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It should not, by any stretch of medical optimism, have been possible for the infant to survive. Sewlen counted herself lucky that Bo-Katan Kryze was too busy wrestling with tears to make some remark about her glaring medical oversight.
"A heat lamp, T9."
Sewlen approached the newly conscious Duchess with caution.
"Don't sit up or anything, my Lady. I've just got a clean towel here for Baby."
"Korkaran," Satine mumbled in correction, acquiescing as Sewlen took the tiny infant in her hands.
"A new towel for Korkaran," Sewlen repeated faintly.
Never, ever, ever had Sewlen seen a live-born baby this small. She held him in one hand, his head on her fingertips and legs on her forearm. He was breathing rapidly but without marked distress.
"We'll have to keep him warm and… and find a way to feed him," Sewlen explained cautiously, as she wrapped the infant in the dry towel. "Usually they don't suck very well until thirty-four weeks…"
Usually they wouldn't be alive. I don't want what in the stars I'm talking about. Your infant is improbable.
"I can't… I honestly can't tell you, my Lady, what to expect from here. Most likely he is too premature to live very long. But I'll admit…"
Sewlen placed the infant upon the Duchess's chest once more.
"I'll admit he's already surprised me," Sewlen finished, finally indulging the weakness in her legs and sitting down. "His strength says great things of the lineage of the Clan Kryze."
This reflexive piece of monarch-flattery illuminated a sudden truth. Sure, the Clan Kryze was strong, but they were not superhuman. It followed naturally, then, that it must have been the father.
"I might run some bloods for Korkaran a little later," Sewlen murmured, vaguely rubbing at her weary eyes. "To see how we might explain…"
The newly revived Duchess Kryze fixed Sewlen with an impeccable glare.
"I already know he's Force-sensitive, Doctor Jerac," she intoned icily. "Please reserve your tests to those of clinical utility only."
Bo-Katan gave an audible groan and mumbled a string of curse words. Sewlen shook her head in silent disbelief, mouth ajar. It was fortunate she was seated, for she felt ready to faint from the shock of it all. She wasn't even a blasted obstetrician, and she'd pulled the Jetii Prince of Mandalore from the bleeding womb.
It was a goddamn career-defining feat, and it would remain confidential forever.
Obi Wan checked his commlink many hours later, after putting Anakin to bed. He did not recognise the contact code. He rubbed at his weary eyes and sank onto the exorbitant bed allocated to him by the Queen Amidala, in gratitude for his "great service".
It was a great failure. He had failed his Master. He had not been fast enough. And he was not, damn it, in the mood to chase a blasted unknown number.
Let them call again, if it was so kriffing important.
"Did you end up contacting Obi Wan like I asked?"
Like I asked. The nerve of her sister, to try at authority when she was reclining, freshly resuscitated in her bed, pale as a kriffing ghost and with the half-sized infant of a Jedi on her chest. Not that she entirely pulled it off. There was a vulnerability to her as she asked the question it had taken her nearly two days to voice.
"Didn't get through," Bo-Katan reported curtly, leaning casually against the bedroom door.
Stars. She should have grown out of it by now. But when Satine glared at her like that she couldn't help but keep talking.
"I tried twice," she offered. "I couldn't make him pick up, you know. I think he had his hands pretty full on Naboo, from the sound of things."
"You've been following politics?" Satine asked, cocking a brow with dry amusement.
The damned Jetii used to smirk like that too.
"I've been following conflict, Satine," Bo-Katan corrected her. "As Mandalorians do. I'm sure you've been too busy with your liberal politics to pay attention, but my people keep tabs on our old enemies, and word is that the Sith have resurfaced."
What little colour was left in Satine's face drained promptly away.
"Obi Wan's been fighting Sith on Naboo?"
"I'm glad to hear that your concern is for you boyfriend and not for your people, but yes, Satine," Bo-Katan drawled. "Obi Wan's been fighting Sith. Even better – you won't like this, sister – they're calling him a Sith-killer."
"They're…"
Satine was an unwitting caricature of shock, her mouth ajar as she contemplated the news. She returned the milk syringe into her son's mouth to stay his mewling, so preoccupied that she did not even look until him with her usual, slightly nauseating, glassy-eyed adoration.
"Obi Wan killed a Sith on Naboo?" she repeated.
"I think that bleed did you some brain damage, sister," Bo-Katan informed her amicably.
Satine barely registered the taunt.
"But he's alright? And Master Jinn?"
Ah. Bo-Katan grimaced.
"Kenobi's fine, as far as I know. Jinn died."
Satine's face fell, and her gaze turned to behold her infant once more, tracing a gentle thumb over his tiny cheek as she shook her head in disbelief.
"That's awful," she said, eventually.
Bo-Katan shrugged.
"Look on the bright side, sister. He'll be emotionally wrecked and plenty vulnerable to a holo of you and a baby. If the Sith are back it makes sense to have a Sith-killer on the throne of Mandalore. Makes up for your uselessness, physically."
Satine managed a wry smile as she looked up from Korkie and beheld her sister.
"That's not why I'm calling him, Bo-Katan."
Her voice was so heavy with sadness.
"I am doing the simple decency of informing him of Korkie's existence," Satine went on. "I'm not asking him to leave the Order. We made that decision months ago."
Bo-Katan gave a shrug.
"You mightn't have to ask, you know. Just sit there looking anaemic holding your baby. Men love that sort of thing, as I understand it."
Satine gave a reluctant breath of laughter.
"And here I was thinking you'd never come around to him, Bo-Katan."
"I'm not saying he's a good option," Bo-Katan retorted. "But you and him together are better than you alone."
Satine huffed her disagreement.
"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Bo-Katan."
In a fairy-tale, the arrival of this baby and the blood that had passed between them would have healed the rift between the sisters. It would have been as though those ugly feelings had never existed.
Bo-Katan looked down at her fingernails.
"I think I'll go back to Concordia tonight. I don't belong on New Mandalore. Being back in this palace freaks me out."
In a fairy-tale they would have ruled together, the benevolent Duchesses Kryze, and raised a cherub-faced baby. But this was reality, and Bo-Katan only paused in the doorway to say-
"I'm glad you didn't die, sister."
This was reality and Satine was too proud to call her back. The regret crept softly upon her long after Bo-Katan had closed the door and it was too late.
Luckily for Sewlen, we can all admire her otherwise confidential surgical feat.
I'm sorry for a sad ending with Bo-Katan here. She'll be back, with time.
Next chapter, Satine takes matters into her own hands and comms Obi Wan, who might - finally - be able to answer a call.
As always, keep your beautiful thoughts coming!
xx - S.