Title: The Withered Leaves
Author: The Musical Jedi
Genre: Angst
Characters: OCs, Bail Organa
Timeframe: ANH
Disclaimer: I don't own the Star Wars Universe or the characters those associated. The OCs, however, are of my own device. Please don't use them without permission. I also make no money (and have none, for that matter), so please don't sue. Thank you, George Lucas, for your sandbox. I'll clean everything up when I'm done.
AN: Response to Kelia's Missing Scene Roulette challenge over on TF.N. Mine was 1: Alderaan/Bail learn of Leia's "death" - ANH. Many, many thanks to Miana Kenobi for her beta. Comments/constructive criticism are always appreciated. And for those of you worried, I have something in the works for Waiting for Absolution. I just have to survive the rest of the semester first.
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The Withered Leaves
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Oh roses for the flush of youth,
And laurel for the perfect prime;
But pluck an ivy branch for me
Grown old before my time.
Oh violets for the grave of youth,
And bay for those dead in their prime;
Give me the withered leaves I chose
Before in the old time.
- Christina Rossetti, Song, 1849
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Morning light crept over the wall surrounding the Royal Palace, filtering through the gardens to suffuse the area with a soft, ethereal, orange-tinged haze. A gentle breeze filtered through the varieties of flowers, caressing their leaves and petals as it caught the fragrance and carried it beyond the blooming plants. A young woman moved through the plants, her bare feet silent as she crossed the stones weaving their way through the garden, approaching the broad avenue that connected the front gate to the large patio that led into the Palace.
Her head was bent, watching the ground, and her dark, wildly curly hair was mostly tucked under a neutral-colored kerchief. In her arms, she carried a basket filled with white linen, her fingers curled tightly around the edges. Her dark eyes didn't wander very far from the ground; even as she moved across the avenue, she didn't glance up to look out beyond the Palace gate to the edge of Aldera beyond. Few people were about the streets so early in the morning, but Saré took no notice. The view was the same as it had always been: a broad, stone street leading down into the commerce region of Aldera with part of the open-air market visible before the curve of the hill on which the Palace sat hid it from view.
Saré opened a small, non-descript door that lead into a small servant's passage, taking care to close it behind her. Although it was a move she had made countless times, her hand shook slightly as she pulled the door shut, her basket also trembling as she did her best to balance it precariously against her.
She knew the other servants in the Palace whispered about her when they thought she couldn't hear. It was well known – and not well liked – that the woman did droid work. When guests came to the Palace, it was Saré's duty to make up the rooms, change the bed linens and the 'fresher towels, as well as see to it that there was an arrangement of the native flora to greet them. That was Saré's favorite part. Her father was one of the gardener's at the Palace, and he had gotten special permission for her to make up floral arrangements to leave in the guest chambers.
The dark-haired woman continued to move silently through the hall before coming to a staircase. She made her way carefully, being sure not to drop the basket or fall on the stairs. The door opened from the wall into a beautiful hallway, lined with ceiling-to-floor windows that let the morning light in in alternating bars on the flawless mineral floor.
Saré counted the rooms, painfully remembering the instructions the chambermaid had given her. The Senator, Mon Mothma, had commed in the night and requested to visit the First Chairman. Saré hadn't been told why, but she also hadn't thought to ask. The chambermaid had simply woken her up to prepare the guest quarters, mumbling about why they had a girl to do a droid's work.
Vaguely, Saré understood that it hadn't always been this way. Once, after her mother had come from Naboo after the great battle and met her father, she had been normal. While she wasn't sure what made her not normal, she knew that she had gotten very sick when she was little. The infection had spread throughout the countryside, taking her mother with it. Because of her parents' dedication to the Royal family, a place had been found for Saré.
She hummed quietly to herself as she went into the room, a simple tune she had heard Cook singing a few days ago. In the corner of the room, the HoloNet receiver was on, chattering away to nothing. Saré glanced at it then promptly paid it no attention.
All of her focus went into making up the bed and hanging the towels in the 'fresher. She balanced the basket on the vanity next to the HoloNet receiver and worked to smooth out the sheets as she lay them on the bed, her hands growing more unsteady as she tried to make the finer movements required for making the clean corners.
"… came yesterday evening about the Tantive IV. In what has been deemed a terrorist attack by the Rebellion, the Senate was notified that its youngest member was killed, along with the crew of her ship…"
Saré was reaching over to pull a pillowcase out when the name of the Princess finally caught her attention. She knocked off the basket, which caught the edge of the HoloNet receiver, and both of the objects tumbled to the floor.
Ignoring her basket, Saré scrambled for the now quiet receiver, having to trap it between her hands as they trembled. Her fingers refused to cooperate as she tried to switch it back on, but the young woman wasn't sure how to work the receiver.
Grunting in frustration, Saré left the guest quarters, moving as quickly as she could back down the hallway, knowing that her father would be out tending the garden. She was confident that he could switch the receiver back on and explain to her how it was they had made such a terrible mistake.
Back outside, she searched the paths that wound through the topiary, dividing shrubs from flowers from trees. As she crossed the avenue, she took no notice of the people who were starting the fill the streets of the city below. A few stood outside the Palace gate, faces shadowed and a small handful of flowers in one little girl's clenched fist.
"Papa!" As soon as Saré saw her father, she took off at a disjointed run, willing herself to stay upright and move towards him as quickly as possible. The older man looked up at her cry, pausing in his careful note-taking of what needed to be done that morning to plant the spring seeds for the summer blossom.
Saré thrust the receiver into his hands, almost dropping it. "They said," she panted, taking a moment to pause for breath, "they said the Princess was dead."
Techiae cocked his head to the side as his daughter's pronouncement. "She can't be dead," the young woman added, as though her father had misunderstood. He thumbed on the receiver, and a small holographic display appeared above it, showing the Princess within the Imperial Senate building, gesturing to the other Senators as she spoke. A monologue went on in the background, giving some information about the Alderaan system that she had represented.
The older man's face stilled as he watched the footage, and he shook his head slightly when the commentary repeated the allegations against the Rebellion. "It can't be," he exhaled.
"Papa, why are they saying this? The Princess can't be dead." Saré slid close to her father, slipping her arm in the crook of his and laying her head on his shoulder, watching the footage. "She can't be dead," she repeated more quietly.
They watched in silence for long moments as the commentator summarized the Senator's life and work in the Imperial Senate. Saré felt her cheeks become warm and soon found herself crying.
"Saré, you need to show this to the Viceroy. He may not know."
The young woman pulled away, shaking her head. "No, Papa, I can't…"
Techiae removed his arm from hers and placed the receiver between her hands, holding hers in between his, keeping them from shaking. "You can, and you need to, my girl. He should know."
Her dark eyes bore into her father's, and she slowly nodded. "Yes, Papa."
Saré pulled away from him and walked slowly back across the front gardens. When she reached the avenue, she had to stop for a moment and look out towards Aldera. Where before there had only been a few people, it looked as though to Saré that most of the city had appeared. People stood in small groups away from the gate, where a line of flowers and tokens had been leaned up against the grates. The citizens were of all ages, several species, and both sexes. There was a low hum as the crowd talked amongst itself.
Saré then realized that most of their cheeks were damp, just like hers.
In a daze, Saré found herself picking some of the early blooms from the garden. Then, she removed the kerchief from her hair, binding the bouquet together with it. She reentered the Palace, this time finding her way into the rotunda that had a large, broad staircase, leading up to the Viceroy's office. She clutched the receiver to her breast with one hand, taking care to hold onto it as her hand began to shake harder, while holding the flowers in her arm.
Slipping inside a servant's door, Saré walked down the plain hallway, finding the door that lead into the Viceroy's office. Normally it was used to clean the Head of State's room after hours, or bring him food when his hours became long.
Before she could second-guess herself, Saré went in.
The Viceroy was standing at the large picture window, looking out towards the avenue leading up to the Palace and out onto Aldera. Despite Saré moving as quietly as she could so as to not completely interrupt him, he turned when she came in. The lines on his face and the haunted look caught deep in his eyes allowed even Saré to understand that he already knew.
Saré moved across the floor, unsure of what she was going to do even as she did it. She felt horribly out of place, with her worn apron over her simple skirt and her dark curly hair barely contained without its kerchief. Then, she moved to hand him the flowers, dropping the receiver, which bounced away under the large, darkly stained desk in the center of the room, deactivating itself.
The Viceroy looked at the flowers then took them from her, a small, disconsolate smile crossing his face just for an instant.
"I'm so sorry," Saré found herself saying. "We all loved the Princess very much."
The Viceroy looked down at the flowers, at Saré, then out towards the crowd gathering at the gate.
More people had arrived, and he could see the glint of candles being lined along the frame of the gate. More flowers had been placed on top of the ones there before, and ribbons had been tied to the curling metal, gently fluttering in the morning breeze. Half-forgetting the servant girl was there, the Viceroy gently fingered a petal on one of the flowers, feeling on his fingertips the soft skin and in his arms the warm weight of that dark-haired baby girl he'd brought home so many years ago.
And then he thought of another dark-haired woman, mourned with flowers and her own people coming to say good-bye, with tears on their faces.