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Chapter 3: Out of the Mouths of Babes

Padmé gazed wistfully out a small circular window in Breha Organa's royal shuttle. Seated quietly nearby were Luke and Leia, engrossed in handheld brain-teaser puzzles. The twins were blissfully unaware of their mother's distressed heart, which had been heavy since departing Breha's 500 Republica apartment early that morning. For them, this was just an innocent vacation to be spent at Uncle Bail's palace.

For Padmé, it was another close brush with a heart attack.

The last time had been three years ago; they'd sought refuge with the Organas when Naboo was randomly selected for Jedi sweeping. The hair on the back of her neck stood on the edge the full three hours they'd waited for Bail to retrieve them from the Imperial City spaceport. Fully aware of being on the same planet as him… with his austere palace visible in the distance, no less… she'd found it difficult to breathe.

"I'm sorry to be such a burden," she apologized to Breha for the fifth time that morning.

The queen of Alderaan sighed. "Padmé, even if I had to escort you every day of the week, I still wouldn't consider it a burden!"

"You're too good to me. To us," she glanced sadly at the twins.

"Anyone who's endured what you have deserves no less. Now no more apologizing, I won't have it. Try to relax, we'll be at Alderaan in an hour."

Padmé obeyed by staying silent, but she was far from relaxed. How much longer could they live like this? Luke and Leia would eventually grasp their situation, and when they did, she'd have to be ready with plenty of answers.

It was already getting difficult. Within the past few months, both children began having nightmares of a black-masked man chasing them. Padmé's conscience never felt more torn than when she tried to soothe them back to sleep without revealing the truth. Not just the truth about who they saw, but the Force sensitivity causing them to see him.

In the darkest hours of her insomnia, she'd lain awake wondering if he sent the visions himself. The thought made her blood run ice cold. No, it couldn't be… he'd have to know they were alive, that I was alive. He can't target them if he doesn't know they exist.

Such logic was meager comfort when they woke up screaming every other night.

Each tear they shed made her question everything – faking her death, hiding in an off-the-map cottage on Naboo, surrendering her political mind when the galaxy most desperately needed it. Could this really be right? Was there no other way? Obi-Wan and Yoda had been so sure, but as each dismal year dragged on, she wasn't.

A tentative sigh escaped her lungs and she smiled warmly at the twins. Without them, her life would be meaningless. Keeping them safe might cause her to go gray before her time, but she wouldn't forfeit them for anything. Every sleepless night was worth it for their sake.

The more Imperial Center shrank behind them, the calmer she felt. Soon the blue-green surface of Alderaan loomed beneath them, breathtaking with its glittering oceans and snowy mountain ranges. Exile certainly felt less bitter when it looked like this.

Aldera Palace was just as magnificent as Padmé remembered it, perhaps even more so. Maybe its balconies and gardens would lift her spirits, if only a little. Instead of looking at it as a prison, she could adopt the twins' carefree view for a day. What did she have to lose?

It might even distract her from that unsettling encounter with Ainar… the one who claimed to have the last name of Skywalker.

Surely she'd imagined it all. She wanted desperately to believe that. Travel-weary hallucinations were easier to accept than… than…

Each time she almost finished the thought, common sense snapped her back like a rubber band, stinging just as badly. Maybe she wasn't just fatigued from traveling. Maybe she really was insane.

What else could explain her burning suspicion that this man, this heroic stranger, was the grandfather of the very boy he saved?

She wanted to physically slap herself back to sanity. Regardless of the coincidences, it was simply impossible. The Force had conceived Anakin, not a conventional human coupling. That was established, incontrovertible fact. The man could be a distant cousin, an uncle thrice removed. Some relation that explained the physical resemblance without upturning the entire foundation of Anakin's life.

I need to stop dwelling on this. Whoever this man is, he doesn't belong in our lives.

Yet she knew Luke would strongly beg to differ on that point.

Her inner conflict was far from settled by the time she ended up in a lavish guest bedroom with no memory of walking there. She hadn't felt this distracted in five years.

"…something to eat or drink?" the tail end of Breha's words became audible.

"Oh… um…" she blinked, feeling off-balance and slightly embarrassed. She glanced instinctively at the children, who looked rather worn out. "Maybe a pitcher of ice water and some crackers?"

Breha smiled reprovingly. "Don't be so modest, Padmé. The three of you need more than crackers and water. I'll send for a platter of meat and cheese."

Padmé was too self-conscious – and hungry – to argue. Looking around the suite, she recognized the furnishings from her previous stay, with one exception: the twin cribs had been replaced with child-size beds fit for a prince and princess. Luke and Leia spotted them instantly and ran to inspect them.

"We can't thank you enough, Breha."

"It isn't I who deserves all your gratitude," the queen deferred. "Without our informants, we wouldn't know about the Jedi raids until after the Empire performed them."

"That's certainly true. But meanwhile, I worry for Obi-Wan," Padmé gnawed her lip.

"He evaded them last time, I have faith he'll do so again."

"I know… I just wish he could accompany us instead of burrowing underground like a hunted animal."

"Unfortunately, that's what the Jedi have become," Breha placed a hand on Padmé's shoulder. "Hunted animals. At least you're under the protection of one of the most cunning, resourceful survivors."

True, once again. Which was, ironically, why Obi-Wan couldn't chaperone them to Imperial Center. Vader would've sensed his former master's potent Force signature well before he touched down. Padmé might just barely avoid detection, but the aura of a Force-sensitive Jedi was impossible to miss.

Remaining on Naboo during the raids was risky, but it allowed Obi-Wan to monitor the sweepers' progress and alert Padmé the instant they were gone. Spending one minute too long in the vicinity of Imperial Center could mean the difference between her safety and capture.

The latter was something Padmé simply refused to imagine. Even her subconscious blocked it from being used as nightmare material.

The sound of footsteps approaching made both women turn toward the door, which opened to reveal a beaming Bail Organa. Padmé embraced her longtime friend and political ally with a bittersweet sigh.

"Bail, it's wonderful to see you again!"

"Yes, even under less than ideal circumstances," the Viceroy agreed. "You traveled well, I hope? No snags or altercations?"

Does an altercation count if it was diffused, but I can't stop thinking about it? "Well, now that you mention it…"

"I do apologize, I'm still petitioning to get Alderaan joined to the Corellian Run," Bail incorrectly anticipated her complaint. "I know I said the same thing at your last visit, but I haven't given up."

Before Padmé could respond, his attention was on the twins, who were using the beds like trampolines.

"Are these the same twins who stayed here three years ago?" he exclaimed. "You two have sprouted like weeds! I'll have to tell the gardener to bring his pruning shears up here."

Giggling, Luke and Leia intensified their jumping. Luke adopted an especially mischievous grin.

"Uncle Bail, guess what?"

"Hmm… you ate a fried salamander during your ride on the transport?"

"Hahaha, no!"

"Your sister ate a fried salamander?"

"No, she's too afraid to!" Luke laughed, earning a pouty look from Leia.

"Well, I'm obviously no good at guessing. You'll just have to tell me."

"A big, nasty alien got mad at me on the ship!"

Trying not to look too alarmed, Bail leaned down to Luke's level. "Really? That sounds scary."

"It was!" the boy shouted almost gleefully.

"So did he cool his temper?"

Nodding, Luke was grinning from ear to ear now. "Yeah – after grandpa talked to him."

"Oh, that's good–"

In his relief to hear no harm had befallen Luke, Bail processed the words a little too quickly. Half a second passed before it struck him as strange. Rising slowly, he turned to Padmé in genuine confusion.

"Ruwee traveled with you?" he asked skeptically.

Padmé flushed. "No, both my parents are still on Naboo. Luke, why would you lie about that?"

"He's not lying," Leia spoke up, compounding Padmé's shock. "You saw him too, mom. It was grandpa."

Beside herself, Padmé scarcely knew what to say. What had gotten into her children? What did they have to gain by conspiring to fabricate this part of the story? Why couldn't they just tell the simple truth?

Maybe for the same reason she frequently blanched at that "simple" truth.

Maybe because it wasn't quite as simple as she wanted to believe.

Well, she had been angling for some way to broach the subject. The twins' segue was a little unconventional, but it was better than nothing.

"Luke, Leia, will you behave nicely while Uncle Bail, Aunt Breha and I talk in the other room for a minute?"

"Okay."

"Sure."

"That means no more jumping on those beds," Padmé admonished.

"Fine," they ceased pouncing in unison, trying to look angelic as they sat on the edge of the mattresses. Padmé knew they'd resume their antics as soon as the door shut, but she cringed at the idea of discussing Ainar in front of them. The less complicated this remained for them, the better.

Once inside the adjoining suite, the royal couple curiously awaited Padmé's next words. It wasn't like the former senator of Naboo to be so flustered.

"I'm sorry, they must still be out of sorts from the trip," she began, not sounding altogether convincing – or convinced.

"It's no bother, they're just children. They have active imaginations," Breha offered.

"That's just it… their imaginations aren't as vivid as you think."

"What do you mean?"

Wringing her hands, Padmé paced anxiously, looking everywhere but Bail and Breha. "I… I don't know how to explain this without sounding half out of my mind…"

"We're the last people to ever judge you, Padmé," Bail assured her.

"I hope you mean that," Padmé looked up timidly. "I'll start by saying the man who rescued Luke didn't look anything like my father."

"Not even a little?" Breha inquired.

Padmé almost laughed. "My father is dark and short in stature like me. This man was tall, fair-haired, and… blue-eyed," her throat caught. "No one with half-functioning vision would have mistaken him for Ruwee Naberrie."

"Then what would possess the twins to insist he was 'grandpa?'" Bail wondered.

"That's the part you won't believe," Padmé drew a breath. "He looked just like… him."

Understanding dawned on each of their faces at exactly the same moment. Bail looked sick to his stomach while Breha's eyes filled with tender sadness.

"But... it couldn't be," Bail whispered in controlled horror. "I saw Vader on the holo news just this morning."

"Don't misunderstand, he wasn't identical. Much older, actually. Like he was old enough to be…"

"What, his father?" Bail finished when it appeared she couldn't.

"I told you it was madness!" Padmé cried.

Exchanging looks of concern, Bail and Breha stepped closer to her.

"It's not madness, Padmé. The twins are Force-sensitive. Even if you'd never shown them a photo of Anakin, they might still feel an instinctive connection we don't understand," Breha counseled gently. "And it's possible you haven't yet fully recovered from the trauma he did to you. You're not crazy – you're just hurting."

"That's right. The subconscious can be a powerful thing. You may long for a positive male member of Anakin's family to offset his evil deeds," Bail advised. "But the truth of the matter is he has no father."

"You think I don't know that? That I haven't told myself that a million times in a vain effort to stop seeing him when I close my eyes?" Padmé shot back. "The truth of the matter is this: he said his name was Ainar Skywalker!"

The royal pair was too shocked to speak.

"You see? This isn't some trite psychology case!" she finished indignantly.

"It could be a distant relative," Bail hedged.

"His only known relatives are the Lars. Not once did he mention anyone with his own last name!"

"Family reunions are hard to attend when you're a slave," Bail reasoned. "Tatooine wasn't even where he was born. If he had extended family, he'd have never known."

"We can argue this logically all day, but I won't get much sleep until I know who Ainar is. Would you be able to search public records? Do a full background check?"

"I suppose," Bail shrugged. "But many planets keep spotty records at best."

"I'll take that chance."

Silently consulting his wife, who apparently had nothing to add, Bail gave Padmé one last dubious glance. "I'll see what I can find and get back to you later."

"Thank you," Padmé said sincerely.

With nothing else to say, the trio returned to find the twins landing awkwardly on the pillows. The five-year-olds looked up in wide-eyed, exaggerated innocence.

"I'll fetch the guest toys from storage," Breha whispered to Padmé, who stifled a laugh.

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Leave it to the youngest individuals to see what adults can't/ won't. Though to be fair, those adults aren't Force-sensitive.

And still so many unanswered questions...

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