~*~

She often walked at night. She wasn't weak--wasn't needy. So when she felt the pain sneak upon her, she left. She walked, where no one would see.

How long she had been walking was debatable--long enough for fingers and toes to go numb in the vicious chill. Long enough for the tears streaming down her face to freeze to her skin, the wind biting cruelly into her as she stumbled onwards.

Not long enough for the pain to dull though--not nearly long enough. It was there inside her, an angry, living thing that wrapped itself around her soul and strangled every bit of light from it. It was hungry, her pain--and it wouldn't leave.

The darkness closed in around her as she drew a long gasping breath, the cold air burning her lungs as she let it out on a ragged moan. Tears eluded her now--the pain grown so overwhelming that it was everything she was.

There had been a time when she thought this much pain impossible. Surely one's very spirit would shrivel and die in the face of such overwhelming agony. How could lungs and heart continue to work when they were squeezed by the icy fingers of anguish?

But work they did. Ragged breaths brought freezing air into her lungs, the cold wrapping around the loneliness and gaping need, feeding it. Fanning the frozen flames higher. The pounding heart thudded erratically in her chest, trying and failing to pump blood to her frozen extremities. The still worked--and she still felt.

Insecurities came out in the dark. She was attacked by them--besieged. By the light of the single silver moon, she was laid bare before her own soul. Passing judgement on her own, she could not but help find herself lacking.

And then the guilt came. Guilt in her own pathetic self pity, guilt at feeling so low when there were so very many more who made do with so far less than what she had. Guilt that she walked at night, when she could be helping others.

Guilt that maybe they were right, when they screamed at her. Maybe she was worthless.

Another corner, a darker ally--her footsteps were rushed now as she tried to find true darkness, darkness so deep that she could hide from herself, hide from her mind and thoughts . . . just hide.

But hiding is what she was doing already, walking at night. Before long she would have to return. There could be no trace of tears marring the supposed perfection of her cheeks. No hair could be out of place. She must be regal. She must be perfect.

She must be happy.

Was that why she walked at night? Was that why she hid? So no one would know that she was not what she pretended to be.

Maybe.

Yet another ally--this one without light at all--and she finally stopped, sinking down into the dirty street, her back pressed against a wall. She couldn't let herself cry--that she knew--but still her shoulders trembled with sobs, the agony of holding tears back burning through her eyelids. Squeezing her eyes shut, she rocked.

Time was immaterial. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. Struggling free of the mind-numbing waves of agony, she had all she could do to hold it in. Her chest slowly grew numb, her throat ached--and through it all she rocked back and forth, fingers digging into her robe as she made low whimpering sounds, sobs that broke free despite her best effort.

No matter that she did this nearly every night--it never grew easier.

Eventually, though, the pain numbed. Faced with such overwhelming agony, her soul slowly caved in, taking the pain and making it a part of her. She could feel it, a hollow dull ache inside her that only grew when filled--a bottomless pit that grew deeper each time she shoved her despair into it.

But it was gone. It was hidden from the light of day, and would only come out in the cold, dark night, when she was alone. For years she had been doing this--each time it took slightly longer to force the pain back. But force it she did--she would not be ruled by foolish and self-centered emotions.

At least, that's what she told herself.

When the shaking had receded she finally climbed to her feet. Now was the time she hated most--the time when she slowly rebuilt the mask. Layer upon layer, painstakingly constructed every night as she wandered the dark streets alone--her mask was all anyone saw of her.

She had only begun, numb feet leading her endlessly deeper into the maze of the shadowy city, when she sensed the presence behind her. It was a change in the very air around her, the way it stirred and caressed her tear-stained cheeks, bringing a faint hint of warmth to the bitter cold.

Footsteps followed, the faint, almost not there clicking of boots on cool stones. Slower then hers, much slower--but coming steadily closer. Whoever was following her had much longer legs than her own.

Frozen fingers caressed the blaster at her side, pain forgotten for a moment in the adrenaline surge. Years she had been walking out alone at night, but never before had she been disturbed. It seemed almost that the inner city residents of the night respected her as she respected them, giving her distance to vent her grief in peace.

Or maybe they just knew who she was and feared retribution. She knew best of all that her father was hardly known for his mercy.

Closer now, those footsteps, and fear started climbing slowly up her spine. Eyes casting franticly around, they landed on a side street. Spinning into it, numb fingers scrambled to draw her blaster, pointing it at the mouth of the alley.

Hidden in the shadows, she waited for her pursuer to step into the moonlight at the entrance of the street. Fear and pain were both gone, shoved into the endless void inside her and locked firmly away. She could barely feel the finger on the trigger, and her hands shook, but she was ready.

He--for it was most definitely a he--stepped around the corner slowly, hands held out in a gesture of peace. "I am not here to harm you, your Highness," a soft cultured voice said. His face was hidden by the deep cowl of his robe, but somehow she knew that he was meeting her eyes dead on.

His robe and the flash of silver at one hip gave him away. He was one of the Jedi who were here to investigate her father. If the reputation of the Jedi held even the faintest germ of truth, then the chances were he would already know her family's secret.

Did he mean to take her hostage to force her father to deal fairly? The thought made her want to laugh. Little success that would be. She was tempted to let him do so, just to get away. Her father wouldn't pay for her return--and the Jedi were reputed to be fair. They couldn't hurt her any more than she already hurt . . .

"I am not here in an official capacity, your Highness," he spoke again, one hand moving ever so slowly to tip the hood of his robe back. Moonlight streamed down on his head, turning the short blonde hair to washed out silver, painting his finely chiseled features into marble.

Swallowing around the lump in her throat, she clenched her jaw. "Why are you here, then?" she asked slowly. Her arms were still trembling, but she was loath to lower the blaster, even knowing that she would not be able to hurt him. It was only by clinging to the shreds of her fear that she could keep the pain hidden.

"My Master and I have watched you leave every night for the past fortnight," he responded, voice still even. Although the cold wind must be biting painfully into his bare flesh, he made no move to hide his hands in his robe again, keeping them open and spread in a gesture of helplessness.

Her own numb fingers shook, the blaster finally falling from trembling fingers as she yanked her hands back, shoving them into the sleeves of her robe. "I am glad to know that the Jedi are keeping such close surveillance of the royal family. I will be sure to tell my father of your thoroughness." She made no move to pick the blaster up, refusing to acknowledge her own weakness.

"As I said before, I am not here in an official capacity." The golden head tilted slightly, throwing the line of his mouth and jaw into sudden shadow. She felt her eyes drawn to the play of shadow around his lips as he moved, unable to tear her gaze away. She had to concentrate on something--on anything. Had to keep the pain inside.

"I ask again. Why are you here?"

One slow step forward, and he was out of the light, his entire being suddenly as bathed in shadows as her own. The air around him vibrated, something that had nothing to do with the thing the Jedi's called the Force. No--his aura was power.

She knew that aura. She was the only one in her family who lacked it.

"You hurt," he said softly. No longer angle to focus on his lips, her eyes darted around franticly. She had to find something to hold her concentration--she hadn't let the mask fall into place yet. She couldn't afford to let the pain break free--it would sweep her up and never let her go.

"Many people hurt," she responded, ice cold fingers biting into her arm. The coldness of her frozen hand on her forearm was something, and her attention zeroed in. Coldness. Warmth. Basic things she could think about--could use to keep the pain inside. She began to wiggle her numb toes, concentrating on the uncomfortable sensation as blood was worked back into them.

"You hurt a great deal--and you walk alone at night to hide from it." Another step--and he was almost lost in the darkness to her. Faint moonlight shown through the tall buildings leaning precariously against each other. One slither of light fell across his cheek, and her eyes flew to it.

"I walk alone at night because I enjoy being alone," she responded. The tingling in her toes was growing--and she let every sense narrow in on the uncomfortable feeling. Anything to hide from the pain he was calling back out of the void with his kind words and overplayed sympathy.

Who was he to care about her when those who were supposed to love her never noticed her pain? Why should he see into her soul when kith and kin were blind to her? It was an act--it had to be an act--and whatever he wanted from her he would not get.

"Something is wrong here," he said softly. "I am afraid that you will be a victim of it." Another step, and the stray beam of moonlight slipped from his cheek into darkness. He was close now--close enough that the aura was surrounding her. It was unsettling in the extreme, as if she had been caught up in something much larger than herself.

"I am not a victim of anything or anybody." The words were almost snarled, and for a moment she simply breathed, trying to bring calm to her mind. She didn't like the feeling of helplessness. It fed into the void inside her, calling in a siren's voice. Begging for the pain to come to the surface, to be purged.

She would not listen to it. Siren's were beautiful, and offered you momentary pleasure--but they destroyed in the end. There was no such thing as comfort freely given. Everyone wanted something in return--and how well she knew that.

"But your father--"

"I'm afraid that you will have to take this up with my father." She could feel the change in the energy around her as he shifted his body minutely, ready to take the final step that would put him in touching distance. Shifting backwards quickly, she let her nails dig into her palms. The pain--however faint--was a focusing point. It was real pain--pain that she could touch and understand. That she could control.

"What does he do to you?" His body swayed slightly forwards, she watched as his eyes danced into a shred of moonbeam before rocking back out--but he did not move forwards again. He sensed her pain, and thought it was fear.

Fine. Better a coward than something infinitely worse. Better than what she really was.

"My father is fair and good to me," she said slowly. "He has never raised a hand to me in anger or frustration. He has given me everything I have. I will not speak against him."

He moved so swiftly she couldn't anticipate it, green eyes flashing as stray strands of moonlight danced across his eyes. Large hands clasped her shoulders, a face lowered to stare directly at her. Even in the dark she could see those eyes--they were brilliant.

A true siren, whose call was as irresistible as the pain inside her.

"I can hear your thoughts," he said slowly. One hand trailed down her arm to her fist, prying her fingers apart slowly. His larger hand cradled hers as he brought it up, shifting it until it was illuminated by one of the silver curls of moonlight. Four tiny crescents of blood stood plainly, marking where her fingernails had dug into her skin. "I can feel your pain." A blunt finger dragged slowly across each tiny wound, sending a tingling into her skin.

"I know what you feel." His warm hand covered her palm for a moment, fingers carefully caressing the skin at her wrist. When he finally pulled back, he angled her palm into the light again. A swipe of one finger cleared her palm of blood, revealing the new skin that had grown to replace the four tiny injuries. "I can help you."

It was almost enough--almost. She was beyond speech, the pain having climbed up out of it's sinkhole to wrap it's claws around her throat. Breathing was suddenly hard, drawing breaths of the icy air into her lungs became a struggle. His voice caressed her like some long lost lover, wrapping her in assurance of understanding and caring.

But she didn't know him. Didn't trust him. Couldn't let him see what no one else even guessed--

--couldn't let him see what she truly was. A quivering, coward. Worthless. A fool.

Arms wrapped around her, hiding her in the vast expanses of a deep cloak. "Not worthless," he murmured, his face dropping to her hair. "Not a fool. You are alone--but you do not have to be right now. I can carry the burden."

The pain clawed at her throat, wrapping it's icy tentacles around her soul. She could feel the wall inside her explode, feel the pain from the weeks and the months clamber in their haste to climb to the top.

A harsh cry escaped her throat, a cross between a wail of pain and a sob of anguish. Low whimpering sounds started deep in her chest as she rocked physically back on her heels, throwing her head back as the pain rushed through her, controlling her, taking her where it wanted her to be.

And so it was that she found herself cradled in the arms of a Jedi, sobbing her heart out in the cold, dark street.

~*~

"I realize it is difficult, Obi-Wan, but you must let it go." Qui-Gon's hand was warm on his shoulder, but as he stared at the retreating planet, Obi-Wan was convinced that he'd never be completely warm again.

"Are there many people like that? Those who are so alive on the outside and so dead within?" A slight shiver ran through the younger man's body. "It was a living entity, Master. The pain. It was almost sentient."

"There are so few who truly know how to control their emotions. We do so by understanding them, Padawan. Other control feelings by hiding them. This, unfortunately, is an imperfect tactic, because there will always come a time when one is forced to face what hides deep in their soul. A Jedi must face their own inner self often--that is why balance and understanding of ourselves is so vital to us."

"We had to leave her there," Obi-Wan said softly. "I feel as if I wronged her. I offered her comfort--I told her she didn't have to be alone. And then I moved on."

"You did what you thought best, Padawan." A soft sigh, and Obi-Wan was surprised to see his Master's face drawn into a mask of sorrow. "It hurts--the ones we leave behind. All we can do is try to leave them with something that they did not have before. You gave her hope, Padawan. We must trust that it will be enough."

Staring out at the stars, Obi-Wan Kenobi sighed.

~*~

She often walked at night. She wasn't weak--wasn't needy. So when she felt the pain sneak upon her, she left. She walked, where no one would see.

Only now he walked with her. He had started following her right after the Jedi left the planet. At first she had ignored him, pretended that he was not there. But he held her when the agony became to much. He murmured words of comfort when she let the pain run through her, letting the tears fall and purging the void deep within her.

And slowly . . . slowly . . . she began to trust him.