Anyone on that planet will tell you how they grieved at Padmé Amidala’s funeral. Some know the truth. Few will admit it. She did not die in childbirth, but she knew that to protect her children that the whole galaxy had to believe that she died.

Upon her internment, she fled, hid in the outer rims and lived out of reach, in great heartbreak, out of reach of her family, her children, out of reach of him sensing her.  She lived a long life, some say even had more children and went on to help others in need, but never fulfilled, always a void, sad.

Strong rumors even spread that she made a few daring visits to her young daughter on Alderaan (fuzzy accounts exist that she visited her son on Tatooine) but that it became much too dangerous, and she had said a final goodbye to Leia at such a young age that the child would probably just hold the memory as images, nothing certain, an impression of her beauty, her heart, her longing, her pain.

“What does it matter if my grandmother had more children? They would not be strong with the Force unless she had met another Jedi as strong with the Force as my grandfather.” Ben mused.

“Wouldn’t it matter to you that you have more family out there? This stranger pushed. “Perhaps they aren’t strong with the Force, but perhaps there are more ways to be powerful in this galaxy. Perhaps they would have stories from your grandmother about your grandfather.”

She hadn’t decided if it was wise or not to hint at these stories passed down amongst her people from the descendants of the Amidalas, but it was too late to take back what she had just implied. And her intention was to remain silent no matter what his next words were because she felt like that she had just revealed the location of Padme’s descendants although she didn’t even know where that was.