.Chapter One.
written by Celtic Pixie
.
"As long as you keep secrets and suppress information, you are fundamentally at war with yourself…The critical issue is allowing yourself to know what you know. That takes an enormous amount of courage."
―Bessel A. van der Kolk,The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma
~0~
Mandalore was filled with an indescribable feeling that had a unique and mysterious quality. Despite being intangible, it could be sensed within one's innermost self. It seemed to originate from the palace's depths, where something had happened that wasn't necessarily sinister but aimed at weakening the duchess's determination.
The sound of the door slamming open echoed through the hallway, causing everyone within earshot to jump in surprise. Before anyone could react, Satine Kryze came bursting through the corridor, sprinting with wild abandon.
The duchess's footsteps pounded against the hardwood floors as she zigzagged past startled onlookers. Her eyes were wide with fear, and her breath came in ragged gasps as she frantically scanned her surroundings for some form of safety. It was clear that something had sent her into an absolute panic.
It was clear that whatever had prompted her to move so quickly must have been important enough to warrant such a sudden torrent of energy.
She burst into her quarters rather urgently, as if running from something chasing her, the very horror breathing at the nape of her neck. Her eyes darted around wildly, scanning every inch of the space with a desperate intensity. It was obvious that whatever she was here for was important to her - perhaps even crucial. The tension in the room was palpable, muttering under her breath all the while.
That's when it hit her, slamming into her like a ram, flooding her body with a sharp, intense wave of physical pain. Her entire body buckles at the knees; it lurched forwards, hands grasping for something to hold onto as the first of – what was sure to be many – contractions flooded her body.
Realizing the door to her quarters was still opened, the duchess staggered across the carpet, and quickly thumbed the keypad on the right side of the wall. As she turned back, Satine keenly observed the droplets of liquid staining her plush rug. She stretched for the hems of her pleaded skirts as the fabric bunched up in the palms of her hands. Then, carefully, Satine reached to touch herself, and could feel the slow trickle of fluid running down her legs.
Satine's face contorted with pain as she clutched her swollen belly. Her breathing quickened and became ragged, as waves of contractions wracked her body. A thin layer of sweat coated her forehead, and she moaned softly through gritted teeth. Panic began to set in as the realization hit that this was it - she was going into labor.
Satine began experiencing morning sickness last week, but initially dismissed it as insignificant and didn't even entertain the idea of being pregnant since she wasn't actively trying to have a child and had no plans for it in the foreseeable future.
Her handmaiden gently brought to her attention that she appeared slightly pallid, and Satine admitted that she was not feeling quite like herself. The duchess was quite a busy woman and couldn't be bothered to stop for what she chalked up as a simple illness.
In the following weeks, she developed an aversion to Tiingilar, a classic and filling Mandalorian stew that consists of an assortment of meats, vegetables of different colors, and a powerful combination of spices. Subsequently, she experienced an increased sensitivity to scents, tiredness, changes in mood, and her breasts became tender when touched.
Despite the situation, Satine continued with her activities. However, by the eleventh week, she began experiencing discomfort and pain in her abdomen as well as ligament pain that varied from mild to severe. It was too much to continue ignoring as insignificant.
As she anxiously waited for her test results, Satine's heart was pounding with anticipation—and maybe even a little anxiety. She felt a rush of emotions when she saw the word "positive" appear on the small screen.
She was overwhelmed with the news and her mind was running wild as she struggled to grasp the magnitude of it all. Countless thoughts intruded her brain. Despite the feeling of confusion and uncertainty, Satine accepted a mix of excitement – and even some fear – at the prospect of carrying another life within her, a child of Mandalore.
She needs to cook up an explanation, for sure. Her people would know soon enough their duchess was with child and would press for answers to details she feared to give them.
Satine also felt the right to be anxious about how people would react to such news. Perhaps she's worried that they won't be happy for her, or that they'll judge her for being pregnant at a certain time or under certain circumstances.
The world around her seemed to blur as everything else faded away except for the intense sensations coursing through her body. She knew there was no turning back now; a new life was about to be brought into this world, and nothing could stop it.
Satine slowly retreated to her bed, experiencing intense discomfort with each movement. She struggled to remain standing and clenched the bedpost tightly as she doubled over from the excruciating pain and overwhelming nausea. She clutched the bedpost so tightly that her knuckles turned almost white. Then, a contraction hit her even harder, causing the duchess to drop to her knees and let out a deep, guttural scream.
She slow-crawled to an ordinate nightstand and thumbed a switch on the comm-link that sat there opposite a holo pic of Mandalore's lush veshok tree forests. "Please—send a handmaiden to my quarters." The pain she felt was reflected in the tone of her voice. The answer was unclear, but it may have been due to an instinctive reaction of avoidance.
The duchess experiences an increase in discomfort, causing her body to shake involuntarily. She becomes visibly scared and pained, with a contorted expression on her face and perspiration forming on her forehead. Her system battles to adapt to the overpowering feeling.
She collapses against the bedside, completely incapable of keeping herself upright. Satine's legs are spread out in front of her. She clutches at her belly again as another contraction attacks her. She experiences a sensation of pressure growing in her lower body, followed by an impulse to push. Satine adjusts her skirts and shimmies out of her panties, then bears down.
~/~/~
Riya Nadeau – a young handmaiden in service to the duchess – hurried to her mistress's chambers with great speed, responding to the duchess's urgent request. The desperation in the duchess's tone emphasized the need for haste.
The girl placed her hand on the control panel located next to the door and rushed inside the duchess's room. However, her movement came to an abrupt halt when she saw Satine Kryze lying on the floor with blood surrounding her. As she approached, Riya noticed a newborn baby crying and covered in bits of amniotic fluid.
Satine's face appeared flushed or sweaty, and her hair disheveled from the exertion of labor. Her breathing was heavy, still, as she recovered from the intense physical strain. As reality began to settle back in, Satine leaned forward to take the tiny infant – all red-faced and screaming; a hearty set of lungs on the child.
The visual sight that presented itself before the young handmaiden was undoubtedly nothing short of a startling and unexpected revelation, leaving her in a state of perplexity that necessitated a significant amount of time to process and make sense of all the elements constituting the scene right before her very eyes.
The duchess lifted her chin and turned to the girl, her eyes were puffy, watery and had a desperate look. She was so overwhelmed that she hadn't even severed the umbilical cord yet and couldn't find the strength to search for any instrument to release the baby from her.
Riya regained her senses and searched the small rooms thoroughly, hoping to find anything useful. She eventually stumbled upon a pair of scissors and a small towel that she could use to swaddle the newborn baby. In haste, she returned to cut and tie off the umbilical cord before wrapping up the little one in the towel.
Satine's breasts were swollen with milk and her son was crying for food. She strained to undo her bodice, but the pain from giving birth had left her body weak, and she looked to her handmaiden for help. Riya resolved to do so, and the infant latched almost instantly. Satine looked down at her little one, feeling an overwhelming sense of pride.
Riya leaned back, carefully observing mother and child, then offered, "I should call upon a nurse's maid immediately, duchess." She had numerous inquiries about her mistress's unexpected child, but she decided to keep them to herself for the time being.
Satine briefly appeared discouraged, but quickly regained her composure and objected to the proposed course of action. "Can I not feed him from my own breast?"
"I only meant in the interest of your wellbeing, duchess, of course."
"I know you meant well, Riya, but I—" Satine gazed upon her newborn with a fresh sensation filling her heart. "—I just... need a moment to figure this out."
A son—I have a son.
She watched her son nursing and let out a deep sigh. This little boy—this precious child of Mandalore, who know nothing of war—wasn't planned, but conceived out of love.
The view of the city at night was stunning, resembling a masterpiece—especially from the height of the hanger. The towering skyscrapers and edifices were lit up with numerous lights that sparkled like stars in the sky. These lights produced lengthy shadows on the streets below, creating an exquisite juxtaposition between brightness and obscurity. Occasionally, Obi-Wan noticed one of these glittering lights from the corner of his companion's eye.
At first, he was skeptical when he learned that she would be arriving. It wouldn't be unreasonable for him to feel a bit of happiness about her upcoming visit. This could have briefly diverted his attention from the thoughts that were troubling him after their previous meeting.
Satine didn't have the mental or emotional fortitude to encounter him once more, and the idea of being in his presence, even for a brief moment, caused her heart to race.
Obi-Wan had experienced a similar feeling and withdrew to his quarters in an attempt to find inner peace. However, when he observed her disembark from the boarding ramp on the hangar deck, his pulse raced. He even remembered sensing his master's touch on his shoulder as if his heartbeat was audible to others.
Although the purpose of their meeting was strictly business, the young duchess and padawan found a way to enjoy each other's company beyond the boundaries of the formal protocol.
However-the short-lived daydream had to end.
Obi-Wan led his companion through the bustling hangar with strong determination. They maneuvered through a sea of various life forms, making their way towards the particular hangar where the duchess's sleek cruiser was parked.
As they faced each other, their eyes locked in a wordless exchange of feelings, she realized that it was time to say goodbye. She attempted to commit every detail about him to memory - from how his hair cascaded over his forehead, to the curve of his lips when he smiled, and even the warmth of his touch.
Concealed from view, Obi-Wan grasped her hand, and she felt her heart skip a beat. For an instant, all else vanished as they stood there silently. Then he murmured, "I know what we both had agreed to before," he sighed, heavily, "I still wish things were different."
Understanding that they could not be together, she nodded slowly. They had both made choices that led them down separate paths, and now it was time to let go.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she whispered one final farewell into the empty air, hoping that somehow, he would hear it and understand just how much she loved him.
Satine wiped away a tear that had rolled down her cheek and landed on the baby's face with the back of her finger. She came to an understanding while trying to reconcile her knowledge of the baby's existence. She decided that the truth about his birth should not be disclosed.
Instead, she would describe him as a lost child who was orphaned and alone. No one knew she had been pregnant, and she intended to keep it that way. Although it pained her to keep the identity of her son's biological father hidden from others, she understood that revealing this information would have negative consequences beyond what she could endure.
As she intently scrutinized her son's face, her focus was particularly drawn to his coloring, with a specific emphasis on the captivating tresses of a bold shade resembling that of ginger.