"Gràinne," Séamus pleaded in the privacy of their bedchamber, "please. Come to the cathedral and hear our daughter sing."
"You know I can't," Gràinne replied dejectedly, "You know why I can't."
"I can assure you; nobody would dare lift a finger against you. You rule the entire world! Several!"
"That doesn't change people's minds about me being in the church."
"A chuisle-"
"No, my mind is made up. I can't go."
Séamus sighed, "Nobody gives Aislinn a stray glance. The old church is either dead of age or silenced, people are more tolerant of non-humans now." They had to be, with Sith recruitment bringing in all sorts of species from across the galaxy, seeing Twi'leks, Togrutas, Duros, and humans in the same houses of worship was an increasingly common sight.
Gràinne turned to face him, her eyes wet with tears, "I just can't bring myself to set foot in a church again. Not after what they've done, and not after what I've done."
"Please, it would mean the galaxy to her."
"I know," the broken Empress choked out, "I just don't have the strength to face it."
Séamus put his large hands on her slender shoulders, kissing the top of her head between her montrals, "I know you do. It's just whether or not you know you do." Turning away he dressed for church, the Christmas Eve service, the final night of Advent. Despite his wife's aversion to the Church, he was a devoted Catholic, as was their daughter. Gràinne's pregnancy first showed signs shortly after their reuniting. Their only child, she was spoiled rotten with everything they had never had as children yet still maintained good values and a soft heart. Gràinne's heart ached for her child, afflicted with a fatal illness that the court physician couldn't diagnose, was slowly dying and despite her mother's best efforts, despite her strength in the Force, refused to study the Dark Side. Gràinne refused to attend services, but not solely out of trauma. In contrast to what she had led Séamus to believe, a far greater part of her reasoning was to avoid watching her daughter slowly die in front of her. She just couldn't force herself to see it, she wasn't strong enough. She wasn't strong enough to save her own baby.
Séamus entered the Cathedral just before the beginning of the Advent Sermon. Crossing himself upon stepping within the threshold, he came to his seat at the very front row, next to a Zabrak couple, he forgot what name and rank the obvious Sith was but cared little beyond the expected friendly greeting. Once all present were seated, noble, peasant, Sith, and homemaker, the priest began his sermon, "Christmas Eve, we light the final candle of Advent, the light to welcome the birth of our lord, Jesus Christ…" On and on, the evening went, the door occasionally opening as latecomers walked in, whispering in hushed tones to get to an available seat in the pews. The Eucharist was given and Séamus, being in the front row and therefore closest to the priest, was among the first in line to receive Communion. Returning to his seat, he awaited the distribution of the body of Christ to end and the choir to begin their portion of the service.
The door quietly opened again, another latecomer. Séamus questioned the point of coming so late in the service but paid little mind to it as soon as he saw his daughter, his little princess, Aislinn at the head of the choir. Singing together in Latin for the first thirty minutes, he bowed his head again in prayer, begging G-d to grant his child healing. He was always a strong Catholic but had personally never believed in miracles until Barriss healed him, all those years ago. He quietly tried to nudge his daughter to learn her mother's abilities with this story of the emerald angel, but she wouldn't hear of it. Ending his prayers just in time, he lifted his head once more as Aislinn's solo, in English, was to be sung. An unusual choice for a Scottish-ruled empire, but services were given in Latin and the local language under the new rules and Aislinn had moved to Winchester ten years ago to turn away from her mother's Sith academy. When her time came, she sang the song selected for her, her voice lifting up like an angel's, a soft-spoken angel with a heart and song of gold.
On a Starry Night in Bethlehem,
A child was born to bring light to men,
And our faith waned, our eyes grew dim.
In a candle's light, we found hope again.
The choir joined in to sing the chorus, but Aislinn's voice rang above the rest.
There are miracles all around,
Miracles yet to be found.
Hid in every heart is an answered prayer.
Like a candle's flame, hope will lead us there.
When the darkness comes, let the light shine through.
A spark of faith will ignite in you.
In a candle's glow, a virgin's womb,
In a simple prayer, in the empty tomb.
There are miracles all around,
Miracles yet to be found.
Hid in every heart is an answered prayer.
Like a candle's flame, hope will lead us there.
When the light has dawned on Christmas Day,
We will lift one voice in endless praise.
When the light has dawned on Christmas Day,
We will say
There are miracles all around,
Miracles here to be found.
Hid in every heart is an answered prayer.
Like a candle's flame, hope will lead us there.
As the worshipers clapped, the priest dismissed them. Some ran to the confession booths while most others left to prepare Christmas dinner. Aislinn went to her father and hugged him, her tiny frame almost comical against his 7'2." They were usually the last to leave before the clergy, and they pleasantly talked much ado about nothing as the minutes passed, turning to an hour. Standing, Aislinn and Séamus turned, "Let's go home," he told her in Irish.
"I love you Dad," she responded in kind.
"I love you too Aislinn." Together they turned to leave the Cathedral to find that aside from the priest, some members of the choir, and the altar boys, there was one still sitting in the church with them, in the very back. A single pair of montrals revealed who she was.
"Mom?" Aislinn asked, hardly believing her eyes. "Mom? Is that really you?"
"It is sweetheart," Gràinne answered, enveloping her child in the tightest embrace she had given in years and breaking down into tears. How often had she cried in anguish for her daughter? Begged her to use her knowledge? To allow a mother to save the life of her child? Tonight, she cried in joy and love of the very same child. Her little angel.