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How did a person go on living when their very heart had been ripped from their chest?
That was the only coherent question which ran through Leia’s head after Alderaan had been destroyed.
The piercing green of the Death Star’s superlaser, cutting through her home, her soul, her everything. Two billion innocent people… dead. It was more than unjust. It was… impossibly evil, cruel beyond words. The shot may as well have stabbed into her chest… and stars, she wished that it had! Would that she had died instead of her people. She’d have done anything.
She sunk to her knees, the sound of screams echoing through her mind. Their pain as they endured their fiery death… palpable and terrifying…
…And then there was silence. Emptiness. A bleak nothingness. Leia withheld her tears. She did not scream, did not display the fullness of emotion. She could not allow Tarkin the satisfaction. She shot him a glare that was vicious enough to kill, before opening her mouth to curse him.
“Tarkin, if ever there was a shred of humanity in you or these twisted creatures of yours, it’s dead now. You’re at war with life itself. You are enemies of the universe. Your Empire is doomed!”
Oh, but these platitudes, injected with rage though they may be, felt so increasingly hollow in the wake of what had just occurred. She knew her words meant nothing to these killers either. It was clear enough that neither the Governor nor Vader had anything remotely resembling a conscience. She would never trust in the honor of the enemy again. She could not afford such an error.
“Take her away,” Tarkin sneered, looking for all the worlds as if he had just obtained the greatest joy of his life, the peak of his career, swatting her off as though she was nothing more than a pesky insect.
And to him, she may as well be. After all, he was going to execute her.
Soon she would join her people– murdered at the Empire’s hands for the cause.
It was the only comfort she could find for herself in the coming hours.
She soon found herself rescued.
The rescue went… poorly, to say the least. A smuggler, a Wookiee, and a farmboy, all of whom had no idea in the slightest what they were doing. But somehow, miracle of miracles, they escaped with their lives. And somehow, miracle of miracles, they managed to destroy the weapon which had ended her planet.
It was all she could have hoped for.
Now what?
During the medal ceremony held in honor of her rescuers, she plastered a smile onto her face so bright and hopeful that it hurt. There was a sort of joy, rooted deep within her soul, now that the Death Star was gone. There was an unmistakable relief that came with the realization that the Empire could, in fact, be defeated… that they were not so invulnerable as the propaganda made them out to be. And that there were new heroes– shiny, bright and idealistic– to help her along in what otherwise would have been a lonely effort after Alderaan’s demise.
The celebration afterward was brief, simple, though luminous. They must soon take the task of finding another base, move operations so the Empire didn’t come after them in some dramatic search for revenge following the loss of their prized weapon. During the proceedings, she played nice, chattering with and congratulating each soldier and pilot. She’d be the symbol they wanted. The figurehead they needed in order to push through and continue fighting this dangerous, exhausting war.
In the meantime, she found that she was best off when she basked in the warmth of Luke– her youthful hero, her newfound friend– clinging to him for support, waiting for the time she could finally depart and find respite in solitude.
A princess did not cry before her enemies; that was weakness. Nor did she display her true emotions before the eyes of her allies– they must not see her vulnerability, lest they lose their sense of morale.
But when she at last made her way back to her chambers, she curled up on the cot and wept until she had no tears left.
Sleep was painful. Sorrowful. She dreamt of her home, of her people. She dreamt of Tarkin’s cruel smile, of Vader’s respirator in her ear, of fire consuming the land…
This wasn’t a grief that could be alleviated. This would remain with her until she died.
And even when she awoke, the salt of hot tears stained her cheeks. There were some scars that simply could not heal, that simply would not fade.
She thought of Luke, of the innocent farmboy, blue eyes shimmering with a naive sort of hope… with a power she could never have. She thought of the rebel forces, counting on her… of the Empire which must be purged. There was much to live for. There was much to be done.
She would persist despite the scars, despite the heartache.
It was the duty of the Crown Princess. It was only fair… for the memory of Alderaan.
But for now… within the safety and privacy of her dreams…
She would mourn. She would weep.