XVI. Moonlight

He found her walking in the orchards at sunset, as beautiful under the canopy of a thousand trees from a hundred worlds as the day he met her. The low rumble of a capital ship as it passed overhead shook the boughs and dropped a scattering of gold and silver leaves over his mantle of office as he came down toward the pond.

She was there on the rock where she came to be alone with her worries. It had become a familiar place in recent years. It was serene enough, lying just below the rolling hills, in the shadow of the gleaming white and gold spires of Aldera. But Bail Organa had grown to despise the place of peace: worry enough in a place of peace, he thought, and it became tainted as a place of worry. And his wife was never wrong to worry—and that was worrying in itself.

"Is there room for another?" he said softly, mounting the rock.

"There is no room here for Viceroys," she said. "No room for Senators, and especially none for Generals."

He frowned.

"There is only room for husbands," she said. He sat beside her and she kissed him tenderly.

"And fathers?" asked Bail.

Queen Breha smiled sadly. "Yes," she said. "Fathers too. Especially them."

He sat with her in silence—never at a loss for words, as a statesman, but relieved in the end not to need them.

"Tatooine is a long way out," said Breha. "A very long way."

"I know," said Bail. "About as far from us as a man could get."

"She could be days returning."

"She could be," Bail admitted. "I don't imagine he'll be easy to find. You know, I told so many people he was dead, that by the time Mon Mothma spoke with me, I think I believed it myself."

She touched his hand. "And what do you believe now?"

"A thousand terrible things," he replied. "But I have hope."

"She's too young," said Breha. "I should have gone."

"Nonsense," said Bail. "I'd never have allowed it."
"I am your queen," she reminded him.

"All the more reason you couldn't go," he said. "The Republic needs this world—your world. It still stands, in spirit, somewhere beneath the Empire, as long as we hold true to our Code."

"The people love you," said Breha. "They would follow you as they follow me."

"Perhaps," said Bail. "But I have…I had certain reasons for sending Leia."

"I will not blame you," she told him. "Already I can see you blame yourself too much."

He hissed softly through his teeth. "I told her to turn straight home when the fighting broke out," he said. "I told her to abort as soon as things exploded over Scarif."

"And did she?" asked Breha.

He shook his head. "You know her better than that. And you know she'd have been back by now."

"Then she went ahead," said Breha. "She took the jump to Tatooine. What do you suppose that means?"

He shrugged. "Either she's got Galen's plans, and now we're in need of a Jedi…or she failed to get them, and now we're in real need of a Jedi. Most of the fleet's in ruins. I can't hold out much hope either way."

"She was not among the dead," said Breha. "The Jedi will help her."

Bail sighed. "Obi-Wan," he began, but then fell silent.

"It's all right," she said.

"Obi-Wan will protect her," said Bail. "I don't think he wants to be found. But if she finds him—and I have faith in her—he'll have no choice. That's why I had to send her, Breha. That's why it had to be her. He could refuse anyone, but he cannot refuse her. If she can only reach him…the safest place in the galaxy for her would be at his side."

She held Bail close, searched his eyes with a mother's concern.

"Does he know?" she asked.

"Of course he knows," said Bail. "He has to. He's a Jedi. They know everything."

"Not everything," said Breha. "They're not mothers, after all." Bail laughed out loud for the first time in what felt like too long.

"Come back to the palace with me," he said. "It gets cool out here after dark."

He took her hand and she stood with grace, lowering herself down off the rock. It was that perfect hour for walking home; the deep red sunset was still with them, and in the darkening sky the tiny grey crescent of a hanging moon brought an ethereal beauty to the evening. As the night came down, the innumerable stars blossomed overhead, and they found their way back to the palace trail by moonlight alone.

"Do you miss him as I do?" she asked, and he nodded. "Obi-Wan, I mean."

"He was a good man," said Bail. "And with a Jedi in the room, you always knew you were safe. You, your family, the whole world."

"She's never even met him," said Breha.

"He'll know her the moment he sees her," said Bail. "Instantly."

Breha nodded. "That's the way of such things," she said, "if they're really true."

Bail cradled her arm. "You believe my wild theories, then?" he asked, smiling.

"Sometimes even a Queen is permitted to be an old romantic," she said.

"I just know how lucky we were to have her all these years," said Bail.

"How lucky we are," she corrected him, and he nodded.

"I think—if I were wrong about them," he said, "Obi-Wan could easily have taken them both. Would have, almost certainly."

Breha nodded. "The Empire—they never knew there were two children?"

"Never," Bail confirmed. "Even Anakin never knew."

"It would have made so much sense," said Breha. "More sense, if you ask me. The Empire wouldn't have been looking for two."

"I doubt they're looking for even one anymore," said Bail. "We've been so careful, all these years."

"All these years," Breha echoed. "He could have taken them both."

"I suppose so."

"And he didn't."

"He couldn't."

"He's never laid eyes on her. Not since…"

"No."

Breha's hazel eyes glistened warm and wet in the steadily brightening moonlight. The moon was half-full, now, gleaming more silver and radiant than ever before.

"I understand," she said. "But…isn't that the saddest thing you ever heard?"

Bail brushed away a stray lock of hair and kissed her cheek. He thought back on his years of struggle, of hunger, of fear. He thought of the sacrifices he had made for his people, his family, the good of the galaxy. And most of all he thought of Leia, the bright spot in his happy life, the little girl who had brought such joy to his heart and such terrible sadness to the Jedi Master's. He did not know, in that moment, if she were free or captured, living or dead, safe at the side of the last man he trusted, or lost and alone somewhere among the stars. He would give anything, he thought, to have her in his arms again. And there was nothing in him but gratitude for the years he had been blessed with a daughter to call his own.

"For him, perhaps." he said. "But for me? For us? No, starlight…I think it was the happiest thing in all the world."

Arm in arm, they took the path up from the old orchard, circling round the fountain to the south gate. They passed a few young pages and dignitaries walking and laughing among the flowers, but mostly they kept to themselves. It was nearly day-bright under the light of a full moon that seemed to take up half the heavens. They had passed close to the foot of the south stair, through a grove of fragrant blueblossoms and everlilies, when the whole canopy of elder trees lit up and shimmered in the resplendent glow of a blazing sky.

"Oh wow," said Breha, clutching her husband in innocent awe at the rapturous light. "Oh, wow." Her smile shone like the heart of a star.

On the far, sheltered side of the world, for a few seconds at least, there would be terror and agony beyond all reckoning. But the capital's last instant was one of joy. In that ecstatic moment, the whole living city of Aldera was infinitely green, infinitely bright; no one in all the galaxy had ever seen such perfect beauty, nor ever after lived to tell of it.