dragonlady7

via http://ift.tt/2aTEg3S:
An absolutely true and verified headcanon: Ben Organa learned to braid from his mother (who learned it from her mother, who learned it from hers, in an unbroken line stretching back through the blood of Alderaan’s queens, to time in memoriam.) They would sit, front-to-back, and then trade—Ben’s small child’s hands clumsy in the long waterfall of her hair, hers quick and sure, plaiting the prince’s knot over his ear. Sometimes she told him stories, long-ago stories, of a blue-green planet hung in the blackness of space, which was beautiful and green and gone.

(He used to dream that its dead came in the night and ran their pale hands over his braids, making sure his mother had not forgotten, had not cheated with strings or sprays or any pins not carved from the wood of he kapok tree. Then the dead would kiss him, and tuck their stories in his hair. You must carry them for us now, they would say.

Ben Organa does not remember a time when his head was not heavy.)

Once in a while, dad would watch them from the doorway, quiet like he never got—sometimes he would smile at Ben and it wasn’t his usual smile, the one that made his eyes light up and Ben laugh. It was a sad smile, made Ben feel very old and grown-up and sort of sad, too.

Dad always waited until they were done, and mom had finished telling her story. Then he would come to the edge of the bed and he would cup mom’s face in his hands (Ben used to think the whole galaxy could fit in his father’s hands) and he would look at her, and then at Ben, and he would say perfect.

Ben Organa is dead now and so is his father, but he can still remember the exact inflection of his father’s voice, the way his mother always smiled. Perfect.

Another thing: it is true, those stories about corpses, and fingernails. For Ben Organa is dead, and yet his hair keeps growing, no matter how deep Kylo Ren cuts trying to shear it from his scalp.