Bail Organa was stressed. An Imperial delegation, including Lord Darth Vader, was visiting for several days. However the first day – and most importantly, the state dinner which Leia had attended – had proceeded smoothly. Almost too smoothly, possibly, but Bail was not going to look a gift eopie in the mouth on this one. Now, several hours after dinner, Leia was safely abed, watched over by as many nurses, nannies, and guards as her father – adoptive father, some small treacherous part of his mind whispered, but he quashed it – could get away with without arousing suspicion. Bail himself sat in his office, for while almost all of Alderaan was holding its breath, his work as Viceroy wasn't going to stop flowing in. Late as the hour was, he knew Breha, in their room, was likely also awake, working on the Queen's tasks. Still, as much as he usually disliked the flimsiwork, it now offered him a mundane distraction and opportunity to rest.
Until, that is, the door crashed open and Darth Vader swept inside. Bail jumped horribly in surprise, just barely managing to avoid clutching his heart. His face went pale with shock and an undercurrent of fear, but his lifelong diplomat's training kicked in and his expression smoothed over as he rose from his chair. "Lord Vader," he was proud at how well he'd schooled his voice into one of pleasant surprise, "what can I do for you?"
"Organa," the Dark Lord rumbled. "Where did you adopt your daughter from?"
Bail sank slowly back down into his chair as his legs gracefully gave out. His pallor from moments ago rushed back, one thought thundering around and around his brain: he knows – he knows, he knows, he knows he knows he knows…
"An answer, Viceroy," Vader growled dangerously, and Bail stirred, swallowing in a vain effort to wet his suddenly parched throat.
"She… she was brought to me – to us… by… an o-old family friend-" He broke off, cursing the stutter that betrayed him.
"Obi-Wan." The Dark Lord's voice was flatter and more emotionless than Bail was expecting. The Viceroy nodded feebly, resigning himself to his fate, sorrow for his wife, his daughter, his planet weighing him down. To his surprise, Vader had more questions before executing him, though. "Do you know of her parentage?"
There was no use lying. Bail had known enough Jedi – not to mention Master Kenobi's warning – to know that. "Her mother was Padmé Amidala. Her father..." he hesitated.
"Her father?" Vader prompted.
"Obi-Wan didn't say exactly," Bail hedged cautiously.
"Give it your best shot," Vader replied sarcastically, the atmosphere in the room getting heavier.
Bail swallowed. "I believe the father was a Jedi, likely one close to Master Kenobi. I know she was guarded several times and was close friends with Knight Skywalker..."
Vader stared right at him, the vocoder flatter than Bail realized was possible. "Did Kenobi not tell you, when he gave her to you, why it was imperative to hide her from the Empire? From me?"
"He said she's Force-sens..." Bail trailed off, his eyes widening as the impact of Vader's words hit him with the force of a runaway Coruscanti speeder. "From you?" he whispered breathlessly, barely audible.
Darth Vader stared at him for a long, long, long moment, and Bail stared back, as his world crashed down and slowly rebuilt itself. "Take good care of her, Viceroy," the Dark Lord finally rumbled warningly. "Do not let her draw the Emperor's attention, or I may be forced to deal with the matter myself." Turning, Darth Vader exited the study, the grand doors slamming shut behind him. Bail sat still, regaining his breath, slowly working through his shock – that Vader knew, that Bail himself was still alive, that he'd been charged with Leia's safety… that Leia was safe. Blinking, he rose. He need to speak to Breha immediately.
This was written for Virodeil, who, as soon as I got my new computer cord (after four months without a computer,) promptly poked me into writing a one-shot. I got bitten by the writing bug months ago, but not for one shots... it was hard to hunt down this plot bunny. o_o
