WHAT WAS SHE LIKE?

A/N: This story has taken me many years to write. The actual process of writing it took me about two years. The idea, however, came to me many years before that, and sat dormant, scribbled on a post-it note that lived in my desk and somehow survived two moves. Now that the story is written, I don't think the idea is particularly strong or that the story is particularly good. However, it's finally written, and I suppose you can tell me what you think of it. Happy reading.

It was a while before she opened it. It had sat there amongst the other items of her crowded bureau, imposing, obtrusive, the un-ignorable bantha in the room, for the three days since she had received it as an unexpected eighteenth birthday gift.

Leia didn't know why she felt so hesitant to open the small, leather-bound brown book that her father had placed into her surprised hands as she had sat unassumingly at her place at the dining room table. At first she had thought it was simply a regular notebook – an interesting and rather rare curio these days, as most beings tended towards utilitarian data-pads as their means of writing and record-keeping.

"Father, this is -," Leia had began, turning the book over in her hands as she'd uttered her phrase of thanks. She had paused, however, as after undoing the buttoned leather flap that secured the book closed, it had fallen open in her hands and revealed the many pages of small, neat print within.

"It was your mother's," Bail Organa had explained, anticipating the question before his daughter could even speak it.

"Mom's?" Leia had turned to her mother who sat regally across from her.

"No, your real mother's," Bail had clarified. Leia had noticed a split-second ripple of something unreadable pass across her adoptive mother's face as her father had revealed this truth. Then it was gone, and her queenly impassivity had regained complete control.

Leia's furrowed brow had added more weight to her question than her softly surprised tone revealed. "My real mother's?"

Breha, who had thus far said nothing, had broken her stony silence and nodded. "It's a diary of hers, from a few months before you were born. A few months before the…," Her dark eyes had grown darker as she'd spat out the word. "Empire".

Leia had watched her father frown slightly and touch his wife's hand gently, leaning in towards her and whispering something unintelligible into her ear. Her mother had jolted away and sighed, and then had turned to her daughter with a smile that was caustic around the edges.

Leia had thanked her parents for this and the other beautiful gifts, and had excused herself from the table. She had returned to her chambers and placed the diary amongst the mixture of other spoils that still remained untouched on the heavy wooden bureau this morning.

It was not that she didn't care about her real mother, oh Force no. She cared about her with the same naturally ingrained and resolute love that every child has for their parent, no matter how long or how little they have known them. It was just that the real mother that Leia had known and had loved had been an idea of a person developed through the limited dialogue about her with her parents (her father, mainly; her mother would never talk about the time before the Empire and if Leia tried to broach the subject with her she was met with a cold-shoulder and her mother's misty eyes) and whatever information she had gleaned from the brief and biased historical recounts of the Republic that the holo-net infrequently ran. Now she had something real, something that had physically belonged to and been created by her real mother, a window into the life of Padmé instead of Senator Amidala.

Leia knew what kind of person Senator Amidala was. Intelligent, brave, committed, self-sacrificing, beautiful. That was the idea of her real mother that she had held on to and had loved steadfastly all of these years. This diary would tell her what kind of person Padmé was, and in the process it may destroy the carefully cultivated ideal of who her real mother was. It was for this reason that she had been hesitant to delve into the secrets of those neatly-printed entries.

She lay on her back on her wide bed, deliberating. The door to her chamber was locked and she knew that nobody would disturb her for several hours, as it had just been lunch time. She knew that her father wanted her to read the diary; he hadn't mentioned it at all for the past three days but she knew that whenever he saw her that the topic was right on the tip of his tongue.

She sighed and rolled onto her stomach, propping her head up with her arms underneath her chin, and staring at the brown book amongst the mess of gifts on the bureau. She didn't know how long she lay there staring and trying to make up her mind, but her eyes grew dry and it seemed to her like the other gifts actually moved out of the way to give her a clearer vantage of the diary.

I'm going crazy, she thought to herself with a groan.

That was it. She had to read it. Just one entry. Nothing would change if she just read one. She ran a hand through her straight brown hair, past shoulder-length now (her efforts to grow out her former ill-advised chin-length style had taken her all year) and pulled herself up into a sitting position, and then taking a deep breath she rushed towards the bureau and the potential shattering of her mother's saint-like ideal with butterflies in her stomach.

Back on her bed, she undid the button of the leather flap keeping the book closed, and carefully opened to the first page.

It was blank, as were the first ten or so.

Strange.

Leia flipped through a few more pages of the creamy, rich-stock paper until she found the first to contain her mother's uniform black print. The writing was in ink, probably from a fountain pen or something similar. Leia had used fountain pens before, but found them annoyingly messy and her writing had become a smeared mess. Her mother's writing was beautifully delicate and the page did not contain a single smudge.

Hesitantly, she read the first line of the first entry.

They're sending him away again.

Leia paused. Already her mind was filling with questions – ones that the diary would hopefully answer, as she knew that her parents would certainly not. She continued.

He'd only been back four hours before he got the call. I think this is the shortest time we've ever had together – usually they give him at least a day.

We'd barely had time to even say hello to each other before that damned Commlink of his started beeping again. He was so angry. I tried to console him, tried to remind him that he had a duty to the Republic, to the galaxy, that they needed him. Who else if not him? I tried to put on a brave face and tried to get him to look on the bright side – at least we'd had those four hours. I was angry too, though, and worried. I know he could tell, but he didn't say anything about it as he left.

"I've done my duty to the Republic, Padmé. I've done my duty and more. I don't know how much more I have to give," he told me quietly as he stood by the door, ready to leave again.

He told me he loved me, and when he kissed me it felt warm, but he had his hood on so I couldn't see the blue of his eyes. I knew they weren't sparkling.

Leia looked up from the page, her mind reeling as she processed what she had just read. Her parents talked little about her real mother but had absolutely never mentioned her real father at all. Despite her repeated interrogations, she did not even know what his name was. She felt her pulse quicken at the thought of finally gaining this crucial insight – perhaps even more.

She turned the page to the next entries and read on. As she read it became clear that many of the original pages of the journal were missing. The book had been censored, and not even carefully. Leia traced her fingers along one of the rough edges that was left behind after the page had been crudely ripped out. Why would her father give her only half of the journal? What had happened to the rest of it?

I was right. I knew it in my heart of hearts, but I tried to deny it. At first I told myself it was natural for a woman to miss a period every now and then, then I told myself it was stress. When I missed a third one Dormé told me I couldn't deny it any longer, and I knew she was right.

She went to the pharmacist for me secretly, and brought me back a myriad of tests. They filled two brown bags, but I took every one of them. As each one came back positive, I urged her for the next one, assuring myself that if there was at least one negative result then the rest were all false-positives and that this impossible situation was just that, impossible.

It was a few hours before all of the tests were done, and Dormé was with me the entire time, but it was all wrong, the whole thing was all wrong. With each positive result my worry had mounted until the point where it had become full-blown panic and then full-blown tears, and it was just so, so wrong. I shouldn't have been crying with fear into Dormé's arms at the realisation I was pregnant. I should have been crying with joy in his arms, the both of us giddy with delight that our dream of starting a family was finally coming true.

I don't know what to do without him here. It's been three months and I haven't heard a word. Nobody has.

I need him. Our baby needs him. Our impossible secret, our blessed miracle, needs a father.

I don't think about what happens if he doesn't come home.

0o0o0o0

It's been four months now and I haven't heard from him. Still.

This has to stay a secret. There is no other way. It was alright at first but as each day passes I worry more and more about the baby, as Dormé says I should see a doctor to make sure that everything is progressing alright, but obviously I can't. I just hope and pray to the Gods and to the Force that this baby will be alright, and that it's father will be home soon. We need to discuss what to do next.

I'm really showing now. It's undeniable. In public I can hide it under my gowns but in private I don't hide. I have nothing to hide. In public I have to tell myself to stop touching my stomach, but I crave it, need to feel the gentle little rise that lets me know that our little one is in there safe and growing strong. In private I wear tight, clingy dresses that hide no secrets and I stand in front of the mirror for hours and stare at the growing roundness of my figure. I am constantly in awe.

I can't believe how much love I feel for the baby already. I feel so instinctually protective over this amazing gift from the Gods. I know without doubt that I would do anything to protect it. I know without a doubt I would die for it.

0o0o0o0

I'm five months along now. It's getting harder to hide even now – I worry about what I'll do in the third trimester. I feel a lot bigger at five months than the photos of the women in the pregnancy books Dormé gave me. I suppose it's because I'm small and slight. If I keep getting bigger at this rate then I will have to go on leave sooner than I'd intended. I want to go to Varykino, on Naboo. There's a room right by the big rose gardens that will make the perfect nursery for the baby. We will have all of the privacy that we need, just him, the baby and I.

The reports on the holo-net about the Chancellor are so concerning. If he's been killed, well… I don't know what will happen to the Republic. I don't know if there will be a Republic anymore, and then what was the point of all of this?

I sit in the senate chambers and I listen to them arguing and I feel you fluttering underneath my fingertips and I know that I'm not alone. I have a piece of your father in you, something that reminds me of how much he loved me. Loves me.

He's still out there, I know. I'd feel it if he wasn't.

I pray to my Gods and to the Force to keep him safe and bring him home to his wife and his child.

0o0o0o0

He's home. I can't quite believe it. After over five months apart I'm scared to look away in case this is all just a dream and he vanishes before my eyes. I don't know if absence really does make the heart grow fonder or if I just fall in love with him more each time I see him again. How could I not?

I told him about the baby and he was so happy. Happier than I had ever seen him before. In his eyes there is always a warm glow and when I told him about our miracle it burned white-hot and I knew everything would be okay because he wouldn't let it not be. He says that the baby is our blessing and I know he is right.

0o0o0o0

We talked about names today. He is convinced that the baby is a girl, and refuses to hear otherwise. I have mother's intuition, though. I know it's a boy. A strong one, too, based on the strength of those kicks!

I had a few names picked out that I liked the sound of. Amata, Elanore or Juli for a girl. Syrah, Jortahn or Uwen for a boy. I'd spent hours and hours looking through name databases and felt confident that he would like my choices.

He didn't.

He told me that our child was "too unique, too special" to have a name from a database. I told him that I thought he was being pretentious. The database had many beautiful, interesting names – just like the ones I'd chosen.

He just laughed at me then – teasing me like he always does. I must admit I was rather annoyed with him then, and was about to storm off in an only half-mocking fashion, until he pulled me closer on the sofa and caressed my belly. Then he told me what names he had in mind. Even though my pride had been wounded then, I couldn't help but agree that his choices were better than mine. I'd never heard of the names before – he told me that they were from his home world.

Luke, for a boy. Leia, for a girl.

We know what our son or daughter will be called, now.

0o0o0o0

Something is different. He's different. I don't know if he's just war-weary or if something happened to him that he is not telling me about, but there's a part of him that he is keeping shut off from me. I don't know why. I don't know if it's still about what happened the other day. He wouldn't answer my questions.

That was the last entry. Leia flipped through the remaining twenty pages but there was nothing written there, and no evidence that any pages had been removed.

She closed the book. She lacked the strength to return it to the bureau so she lay there with it in her arms for an undetermined amount of time. She thought of nothing at first. She was too overwhelmed. She did not know what to think or where to begin unpacking all of this new information.

Eventually she got up from her bed. Her body was stiff. She craned her neck from side to side and rolled her shoulders to relieve the tension. Then she went to find her father.

Bail was sitting in his private study, a datapad in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. He heard her come into the room but did not immediately look up from his work.

"Why did you give this to me? Why now?"

"You're eighteen now." Her words made him put down both his datapad and his glass. "I think it's time you knew about your mother, and about your… father."

"She doesn't mention much about my father. I mean, not many identifying details."

He almost said maybe that's for the best, but stopped himself. Leia didn't need to know who her father was now. She only needed to know who her father was then, back a long, long time ago when he was such a brave and noble and good man.

"What does she say about him?" he queried, his eyes wary and his tone ready to comfort her in case there were details about her father that may have been better unknown.

"How much she loved him. How much he loved her."

"What does she say about you?" he asked.

"How much she loved me, even before I was born," Leia replied.

"Well," he said, his cautiously pursed lips blossoming into a satisfied smile. "That's probably the most important thing."

0o0o0o0

Looking up at the bright stars, Leia was caught off-guard by her brother's eager question.

"What was she like, our mother?"

She hesitated. He didn't need to know everything. Not now.

"She was beautiful, and sad."

He turned away and she was not sure if he was satisfied with the answer.

"And she loved us very much," she whispered under her breath. She wondered if he had heard.