also clear, that he will not give the baby up to anyone. However, even this situation had some bright spots.
It was always risky - setting a Force user on a throne, but risks could be reduced. They just needed to bring the girl up properly. Of course, they won't be able to present her at the Emperor's court for the next few years, but, apparently, there were ways to hide sensitivity to the Force. They needed to make inquiries. Then there was the fact that they couldn't have children of their own - genetic incompatibility – but the realm still needed an heir so as not to return to the strife and chaos that was tearing the country apart before their wedding.
Having made her decision, the woman looked down at the sleeping girl appraisingly. She was of good lineage from the mother's side, because Padmé, while bullheaded and arrogant, was also a queen. So there'd be no damage to the Royal House.
And now she had to deal with the practical side of things.
"Call captain Timerra and doctor Lemar here."
Retreat was impossible, the only way to go was forward.
"Obi-Wan, are you out of your mind?" Owen Lars unhappily crossed his arms, darkly glaring at the Jedi standing at the door. The aforementioned Jedi looked shabby and haggard. Previously always polished man somehow abruptly aged - not physically, but mentally.
He looked almost shattered.
What the hell happened?
"Owen," quietly began Kenobi, placing the cradle on the floor. "I have nowhere else to go. I can disappear anywhere by myself, but the baby..."
"An orphanage."
"Are you mad, Owen?! He is a force-sensitive! They will find him the next day!" barked Kenobi. His momentary liveliness immediately faded. The Jedi dejectedly rubbed his eyes with his fingers. "He will at least have a chance here."
Owen stared grimly at the cradle with the sleeping baby. With the son of his half-brother. Lars shuddered, remembering Anakin. He would not soon forget the man who brought his dead mother back. He would also not soon forget what they found in the camp of Tuskens, after it was visited by an angry Skywalker.
Lars had little contact with his cousin, but once was enough to make an impression on him. And if the child would grow up to be like his father...
"Owen." Beru's soft voice woke him up from the haze of past memories. "Owen..."
"Okay," he conceded, throwing a threatening glance at the Jedi standing in front of him. "Kenobi, I will say this only once. We will take the boy in, but don't expect me to let you hang around. Force forbids if you start preaching to him you usual drivel. Though I'm not a force user, I still can make your life very, very unpleasant. Are we clear?"
"But Luke is gifted in the Force!" Kenobi looked honestly confused. "He needs to be..."
"He does not need anything from you!" barked the infuriated man. "You already had your shot at raising someone and look how it turned out! Enough! I won't let you destroy one more life!"
Kenobi went pale. His ears rang with a wild scream of his padawan, burning alive - "I hate you!"
Awakening was painful. Like always. A heavily crippled man lying in a special box opened his bleary eyes and gave a glance around the room.
Everything around was dazzlingly white.
Sterile.
Dead.
Just like him.
Another person's Force gently enveloped him with a thick blanket, helping to breathe, to think...
To exist.
"Welcome back, Lord Vader."
The man just slowly blinked, unable to push words through the scorched throat. Everything ached. But bodily pain could be endured; the feeling of loss, on the other hand, was much, much worse.
There was a gaping void deep in his heart, where once there was a connection with his love, his life.
"Padme?" A quiet question slid through the Force from one interlocutor to another. A wave of sympathy came in response.
"I'm sorry, my apprentice, but she's dead. You... killed her."
Charred lids closed, a single tear rolled down his cheek.
Killed her. Himself. With his own hands. With his Force. His... will.
Killed.
The Force began spinning around the broken man like a whirlpool, moving faster and faster, shaking all the items standing on the table, making the walls creak and groan. A wave of wild despair poured from Vader, choking up the space with his unwillingness to live.
He killed her. Her and...
Various devices started to loudly beep in alarm. His heart stopped beating.
In the next moment a sharp, precisely aimed jolt of the Force started up Vader's heart again.
"Oh no, my apprentice. You will not get rid of me that easily! Don't you dare die, or I'll make you regret it!"
The old Sith concentrated, taking direct control of the body of his apprentice, that was trying to escape into oblivion. The latter tried to fight, but what could he really do against the power of a Dark Lord in his prime? Nothing, that's what.
Vader's heart was beating again, dispersing oxygenated blood throughout the body, adrenal glands releasing a burst of adrenaline once, twice, mercilessly driving the order - "Live!" into the unwilling body.
The Force smoothed out his burned lungs, jump-started the regeneration process, stimulated the muscles and glands. The patient was left with no chances to die.
After finally stabilizing the condition of his ungrateful disciple, Palpatine leaned back in his chair in satisfaction, not taking his bright yellow eyes from the body laid before him. Gradually the yellow in his iris dimmed, taking on a bluish tinge.
The old Sith was worried that he had missed something. Vader's reaction to the death of his wife was too immediate, too sharp. Too painful. Why? Was there something he didn't know?
Palpatine frowned, deciding to go over his memories one more time.
It had been a long time since he last saw the now dead Queen in person. At that time she was healthy, strong, and stubborn, like a herd of banthas. Palpatine didn't notice anything strange about her then.
Conclusion?
If something did happened, it happened after, when she was out of his sight.
Automatically supporting his willful apprentice's body with the Force, Palpatine relaxed in his chair, dropping into a short meditation. Dry entries from surveillance reports, wiretapping, rumors and facts were lining up before his eyes.
Padmé gets unusual busy. Padmé doesn't go out anywhere without bodyguards and a horde of maids. Padmé privately visits a gated medical center that admits only high-profile clients. Padmé is depressed and very nervous, but skillfully hiding it. Padmé meets her husband, the conversation was not recorded.
Skywalker was very excited. Extremely.
What did she say to him?
Medical center... Did she have some kind of health problem?
Judging from everything - no. Anakin did not look depressed or morose. At the time Palpatine noted only a certain carefully concealed happiness, as if his apprentice could not believe in something. Skywalker was in shock and shaken, a strange disbelief and joy even, some great happiness were tearing him apart by the seams. His already almost reverent attitude towards Padmé had undergone a change.
He surrounded her with even greater care, looking after her as much as possible during their infrequent meetings.
What news did he receive?
What made him so unsettled?
Palpatine concentrated, feeling that the mystery was close to unraveling.
Padmé gradually reduces the amount of time she appears in public, she gets on a diet specially designed for her (which was strange, because she didn't look out of shape as far as the Sith remembered), she gradually changes her day regimen... And Skywalker is happy and nervous.
What can affect a man like this? What can unsettle him so? Provided that it was not something negative?
Well, well...
Medical center, health problems, untroubled happiness, diet and day regime, Vader's horror upon realizing the death of his wife...
She was pregnant.
A child.
His apprentice expected a child.
Palpatine gritted his teeth, reining the Force, rumbling and seething in a black hurricane, back in.
A child!
Vader's child !
His eyes shone with a bright malevolent yellow glow, and a crimson ring, surrounding the iris, has pervaded the whites in red bloody smears.
Stupid brainless boy! Why didn't he say anything?! What was he afraid of?!
The child of the Chosen One! The Sith would have doted on that child, he would have...
Palpatine's fists clenched, the chair he was sitting on slowly began to disintegrate into particles.
When he came to the rescue someone has already taken Padmé away. A couple of hours later he felt her death thanks to the beacon he placed on her some time ago, reporting, whether the silly woman was still alive or dropped dead somewhere.
The Sith banged his fist against the armrest in fury, noting at the edge of awareness how it immediately crumbled into dust. Rising from the collapsing chair, Palpatine paced the room, trying to rein in his raging emotions.
Pregnant!
She was pregnant!
The Emperor turned sharply to his apprentice, imitating a dead fish and, coming closer, cautiously entered his mind, gently and subtly sorting through his memories. Vader, in shock from the consequences to his actions, made it easy, unable to hide his thoughts back under the shields before falling into unconsciousness.
Vivid pictures whirled and flashed before his mind's eye, clearly showing that he was not omnipresent after all and made a huge miscalculation, the results of which were still in the air.
"...Ani! I am pregnant..."
"...Can I listen to it?..."
"...I will give birth soon ..."
"...Carefully brushing the precious newly-formed life with the Force and feeling it respond!"
The unborn child responded to his father's power! Actually responded!
The Sith wanted to howl from realizing the magnitude of that loss. Taking off from the sterile room Palpatine rushed into the training hall and finally let himself go, unleashing all of his pent-up fury.
The walls trembled, the droids, standing on the perimeter, shook, falling on the floor and breaking apart. Dark, malicious Force filled the hall, seething like a mountain stream, violently tearing apart everything it touched. The Sith screamed with rage, clenching his fists, going mad from the inability to change anything.
His mistake. His oversight!
He was the Master.
How could he not notice?!
Droid parts spun in the air, caught up in a whirlwind of the Force. The Sith abruptly brought his hands together, breathing in and out and finally calming down. The Force, rampaging around the room on a spree of chaotic destruction a moment ago, calmed with him, once again turning into a serene ocean.
Nobody ever noticed the monsters inhabiting the deep dark waters of this ocean.
Palpatine rubbed his face with his palms focusing other problems. Recent revelations only provoked more questions. Why did not he feel the child? It was clearly gifted in the Force. Too young? Because of the distance and the fact that the strength of the baby was still mostly asleep? Or maybe only kin could feel that connection? After all, blood ties were very strong and it was almost impossible to break them.
The Emperor walked along the corridor with a pulled down hood, followed by a detachment of Red Guards.
What a loss...
For centuries force users regardless of their affiliation had been facing the problem of finding students. At a first glance the solution seems to be easy. Get married and raise a child, who would follow you from the very first moments of their life. So simple! And so impossible!
No one could guarantee that a child will inherit the gifts of their parent or parents. No one! Children couldn't inherit what makes a force user sensitive to the Force. Why? There was no answer. The Force could wake up in a grandson of a force user or in a great-grandson or never at all! There was only one race, for which it was not a problem - the ancient Sith. Only they could start a family with almost guaranteed results, even if ungifted children were still being born sometimes. Why?
For centuries the best minds struggled with this problem, but nobody ever came close to unraveling the mystery. That was why even now the Sith and the Jedi both needed to search the galaxy, screening through it with a fine sieve, looking for those who possessed even a grain of sensitivity. And considering the fact that it was extremely rare…
The comprehension of the magnitude of loss made the Sith gnash his teeth and walk away from his good for nothing fool of an apprentice, who cut short the life of someone who could have been a worthy Force user, out of sheer stupidity, trivial jealousy and inability to keep his temper in line.
Palpatine locked himself in the office and slumped, staring into space.
Such opportunity - wasted!
A true miracle! And miracles, unfortunately, do not happen twice in a row.
How could his apprentice even for a second believe that he could harm a child, sensitive to the Force? The Sith would have brought him up as his own, patiently honing down the incredible jewel of his gift, raised and cherished him, finally passing all of his knowledge to the child... He was no longer young, after all. Yes, right now he was still at the top of his game, but...
Vader.
Sidious made a fist, mentally mapping out a plan of action. He himself was to blame for not keeping up with his apprentice. Well, now he would know to handle the idiot boy without the gloves, nipping unsavory thoughts and inclinations in the bud and uprooting any sign of weakness without mercy. Skywalker had always been unhinged and needed thorough watch and care.
This time the Sith would not be caught off guard.
The baby lying in the cradle was screaming with displeasure, waving his little arms around. He felt that something was wrong, but didn't know what. His eyes, which were clearing up more and more into the familial blue color with each passing day, watched the woman trying to calm him down with an angry glare, not paying her attempts any attention whatsoever.
She did not feel like kin, her blood did not respond to his desperate call, which was instead hitting the invisible barrier, cutting off the child from the rest of the galaxy.
The woman cradling him in her arms was kind, gentle and warm; she fed him, rocked and nursed him. She was a good mother.
But Beru had one drawback, that crossed out any and all of her virtues for the baby.
She was not kin.
Bail was holding his daughter, examining everything around her with brown eyes in bewilderment, in his raised hands, showing her to the World and the Court.
"Princess Leia Organa!"
Tired from all this excitement, Leia soon fell asleep, clinging to the broad chest of the man holding her. Viceroy carefully hugged his little treasure closer, silently thanking the Force for giving him this chance. Padmé... how he dreamed to lead her to the altar one day! Had the unapproachable woman gave him a chance, a hint that she won't reject his advances... But instead she chose this... Jedi!
And what did he do? Died like a dog, and drove his wife to the grave as well!
Leia started fussing, reacting to the emotions of her adoptive father, and the man cradled her gently in his arms, calming down. Leia. His little treasure. He missed the chance to win her mother, but it'd be enough for him to call that child his own. He will raise her as befitting of her station, surrounded by love and adoration. She will need nothing.
His daughter.
And if someone tried to hurt her... Well. Let them try.
Kenobi thoughtfully examined his new place of residence. In terms of comfort the cave fell short of even the filthiest doss houses that the Jedi had the dubious pleasure of staying at during the course of his life. But it was okay. He did not need much, and after some careful work with his hands and the Force it wouldn't be such a bad place to settle down.
It was warm, dry and not far from Lars's. Just what the doctor ordered.
He mustn't let Luke out of sight. A gifted child was a treasure over which the war could easily brake out, especially if someone founded out about his parentage. In spite of the fact that the Order was considered completely destroyed, its scattered remains were still alive and kicking. Many survived the original purging and not all of them rallied around Yoda. Not all of them indeed.
The death of hundreds of Jedi stirred up a lot of ugly things in the survivors, raising the deep hidden fears and doubts to the surface, agitating their minds and souls, like a storm at sea, dragging out everything secret and not accepted by the Order to the surface. Kenobi knew that some had already fallen to the Dark side.
If they found out... Who would refuse such leverage as the son of Darth Vader? After all, unlike ordinary people, the force users knew perfectly well who was responsible for the tragedy in the Temple.
Sidious... Palpatine.
Vader... Skywalker.
That's why he'll stay on this bedraggled planet, shielding Luke from various searching parties.
He was their hope.
But only theirs.