Albrina sat at her desk. Her posture was one of alert attention; her back was straight and her legs uncrossed. But one hand rubbed distractedly at the back of her neck.
She stared at the text of the file, but her eyes were no longer reading. Words and thoughts rose and scattered and she was waiting until her feelings settled.
She was proud. Only a little for herself, for the achievement belonged to Princess Leia. Relieved, also for the Princess, but more so for herself.
One thought she had trouble banishing earlier she was now glad to dispel: the Princess's recent actions in Imperial City were not an offering of sacrifice. An elegant notion, noble even; but to the practiced eye of Dr. Renzatl it could be a more elevated version of self-harm. A Princess was raised to have others do her bidding. Why not ask Emperor Palpatine to be the agent of death? But the Princess's writing was at times clear and at others uncertain, daring to possess a shaky hope.
I feel as though we were in the middle of something.
The middle! Yes! Albrina had almost cheered.
And the coincidence of the Princess's metaphor, the rubble: the mention had taken Albrina's breath away.
She swiveled in her chair to turn around and face the shelves behind her. The two pieces of burnt brick held their positions as they always did, propping up a long line of datamanuals.
Albrina had her own rubble.
Do I just walk away, do I sift through the ruins and find a remnant, or do I try and put the pieces back together again?
My gods, Albrina had breathed. In all her years of study and practice, she had never read, in such crystal clear imagery, a more concise description for the recovery of trauma.
With the sudden withdrawal from Buteral, Albrina didn't know yet where the Alliance would send her. She had not heard if she needed to prepare her caseload for a CTC social worker to take over, or if she should close the cases, or if she would be allowed to continue the work she had started.
There was another feeling, less familiar. She felt it when she glanced at the study, the results of which would now not be placed on General Rieekan's desk. It was unlikely anyone would truly appreciate what she and Major Klander had accomplished.
Regret. That was the name of the feeling. They'd had good results. They might even be on to something in their treatment plan, but it was doomed to be buried under another practical evacuation.
Well, it was war, wasn't it? Victory always held precedence, and dealing with the losses was delayed. It was left as a matter for peacetime to handle. Though, and Albrina saw this first hand in the orphanages of Corellia, trauma made for a damaged peace.
Albrina sighed. She swiveled her chair forward again and picked up the holocube at the edge of her desk. Turning the cube so each facet had a turn, she gazed at the faces of her family from years ago, when she was a child at the lake house, at her husband, sister and three nephews. She felt as though she had something to tell them, but didn't know what, or how it could be heard, or even why. But she took a long moment with each, allowing for a memory or more, and then she began to write.
Princess Leia,
As you are en route to your next destination, and as I have not yet been told where that is, it is my hope this letter finds you.
I trust that it will also find you well. I feel I can safely say that for two reasons. One, you are with Captain Solo and Chewbacca, aboard the freighter which whisked you away from the Death Star. Two, you took the time to write me a rather extraordinary expression of your thoughts, for which I am grateful and have much to add.
First, let me assure you of your worries for Buteral. General Rieekan was probably aware of the Imperial sentry ships as soon as they took their stations. I am not privy to a full briefing, but from my understanding, they occupied Buteral's orbit until the moment they learned for certain that you would not be returning, as Mon Mothma determined that without question, and then they departed.
The Alderaani were not made aware of the tensions, and life continued as regularly as one knows the moment Tide's Rush will occur.
They will be told of your departure tomorrow. General Rieekan will deliver the news. He holds you in very high regard, and besides, with all the holonews stories you have generated recently, their loyalty to you and admiration for you as their Princess has not wavered. Major Klander is taking your note to him asking that policy be revised to allow TRAD clients the opportunity to serve seriously, and I know he is in conference with Mon Mothma later about that. Of course, the final decision will not be ours, but if anything, Mon Mothma has paid special attention to the needs of refugees, and you may well see a change.
Buteral will continue to be staffed by beings trained in social welfare and economic rehabilitation. It is my understanding that displaced beings from other worlds will also be brought to recover at Buteral. Programs which you initiated, such as the reparations fund and the filing of civil suits, will become a standard of operation.
You were here a short time, Princess, and made an impact.
Before I address certain parts of your note, I would like to first discuss several references you made to "relapses" and sensations of physical pain.
I would feel better if you had a thorough examination by medical staff. This is not to alarm you, Your Highness. I am under the impression you still have not had a physical assessment. I recall upon your arrival to Yavin that, because of the urgent nature of the Death Star's approach, you were not given a standard debrief at all. Given that you were, in essence, a prisoner of war, their treatment is a grievous oversight. You were tortured and drugged.
Many times you refer to the way Darth Vader's fingers dug into your shoulders as the Death Star laser fired upon Alderaan. In trauma, there is what we call phantom pains. This is common in beings who have lost a limb. They report not only that it hurts, but that it still feels present. It's possible your chest and shoulder pain- and Darth Vader's fingers- is a form of a phantom pain.
You also said you missed Alderaan so badly it hurt. I want to make sure this is a real and emotional hurt, and not one from an undiagnosed physical cause.
You have not discussed any aspects in great detail. You alluded to at least one, too quickly, in your letter. This is not a relapse. I know you have had trouble concentrating and dislike feeling cornered or being in small spaces, but if this were truly a debilitating problem, you would be in my office asking for medication to help you calm those feelings. Aspects are often a symptom of our feeling vulnerable, and that situations are beyond our control. They are not a bad thing, merely your mind asking for help.
Sometimes, it helps to remind yourself what you have been through: you witnessed your planet's destruction. You could not move, held back against your will, while a huge battle station fired a powerful laser. You suffered an injury; it is invisible to scans but the scar is there nevertheless. It is no wonder that such trauma left a mark. I know an aspect doesn't feel like it makes sense, but it is a way of the mind coping, never a relapse.
Your great weariness and withdrawal- I don't want to call it depression, necessarily, for it seems to occur after moments of intense emotional response. You are left drained. Seeing fellow homeworlders at home elsewhere, for instance, must have raised conflicting feelings in you. I'll leave that for your consideration. I might be far off the mark, and in that case there is no point bringing it to your attention.
When the freighter was boarded- General Rieekan said only Captain Solo managed to create a diversion, but from his rather terse explanation I assume the boardees were not allowed to return to their sentry ship. I have in my mind a rather violent scene- did he kill them? You said you were sad for him. Because he had to do that? Your reaction, no matter the toll it takes on you, is what I would want to see. Your emotional intelligence always resonates, Your Highness. You are empathetic, tolerant, and generous. The horror of recent events has heightened that to where you have become especially sensitive.
You might hear Tarkin's voice telling you you are too trusting at any point in your life. That was the moment, the one that cemented you as the reason, the catalyst for what happened. I remind you that was torture, Your Highness. It was not an estimation by a cold and heartless man of your character. Tarkin was the enemy. It is as simple as that. Please continue the exercise where you, the current Princess Leia, stand before the young Princess who was about to experience unbelievable pain, and tell her how much heart she, and you, have.
For you do. That is the content of your letter that I found so gratifying and appealing. That you should talk about friendship and love, that you would like to see yourself dance with Captain Solo, that you and Chewbacca have found a common bond that transcends language. This is you as a person. And there is you as a Princess, wondering about the direction you should be leading your people toward, who looks to the lessons she received from her mother and not the queen, whose experience and newly gained wisdom sees the kind of ruler she would become, if none of this had happened.
I was also intrigued by your lists. It is very heartening that you see your possessions as growing in number, and that some of them were carried from before the destruction and some happened afterward.
I wonder if you see the change in yourself. A month ago, the Princess I knew wrote a list of names, walked the shoal in the dark, and felt a burden of shame that she survived to lead a people she felt she had failed. I know it happens that you find that moment on the Death Star to be frozen in Time. On one side there is a young girl swinging high into a tree, seeking freedom; on the other is a pensive woman who has made precious connections.
Your journey was always there, Your Highness. The little escapes from your Maidens, the obstinate ignorance of your lifelong betrothal: these were your questions and your analysis. They tear you apart now because it is growth and decision that others get answered in the normal course of a lifetime. Regarding Lennist, if we pretend that had come to pass, it may have transpired as an argument between you and your father, an Alderaani scandal (or not, should you have wed) whose shocking challenge would fade over time. Instead, sadly it is a conversation you have by yourself, with your guilt. You experience the same without your father, without Lennist, and without popular opinion.
You have always been on the path to become the queen you will be. I say queen, though that is different, too. I will call it queen, for your training has always been for leadership of some kind, and that same training is very useful during a war.
I wonder how you will feel when you read this. I imagine much will feel like empty words. I am sorry we didn't get to discuss your thoughts, which you so eloquently wrote, in person. For instead of answering you with my own explanation, I prefer to guide you to find the explanation on your own. I am encouraged, though, Your Highness. Please accept that from me. Shrug it off afterwards if it doesn't mean much to you, but know that it does to me.
I am encouraged by your thought process. I am encouraged that you took the time to write it all down; that you engaged yourself in the same tecniques I employed here in the office. If I hadn't had the information I do from General Rieekan, I would falsely assume your return from Imperial City was peaceful and uneventful. Are you practicing the target shooting?
I still find it an odd hobby to occupy one's leisure time on a freighter, but apparently Captain Solo has found it useful.
That is an opinion I would not venture out loud to you in my office. I was going to erase the comment, but I will dare to leave it and see what you think. It's quite possible our professional relationship is changing, and I would like you to know that it has been my pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I would like you to have the opportunity to make mine.
Regarding Captain Solo. I am also Corellian, and I assure you his pragmatic offensiveness is not a common trait of our people. I find it fascinating that you and he engage on a level I would not imagine from a Princess and a smuggler. But, on a level which is much more provoking, shall we say, he seems to employ a technique that is similar to my own; one that not only gets you to think about things, but gets you to react. Perhaps his method is even successful. General Rieekan told me he overheard you two- he called it bickering- on the comm. Anything that can help you rise out of that sense of weariness and lethargy is healthy.
It truly is remarkable what you got from the Death Star, isn't it. Two men and a Wookiee, as you have told me several times. I am reminded about the creation of Alderaan and the dance of the twelve goddesses. How they pulled something from the nothing of space and wove it together, and created something solid. You also told me goddesses we might think of as opposites are paired together. The Death Star caused you tremendous loss and heartbreak, but something germinated in the rubble. It is tiny right now, but it seeks the sun.
You wrote of emerging from the rubble, of the dust clearing. You asked if you should walk away, or collect some, or piece it back together. There is one other alternative: Find that little seed, and harvest it. You will be the richer for it.
Did you notice my rubble, Your Highness? I do put some thought into how the office is furnished, but lately I have had to make do with what the Alliance supplies me. You are correct, I did open the window for you, and the kaf machine is there for the exact purpose you intended (though Major Klander brewed more than anyone, and he is not my client). I used to have pillows and a more comfortable seat.
The rubble, however, is mine, and it is real. It is what I use as ends, to prop up my manuals on the shelf. I remember you asked about the holocube on my desk, and I told you that the children were my sister's boys. What I didn't tell you is that they, and my sister and mother, perished in The Bombing. Where it occurred is where I grew up.
So you see, we have something in common. You might wonder if that is how I came to be with TRAD, but that is not the case. I was already studying in the field. I was at university in Imperial City when it happened. Unlike you, I was able to return. I volunteered in the orphanages, and as soon as it was safe I ventured to find my old neighborhood.
It was unrecognizable. So I would say, it is useless to piece one's world back together. For some reason, I felt compelled to gather some of that rubble, as you posed. Perhaps this is a very human tendency, to hold close things we once knew; they may be altered in appearance but memory makes them the same. In my two pieces of blackened brick, I hold my childhood, my family, even the result of their futures. I don't look at them so much anymore, but I keep them. I have moved office many times. I face another move shortly, as the Alliance withdraws from Buteral, and I will do as I have done previously. I will carefully wrap my pieces of rubble, for they are dusty and prone to crumbling, and I will bring them with me to my next destination.
They aren't quite the same; I think when I first collected them I believed them to hold the spirits of my loved ones, or kept me close to them somehow. Now, when I wrap them up I will think back to the person I was, how different everything felt, but I will know the pieces aren't my family, but rather represent me.
I think what I am trying to say is that the human condition is delicate and precarious. Joy, like a flower blooming, is beautiful but destined to fade. We are all always in need of help. It is just nice, when in the course of our lives we find others who can bring us both a little of that joy, and a little of that help.
It has been my honor to work with you, Your Highness. I feel that I will long remember our conversations. In their own way, they will find a place on my shelves. This is not a farewell. Perhaps you will get to enjoy a cup of kaf in my new office, who knows. But if not, perhaps I can remain as someone you spot in the clearing dust, and we may approach one another, and check to see if there is some assistance we may offer the other.
Albrina Renzatl