Disclaimer: I don't own SW
Chapter One
Night had fallen over Coruscant. Speeders zoomed in the invisible threads of the aerial highway, merchants, employers, and employees off to their personal industries. The lights from the tall skyscrapers and ancient buildings glittered like stardust in blue-black night.
A full moon hung in the sky, a pearl orb of beauty and mystery. Rays of moonlight pierced cloud which moved to cover its fair form, settling beams upon the banister of the tallest building upon Coruscant, the building with the most power—the Imperial palace, place of the late Emperor's abode.
On the balcony, bathed in the light, a figure of a woman stood clad in a green and brown gown and wearing an ornate golden hairpiece, the like of which was like the twisted vines of Naboo with leaf patterns. The woman was beautiful, yet there was something tragic about her posture.
She held both hands over her belly, her belly that was swollen in the last trimester pregnancy. She whispered and cooed to the unborn child, knowing it was the one thing she truly loved in her life, though once she had been filled with laughter and happiness.
Cecia Norvar, ex-Imperial, had had her laughter, innocence, and joy robbed in only one hour. An hour she wished only to forget, if not for the fact it had brought out her greatest joy.
The sound of fabric rustling on the hard floor made her turn her head around to view the Minister of State. She was little surprised to see Mon Mothma. Ever since she was found be the New Republic, she had met with the leaders of the New Republic quite often.
Cecia gave a smile in greeting, yet her eyes, so dim and sorrow filled, did not smile.
"What is it?" she asked. Though she already knew Mon Mothma would ask about the child. Ever since telling scant few in the higher ups of the New Republic the identity of the father, they had been highly concerned about the welfare of her child. Cecia Norvar couldn't help but feel as though people and aliens alike viewed her as a pregnant bantha.
"I wanted to see how you were doing," the older woman said, a warm smile on her face.
"The baby is fine," Cecia said, almost mechanically. She felt as though she had said those words for thousands upon thousnads of times.
Mon Mothma shook her head slowly and gave a small, if a little sad, sigh.
"I asked about you. Not the child," she said, voice soothing.
"I'm all right," Cecia lied. In truth she had come to the balcony to escape the nightmares which still plagued her since the time her superior had brutally raped her. Oftentimes she woke up drenched in sweat and shaking from images old yet potent in their capability to haunt her.
Mon Mothma gave her a keen glance, but gratefully didn't say anything about it. Her green eyes were now looking out upon the sea of towers and skyscrapers, looking at the busy tide of employers, employees, smugglers, bounty hunters, whatever was out there.
"It's beautiful out here," she said, more to herself than the pregnant woman.
"It's ugly. The Empire ravaged this planet, and the buildings are ugly. The starlight, the twinkles, and the fairy-tale glimmer of the moon is from the pollution of the factories and fumes from speeders. As far as beauty," Cecia looked pointedly around in the palace where she stood on the balcony, "this will suffice for now, though it hid a cruel and heartless man."
There was silence as Mon Mothma thought about her words.
Cecia was silent because a strange tightening had begun in her gut. Her child had been in position for hours now, and it had only been a matter of time before she went into labor.
Now she felt a contraction, slight and barely noticeable, but like small waves lapping against the shore followed closely by a storm.
She put both hands on her belly, her eyes wide with fear. What if something went wrong?
"It's time?" There was a trace of anxiety in the older woman's eyes, but her voice was still calm.
Cecia nodded.
"It is time."
I-I-I-I-I
Cecia's mother had told her how labor pain was much like cramps when one had a menstrual flow, but they were much worse than that. Even the ceiling, which changed patterns in comforting colors meant to sooth the mind, didn't help her situation.
She was drenched in sweat, beads dripping down her face, down the sides of her temples, and her hair was plastered.
The MD droid asked her to push. She complied as much as she could, but her body did most of the work for her.
Leia Organa Solo held her hand, brown eyes filled with compassion and empathy. She had given birth to twins some months ago, and it had been her first time, too.
Cecia wondered if…
pain…contraction….
"Push!
…Leia had had a harder time giving birth since she…
She moaned, leaving the thought to wander into nothingness, shuddering as a wet body slid from her stretched vaginal opening.
She hoped the baby, for the last time, resembled her more than the father. But when her eyes saw the little bundle wrapped in cloths, there was no mistaking the red eyes and blue skin of the father's species.
Someone laid the child on her stomach, and she was loath for a moment to touch him. He opened his mouth and gave a loud wail, letting her know he was hungry.
A smile crept upon her face, and she looked not upon the son of her rapist, of Grand Admiral Thrawn, but her own child, which she had brought forth into the world. It wasn't a demon-child she looked upon, but a harmless baby—her son.
She held the babe close and allowed him to suckle her breasts, taking great joy in the prospect that he was hers. She would allow nothing to take him away from her.
"What will you call him?" someone asked. She didn't care who it was, since her attention was on her newborn son.
She thought for a moment. She had been counting on the child to be a girl, and the name Niella had come to mind, but now she had to sort through names of boys. She definitely didn't want to name the boy after his heartless father. It would invoke too many painful memories.
"Sorvan," she said after a long pause, child sleeping in her arms.
And so it was that Sorvan, the son of Grand Admiral Thrawn, came into the world.