Summary: Despite the distance between their two lands, Y/N, princess of Archenland, is close friends with King Edmund the Just. But when push comes to shove, will friendship turn to more?
Part 1 - 2.3k words
Part 2 - 3.4k words
Part 3 - 4.8k words
Part 4 - 4.2k words
Part 5 - 3k words
Part 6 - 5k words
Part 7 - 5.6k words
Part 8 - 5.8k words
Part 9 - 5k words
Part 10 - 5k words
Part 11 - 4.6k words
Part 12 - 5.6k words
Part 13 - 4.9k words
Part 14 -
Part 15 -
Part 16 -
Aaaaand possibly some more parts after 16, but I'm not sure yet
- "what sound does aa make": because I never studied phonetics in my one speech class
- "the sheep detective": because I was trying to remember the name of the character Hugh Jackman plays (excellent movie by the way)
- "lock-picking basics": because Skyrim did not teach me anything
- "supplies needed for embalming": because I was trying to describe a burial chamber
- "vice grip versus vise grip": because vice grip did not seem right and I was correct! It's vise grip, unless you're British
- "would putting corpses in dirt help plants grow": because every writer worth their salt has to think about body disposal at least SOME point in their career
- "word for being able to read and write": because while I am allegedly literate, I did not remember that literate was the correct term
- "dessert poisons": I meant to type desert. Whoops.
- "what holds a torch on a wall": because I thought sconces were a modern invention
In other words, I'm really excited about this fantasy project I'm working on!
This is part 8 of Please Don't Say You Love Me. Dedicated to @sassysaxxy. You're one of my favorite people ever, and I love you!
Summary: Y/N's whole goal in life is to keep her head down and protect her brother. George Weasley's whole goal in life seems to be making sure Y/N can't hide.
Word count: 2.3k
Warnings: none
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
It worked in my favor that most people are exceptionally unobservant. To me, the way I kept glancing at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall was obvious—a flashing announcement to all in the room that I had a vulnerability.
But most people are so wrapped up in their own lives and own conversations that none of them seemed to catch the direction my attention kept drifting in. Every time I realized where—or to who—my attention drifted, I stared back down at my oatmeal to remind myself how dangerous attachments were. But then, before I knew it, my eyes were on him again. Though the cycle felt consistent, no one seemed to notice.
Just like no one seemed to notice how captivating George Weasley really was.
His movements were so fluid, like his mind had the same uninterrupted pace he always walked with. The match of his grin and freckles made him look so full of youth, emphasized by the mess of his hair. Sitting in the midst of the chaos of the Gryffindor table, he looked comfortable and at ease. If anything, he probably felt entirely at home.
I glanced up and down the deserted Slytherin table. It captured the silence and stillness of my home, but none of the terror.
Against my will, my eyes darted back to George.
I felt like I’d returned to the castle from the holiday with a parasite. I couldn’t stop thinking of him, wanting to talk to him, wondering where he was and what he was doing.
At that moment, he chatted with Fred and Lee Jordan, eating a piece of bacon with his long, dextrous fingers. I wanted him to look at me. How outré. When he didn’t look at me, my heart ached. How pathetic.
If that had been it, everything would’ve been fine. I had enough self-control to keep myself from the things I wanted.
But George seemed to have this uncanny ability of knowing where I was. The day after we’d come back, he’d found me on a bench tucked against a hedge in the castle grounds. The day after that, he’d found me sitting against the wall of the furthest corner of the restricted section in the library.
No matter how hard I tried to hide, George was determined to find me, so my little parasite lived on.
He looked up from his bacon just then, eyes meeting mine before a grin spread across his still-chewing mouth. Determined not to be the first to look away, I raised an unimpressed eyebrow. He only smiled wider.
“Y/L/N.” Malfoy sat at the seat across from me, instantly blocking my view of George.
I elegantly brought a bite of oatmeal to my lips. “Need something?”
“No, but you do.”
Instantly, my sense of danger flared. “What’s going on?”
“If you weren’t avoiding the common room, you would’ve heard.” Malfoy glanced around at the table. “Look, there’s about to be some news in the Daily Prophet.” The gravity in his cold, gray eyes quickened my heart as he pursed his lips.
Something happened.
Something happened, and the Slytherins didn’t want to be around for the fallout.
Malfoy nodded at whatever expression was on my face and rose to his feet to sweep out of the Great Hall.
News that the Slytherins knew before the newspapers could only be a handful of subjects. News that was about to blow up this peaceful breakfast was an even smaller group, all related to one person.
The Dark Lord.
My eyes found George again, this time on purpose. His head was thrown back in a laugh that carried farther than those around him, an arm stretching out to shove Lee Jordan’s shoulder. Any minute now, the owls would come flying in, eyes would scan the front page, and that smile would die immediately.
Would his eyes fill with anxiety? Or would the shock not wear off before he left the hall? Would he look at me? Would he guess at the role my family might’ve played in whatever atrocities had occurred?
I didn’t want to see that. But it was about to happen regardless, and simply knowing it would haunt me just the same as seeing it. Didn’t I deserve to see it? To have that image in my brain? It was the penance that someone in my family needed to bear, and there was only ever one member of my family that ever bore it.
The crowd of owls flooded in, bringing letters, scrolls, and parcels—and rolled up newspapers.
My copy of the Daily Prophet landed in front of me about the same time as everyone else’s, but everyone else was distracted by their friends or food. With no such distractions, I quickly untied the newspaper roll and flattened the front page down on the table.
DARK MARK SPOTTED IN LAVENHAM — THREE DEAD BODIES FOUND
My stomach fell through the floor as I read. No signs of injury were found on the bodies, only terror frozen on their faces. Characteristic of the Killing Curse, the Dark Lord’s favorite weapon.
I hadn’t finished the article, but I didn’t need the extra information to let the event sink in. Instead, I watched.
It started with a murmur.
Then a rush.
Then everyone knew. Some were clamoring to each other to discuss while others sat in silence, staring down at the paper. Professor Sprout sat with her hands over her mouth while Professor McGonagall spoke with Professor Flitwick in low tones.
Professor Snape sat, staring down at his paper with his pale face impassive. I wished I was as good at pretending as he.
Finally, I took a deep breath and looked towards George.
Lee Jordan and Fred were gesturing towards the paper as they talked, the other Weasley siblings crowding around. Granger and Potter were there too. Distantly, I recalled that Potter had been telling anyone who would listen that the Dark Lord had risen again, yet he didn’t look victorious at being confirmed. He and Granger were both pale, shaking their heads in disbelief as the Weasleys clamored.
And George sat in the center of it all, looking over Lee Jordan’s shoulder at me.
A horrible, blistering guilt sank into my very core as our eyes met. He looked as though he were going to be sick, but his gaze wasn’t accusatory.
It should’ve been.
We were on opposite sides, of the Hall and of this war.
But no, the grief in his eyes did not cast shame on me.
Which only made me cast more shame on myself.
-
I’d been in a daze all day, and everyone else in the castle seemed to be the same. Most of the students and professors were distracted and fearful, while most of the Slytherins acted as though we were in enemy territory.
Professor Umbridge conducted her class as though nothing about today was different from any other day. Strange, that would’ve been my response too and yet I hated her for it.
It was almost a relief to reach Divination and be given an assignment that required us to lay on the mossy floor and stare up at the enchanted ceiling full of the stars. Some book somewhere must’ve held the spell that Professor Firenze used in classroom eleven, and I was determined to find it someday because that classroom afforded the day’s only modicum of peace.
Around me, my fellow seventh years were trying to finish the day’s assignment, but my completed scroll already sat on the professor’s desk.
Watching the constellations, I rubbed the tiny star charm on my pewter necklace between my fingers. My parents and most of the other Slytherins’ parents held very little stock in Divination, but I’d seen it as another easy N.E.W.T.
I didn’t need the class for a career since witches in my family didn’t work, but another Outstanding on my report could not be a bad thing. I didn’t believe in the interpretations I made or that stars miraculously held answers about the future. I cared only about checking the box.
But laying on my back in the dark, I suddenly wished Divination was real, if only to have reassurances.
Would my parents send me a letter soon? Would Umbridge zero in on my brother again? Would Warrington and the other Slytherins start trying to bully me again?
Was war truly on the horizon? Which side would win and how many would die?
Would I be able to tell George what he needed to hear soon? Would I become the person he seemed to already see? Or would the world catch up to us and separate us before we’d even truly come together?
Distantly, the bells in the tower rang, signaling the end of class. Those who hadn’t finished their assignment would have to finish it before next class, and they grumbled about it. Some even put their unfinished scrolls on Professor Firenze’s desk, clearly preferring to worry about other things.
I lingered even after the stragglers, not wanting to get caught in the hallway during the passing period. Funny, I was more used to avoiding the other houses more than Slytherin, and yet today the whole idea of avoidance felt heavier somehow.
A massive hand clapped my shoulder, and I spun around with my wand in hand before I registered that it was Professor Firenze.
Feeling off balance with the weight of his hand on me, I blinked up at the centaur. “Sorry, sir, I thought you–”
“You don’t have long.”
I watched him, confused and worried by the solemn expression on his face. “Excuse me?”
“The answer to your question.” He removed his hand, yet his eyes bored into mine with the intensity and beauty of a full moon. “Before the snow melts.”
My surprise didn’t wear off quickly enough, and he clopped over to his private quarters.
“Wait–which question?!” I called as the door shut and remained closed. Only one answer? But I’d wanted to know so many things!
Would the letter come? Would war start? Would George and I make it to the next step?
I didn’t know.
But what I did know was that, by springtime, something would change.
-
“What could possibly be the point of giving Harry the map,” Fred was saying, “if you keep borrowing it?”
“You know exactly what the point is,” George replied, scouring the parchment for Y/N.
Fred’s grumblings weren’t quite comprehensible, and George didn’t bother trying to puzzle it out. He’d hoped his family and their friends would relax after spending the holiday with Y/N, and it had worked on his parents, Charlie, and Bill. His mother kept asking about Y/N and Clem, if they were eating enough and dressing warmly for the weather. But all those still at Hogwarts seemed guarded, and Fred particularly more so afterwards than before. Y/N refused to tell George about any of the conversations she’d been bombarded with, no matter how many times he asked.
Would that woman ever tell him all her secrets?
Merlin, George hoped so.
And he hoped one of those secrets would contain the reason behind her expression this morning. While his friends and family had been ranting about You-Know-Who, she’d looked at him with devastation. Devastation for him, he was pretty sure. But why?
“There she is,” he muttered before folding up the map and shoving it into Fred’s hands.
“George!” Fred called.
“Busy!” George called back over his shoulder, jogging towards the new Divination classroom occupied by Professor Firenze.
The bells rang while he ran, and he quickly planted himself down the hallway from the classroom as the students began filing out. None of them spoke about the subject—George suspected no one in the whole castle was speaking about coursework today.
Gradually, the hallway emptied, and he still hadn’t seen Y/N. His breathing had calmed down after his run, which was good. He didn’t want her to know that he’d been seeking her out so intentionally. He wanted to simply appear like he’d been doing all week with the help of the Marauder’s Map.
Despite all his efforts, when Y/N stepped out of the classroom, she nearly jumped when her eyes fell on him.
“Are you going to the match tomorrow?” George asked easily, sliding his hands into his pockets and leaning against the wall. He always did this around Y/N; he’d read somewhere that it was a way to appear less threatening, and he needed all the help he could get to not trigger Y/N’s hypervigilance.
“Urm…” Y/N blinked distractedly, as if not fully aware of the current moment. “The library’s quiet during matches.”
Quiet. She was always looking for quiet. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by George that every time his family had gotten rowdy over the break, Y/N found a way to disappear. No wonder she sometimes avoided him—he wasn’t necessarily a great provider of silence.
He wondered what it would take for her to grow loud herself. He couldn’t even imagine it. But maybe if he hung around long enough, he’d get to hear it. “I was just wondering if–”
“Look,” she shoved her Divination book into her bag, “I’ve got to go. See you later?” And before George could utter a word, she turned on her heel and glided down the stairs in her tastefully easy way, the way she moved when she was trying not to draw attention to herself.
George did not do a thing to slow her down or change her course. He merely stared after her. He’d known their conversation on Christmas Day would spook her, but recently he’d caught her watching him more than he’d ever imagined she’d watch him. That had to mean something…right?
Was there a single thing he could do to help her open up?
Nothing he hadn’t already done.
He sighed before turning around to return to his twin. His promise to wait for her was ringing in his ears. Waiting was turning out to be a lot harder than he’d anticipated.
This is part 8 of Please Don't Say You Love Me. Dedicated to @sassysaxxy. You're one of my favorite people ever, and I love you!
Summary: Y/N's whole goal in life is to keep her head down and protect her brother. George Weasley's whole goal in life seems to be making sure Y/N can't hide.
Word count: 2.3k
Warnings: none
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
It worked in my favor that most people are exceptionally unobservant. To me, the way I kept glancing at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall was obvious—a flashing announcement to all in the room that I had a vulnerability.
But most people are so wrapped up in their own lives and own conversations that none of them seemed to catch the direction my attention kept drifting in. Every time I realized where—or to who—my attention drifted, I stared back down at my oatmeal to remind myself how dangerous attachments were. But then, before I knew it, my eyes were on him again. Though the cycle felt consistent, no one seemed to notice.
Just like no one seemed to notice how captivating George Weasley really was.
His movements were so fluid, like his mind had the same uninterrupted pace he always walked with. The match of his grin and freckles made him look so full of youth, emphasized by the mess of his hair. Sitting in the midst of the chaos of the Gryffindor table, he looked comfortable and at ease. If anything, he probably felt entirely at home.
I glanced up and down the deserted Slytherin table. It captured the silence and stillness of my home, but none of the terror.
Against my will, my eyes darted back to George.
I felt like I’d returned to the castle from the holiday with a parasite. I couldn’t stop thinking of him, wanting to talk to him, wondering where he was and what he was doing.
At that moment, he chatted with Fred and Lee Jordan, eating a piece of bacon with his long, dextrous fingers. I wanted him to look at me. How outré. When he didn’t look at me, my heart ached. How pathetic.
If that had been it, everything would’ve been fine. I had enough self-control to keep myself from the things I wanted.
But George seemed to have this uncanny ability of knowing where I was. The day after we’d come back, he’d found me on a bench tucked against a hedge in the castle grounds. The day after that, he’d found me sitting against the wall of the furthest corner of the restricted section in the library.
No matter how hard I tried to hide, George was determined to find me, so my little parasite lived on.
He looked up from his bacon just then, eyes meeting mine before a grin spread across his still-chewing mouth. Determined not to be the first to look away, I raised an unimpressed eyebrow. He only smiled wider.
“Y/L/N.” Malfoy sat at the seat across from me, instantly blocking my view of George.
I elegantly brought a bite of oatmeal to my lips. “Need something?”
“No, but you do.”
Instantly, my sense of danger flared. “What’s going on?”
“If you weren’t avoiding the common room, you would’ve heard.” Malfoy glanced around at the table. “Look, there’s about to be some news in the Daily Prophet.” The gravity in his cold, gray eyes quickened my heart as he pursed his lips.
Something happened.
Something happened, and the Slytherins didn’t want to be around for the fallout.
Malfoy nodded at whatever expression was on my face and rose to his feet to sweep out of the Great Hall.
News that the Slytherins knew before the newspapers could only be a handful of subjects. News that was about to blow up this peaceful breakfast was an even smaller group, all related to one person.
The Dark Lord.
My eyes found George again, this time on purpose. His head was thrown back in a laugh that carried farther than those around him, an arm stretching out to shove Lee Jordan’s shoulder. Any minute now, the owls would come flying in, eyes would scan the front page, and that smile would die immediately.
Would his eyes fill with anxiety? Or would the shock not wear off before he left the hall? Would he look at me? Would he guess at the role my family might’ve played in whatever atrocities had occurred?
I didn’t want to see that. But it was about to happen regardless, and simply knowing it would haunt me just the same as seeing it. Didn’t I deserve to see it? To have that image in my brain? It was the penance that someone in my family needed to bear, and there was only ever one member of my family that ever bore it.
The crowd of owls flooded in, bringing letters, scrolls, and parcels—and rolled up newspapers.
My copy of the Daily Prophet landed in front of me about the same time as everyone else’s, but everyone else was distracted by their friends or food. With no such distractions, I quickly untied the newspaper roll and flattened the front page down on the table.
DARK MARK SPOTTED IN LAVENHAM — THREE DEAD BODIES FOUND
My stomach fell through the floor as I read. No signs of injury were found on the bodies, only terror frozen on their faces. Characteristic of the Killing Curse, the Dark Lord’s favorite weapon.
I hadn’t finished the article, but I didn’t need the extra information to let the event sink in. Instead, I watched.
It started with a murmur.
Then a rush.
Then everyone knew. Some were clamoring to each other to discuss while others sat in silence, staring down at the paper. Professor Sprout sat with her hands over her mouth while Professor McGonagall spoke with Professor Flitwick in low tones.
Professor Snape sat, staring down at his paper with his pale face impassive. I wished I was as good at pretending as he.
Finally, I took a deep breath and looked towards George.
Lee Jordan and Fred were gesturing towards the paper as they talked, the other Weasley siblings crowding around. Granger and Potter were there too. Distantly, I recalled that Potter had been telling anyone who would listen that the Dark Lord had risen again, yet he didn’t look victorious at being confirmed. He and Granger were both pale, shaking their heads in disbelief as the Weasleys clamored.
And George sat in the center of it all, looking over Lee Jordan’s shoulder at me.
A horrible, blistering guilt sank into my very core as our eyes met. He looked as though he were going to be sick, but his gaze wasn’t accusatory.
It should’ve been.
We were on opposite sides, of the Hall and of this war.
But no, the grief in his eyes did not cast shame on me.
Which only made me cast more shame on myself.
-
I’d been in a daze all day, and everyone else in the castle seemed to be the same. Most of the students and professors were distracted and fearful, while most of the Slytherins acted as though we were in enemy territory.
Professor Umbridge conducted her class as though nothing about today was different from any other day. Strange, that would’ve been my response too and yet I hated her for it.
It was almost a relief to reach Divination and be given an assignment that required us to lay on the mossy floor and stare up at the enchanted ceiling full of the stars. Some book somewhere must’ve held the spell that Professor Firenze used in classroom eleven, and I was determined to find it someday because that classroom afforded the day’s only modicum of peace.
Around me, my fellow seventh years were trying to finish the day’s assignment, but my completed scroll already sat on the professor’s desk.
Watching the constellations, I rubbed the tiny star charm on my pewter necklace between my fingers. My parents and most of the other Slytherins’ parents held very little stock in Divination, but I’d seen it as another easy N.E.W.T.
I didn’t need the class for a career since witches in my family didn’t work, but another Outstanding on my report could not be a bad thing. I didn’t believe in the interpretations I made or that stars miraculously held answers about the future. I cared only about checking the box.
But laying on my back in the dark, I suddenly wished Divination was real, if only to have reassurances.
Would my parents send me a letter soon? Would Umbridge zero in on my brother again? Would Warrington and the other Slytherins start trying to bully me again?
Was war truly on the horizon? Which side would win and how many would die?
Would I be able to tell George what he needed to hear soon? Would I become the person he seemed to already see? Or would the world catch up to us and separate us before we’d even truly come together?
Distantly, the bells in the tower rang, signaling the end of class. Those who hadn’t finished their assignment would have to finish it before next class, and they grumbled about it. Some even put their unfinished scrolls on Professor Firenze’s desk, clearly preferring to worry about other things.
I lingered even after the stragglers, not wanting to get caught in the hallway during the passing period. Funny, I was more used to avoiding the other houses more than Slytherin, and yet today the whole idea of avoidance felt heavier somehow.
A massive hand clapped my shoulder, and I spun around with my wand in hand before I registered that it was Professor Firenze.
Feeling off balance with the weight of his hand on me, I blinked up at the centaur. “Sorry, sir, I thought you–”
“You don’t have long.”
I watched him, confused and worried by the solemn expression on his face. “Excuse me?”
“The answer to your question.” He removed his hand, yet his eyes bored into mine with the intensity and beauty of a full moon. “Before the snow melts.”
My surprise didn’t wear off quickly enough, and he clopped over to his private quarters.
“Wait–which question?!” I called as the door shut and remained closed. Only one answer? But I’d wanted to know so many things!
Would the letter come? Would war start? Would George and I make it to the next step?
I didn’t know.
But what I did know was that, by springtime, something would change.
-
“What could possibly be the point of giving Harry the map,” Fred was saying, “if you keep borrowing it?”
“You know exactly what the point is,” George replied, scouring the parchment for Y/N.
Fred’s grumblings weren’t quite comprehensible, and George didn’t bother trying to puzzle it out. He’d hoped his family and their friends would relax after spending the holiday with Y/N, and it had worked on his parents, Charlie, and Bill. His mother kept asking about Y/N and Clem, if they were eating enough and dressing warmly for the weather. But all those still at Hogwarts seemed guarded, and Fred particularly more so afterwards than before. Y/N refused to tell George about any of the conversations she’d been bombarded with, no matter how many times he asked.
Would that woman ever tell him all her secrets?
Merlin, George hoped so.
And he hoped one of those secrets would contain the reason behind her expression this morning. While his friends and family had been ranting about You-Know-Who, she’d looked at him with devastation. Devastation for him, he was pretty sure. But why?
“There she is,” he muttered before folding up the map and shoving it into Fred’s hands.
“George!” Fred called.
“Busy!” George called back over his shoulder, jogging towards the new Divination classroom occupied by Professor Firenze.
The bells rang while he ran, and he quickly planted himself down the hallway from the classroom as the students began filing out. None of them spoke about the subject—George suspected no one in the whole castle was speaking about coursework today.
Gradually, the hallway emptied, and he still hadn’t seen Y/N. His breathing had calmed down after his run, which was good. He didn’t want her to know that he’d been seeking her out so intentionally. He wanted to simply appear like he’d been doing all week with the help of the Marauder’s Map.
Despite all his efforts, when Y/N stepped out of the classroom, she nearly jumped when her eyes fell on him.
“Are you going to the match tomorrow?” George asked easily, sliding his hands into his pockets and leaning against the wall. He always did this around Y/N; he’d read somewhere that it was a way to appear less threatening, and he needed all the help he could get to not trigger Y/N’s hypervigilance.
“Urm…” Y/N blinked distractedly, as if not fully aware of the current moment. “The library’s quiet during matches.”
Quiet. She was always looking for quiet. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by George that every time his family had gotten rowdy over the break, Y/N found a way to disappear. No wonder she sometimes avoided him—he wasn’t necessarily a great provider of silence.
He wondered what it would take for her to grow loud herself. He couldn’t even imagine it. But maybe if he hung around long enough, he’d get to hear it. “I was just wondering if–”
“Look,” she shoved her Divination book into her bag, “I’ve got to go. See you later?” And before George could utter a word, she turned on her heel and glided down the stairs in her tastefully easy way, the way she moved when she was trying not to draw attention to herself.
George did not do a thing to slow her down or change her course. He merely stared after her. He’d known their conversation on Christmas Day would spook her, but recently he’d caught her watching him more than he’d ever imagined she’d watch him. That had to mean something…right?
Was there a single thing he could do to help her open up?
Nothing he hadn’t already done.
He sighed before turning around to return to his twin. His promise to wait for her was ringing in his ears. Waiting was turning out to be a lot harder than he’d anticipated.
"At that moment, he chatted with Fred and Lee Jordan, eating a piece of bacon with his long, dextrous fingers. I wanted him to look at me. How outré. When he didn’t look at me, my heart ached. How pathetic.
If that had been it, everything would’ve been fine. I had enough self-control to keep myself from the things I wanted."
Man, it's been a while since I updated for this, but the inspiration wouldn't leave me alone, so here!
Warnings: not edited 😬
Word count: 2.4k
Sorrows Can Swim masterlist
-
Prince couldn’t stay still.
The moment Maid informed him that Princess and Guard had left, he was possessed with the restless energy of a traveler and the scatterbrained spirit of a musician. He couldn’t just stand, he paced. He couldn’t just sit, he rapped his fingers against the arm of his chair in a nonsensical, apprehensive rhythm. He hadn’t realized how much he relied upon the walls of the castle he controlled to keep Princess safe until he knew she wasn’t within them.
It’s for her birthday, he argued with himself as he stared unseeingly at the parchment in front of him.
If this is what her birthday entailed, thank heaven birthdays only came once a year. He couldn’t focus on anything else when he was worried about her; she was all-consuming.
Sighing, Prince got to his feet and started walking loops around his library.
He'd ensured that the picnic basket they’d taken had more food than they could possibly eat in three days, even tucking in an extra picnic blanket. His knuckles were red, dry and irritated from the brisk cleaning of her saddle, because Prince would not leave her equestrian safety to the stable boys. He had done all he could to make sure she returned safely, short of getting on his knees and begging Guard to protect the most important thing in his life.
And the only reason he’d not done that was because royalty did not kneel, not for anyone. To dirty one’s knees was to humiliate oneself.
As if Prince needed to kneel for that when Princess was around.
-
The moment the sun started falling from its position directly overhead, Prince stationed himself at the window of an abandoned bedchamber. Once his little sister had gotten married and went to live on her husband’s estate, the room lay forgotten, tucked away from the bustle of the castle.
Sheets covered the furniture, and the chest was shoved against the wall so that it would open towards the wall instead of towards the person opening it. The only colorful things in the room were the drapes, drawn tight to protect the room from the sun’s rays.
There wasn’t much at all to say in favor of the room, except for its north-facing window, high up enough to give Prince a perfect view of the castle gatehouse. When Princess and Guard returned, the only person to see them arrive before Prince would be the lookout in the gatehouse itself.
Still full of nervous energy and unable to stand still, Prince opened the chest, wedging himself against the wall to rummage through the contents. He bumped the open lid with his elbow, causing it to slam shut. If he hadn’t moved his hand in the nick of time, he’d be down five appendages.
He sighed, sitting down on the chest.
This is what he’d been reduced to? His concern had turned him into a lurker and a snoop. He was better than this. Shaking his head, Prince shut the drapes and left the bedchamber.
Princess and Guard would return when they would return, and nothing Prince could do now would speed their arrival.
Sitting down at his desk, Prince was just scooting his chair closer to it when the doors of his study burst open with such aggression, the doors banged the walls.
Brother strode into the study. A sick feeling in his stomach, Prince rose to his feet. Only the most pressing of emergencies would send his brother here in this fashion. “What has happened?”
“I need you to remain calm,” Brother said, as if his arrival and the furrowing of his brows inspired serenity.
Prince stared back, his heart thundering.
She’s dead, he thought faintly. He’s about to tell me my wife is dead.
Brother clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ve just discovered…that Princess left the castle today alone with one of the castle guards. I should’ve been told immediately, but my guards didn’t tell me until just now.”
Prince did not move, reeling from the whiplash. So…Brother was just here to tell him that his wife was with another man? He tried to break through the sudden numbness that had settled over him. How should he act? Surprised? To roar as a jealous husband would and then tell his brother that he would handle it? Or maybe denial was the most convincing response, as Prince still couldn’t believe the situation himself.
But Prince knew it was too late for all that when Brother’s urgent expression loosened into a shock of his own. “You…you knew.” His eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”
Sitting back down in his chair and propping his elbows on the chair to rest his head on his hands, Prince tried to take a deep breath.
The lying was too much. He was tired of it. He spent so much energy concealing this secret from all he could, and now his own flesh and blood stood before him, feeling betrayed. Prince should feel betrayed. He didn’t have it left in him. “I sent them. Princess wanted to see the falls for her birthday.”
“But alone?” Brother demanded. “It’s completely preposterous, especially for you! Why would you put her safety at risk simply…”
The silence in the study was deafening, but Prince found all he needed to in the growing look of horror on Brother’s face. Brother knew. Prince expected relief at the secret now carried by two backs instead of one, but he just felt hollow. Brother, however, seemed full of rage. “How long has this been happening?”
Belatedly, Prince remembered Guard’s threat. So far, Prince hadn’t confirmed anything, not shared any facts or feelings, but Guard was not a man of honor. It would not matter that the secret had come out in other ways; once it was out, Guard would have no hesitation in bringing ruin upon the kingdom. “You must not tell anyone,” Prince said lowly.
The ferocity of Brother’s glare could set Prince aflame. “Have you gone balmy?!”
“I’m telling you, if this gets out, it could bring war to this castle, not to mention what it would do to Princess’s reputation.”
“Reputation?” Brother echoed. “If you were so concerned about her reputation, what possessed you to send your wife off with her lover?!”
Prince held his brother’s furious gaze. “Because I love her.”
“That’s very sweet,” Brother said, the sarcasm rattling in the empty space of Prince’s chest, “but she clearly doesn’t care a whit for you or this kingdom! I mean, you must be a dunce to do such a thing!”
“Perhaps I am,” Prince murmured, his quiet words quite the offset to Brother’s volume. “But regardless of that and despite the fact that she doesn’t care a whit for me, I would do anything to make her happy.”
“Then buy her jewels! O-or a new dress, women like dresses! Don’t let her cavort around with another man, not when she is yours!”
Mine.
Pairing that word with the image in Prince’s mind of a laughing Princess running through the garden didn’t sit right. She wasn’t his. She didn’t want to be his. She was her own. Her own to give to who she wanted, and that was not him.
Slowly shaking his head, Prince folded his hands together. “I won’t force my love on her.”
“Then have her live in the same chastity you have chosen!”
Prince’s eyes lowered to the cracking skin of his knuckles, realizing he’d forgotten to put salve on them after cleaning Princess’s saddle. There was a bit of blood that had seeped through and dried in a dark red. “No one should live a life devoid of love. It is lonely, and out of all the things I wish for her, loneliness is the farthest.”
“She has friends, ladies-in-waiting, pets, and more money than she could ever spend. She does not need some mere soldier for some fantasy of love!”
“It’s not the love she imagines it is,” Prince admitted, looking up to fix his brother with a hard stare. “She does not need to be wise, I can be wise for her. But she does need to be happy, because I can’t be happy for her.”
“How…” Brother trailed off, looking quite overwhelmed. “I know that love is not always rational, but how can you still protect her?”
Not always rational.
Prince wanted to laugh. Nothing about Princess or his feelings for her were governed by logic or reason. “I don’t know. If I knew how to make the feelings stop…” He paused. Would he actually get rid of his love if he could? He didn’t know.
Brother let out an aggravated breath. “Well, I hope you trust Guard.”
Prince looked up questioningly.
Brother gestured at the window behind Prince. “It’s begun to rain.”
Slowly, Prince rotated towards his window to see that his brother was right. Grey clouds had hidden the sun, and droplets were starting to fall against the glass. Prince glanced at the clock. It was past four in the afternoon.
They should’ve been back by now.
-
“Send every soldier we can spare!” Prince roared. “No one rests until the princess is safely returned!” The thunder boomed, emphasizing his distress. The soldiers were all pulling cloaks over their heads as they ran into the stables, preparing to ride out into the growing darkness. The rain made it nearly impossible to see, and it would quench any torch.
Prince watched them ride off to the north together, towards the falls. Somewhere along the way, they’d find Guard and Princess.
He clenched and unclenched his jaw. If war came, then he'd deal with it.
Prince didn’t care if Guard hated being caught; the feelings of a wretched man such as he were irrelevant when compared to the importance of the princess’s safety.
“What I wouldn’t give to be you,” Prince mumbled. His brother got to train with the soldiers; Prince had to deal with the council. Brother had the safety of his trainings while Prince had to bow to every rule to accomplish anything. But most of all, Brother wasn’t staring at one of the worst storms, wondering if the love of his life would survive.
It was agony for Prince to know Princess was missing and know he would be useless out in the rain looking for her compared to his soldiers.
A shadow moved, and Prince looked to see one of the stable boys standing in one of the now-empty stalls. “Hello,” he said gently.
The boy pressed himself against the stall wall.
“It’s alright.” Prince turned to face the boy, but did not draw closer. “I won’t hurt you. What’s your name?”
“The boy’s mute,” Brother muttered from behind him.
A flush of embarrassment hit Prince. “My apologies.” As he gazed at the boy, he could see the fear on his face and the way the small body shook from head to toe. Prince tried for a kinder tone. “I’m sorry if I’ve frightened you. I promise, you aren’t in any trouble.” The boy didn’t look relieved from the fear.
Prince knelt down, his right knee landing squarely in the mud that slowly started soaking through his pants. He looked directly into the boy’s eyes. “It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared right now too, which is why I need your help. Can you be brave and help me?”
The boy gave a short nod, edging closer.
“Can you point in the direction they went?”
The boy blinked a few times, and with each blink, Prince’s heart clenched. Then, ever so slowly, the boy crept to the opening of the stall, lifted his arm and pointed.
To the south. The opposite direction of the falls.
Prince wanted to curse, to scream verbal filth at the grey skies. After a moment of keeping his body completely still, he let out a long breath. “Thank you.” He patted the boy’s shoulder and then stood to face his brother.
“There aren’t any soldiers left to go,” Brother said, in response to his unspoken questions.
“Then I must go after them myself.” Prince strode towards his horse.
Brother quickly got in between them. “You’re the heir, you can’t go without an escort!”
“Hang an escort!” Prince shouted, shoving his brother aside. He went to the nearest saddle—the one that had originally been on Princess's horse before he re-saddled it.
“I know you're worried, but the kingdom cannot lose its crown prince alongside its princess!”
Prince whirled around, the saddle in his hands. He fixed Brother with the fiercest stare he could. “It will lose me anyway! She is my heart, and a prince cannot rule without his heart!”
“Sir!”
Both brothers turned to see two of Brother's personal guards running towards them in the rain. And the sight of the third man held between them made Prince's heart sink.
Brother breathed a sigh of relief as the guards reached the stable. “You found them.”
But Prince studied the faces of his brother's men. They were stone-faced, as Brother preferred, but the bigger soldier was clenching their charge's arm far harder than necessary, and the smaller one looked as if he’d swallowed a frog.
Guard shook his head.
The man they held, the man that once called Prince pathetic was now covered in mud all down his pale and drawn face. He didn’t need threats to know the trouble he was in.
"Where did you find him?" he asked the soldiers.
"Sneaking into the barracks."
Prince did not kneel this time, bending over at the waist to bring his face right to Guard's. “Where is she?”
“I know you went south. Did you go to the river? To the marketplace?”
“Your highness?” the smaller soldier asked.
“What?” said Prince and Brother at the same time.
The man’s face reddened. Apparently the attention of two princes was too much. “Sir, he's talked of growing up in Teorn.”
A village. Five miles south. Twice as far as Queen's Veil Falls.
Prince leveled Guard with a stare. “You took her to your home?”
Guard did not reply, but the tensing of his shoulder was enough.
Prince’s fists itched to bring a storm of wrath down on the head of this obnoxious, traitorous fiend. But even as satisfying images of bruises and blood ran through his mind, Prince uncurled his hands, looking off towards Brother. “Make sure he’s secured.” He brought his saddle to his horse.
“Where do you think you're going?” Brother asked, grabbing Prince’s shoulder.
Prince yanked his hand away. “You'll have to lock me up to stop me.” As he finished strapping the saddle, the skin on the first knuckle of his right hand split, a singular drop of blood spreading through the crinkles of his skin.
Brother let out a long sigh before saddling his own horse.
Just wanna begin by saying, absolutely loved the latest update, I think it's one of my favourites (altho I think I say that every time)
But it got me thinking
What types or eras of fashion do Narnia and Archenland follow in your mind in 'White moves first'?
Awwww thank you! Every part either becomes my new favorite or my new least favorite, haha!
I view Archenland being similar to Victorian styles with ruffles and lace with corsets and petticoats. Very mature and sophisticated with lots of pastels and neutrals.
Narnia on the other hand is definitely more medieval with plain, loose clothes and bolder colors. Theoretically, the fashion in Narnia is only shown by the few humans that live there as the talking animals and other creatures don't wear clothes. And the humans aren't the types to be as stuffy as Archenland or Calormen.
Y'all I was trying to take my last final of the semester but Canvas shut down, so I just worked on this instead. Hope you enjoy!
Summary: Despite the distance between their two lands, Y/N, princess of Archenland, is close friends with King Edmund the Just. But when push comes to shove, will friendship turn to more?
Warnings: none
Word count: 4.9k
White Moves First masterlist | Main masterlist
The day of the tournament arrived, and Cair Paravel was nearly bursting at the seams with the amount of guests that had come to watch and participate. Even though not a single person had come from Calormen, every room had an occupant, and the hallways were so crowded, I’d taken to spending all my time in the suite or the private library for the monarchs. Just because the whole tournament was in my honor didn’t mean I wanted the attention.
That morning, if anyone other than Rona witnessed the way I vacillated between gowns, it might’ve been a great blow to my reputation.
“My lady,” my lady’s maid’s frustration was barely restrained after I discarded my sixth gown, “any of your dresses will be adequate.”
“I want to look more than adequate! Rona, this is my first appearance as the king’s new wife, I have to look worthy of it!”
“You are a princess,” Rona all but snapped. “Your station already makes you worthy.”
Light blue to represent the Just king or red to represent my new home country would’ve been best, but I had neither. In truth, Rona was right. Any of them would be fine. But a nagging feeling in my gut made me feel as though how I looked today was paramount.
I’d settled for a rose dress that made me look soft and sweet and hoped it would be enough. Being the guest of honor, I’d been seated in the center of the royal stands in a makeshift throne decorated with red ribbons and white roses. The sun was already shining, making the trimmed grass look vibrantly green and filling the field with warmth. I had no doubt the warmth would get oppressive later in the day, but for now, it filled me with a bit more confidence. As uncomfortable as it was to be placed in the seat most optimal for being viewed, I did have the advantage of being able to see everyone.
Everyone.
The stands opposite from me were filled with Narnian creatures. The smaller creatures—birds, squirrels, and the like—were crowded into the stands for a good viewpoint while the larger creatures like giants and centaurs simply stood on the grass beside the stands.
There must’ve been over two hundred pairs of eyes across from me, yet the stares that felt invasive came from those sitting on my side of the field. Lucy and Queen Susan were seated on my right and already discussing the events of the day. On my left, however, was a large portion of the lords and ladies I’d grown up in the same court with.
Nearest me sat Lady Constance. She was only a year older yet she’d married over three years ago. “The trip here was intolerable,” she was saying quietly to the lady beside her. I peeked to see it was Lady Grace, who’d been married almost that long as well. “I never ride side-saddle.”
I frowned then quickly smoothed my expression into placidness. Did Lady Constance think the trip to Archenland would be more comfortable in a carriage? She would’ve been tossed like a salad and bruised like a potato rolled down stairs.
“One of those goat-people showed us to our rooms,” Lady Grace whispered back. “He had actual goat legs. I was terrified the whole time.” I barely withheld my scoff. Lady Grace had the courage of a Dormouse and the depth of a puddle; of course she was terrified of a faun.
“Perhaps this really is a barbaric country,” Lady Constance replied, lightly fanning her face now. “Prince Rabadash was correct.”
Revulsion swept through me, and I bit my lip to keep from snapping at the two ladies who had no idea I was listening. That was hardly the impression I wanted to make on my first day in the public eye.
“If I were princess of Archenland,” Lady Grace said, “I would’ve much preferred going to Tashbaan. Did you know it actually snows here?” She shuddered as if feeling the winter chill.
“Not to mention Tashbaan fashion!” Lady Constance snapped her fan closed for emphasis. “How can Narnia have fashion when it’s only animals?”
I grit my teeth. Weather? Fashion? These were the values these ladies wanted to make life-altering decisions with? Were they truly so ignorant?
“I do love your dress,” Lady Grace complimented Lady Constance.
I tried to tune them out, but the talk of ribbons, lace, and fabric permeated through everything until I started to feel as though no amount of my efforts could compare with their finery. I supposed, as I self-consciously smoothed my skirts, that the only concerns Archenland wanted these ladies to have were those sartorial and meteorological.
Then a thought occurred to me, a thought so horrible that it left no room for anything else.
As ignorant as these ladies sounded to me…was that how ignorant I sounded to Edmund? Edmund, who knew so many things? I, who knew so little?
A terrible memory arose in my brain of my wedding night with Edmund. A warrior and a king, forced to listen to me talk about how I preferred my dress to my mother’s. And what about all the times Edmund had listened to my talk of what I was doing with the gardens? My stomach sank straight through the wooden boards of the stands, falling all the way to the core of the earth. Was Edmund mortified by me as I was by these ladies?
Just then, cheering arose as the competitors took to the field, beginning their warm-ups. The unspoken intention behind this time was to allow the competitors to size each other up and decide who they wanted to challenge.
Corin looked completely natural on the field, having practiced his whole life, but Cor kept glancing around at the other competitors with doubt written all over his face. It seemed far too dangerous for Cor to compete, but he’d said our father expressly told him to participate. Of course my father ordered Cor to participate in a tournament he himself wouldn’t attend.
“The high king’s hair gets darker every year,” Lady Constance mused as she leaned forward to ogle Peter. “Soon, he won’t even be blonde.”
“Is that King Edmund?” I heard Lady Grace ask and my eyes immediately searched the field until I saw my husband.
Most of the competitors were already wearing their armor, but Edmund’s only defenses were his breeches and a white shirt. The shirt was large enough to fit loosely on Edmund’s frame, but he was already sweating, so parts of the shirt stuck to his skin as his sword slashed through the air and caught the light of the sun.
“The best swordsman in the North,” Lady Constance breathed, and for once, I agreed with her reverence. Edmund was deserving of it. Sitting a little straighter, my eyes followed the movements of Edmund’s arms. The midmorning air was still cool, but my face grew almost unbearably hot.
He was a man through and through.
And I was not much more than Lady Grace the Dormouse.
Lady Constance’s voice broke through my reverie once more. “I wish my husband would compete in these tournaments.”
“It’s not quite the experience you might imagine,” Lady Grace said unhappily. Her husband always competed and never had the burden of sitting at the table of victors at a banquet.
“Well, at least your husband can compete.” Lady Constance’s fan was flapping again. “My husband’s jowls are starting to reach his collarbones.”
I couldn’t help my horrified grimace, slightly turning my face away from them so as not to draw their attention. How could they be having this conversation in public with no shame?
“Jowls or no,” Lady Grace replied, “his pleasure is still not mine.”
At this, I leaned to the right, towards my sisters-in-law, ready to beg them for conversation if that’s what it took to stop listening in on the travesty happening on my left. But while the Queens’ conversation about one of the lords on the field settled in my ears, my mind was churning.
These ladies were…concerned with…making their husbands happy. As my eyes followed the dark-haired swordsman, guilt swarmed in my gut. Only poor wives didn’t even consider their husband’s happiness. I needed to give him more…but more of what? What could he possibly want from me?
He loves you, said a little voice in my mind, sounding like a cross between the voices of the queens on my right.
But did he really?
“My lady?” Rona walked up the stairs of the stands towards me with a goblet balanced on a tray. She paid no mind to the attention she must’ve been receiving from everyone else in the stands as she came to a stop near me. “One of the kitchen maids asked me to bring this to you.”
I inhaled the smell, the familiar scent of rose water reaching my nose. My favorite.
Rona, looking as unbothered as she would’ve had she been sewing a button, curtsied. “King Edmund wished for you to have refreshments throughout the day.” Then, she left, tucking the platter under her arm as if she hadn’t just thrown a great complication into my thoughts.
Queen Susan leaned forward to send me a small smile. “A drink for his lady love.” Lucy burst into a fit of giggles.
I tightened my hold on the goblet to keep my hand from shaking. I’d always known Edmund to be a thoughtful man, but a man merely thoughtful would’ve sent refreshments for his sisters as well. So he must’ve been something more than thoughtful. An almost painful sense of urgency arose in my gut, making it impossible to sit still until I knew one way or the other.
Was I his lady love or a Dormouse?
“Excuse me,” I said lightly to the queens, who both smiled at me, before marching past Lady Constance and Lady Grace with my chin held high.
A centaur was standing by the stairs of the stands, and he reached out his hand to help me down the steps. He wasn’t one of the ones who gasped when upon descending the stairs, I walked out onto the field.
-
“Edmund?”
Edmund was in mid-strike when he heard his wife’s voice. Surely he imagined it, for why would Y/N ever be on the field during warm-ups? But when he looked over his shoulder, there she was with a trail of staring competitors behind her.
Transferring his sword to his left hand to keep the blade farther from her, he reached out his right hand. “What are you doing on the field?”
Was something wrong? He searched the stands behind her. Where was the guard that he’d assigned to watch over her today? Once he saw the centaur standing beside the stands, he studied his friend instead. She didn’t seem worried, but she wore that pucker she always did when she was thinking intensely about something.
“I wanted to see you.” The gentle clasping of her hand with his didn’t match the fire in her eyes. A glowing determination that made his stomach flip strangely. Reaching up with her free hand, he felt her touch on his neck, bringing her close enough to him that Edmund was suddenly aware of the sweat he was drenched in.
“I probably don’t smell very good,” he said, quietly so that none of the competitors on the field could hear. He would likely never live it down if they heard him saying such a thing. Sweat was a crucial part of the uniform of champions.
“I don’t care.” Y/N stepped even closer, pulling slightly on Edmund as her gaze lowered from his face. “Um…I wanted to ask your permission…if it’s alright…” She bit her lip, the fire in her eyes growing muted.
Edmund frowned. He didn't like that. He didn’t know what she was asking, but he hated that she still felt like she had to ask his permission for simple things. As if she needed it. As if he would refuse her anything. “Of course.” Out of all the outcomes he was expecting, he didn’t expect for Y/N’s eyes to flutter shut. His concern rose astride his confusion, just as she simultaneously pulled him forward and rose up onto her toes.
His eyes grew wide. Was she–
She pressed her lips to his.
Oh.
His eyes fluttered shut.
Oh.
The crowds all roared their appreciation for the king’s wife, but the roar was a distant thing.
Her lips were so soft, and she kissed him in the lightest possible way she could've while still being considered a kiss. Even in this, after gaining his unnecessary permission, she still moved with hesitance.
He wanted more of her.
No, not simply more. He wanted all of her.
Letting go of her hand, he wrapped his arm around her waist, hauling her to him. He tried to keep his sword arm away from Y/N, not wanting to so much as bump her skin with the heavy weapon. But when Y/N’s tongue brushed his in answer, he heard the distant thud of his sword falling on the grass as both his hands found her waist, pulling her closer into him.
And then her fire was back, burning him through her fingers and her lips, spreading through his body until he was a living flame.
He couldn’t hold her tight enough, get her close enough to him. She responded by wrapping her arms around his back, holding him firmly.
This was their third kiss. The others had been skin-deep, for the benefit of others, but this kiss felt different. And so this kiss burned a mark upon his soul, and he would gladly let himself go up in flames for her.
All too soon, she pulled away, letting out a quiet gasp for air. Edmund probably should’ve let her catch her breath, but it had already been too long since he'd felt her. So he chased her lips and captured them with very little resistance. The little sigh she let out into his mouth made his hands shake.
Forget the competition, Y/N had already won everything. Or perhaps it was Edmund who’d won.
The competition.
The cheering finally broke through his reverie, and he pulled away with intense effort.
The look on Y/N was somewhere between blissful and satisfied. If he actually had the wherewithal to manage something more than an open mouth, he would’ve looked the same. “Did I…miss something?” he asked, breathless and amused as he continued to hold her tight to him. He was already dreaming of when he’d get to kiss her again. Maybe when he won the tournament?
“I wanted to wish you luck,” she said shyly, her eyes darting all over his face as if checking for signs of discontentment. “Sorry.”
“Don’t…uh, it’s fine.” Edmund’s mind felt so scattered, especially as he decided he needed this kind of luck every day. Her hands still rested on his chest as if she didn’t notice the sweaty shirt underneath her palms and fingers, and he couldn’t help puffing out his chest slightly.
Y/N noticed the movement and lifted her hands like she were about to pull away, but Edmund quickly caught her hands. “Hey.”
She stopped, looking up at him. “What?”
“For the record,” Edmund squeezed her lightly, content in his bewilderment, “you never have to apologize for kissing me.” He’d expected Y/N to duck her head or cover her warm cheeks, but the smile on her face was only slightly bashful.
Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his cheek for half a moment, and Edmund’s stomach somersaulted headlong into the flames again. Then, she turned away and walked back towards the stands where the nobles from Archenland and his sisters were all staring.
Edmund watched her go, blinking.
“You dropped this.”
Edmund tore his eyes away from Y/N settling back into her seat to see Peter holding out his sword with a knowing grin on his face.
“Shut up,” Edmund said, taking his sword back. He meant to continue with his warm-up, but every lift of his sword was half-hearted.
She'd never kissed him first, he'd always been the one to do it.
Did this mean she would start doing it more often?
He wasn't sure what to think of that. He couldn’t afford to be dropping things all the time.
-
Everyone in both stands was staring, as well as the competitors on the field which included my brothers, but I didn’t care. I sat prim and straight against all the attention.
Edmund loved me.
I knew Edmund—he wouldn’t have kissed me the way he did otherwise, not even for the benefit of our ruse. He certainly wouldn’t have been open-mouthed like a fish after I pulled away, nor would he have dropped his sword unceremoniously on the grass to hold me closer. Not King Edmund, the best swordsman in the North.
But Edmund’s confidence came from knowledge. Knowing things gave him the foundation for his effortless conversation and conviction. He stammered when I’d stopped kissing him, and he seemed confused even when he told me not to apologize for kissing him.
He loved me, and he had no idea.
Was this the first time it had been noticeable? Or was it only the first time I’d noticed?
Feeling flushed, I drank from my goblet, the delicate flavor blooming on my tongue. He loves me, my heart sang with harmony from my mind and stomach. This time, the voice sounded like my own. He loves me, he loves me, he loves me.
-
The archery was first, and Edmund didn’t bother to watch. If Susan were participating, he would’ve just so he could see the disappointed looks on all the faces of the Archenlandian losers. But Susan had said she had no need of Y/N’s favor, so she remained in the stands.
An unexpected number of Narnians participated, desperate for a chance to win now that their queen wasn’t competing.
Once the archery was over and a medal awarded by Y/N to Adonis the centaur, Edmund approached the field, dressed in his armor.
It was a simple bracket. Peter and Edmund started on opposite sides of the bracket, and Edmund defeated opponents with excitement as he thought of crossing swords with his brother at the end of it all.
But when Edmund had stepped away from the field to drink some water, he returned to see Peter sitting with those who’d already been defeated. He’d lost? To whom?
“Final match,” cawed Swallowpad, the raven on the council. “King Edmund against Gobre from Archenland!”
Gobre?
Edmund didn’t recognize the name, and with no title, he had no clues to puzzle out this man’s identity.
As if sensing this, Gobre lifted a hand to his helmet and pulled it off to match Edmund’s bare head.
Edmund glanced over at his wife to see what she thought of her fellow countryman, but she was engaged in conversation with his sisters and did not seem to notice his attention. Did she know Gobre well? She didn’t seem to be interacting with the other ladies he recognized from Archenland. There were two sitting near her, yet Y/N was turned all the way away from them.
As he watched, Lucy said something that made Y/N laugh, and her delighted smile made one spread across his own face.
“Ready!” called Swallowpad, perching on a post in the field placed just for him.
Edmund twisted his sword around fluidly as he easily switched hands and switched again. There was a lot he didn’t know and much he wasn’t good at, but this? Edmund had been born to wield a sword.
Gobre assumed a defensive stance, looking very serious, yet Edmund couldn’t miss the slight smile on his competitor’s face.
An eager opponent.
How fun this was about to be.
“Go!”
Excitement sparked through Edmund’s veins at the first clang of the swords. Even though this was a fight only in the name of competition, the electric feeling of fighting for his life zinged through him. Not a dissimilar experience to having Y/N’s lips on his…
Distracted, Edmund waited half a moment too long to duck a swing, and the wind of his opponent’s sword whipping through the air made his sweaty hair flap. Another swing, which Edmund met.
The man put more power behind his sword than Edmund had expected.
He fell back a step, letting their blades separate. What kind of swordsman was this man? He’d never seen anyone fight this way. He studied the man’s face. The man couldn’t have been a noble, his skin was too tan and his armor too old.
The man slashed, interrupting Edmund’s perusal.
Edmund fought hard, harder than he’d fought all day. Despite himself, he felt a smile on his face. He loved the challenge, and this man was the biggest challenge he’d faced in quite a while.
The man, however, did not smile. With every clang of their blades, his expression tightened even more. Competing against a king was a lot of pressure, and Edmund hoped it didn’t mess with the man’s strategy. As the man bent to avoid Edmund’s sword, he shifted his right shoulder back, and Edmund lifted his sword to meet the strike.
But the strike did not come from the side.
A powerful stroke hit his sword right at the handle, and Edmund’s fingers couldn’t hold on through the shock.
His sword fell to the grass for the second time today, the thud just as resounding.
The man pointed his blade at Edmund’s neck for just a moment before backing away. “Apologies, Your Majesty.” He held out his hand to help Edmund up.
“Don’t apologize,” Edmund said, accepting the help. “You won. Congratulations.”
The man ducked his head and pulled his hand from Edmund’s. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
The crowd was still cheering, so Edmund leaned in. “If you ever want to leave Archenland, it would be a pleasure to have you here.”
The man’s eyes widened, like he’d never anticipated that, before sweeping into a full bow this time. “I’m honored.”
“Now go accept your prize.” Edmund gestured to Y/N, who was already holding the medal awarded to the hand-to-hand combat winner. He stepped back, allowing the man the spotlight. The pride of some men would’ve been wounded by losing to an unknown man, especially if their wives were giving the prize. But Edmund’s pride lay in other things; he really didn’t mind losing, not when it was against a worthy opponent.
“Who is that?” Edmund asked Peter curiously.
“I think he’s the son of one of the minor Archenlandian lords.” Peter cocked his head. “Lord Bote, perhaps?”
Edmund nearly shuddered. That odious man had cornered him at his wedding feast and talked of nothing other than how beautiful his wife’s attendant was. He now hoped more than ever that this young man would accept his offer to live in Narnia.
The young man in question approached the royal box where Y/N stood with a radiant smile. She was a princess that any country lucky enough to have her should be proud of, though Edmund doubted anyone could be as proud of her as he.
Reaching down, Y/N placed the medal around his neck before clapping with the rest of the spectators.
“She’s a natural,” Peter said. “Our people love her.”
Edmund grinned. “Narnia is better with her here.”
A little laugh came from Peter, a confusing enough sound that Edmund looked away from his wife and to his brother. “Yeah,” Peter said, “Narnia is much better with your friend here.”
Not understanding, Edmund raised his eyebrows, but Peter waved him away.
Happy to refocus on his wife, Edmund watched as Y/N went down the stairs of the box like she had done earlier, coming out onto the field to congratulate the tournament winner. The man knelt and kissed the back of her hand. Even from where he stood, Edmund could see the blush on her cheeks from the attention. It made him grin. What was so endearing about seeing her flustered, Edmund couldn’t figure out, but it made him want to try anything just to see her a little nervous.
Then his mind snagged on something. If the man was Lord Bote’s son, why was his armor not new and well-kept? Especially if he were attending a tournament in another country, he would want to represent his land to the best of his ability.
As Edmund watched, the man’s face grew serious. He leaned in closer to Y/N, his lips moving.
Edmund couldn’t hear what he said, but a searing warning tore through his gut.
Before he could think, he was running. “Y/N!”
-
The cheers of the crowd faded away as the man leaned in closer to me. “Prince Rabadash sends his congratulations on your nuptials.”
My mind didn’t have time to process his words before I heard my husband shout. “Y/N!”
I tried to step away, but the man’s grip on my hand didn’t loosen as he lifted his sword. A scream fell from my lips as I tried to yank my hand out of his unyielding grip. “What are you doing?” I cried, pulling.
Dimly registering the flash as the sword caught the light of the sun, I pulled back with enough force that I lost my balance, crashing to the grass.
And then a loud clang sounded as another sword arced to meet the one about to slice me in half.
The grip on my wrist released, and I scrambled backwards through the grass, staring in horror as Edmund positioned himself in between the man and I in time to dodge the man’s strike.
He’d just been defeated by this man, yet he engaged him once more with no fear!
“Edmund!” I cried, just as Narnian soldiers rushed from every place in the field.
“Stop this!” Peter roared in the voice of the high king, but the flurry of attacks didn’t slow. I scooted back on my backside until my back hit the wood of the stands, staring in horror at the man now trying to hurt my husband.
“Surrender!” Edmund commanded through gritted teeth.
The man’s only answer was a violent swing aimed at Edmund’s head.
“Edmund!” The name welled up from the fear in my gut and broke through my lips.
While the man wound up for another swing, Edmund ducked and kicked the man’s knee. The man lost his balance with a cry, just before Edmund’s sword met his shoulder. The swords might’ve been dulled for the tournament, but Edmund’s strike was powerful enough to draw blood. The man barely had time to clutch the wound before Edmund had disarmed him and the other tournament participants swarmed the man, holding him.
Struggling viciously, it took three fauns and a centaur to restrain him.
Then, my view was blocked by my husband. “Are you alright?” He threw his sword aside, falling to his knees in front of me and searching for any injuries. “Y/N, answer me!”
“I’m fine.” Accepting his hand, I stood shakily, staring at the man who had headbutted one of the soldiers. “Who is that?”
“I don’t know,” Edmund said with a scowl.
“Take him to the dungeons!” Peter boomed, and the soldiers started to drag him off.
“You will never subdue Calormen!” the man shouted. “We are mighty!”
I clung tighter to Edmund as we watched him go.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Edmund’s hands started roaming my arms, as if checking to make sure they were still completely there.
“I’m fine.” I gave a little laugh, partially to try to ease his fears and partially from hysteria. “I’ll definitely need a drink from your rose water now though.”
Edmund looked confused, opening his mouth to speak when Queen Susan’s voice cut in. “The crowd is terrified.”
I glanced around at the stands to see half the spectators on their feet and all with expressions of horror. I pulled away from Edmund long enough to lift my hand in a wave. Waves of relieved cheers and staggered applause filled the lawn, but it didn’t matter to me.
Not when Edmund was holding me so close.
He turned to me. “What rose water?”
I blinked. “The rose water you sent me.”
“I didn’t send you any rose water.”
What? It hadn’t come from him? I bit my lip. So…he hadn’t been thinking of me. Lady love hadn’t been an option…aside from the fact that he did love me.
Edmund clutched my arms with an urgency that broke me from my thoughts. “Y/N, did you drink from it?”
“Of course I did,” I said defensively. “It was hot.”
I didn’t understand the look of panic on his face, nor did I understand why he immediately ran for the stands. Seizing the goblet, he came back to me to take my hand. “We’re going back to the castle,” he said under his breath. “And straight to the healers.”
Do you generally prefer a fanfic have a happy ending or do you prefer a fanfic have a sad ending that is more in line with the lore and has a more complete story arc?
Do you generally prefer a fanfic have a happy ending or do you prefer a fanfic have a sad ending that is more in line with the lore and has a more complete story arc?
I just hit 40k words written for White Moves First! It's crazy that this was only supposed to be a singular scene with Edmund getting jealous of Rabadash dancing with the MC. Just goes to show that stories have a life of their own 😂
It's my birthday, so I thought I'd post this. Happy Saint Patrick's Day everyone!
Summary: Y/N and Obi-Wan struggle with their Jedi duties keeping them apart.
Warnings: moments of great anxiety
Word count: 7.2k
Rescue Me masterlist | Main masterlist
The Kaminoans had developed what they called campfire rooms to mimic camps in battle at night. The optimal low lighting encouraged camaraderie as well as training the clones to sleep in rough environments. Apparently they figured that us Jedi were used to the same treatment.
Just as well. I didn’t want to be separated from the clones anyhow.
“Yeah, kid, any time you want to,” Skywalker was saying on my left, his face illuminated by the softly glowing light.
Ghon grinned, the familiarity of it making me smile too. “You really mean that?”
“Anakin has a lot he could teach you,” Obi-Wan said. He’d been strangely fidgety all evening.
“More than Y/N can.” Ghon leaned closer to Obi-Wan. “You should’ve taught her to fight better.”
“Excuse me?” I said as the three boys laughed. “If that’s how it is, I’ll just leave you three gasheads to your injuries then the next time you get stupid and hurt yourselves.”
“No, you won’t,” Ghon replied.
“No, she won’t,” Obi-Wan agreed, and the three men laughed again.
“If it weren’t for the Healer’s Code,” I grumbled.
A clone approached our group with a bag. “Rations.” He distributed the awful pink cubes and then went off to the next group. Ghon and Skywalker ate theirs without complaint or hesitation. I knew neither of them had always had access to food, which was probably why they’d take anything over an empty stomach.
Obi-Wan, however, grimaced down at the cubes in his palm, making no move to put them in his mouth.
Ghon nudged my side, and when I looked at him, gave a pointed look to my own cubes. I suspected Obi-Wan had told him at some point to make sure I was eating enough after my time in Dooku’s dungeon on Neftali; I’d never known a teenage boy to be so militant about someone else’s eating habits before.
Touched by his concern, I placed one in my mouth and chewed it once. Twice. Ugh, I wanted to barf. Thrice. Four times. It felt like dung on my tongue. Five times. Six times.
Deciding to risk the danger of choking over the danger of throwing up, I swallowed it and stared at the other three cubes in my hands. When I first joined the Jedi Order, I’d missed the food of my home planet, which was often spicy and savory. Jedi ate plain foods with very little flavor and no seasonings were offered at the Temple. It felt like eating paper.
Now I wished for the blandness of peacetime.
I was just about to ask when the Council was expected to get in touch with us when a voice from the group of clones sitting behind me caught my attention.
“How do they do it?” the higher voice of a clone youngling asked.
“I’m with him,” said an older version of the same voice. “I’ve never seen two Jedi work together so well as the two of them.”
I glanced around at my group, but Obi-Wan was chiming in on a conversation between Skywalker and Ghon about fighting stances. I supposed it didn’t matter; Obi-Wan and Skywalker were quite used to receiving praise for their teamwork.
“They’re good Jedi, some of the best,” Captain Rex replied. I could barely distinguish his voice from the other clones and only because of the quiet confidence with which he’d always spoken. I wondered if he’d grown out of a tube speaking with authority.
“I’ve heard stories,” said the young voice, so quietly that I unintentionally leaned back to hear better. “That the Jedi are brave and strong, but I’ve never seen it.”
“When you get off this planet,” said another clone whose identity I couldn’t discern from the voice, “you’ll probably see it every day.”
“Especially if you serve alongside Generals Kenobi, Skywalker, and Y/L/N.”
Me?
I sat there, stunned. To be included with Obi-Wan and Skywalker…
“General Y/L/N saved me once,” said that same voice of Jango Fett, and I only just refrained from whipping my head around to see which clone it was. Instead, I stayed, waiting for the clone to continue. “It was on Umbara.”
Murmurs went through the group, and something deep within me shuddered. My old master’s final stand.
“Krell?” Rex asked.
“Yeah,” said the voice heavily. “After he ordered the full strike on the airbase.”
In the following moment of silence, I could feel their pain over the losses caused by Krell as distinctly as I felt my own.
I shut my eyes, remembering how Krell had spoken over Rex, completely ignoring his concerns. Guilt swirled in my gut. I’d wanted to say something to my master to change his mind, but I’d been so afraid, I stayed silent as Krell sent the clones into the ravine. Those lives were on me for my negligence as much as on Krell for his cruelty.
“She saved my life on Umbara too,” Rex said, pulling me from my thoughts.
“And me,” said another clone.
“How?” asked the young voice.
“She dragged me out of the ravine when my leg was broken.”
“I was exposed, and she defended me long enough for both of us to take cover.”
The young voice made an impressed sound. “What about you, Captain Rex?”
I heard the dull thunk of clone trooper armor and pictured Rex setting down his helmet. Or had he simply shifted his foot against the ground? “When I rallied the 212th and 501st against Krell, he ran off to the forest. We went after him, and he suddenly came down from the trees.” The long breath Rex let out seemed to rattle in my own chest. “He wasn’t even using his sabers, just…started throwing us around with his bare hands.”
“That’s when he broke a clone’s back, right?”
My own back flared sympathetically as I remembered the great crack the clone’s spine had made.
“Yeah,” said Rex. “Never seen a Besalisk with that much strength. That was when General Y/L/N drew her saber.”
I shook my head in spite of myself. I’d barely exchanged five blows with Krell before he overpowered me.
“If she hadn’t occupied him, Tup never would’ve been able to stun Krell, and I think he would’ve killed all the clones on Umbara that day.”
“He would’ve killed the entire planet.”
Just the planet? Having seen my old master near his end, he had enough hatred to poison an entire system’s worth of planets.
The young clone’s voice broke through my gloom. “I’m glad he’s dead.” Murmurs of agreement went through the group, and I gave a short nod. “And I hope his ghost is stuck in a tree.”
The clones all laughed, but the idea of any piece of Krell living on made me feel nauseous. It was bad enough that some of his practices were still ingrained in my mind. I wanted all traces of him gone from the galaxy for good.
“How’s this?” Ghon’s voice broke through my listening and I looked to see his stance.
“Keep your grip looser,” Skywalker advised. “Getting too stiff’s not gonna help.”
“But hold on tight,” Obi-Wan said with a meaningful glance at Skywalker. “Don’t want to end up facing a changeling assassin with no saber. Or angry Geonosians. Or a sith.”
“Alright, alright, we get it,” Skywalker said as Ghon adjusted.
I frowned. Losing one’s saber was a rookie move and one that still stung from the day’s earlier conflict. What was worse: the fact that I’d lost my saber or that Ghon risked himself to return it to me?
You need to eat.
I glanced over at Obi-Wan. His expression was neutrally aimed at the fire, but I would’ve bet money as a Jedi I didn't have that he was worrying.
It’s been months since Dooku had me, I’m not wasting away.
He did not meet my gaze. People subjected to starvation become more vulnerable to future food shortages.
I looked down at the cubes in my hand, a sudden lump in my throat. Did you research that?
Obi-Wan did not answer, which was answer enough. I scrunched my nose, desperately trying not to allow tears to well in my eyes. How about for every cube you eat, I’ll eat?
Deal. Still not looking in my direction, Obi-Wan lifted one cube up, as if inspecting it. Do you want a countdown?
You’re already one behind.
His eyes snapped to the three cubes in my palm, then searched the ground around me. You didn’t just toss it where I couldn’t see it?
Don’t you trust me?
Not when it comes to ration cubes.
I only just held in my laugh. Instead, I recalled the memory of eating the cube moments ago, knowing that he could see it.
Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked to the cube between his fingers, the unmistakable expression of nausea on his face. Then, his hand moving painfully slow, he brought his first cube to his mouth, and his disgust surged so powerfully, I nearly gagged. Your nausea is making it harder for me.
Sorry.
I felt the sudden distance through the Force as he tried to keep his feelings to himself. It gave me enough space to bring my next cube to my mouth, and Obi-Wan mirrored me. Together we chewed with the solemnity of a murder trial, and as I tried to swallow, I wished I were the victim.
I grimaced. I think I’d rather be tortured.
His head jerked in my direction and at the last second, he kept his head moving as if glancing over his shoulder had been his goal the whole time. That’s not funny. Images of Dooku flashed through my mind, and I wasn’t quite sure if they were his or mine.
I’m right in front of you, I’m fine. Relax.
Obi-Wan slowly placed another cube on his tongue and chewed with the hostility that arose when he pictured Dooku’s face. I was his prisoner once, you know. He didn’t torture me, he just sentenced me to die. He treated me with more honor than he treated you.
I matched his third cube. He didn’t derive pleasure from it. He actually hated doing it, I could feel that. But his desire for power was greater than his hatred.
Apparently not with me.
With Obi-Wan’s distance from the Force to protect me from his nausea, I might not have felt his anger if it wasn’t laced within his words. Knowing you, he thought you were incorruptible.
Obi-Wan pursed his lips. I don't know why he would've thought that of me and not of you.
I was already fighting a grin as I said, it’s my darkness.
Obi-Wan let out a large sigh, audible from the other side of the circle, and I fought to keep a straight face.
“Something wrong, sir?” Captain Rex asked him as he joined our group. He looked calm and professional, as if he hadn’t just been telling stories about the greatest trooper terrorizer of the Clone Wars.
“I can’t eat anymore,” Obi-Wan said out loud, studying the final cube. “Something spoiled my appetite.”
“I’ll eat it,” Ghon piped up, already holding out his hand for the cube. Obi-Wan surrendered it with gladness.
“Don’t eat too many of those,” Captain Rex warned. “One of my men ate eight cubes on a dare and nearly sleep-walked off a cliff.”
“He’s a growing boy.” I ruffled his hair. “He probably has another growth spurt coming.”
-
I awoke from my sleep with a start and sat up, blinking away images of Dooku’s face offset from the darkness of the dungeon on Neftali. Trying to banish the images, I focused on the fake flickering of the camplight. The quiet sounds and movements of many sleeping bodies was like almost every other night I’d spent in this war. If I hadn’t known I was indoors, I would’ve assumed I was sleeping outside like on Rishii or Felucia.
Glancing over at my padawan, I noted the sprawl of his limbs and the soft snoring. Skywalker’s position wasn’t quite so haphazard, but he too looked dead to the world.
But Obi-Wan was nowhere to be seen.
Where are you? I asked with a yawn. There was no response. He wasn’t sleeping, I could feel that. Do you want to be alone?
Up on the balcony, came the answer.
You forget, I groused, I haven’t been on this planet as long as you.
A little glow of amusement came from somewhere above my head. Take the stairs up two flights and take a left.
Stepping delicately, I walked around Skywalker’s head and over Captain Rex’s feet to reach the edges of the room. Why are you awake? Obi-Wan didn’t answer, and I gave him time as I climbed the stairs. But then when I reached the top of the first flight, the silence started to eat at me. Is something wrong?
There was a slight whoosh through Obi-Wan’s Force signature, and I cocked my head. Did he just let out a sigh?
You’re incredibly distracting.
A slow smile spread on my face as I sped up, wanting to see his face. Am I? How so?
You can’t expect me to lay down five feet away from you and not touch you.
Somehow I don’t think that would escape Skywalker’s notice.
Somehow I don’t think Anakin would mind much.
Turning the corner, I caught sight of a clear door leading out onto a covered balcony. Obi-Wan leaned against the railing, already looking through the door at me. As soon as I pushed the door open, the sound of the rain pelting everything in sight filled my ears.
“What does that mean?” I asked. “About Skywalker?”
Obi-Wan shook his head lightly, already reaching out for me. “I’ll tell you some other time.”
Speaking words aloud was a luxury. Speaking with our minds was a testament to our connection, but the safety of using our voices was incredible.
I allowed him to pull me close, resting my head on his shoulder. He started to sway gently as if to rock me to sleep. “Why are you awake?” he asked.
I held tighter to Obi-Wan. “Awoke and couldn’t get back to sleep,” I lied. Dooku haunted Obi-Wan too much already, I wasn’t about to add to that.
Obi-Wan hummed, the rumble in his chest a pleasant sensation against my cheek. His hands, which had been resting on my back, started to wander up my torso with the intensity of an explorer. “You’re thin,” he noted before running his fingers up my neck, not unlike the way I’d examined the Kamionan female. “And tense.”
“So are you.” I pulled back enough to tap just beneath his hairline. “You hold all your tension right here.”
He lifted his eyebrows, wrinkling the skin of his forehead, making me laugh. His returning smile was so warm, it made my chest hurt. Stars, but I hadn’t seen him smile like that in so long, and his joy had a funny way of multiplying within me. His hands pulled back from my shoulders to encircle my wrists. “You still wrap them.”
“That’s not a question,” I replied, tilting my head at him.
He didn’t look playful as his gaze lifted from the wraps to my face. “Do they still cause you pain?”
“Stop worrying, I’m fine.”
“Do they?” he repeated.
I sighed. “Yes, they still hurt. It’s worse here because of the rain.”
Obi-Wan glanced out at the stormy clouds and waves, looking irritated. Even as he glared, his profile was statuesque with the prominence of his nose and the softness of his lips. Perhaps he was angry at Kamino for the rain, but I thought of the Kaminoan couple. The lights they’d made for each other were all the more precious because of the stormy darkness of Kamino.
I couldn’t help it—I reached up to touch Obi-Wan’s beard. I would’ve felt embarrassed, but Obi-Wan’s eyes fluttered shut while a warm glow radiated from his Force signature.
“You’re my light,” I murmured.
His eyes opened, his eyebrows lowering in confusion. “What?”
“When I feel you through the Force,” I moved my hand through the hair leading up his jaw, “I feel light.”
Something pure and jovial enveloped me like a blanket. Obi-Wan chuckled, the sound a wash of heat warming me down to my toes. “And yet I would follow you through the dark.”
“You did follow me through the dark. And you pulled me out.”
He turned his head to press a kiss to my palm with an adoration capable of knocking the air from my lungs. “You pull me out of the darkness every day.”
I laughed, withdrawing my hands, but Obi-Wan just wrapped his arm around my back to hold me in place. “Are you laughing at me?” he asked, mirth dancing in his voice.
“I’m laughing at us, because we’re spouting poetry in the middle of a war.”
“Poets like war.” Obi-Wan leaned in to press his forehead to mine. “Gives them something to write about.”
I pulled back ever so slightly, strangely enjoying the brief disappointment on his face. “I thought poets wrote about love.”
“They’re basically the same,” he muttered. “Both make you feel insane.”
“And nauseous,” I added brightly.
The corners of Obi-Wan’s mouth turned up, but it was halfhearted. His eyes had dipped down, and he was leaning closer than he had a moment before.
My heart skipped a beat.
Why was he looking at me like that? He’d never looked at me like that before.
Oh I have. I could hear the smile in his voice, but it wasn’t on his face. Just not when you’ve been paying attention.
He leaned in until he was so close that I went cross-eyed trying to see him.
Was…was he going to kiss me?
Was I going to let him?
I hadn’t decided on either point when a quiet flash in my mind made me pause. “Wait.” I pulled out of Obi-Wan’s embrace, staring unseeing through the glass door.
Something was wrong.
I felt the rush of fear before I heard the scream.
Instantly I broke from Obi-Wan’s embrace, sprinting for the stairs.
Where are you going?
Ghon!
I didn’t bother to explain any further as I whipped down the stairs and through the hallway. When I reached the room, I had to duck around clones in various states of bleariness and confusion until I saw Ghon where I left him.
Rex knelt beside my padawan, trying to wake him.
“Stop!” Ghon cried, the shout ripping from his throat. “Don’t hurt her!”
“It’s his mother and sister,” I said to whoever was listening, my heart aching more than my knees as I fell on them. “Wake up!” I cried as I shook his shoulder.
One of Ghon’s arms flailed right towards my face, and I caught it, holding it tightly. “Ghon!”
Ghon’s eyes finally opened, and he sat bolt upright, his eyes wildly searching.
“You’re alright,” I soothed. “You’re safe.”
His eyes locked on mine. I brushed my hand over his forehead where his hair was stuck with sweat. “It was a dream.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice was tiny and quiet.
I pulled him in close. “It’s okay.” Rubbing his back, I hummed a tune one of the Rishii had sung just before sleeping every night. Ghon’s body lay tense on his bedroll for long enough for me to have to stifle a yawn of my own, but eventually his eyes fluttered shut and his body relaxed.
I remained, watching him as my hand—still on his back—rose and fell with his breaths. It hurt to see the memories that plagued him. He carried burdens heavier than most, burdens not meant for the young.
A surge of protectiveness shot through me, and I quickly withdrew my hand. Time to leave him be.
I joined the group at the one fake campfire still alight. I settled myself beside Obi-Wan. Maybe the clones would think it forward, but I needed his touch, even if it was just the brush of our arms and knees.
“Is the boy alright?” Obi-Wan asked. He did not look at me, but I could feel the concern he was trying to conceal in front of Skywalker and the clones.
I let out a sigh. “Physically, yes.” I looked around the group. “I apologize that he woke you all. I hope no one thought it was an attack.”
“You said it was his mother and sister?” Rex asked.
I nodded. “He lost them in a massacre. He’s one of the only survivors of his home planet.”
A loaded silence fell, punctuated by a quiet hum emitted by the device in the center of our group.
“Losing his mother will be a scar he carries for his whole life.” Skywalker was staring hard at the fake campfire light, but it wasn’t just the light that was reflected in his eyes.
“We’re all scarred by something or another,” I murmured. “I just wish Ghon wasn’t haunted quite so much.”
Captain Rex clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Your padawan will overcome.”
I gave him a soft smile. “Especially if he has the support I did.”
Rex’s cheeks reddened slightly, and he ducked his head.
Obi-Wan’s confusion hit me through the Force in full. What are the two of you talking about?
I stared at the flickering light. There was a lot Obi-Wan and I shared. As master and padawan, we shared so much time and so many experiences, we practically breathed in the same breaths.
Yet there were some stories I didn’t want to tell him. Sharing them hurt sometimes, and Obi-Wan carried too much of my pain already.
But his unparalleled determination would uncover the truth eventually. Captain Rex had never been able to overcome Obi-Wan's tenacity; he would tell Obi-Wan sooner than Obi-Wan would give up asking. Obi-Wan might as well hear it from me. I had bad nightmares too. Whenever Rex and I were at the same camp, he’d take the night watch so that when I woke…I had someone to talk to.
When you were Krell’s padawan?
I shifted uncomfortably. Yes. And when I was yours.
His light blazed, and Skywalker glanced over at Obi-Wan with a puzzled enough expression that I instinctively leaned away from Obi-Wan. You were having nightmares and you never told me?
I couldn’t look at him, shame heating my cheeks.
Is that why you couldn’t sleep tonight? he pressed.
I turned away, pretending to glance at my padawan who was thankfully still sleeping.
Y/N. There was enough heat in my name that I gathered the courage to peek at his lowered brows and pursed lips. Why didn’t you tell me?
I tried to figure out how to explain the shame that was tightly coiled in my chest. I thought I was weak for being so...bothered. I wasn’t in real danger, and I wasn’t in pain from a real injury. They were just dreams.
Obi-Wan’s disapproval settled into my shoulders like muscle aches. The fear was real. And you didn't have to face it alone.
Krell would've flayed me alive for complaining about such a thing.
But I would've helped you.
I dared to move my knee far enough to bump his. I know that now. His light calmed marginally, but I could still feel his discontent. It’s alright, I don’t have them near as much as I used to.
Obi-Wan’s signature burned too brightly to have been comforted by my words. I wish I could bear them for you.
My chest warmed. And that in and of itself makes the burden lighter.
-
The morning brought a break in the storm and news from the council that Ghon and I were to return to Rishii before nightfall. Out of us four Jedi that spoke with the council, none of us received the news ambivalently. Ghon’s shoulders slumped. Skywalker glanced at me. Obi-Wan’s light burned so low, it was a good thing the council was too far to sense it.
After the meeting, Obi-Wan walked towards me, but I turned to Ghon. “Shall we check the provisions on our ship?”
My padawan didn’t have a chance to nod before I ushered him out of the comm room.
It was hard enough to feel my own despair. I didn’t deal with it well, allowing Ghon to take stock of our supplies on the ship. Once the check was done, Ghon and I sat out on the dry platform and observed the waves. After my final check in the infirmary, we would leave.
I could feel Obi-Wan’s presence at my back. I hoped he was doing something more covert than just staring at us. Better yet, I hoped he wasn’t paying attention to me at all. The lingering shame of my nightmares still burned.
“Did you get some sleep?” I asked my padawan as I ate a ration cube.
Ghon twitched in a way that could’ve been affirmative.
I shifted my gaze to the dome covered with soot, squinting in the light of the sun. It was a very weak sun compared to Rishii’s sun, but it still burned my eyes after days of darkness. “Maybe if you talk about them,” I offered him my last ration cube, wishing it were chocolate cake instead, “we can work out what’s bothering you.”
Ghon waved his hand, declining my cube. “Master Yoda already tried.” He sounded tired, and I knew it went deeper than missing a good night’s sleep. Nightmares, whatever they were about, had a way of eating into one’s soul until it felt grotty enough to only be good for Jawas.
I looked up at the sky, trying to recall the most comforting things Rex had said. The right words could reassure Ghon and make him open up while the wrong ones would make him retreat into and lash out on himself.
“My nightmares,” I said slowly, “were always about my old master.” I wasn’t looking at my padawan, but I felt his Force signature still as he listened. “He used to hurt me. Tell me I wouldn’t ever be a good enough Jedi. Ignore me until I did something he approved of.”
Another, brighter Force signature behind me stilled as well, and I pursed my lips. I’d said too much, and now Obi-Wan was listening.
“What did he approve of?” Ghon asked quietly. He wasn’t sharing yet, but he was engaging, which had to be a good sign.
“Cruelty, either towards the clones or myself.”
“Cruelty to yourself?” Ghon echoed, and the light behind me flared.
“Yes,” I said with difficulty. “He liked it when I told him all my mistakes. Sometimes…if he’d been ignoring me for longer than a day…I would skip my dinner. Or take the night watch twice in a row or train until I was too sore and bruised to walk.” The pain shining from behind me made it so difficult to focus, I withdrew from the Force to quiet my mind. This was about Ghon, not me nor Obi-Wan.
“Why would he do that?” Ghon asked.
“There’s a lot of reasons people do awful things, Ghon, you know that just as well as I do.”
“But he was a Jedi.” Ghon’s face was tense. “Jedi shouldn’t do awful things.” He’d started pulling at a loose thread in his cloak, wrapping it tightly around his thumb until the tip of it turned purple.
I nodded. “You’re right. We shouldn’t.” There was a long silence while he gave a hard yank on the thread until it was long enough to twist between all the fingers of his right hand. “What are your dreams about, Ghon?”
“A lot of different things,” he hedged.
I waited patiently. If he didn’t share, I would simply tell him to spend the morning with Skywalker while I ran the med bay.
“It used to be…” He unraveled the thread, wrapping it around his pinkie this time. “Sometimes it was about home.”
My heart ached. “About your family?”
He nodded, a sort of unstable bob. “But now they’re about the future.”
Obi-Wan’s dusty and distraught face in the Archives flashed in my mind, my own premonition just before the attack on the temple. “When you’re a Jedi Knight?” I asked.
He nodded again, turning his face away from me so that I barely caught his next words. “Sometimes they’re about you.”
That was not what I had been expecting, and I worked to keep my voice level. “What about me?”
Ghon got to his feet. “Can I go see what Master Skywalker is doing?”
“Ghon.” I rose on shaky knees. “What do I do in these dreams?” His eyes were trained on the ground, his head hanging, and he did not answer. “Ghon, I promise you, I will never hate you.”
He let out a little sound that was not quite amused but not sad either. “That’s not it.”
“I will never hurt you either.” He shook his head, and I reached out to place my hands on his shoulders. “Ghon. Say it.”
“You die.” He lifted his head up, and the sight of his watery eyes sent another shock through me. “Over and over.”
My jaw dropped, and all I could do was stare at this precious, hurting boy.
Were these dreams the product of a troubled mind? Or was the Force trying to tell him something?
“Kid, you ready to spar?” Skywalker popped up from seemingly nowhere, scaring me enough that I released Ghon.
“Yeah,” he said and immediately followed Anakin without glancing back at me.
My head spun so wildly, it felt as though the platform underneath my feet tipped back and forth dangerously.
He dreamed about losing me.
Don’t hurt her, he’d cried when I’d tried to wake him up.
He risked himself in battle to make sure I had my weapon.
He made sure I always ate my ration cubes.
“Are you alright, sir?”
I blinked hard, staring at the clone who’d interrupted my thoughts. “Yes,” I said, but my tone was too uncertain. “Excuse me, I’m needed in the med bay.”
I hurried through the corridors, trying to put as much distance between me and my padawan as I could before the feelings welled up too high. With every thundering beat of my heart, I couldn’t stop the whirling of my thoughts.
I’d failed my padawan.
I’d never discouraged his reliance, so sure that giving him the support that he’d never received would help heal him and let him stand on his own feet. But now the idea of losing me tormented him.
That was what had been modeled for him. It’s what I’d modeled for him.
Stars, what had I done?
I burst into the med bay, and thankfully it was empty enough that neither the Kaminoan or the clones gave me anything more than a cursory nod as I walked to the adjoining room.
In the whisper of the door sliding shut behind me, I allowed it all to crash over me. Tears streamed down my face as I braced my hands against the wall.
“Y/N?”
Obi-Wan’s voice made me cringe, and then his hand on my shoulder made me shudder and pull away.
“What’s wrong?” Obi-Wan stood in front of me, eyes full of concern. “What’s happened?”
“I’ve failed,” I said faintly. Or did it just sound faint over the roaring of my ears? The roaring of the knowledge that I had failed at the thing I devoted my life to?
“What?”
“I’m a bad Jedi.”
His lips moved quickly, but I couldn’t hear him. He tried to touch my cheek, but I pulled away from him again, pressing my hands to my face. I needed to say something, but I couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, couldn’t see–
Breathe.
I immediately sucked in a breath.
Let it out.
I did so, the exhale catching on the knot in my throat several times.
Again.
The voice was Obi-Wan’s.
Let it out.
I blinked, slowly registering that my hands were over my face.
Again.
My fingers were tingling strangely. I peeled my fingers away, blinking at Obi-Wan. When did we sit down?
Let it out.
“I’m okay,” I managed to say.
“No, you’re not.” Obi-Wan tentatively reached out, and I allowed him to take my fingers—which were still tingling—in his hands. “What’s wrong?”
I looked at him, my eyes filling with tears again. “I’ve failed Ghon.”
Obi-Wan’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why are you saying such a thing?”
“His nightmares–”
Breathe. You’re getting yourself worked up again.
I obeyed, taking a deep breath.
“You can’t control his nightmares,” Obi-Wan said softly. “No one can, you know that.”
“They’re about me!” I clapped my hand over my mouth, terrified that the clones would hear. Would they think me just as incompetent as I now knew myself to be?
Obi-Wan’s eyes shone with concern as he cradled my face. “He cares about you, that’s not a bad thing.”
I shook my head, looking desperately up into Obi-Wan’s face. “He fears losing me.”
“He almost did, Y/N, it’s not that uncommon–”
Gripping Obi-Wan’s arms as best I could without the full sensation of my fingers, I tugged. “No, Obi-Wan, he dreams of me dying. He fears losing me above everything else, that’s why he risked himself to get my lightsaber yesterday!”
“Padawans protect their masters,” Obi-Wan argued. “If I had to tell you all the times Anakin saved my life–”
“He risked himself for me. He’s overly attached to me.”
“That’s not necessarily–”
“It is my fault!” I burst out. “And it’s because I’m crossing one of the most important parts of the Code!”
Obi-Wan’s expression shuttered, and even though he looked pained, he didn’t pull away. “What are you saying?” His too-calm tone didn’t soothe the way it ordinarily might’ve.
“If…if it was between finishing a mission and saving Ghon…I don’t think I could prioritize the mission.” Another tear welled up in my eye and fell.
“Honey,” Obi-Wan said in a tone far too light, “he’s your responsibility, of course you want to protect him.”
I looked up at his face. “But you’re not my padawan…and I’d choose to protect you too.”
His light cracked and popped like the embers of a home fire. I bit my lip, trying not to cry. “What kind of Jedi does that make me? What kind of teacher am I if that’s what I model for my padawan?”
Obi-Wan’s face fell. Did he also feel bad? Was he wondering what he had modeled for Skywalker? I realized I still clung to Obi-Wan and loosened my grip. But instead of letting me go, Obi-Wan gently brought my hands to the rough tunic covering his chest.
Do you feel the Force? he asked. When you’re with me?
I furrowed my brows and nodded.
This does not remove us from it. The Force is with us.
I slowly shook my head, unable to feel the comfort he tried to impart. “The Force is with Dooku. It was with Krell. Feeling the Force doesn’t mean we are good.”
Obi-Wan’s light whooshed as if I’d hit him squarely in the chest as hard as I could. He let go of my hands and stepped back. “Do you…want this to end?”
Almost instinctively, I wrapped my arms around him, pressing every part of my body into him in the hopes that I could imprint the pounding feelings of my heart onto his. No. Without you, I have nothing.
Jedi were supposed to have nothing.
As Obi-Wan had said back on Taris, this is what we were made for.
I buried my face into his chest, thankful Obi-Wan seemed as reluctant to let me go as I was to stand on my own two feet. For several long moments, neither of us said anything.
Krell fell to the dark side when he started prioritizing his own thoughts and beliefs over the ways of the Jedi. And though feeling the way I felt for Obi-Wan seemed like a beautiful, harmless thing…we followed the Jedi Code for a reason, so our power was never abused.
I could not allow myself or Obi-Wan to fall to the dark side.
“I don’t want to stop this,” I said finally, pulling away enough to glimpse Obi-Wan’s stony expression. “But if we keep doing this, we can’t let it get in the way. We have to give each other permission to prioritize the Order.”
Was it my imagination, or did the corners of Obi-Wan’s mouth turn down? I want to agree.
You…want to?
He nodded, obviously frowning now. I don’t know if I can…I can’t just give a part of me. His lips pursed, and I felt his disappointment without knowing if it was aimed at me or himself or even just the whole galaxy. I’m sorry, I don’t know how else to explain it.
My heart clenched painfully in my chest, but I shamefully couldn’t think of anything to say. The idea that Obi-Wan might choose me over our way of life…it was tantalizing.
And so unbelievably selfish. The choice I was so afraid of us making…I wanted us to make it.
We both do our duties. The Republic has our bodies and our sabers for its cause. Obi-Wan’s eyes bore into mine, the beautiful blue zinging me somewhere in my stomach. Do we owe it our hearts as well?
I wished I had the right answer or even any answer. But all I could offer was, I don’t know.
Obi-Wan sighed. Me either. Our collective unhappiness filled the space, rank and rotten through the Force.
I wish we were free.
The sudden words ricocheted from some part deeper than my mind, and Obi-Wan and I were both so shocked by it, we pulled away from each other.
Freedom?
We weren’t slaves, starving and mistreated. With our great capabilities and positions, we had no cause for unrest like the millions, billions in the galaxy who were experiencing cruelty and injustice.
And yet…
Obi-Wan caressed my face with his calloused hands and desperation, his red-rimmed eyes bringing tears to my own. I can’t breathe without you.
How could a statement, so simple and unadorned, nearly bring me to my knees?
When I'm not with you, all I do is wish you were with me, I replied. And that wishing…makes me so sure of how I feel for you.
Obi-Wan thickly cleared his throat, his brows furrowing. “I have been wrestling for months…feeling so resolved one moment and so guilty the next.” He took a long breath and let it out, and I could feel it on my face. “But now I’ve decided.”
“Decided what?” I asked, both fearing and craving the answer.
Whatever happens and however long it takes…it’s you.
My hands started to shake.
The absolute conviction in his words could not be questioned, even as my doubts assailed me. We did not know when we would next see each other. We did not know if we would stay alive long enough to even see each other. And if we did, there was no guarantee that we would both survive this war.
But as I looked into Obi-Wan’s earnest eyes, my own filled with tears.
Obi-Wan brushed them away like it was his solemn duty. Someday, the duties of my heart and my body will be reunited. And on that day, I will fulfill the promise I’m ready to make.
“I’m not,” I blurted. “I’m not ready.” My cheeks immediately grew hot, and I tried to look away, but Obi-Wan caught my chin.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, his grip endlessly tender. “I can wait.”
-
Double Seven’s wound was healing better than I could have hoped. “Look at that,” I said in awe as I peeled back the regeneration pad. Just because I knew how the regeneration pad worked didn’t mean it didn’t feel like a miracle.
“It doesn’t hurt,” Double Seven noted with surprise.
I finished pulling the pad off, smiling at the brand new skin covering his chest. “Not bad, Double Seven, if I do say so myself.”
His eyebrows furrowed with confusion. “Double Seven?”
“Oh.” I blushed. “Sorry, CT-4877.”
The confusion cleared way for a wondrous smile. “Is that…my nickname?”
“Not if you don’t want it to be,” I assured him. “You could just be Double or something completely different.”
“I like Double.” He cocked his head, suddenly regarding me with amazement similar to mine for the regeneration pad. “So the Jedi really do give clones nicknames.”
I wiped down his chest with disinfectant; infection of newly generated skin was awful and could be deadly. “Everyone deserves their own name.”
“Master.” Ghon stood in the door of the med bay. “It’s time to go.”
Dread hit me like a blow. I nodded, trying to conceal my disappointment as I squeezed Double’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”
“Yes, General.”
I bid the rest of the clones farewell and walked with Ghon to our ship, my footfalls heavy. Where are you? I couldn’t leave without bidding him goodbye.
Waiting.
Sure enough, when we reached the double doors that lead to our ship, Obi-Wan and Skywalker were waiting. Neither were smiling.
“Thank you for all the sparring!” Ghon said brightly to Skywalker.
Skywalker grinned then, a completely warranted response to my padawan, I thought. “Keep practicing, and you’ll be better than Obi-Wan in no time.”
Obi-Wan chuckled, and despite the sadness permeating his Force signature, the chuckle sounded genuine. Judging by Skywalker’s glance, however, he wasn’t buying it.
“He’s already better than me.” I smiled at Ghon, feeling unsquashable affection.
“That’s the hope of every master,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “That his padawans will be better than himself.”
Skywalker and I shared a glance, and I could feel my reaction echoed in him. Us, better than Obi-Wan? Better than the best Jedi we knew?
Obi-Wan seemed to shake off his musings. “Thank you both for your assistance. Knight Y/L/N, your healing expertise was invaluable."
I gave a warning look. “Make sure those in the med bay aren’t released too soon, no matter how stubborn they are.”
When Obi-Wan only grimaced, Skywalker saluted. “Will do.”
Ghon bowed and pulled his hood over his head before walking out the doors.
“May the Force be with you,” Skywalker said to me before turning and leaving Obi-Wan and I by the doors. I watched him go, wondering what reason he had for giving Obi-Wan and I a moment alone. Then I dragged my gaze to face the impassive expression of Obi-Wan.
“May the Force be with you,” I said softly, giving a little bow.
Obi-Wan lifted his chin, and I envied his ability to hide the pain I knew he was feeling. “And with you.”
I turned away. Until next time, be safe, Obi-Wan. The rain pelted against my hood as I strode towards our ship.I don't know when I will see you next, said Obi-Wan, the hum of light in every word. But I promise I will remain yours until then and after then.
I got ghosted today, so I was in a mood to write and ended up finishing this part!
Summary: Y/N and Obi-Wan are reunited.
Warnings: inconsistent Clone Wars timeline, whatcha gonna do
Word count: 5.1k
Rescue Me masterlist | Main masterlist
Since Rishi wasn’t an official war zone, our mission required all my healing abilities and none of Ghon’s preferred activities of combat or strategizing. He hid his boredom well, never complaining or giving any indication that he wasn’t content with his work. But I could feel it, and I didn’t know how to make it better.
I often directed Ghon to spend time with the Rishii while they completed their duties. It did not bode well for his eventual ascension to knight that it was difficult to let him out of my sight. But I comforted myself knowing he would learn more from the avian species than from watching me heal. Still, there was a pang somewhere deep in my chest whenever I felt his enjoyment when he wasn’t around me.
It was our second week on Rishi when Ghon’s nightmares returned.
He’d had them nearly every night when he first became my padawan. The hell that he had come from haunted him for nearly a year before the nightmares ceased. I didn’t know why they had returned, only that they had, and poor Ghon was walking around greatly sleep-deprived, which was much worse than his restlessness.
After comforting him back to sleep each night, I’d lay awake worrying about my padawan and wishing I could ask for Obi-Wan’s advice. The Rishii were completely uninterested in modern housing or technology, so we slept under the stars in their large nest-like homes. And at night I wondered what the stars looked like where Obi-Wan was. Was he on a planet looking at the other side of the ones I looked at now? Or was he on a planet so hazy, he couldn’t see any stars at night? Or perhaps he was on a planet with perpetual sunlight and never saw the stars, even when he lay down to sleep.
I hoped he got to see the stars.
-
“Rest that wing, alright?” I waited for the sullen Rishii to nod before stepping aside to let him leave the clearing set up as a temporary infirmary. Watching him go to ensure he remained on foot, I shook my head slightly.
Almost every planet I’d visited had a different response to healers. On Crunam, they’d asked me to remain on the planet as their healer in exchange for a palace to live in. On Dunt, a warrior had been branded for allowing me to keep him from bleeding out. Thankfully, the Rishii were not as harsh as the Duntians, but while they recognized the necessity of my position, they detested being told what to do.
“Master!”
Ghon ran towards the clearing with such urgency, he only just avoided crashing into the grounded Rishii warrior.
My heart sped up as I jogged towards him. “What?”
“The council is requesting to speak to you!” My padawan didn’t need to tell me it was urgent—I could feel the excitement in him, which only grew as the two of us ran for the ship.
When we finally reached it, the council was waiting for us. “You are urgently needed on Kamino,” Master Koon’s voice crackled from his projection before the door even closed behind us.
“What’s the situation?” I asked.
“We’ve received word that the Separatists are currently attacking the cloning facility, and you are the closest Jedi to offer aid.”
My dose of fear didn’t hold a candle to Ghon’s excitement; he practically buzzed with it. “We will leave immediately.”
Master Koon cleared his throat. “The generals have said many of the clones and some of the Kaminoans have already been severely wounded. Be prepared.”
I bowed and the hologram cut off before I fully realized what they’d said. Which generals were there? I selfishly hoped it wasn’t Master Windu. It didn’t matter how much older and wiser I got, he seemed perpetually displeased with me. As if he had decided one day I wasn’t enough and never bothered to revisit the decision. Probably because of Krell.
Ghon and I bid a quick farewell to Chief Gwark of the Rishii, and though he did not thank us for our assistance, he did not seem happy to let us go.
I sat in the pilot’s chair, heart thundering as we flew through hyperspace to get to Kamino. “We must be prepared for combat as soon as we land,” I told Ghon unnecessarily. He’d been aching for combat for days. I felt sick when I thought about how little sleep he’d gotten in the last week.
Opening my mouth to remind Ghon to be extra careful, the words and my breath caught in my throat.
A whisper of light.
Could it be…?
Was Obi-Wan one of the generals on Kamino?
My mouth snapped shut, and I begged the Force with all my might. Please, please, please. Please don’t let it be my imagination. Just a few minutes with him, please.
I felt the light again and could no longer feel my feet, as if they now floated above the floor. He was there! He was on Kamino! I was about to see him!
Intentionally taking deep breaths to try and exhale the thoughts, I started preparing the ship for a quick landing. “Remember your training, Ghon.”
Ghon glanced at me with a pensive look. “Yes, master.”
-
I could see the flashes of blue and red blaster bolts as soon as we entered the atmosphere. Yet where normally combat filled me with dread, I was buzzing with energy as much as Ghon, my fingers barely staying still on the nav controls.
To be apart from Obi-Wan was to be apart. Incomplete. And as we flew through Kamino’s perpetual rain, my soul sang with completeness. I forced myself to stay in the pilot’s seat and finish the landing protocol on the platform closest to the fighting, even though all I wanted to do was sprint across the skybridges towards Obi-Wan.
When Ghon and I exited our ship, I peered through the pouring rain. Despite the excessive water, one of the domes burned with flames of unnatural orange while smoke billowed towards the rainclouds.
“The quickest way to the battle is through there!”
I only just managed to seize Ghon’s shoulder before he ran into the burning dome. “No, we’re going around.”
“But–”
“Go!”
Ghon let out a grunt but obeyed.
As we ran across the platform towards the longer skybridge leading us farther from the fight, I caught the sounds of fighting over the rain. Blaster shots, explosions, clanking of the machinery of droids and ships.
We ran through the outer doors, coming to the edge of the platform where the droids were advancing on the clones, and I laid eyes on the glorious warrior I’d been waiting to see.
Without the Force, Obi-Wan would appear to be the most determined, energized fighter. He moved with boundless grace as he cut down droids like they were made of cloth instead of metal. Not once did he falter. He was wholly concentrated on the battle, so aware of his immediate surroundings, he hadn’t noticed me yet.
With the Force, however, I felt the same bone-deep exhaustion in Obi-Wan as Ghon. Like a candle that had been left to burn all the way down to the wick in its effort to light a room too large.
One little light couldn’t light everything.
Ghon glanced at me with a question in his eyes. Once I gave a curt nod, he whipped out his lightsaber and launched into the fray, immediately plowing droids down like grain.
I stared across the platform at Obi-Wan's blue lightsaber, suddenly nervous. Should I announce myself? Did I wait for him to notice me? What if I distracted him by speaking to him?
A nearby flare of pain through the Force snapped me out of my stupor, and I quickly knelt beside the clone whose helmet was alarmingly blackened with soot.
Stupid.
I was so distracted, my vision had tunneled, and I nearly missed the need around me.
There was a little overhang above the nearby doors, providing cover from the rain. I slung the clone’s arm around my neck, pulling him there. Once he was out of the way and I was sure he was stable, I surveyed the battlefield, my eyes snagging once more on Obi-Wan. Hello there.
The blue lightsaber stopped flashing for a moment as Obi-Wan’s head whipped around to look. With our distance and the pouring rain, I could not see the individual features of his face, but I felt his attention like the warmth of a sun.
Did I imagine the sudden spike of heat on the platform as his light grew stronger and stronger? Did the clones around us all suddenly start moving faster, like they'd gotten a big burst of energy? Skywalker paused in his fight on the other side of the platform and Ghon faltered mid-swing, both glancing at Obi-Wan.
But as Obi-Wan's attention on me intensified, I couldn’t worry about what the other two Jedi thought.
You’re…here? His disbelief would've made me laugh if I hadn't felt as breathless as his voice sounded in my head.
Didn’t you feel me? I bent down to check on the next clone, who was knocked out cold. He would be safer on the ground. You must’ve been very focused.
Obi-Wan’s blue lightsaber arced through the air as he destroyed another droid. I thought I imagined it. I dream of it often enough.
My heart twisted sharply, as if my veins had banded together to strangle it. I’m real and here to help.
The light—which had grown to a roaring bonfire—faltered. Why are you here?
Well that’s not very nice. Was I imagining the panic coursing from the other side of our bond? The council sent me to help.
They’re not supposed to send you into active war zones!
My hands froze on the next clone’s leg, and though it was useless, I couldn’t help glancing in Obi-Wan’s direction. What do you mean they’re not supposed to send me? There was no response. Obi-Wan, have you been keeping me away from battles?
Still, no reply came.
If we weren’t physically in the middle of an active battle zone, I would’ve pushed harder. As it was, I was keenly aware that all the energy Obi-Wan spent conversing with me was energy taken away from him trying to stay alive.
I did not want to have this conversation with Obi-Wan when there was a blaster-sized hole in his gut.
Somewhere behind me, I felt Ghon’s enthusiasm wane as his exhaustion started to overcome his adrenaline.
No.
He was sleep-deprived.
The longer I spent as a healer, the harder it was to draw my weapon, yet I drew it and positioned myself at Ghon’s back.
Droids had their power in their numbers. In all respects, by themselves, they were pathetic fighters, especially against Jedi. Together, they could cause serious damage.
As their bolts flew at me, I tried to deflect them, but the wetness of the rain made my grip on my lightsaber unsteady. I clenched my fingers, trying to hold onto it, but a sharp warning through the Force split my focus.
My lightsaber flew from my grip. “No!” I had to twist out of the way of a bolt, but before I could lift my hand to use the Force, something slammed into me, sending me sprawling.
What’s wrong?!
I blinked up in time to see Ghon where I’d been standing moments before, grim determination on his face as he faced a volley of blaster bolts.
“Ghon!” I screamed, fear searing through my heart like fire. “Don’t!”
Just as what looked like ten blaster bolts almost touched him, Ghon leapt up into the air, landing behind the droids.
Paralyzed, I could only watch as Ghon sliced through the droids before they could turn around. He scooped up my lightsaber and threw it before turning to fight the next droid.
“Ghon!” I snapped, but he was already out of earshot. Later. We’d talk about it later.
What happened?! Are you hurt?!
I frowned. No.
I was about to rejoin the fight when I felt a tug in my gut so strong, I had to suck in a breath.
Dooku.
I whirled around, squinting to see through the rain. How had I not felt him before?
My heart pounded as I pushed forward, following the pull. Despite every part of me dripping with freezing rain, my mouth went dry, bile burning in my throat.
Then I saw him, running through our platform towards the descending strip leading to the next, where a ship sat waiting.
The sound of my heartbeat in my ears drowned out the sounds of rain and the battle. I could’ve sworn my wrists throbbed.
Gritting my teeth, I watched the dark figure darting around the combat.
He was getting away.
I looked at Obi-Wan. Dooku!
I know!
He was too far away, it didn’t matter that he saw Dooku, there was a platoon of droids in his way. His vicious strokes with his lightsaber showed me how desperate he was becoming, but there was no way he could follow Dooku. So, I squared my shoulders, swallowed my fear, and ran.
Y/N! No!
I grit my teeth. It didn’t matter why he thought I shouldn’t be in an active combat zone, I was in one now. And I could not let Dooku get away.
My boots against the slanted strip slipped in the rain, and while I sometimes slid down a few inches, I never fell. I just kept my eyes on Dooku’s back as we neared the ship.
“Dooku!” I yelled. “Stop!”
If he was surprised to hear my voice, he didn’t falter as he ran up the boarding ramp. As he disappeared into the ship, a whole platoon of droids emerged, leveling their blasters at me and firing.
Leaping towards the line of columns on the edge and out of the line of fire, I ignited my lightsaber and started cutting them down as they approached.
Must you keep hurling yourself into danger?! Obi-Wan snarled in my mind.
I sliced through another droid. Can we talk about this later?
Obi-Wan didn’t reply.
Thank you! The comment was more snide than I’d intended, but I couldn’t dwell.
Watch out!
I twisted out of the way of the bolt from Dooku’s ship just as the bolt hit the column where my head had been moments before. The platform high above me started to cave in as the column crumbled.
And then a protective hand materialized over my head as the debris started falling from above. I looked up to see Obi-Wan—in all his handsome, furious glory—standing above me, and for a moment, we were frozen in time.
If I’d had time, I would’ve thanked him or hugged him or any number of things, but I didn’t. So I swallowed against the buzzing in my throat, turned, and plunged back into the droids.
Duck!
I wordlessly bent, bracing a hand beside my knee on the platform, just as another bolt went flying over my head. The platform shook beneath my feet as it exploded, causing a section of the platform to crumble towards the water.
Jump forward! I managed, doing the same myself as I used the Force to propel us through the air and onto firmer ground.
The ship carrying Dooku flew off, abandoning the droids to delay us from any pursuit. As I glared up at his shrinking ship, there was a tug through the Force on my right shoulder, and I twisted in the guided direction just as Obi-Wan’s brilliant blue lightsaber sliced upwards in the path my movement had made.
The droid he’d attacked fell to the ground, neatly in two.
He got away. My dismay chilled me deeper than the freezing rain. The Sith were so slippery, nearly impossible to catch. The moment things were no longer going exactly as they planned, away they flew.
He was always going to.
I scowled. Don't scold.
Soon, the ground around us was littered with the dismembered metal parts of droids, the occasional spark flying from their fried wires and immediately sizzling out in the rain.
Still on the original platform, Ghon was speaking to a clone that had his blaster rifle slung over his shoulder while Skywalker swiped his lightsaber through his last droid. The fight was over, and it seemed the damage to the cloning facility was minimal. But while the fighting was over, my true work was just beginning.
Without looking at Obi-Wan, I ran back up the inclined strip to start checking on the clones that weren’t standing. There were very few substantial injuries; most of the clones either had a few scratches or were dead.
One clone had taken a blaster bolt to his chest, and the wheezing sound of his breathing cut deeply into me. As I worked quickly to remove his chestplate so it didn’t melt into his skin, I noted his armor was stamped with CT-4877. Even though he was unconscious, I could feel the clone’s suffering echoing through my own body like electric shocks.
“Hang on, Double Seven,” I murmured as I worked. “I’ve got you.”
How Pong Krell could ever have thought clones to be lesser beings, I didn’t know. Pain was pain. I wanted to believe that even if I were a Sith or Separatist, I'd believe that it was easier to kill a droid than it was to watch a clone die.
I didn’t need Obi-Wan’s light to tell me that he was hovering. “Help cover the wound, we can’t let the rain get inside his burns,” I said, quickly untying my cloak and handing him one end while I placed the other end over my head. With the cover, I eased the armor off the clone’s chest, revealing the angry skin below.
“How can I help?” I heard Ghon’s voice nearby.
“Go get some help to carry him inside,” I instructed, and the patter of feet stomping through puddles grew softer and softer.
How is he?
There’s no blackening of skin, but there’s blisters all over his chest.
Obi-Wan’s nausea rose, and I would’ve laughed at his queasiness had I not been focused on feeling the clone’s face for a temperature.
The sound of multiple pairs of feet running through the puddles reached my ears. I pulled my head out from under the cloak, holding it over the clone’s body as the rain once more pounded against my face. “We must keep him covered while we move him!”
“One, two, three!” They lifted the stretcher, and Obi-Wan and I walked alongside it, using my cloak to cover the clone the whole way. I’m not thoughtlessly throwing myself into danger.
Obi-Wan’s eyes met mine over the cloak. What happened to talking about this later?
I’m a Jedi, just like you. I serve the galaxy, just like you. You can’t get angry at me for doing exactly what you would do.
His frown grew. I waited for a cutting response, but he said nothing.
We walked through the doors into the dry building, and I pushed my soaked cloak towards Obi-Wan, focusing on Double Seven’s chest. When he woke, the pain would be excruciating. “Carry him to the med bay, and start tissue regeneration with a shot of bacta please.”
The other clones nodded and carried him off, leaving Skywalker, Ghon, Obi-Wan, and myself alone in the corridor. Against my better judgment, I lingered.
“Master Kenobi,” Ghon acknowledged from beside me. “General Skywalker.”
Obi-Wan looked at my padawan, and the pride was evident on his face. “Ghon, I do declare you’re two inches taller than when I last saw you.”
Ghon stood straighter, looking mightily pleased with himself. “One and a half more inches, and I’ll be taller than Y/N.”
I laughed and tugged on his braid lightly. “Why don’t you go move our ship to the regular loading bay? I’ll be in the med bay when you’re done.” I dropped his braid and gave him a stern look. “We have to talk about that maneuver you did.”
Though his impeccable posture did not slouch, I could see the chagrin on his face as he pulled his hood on before venturing out into the rain.
I made a concerted effort to look at Skywalker. “I am going to go aid the injured clones, if either of you care to join me.”
Skywalker made a face that spoke of how little he enjoyed the healing aspect of war. “I will…go inform the council that Dooku got away.” The speed with which he walked away from us was almost comical.
And then I was left alone with Obi-Wan. I realized this as I took in the sheen of sweat mixed with rain on Obi-Wan’s face. Standing back to back or running alongside each other, we didn’t have time or an excuse to really look at one another.
But I was looking at him now. And he was looking back.
We were both here, safe, if a little worse for wear. To be this close to his light…it was so gratifying that I could hardly stand it.
And then I remembered what we’d said during the battle.
I can’t believe you’ve been keeping me out of active war zones. I scowled at him. That’s not fair.
It wasn’t like that. I didn’t sense any protest in Obi-Wan’s words, only fact, but the underlying worry told me he wasn’t as calm as he wanted to appear. Your healing abilities and compassion were often needed to aid with resurgence.
My eyes narrowed.
He folded his arms. And I was right to do so. This is your first active combat zone in months and you flung yourself after Dooku.
You would’ve done exactly the same thing!
Perhaps the silence that followed should’ve felt like a victory, but though anger buzzed in my chest, the conflict in his face felt like a loss. He let out a soft but audible sigh. I’m sorry. I just want you to be safe.
I pursed my lips. I know, but you’re not my master anymore.
Old habits die hard. Someday, you’ll probably struggle with Ghon’s safety as much as I do yours.
I glanced out the doors where Ghon had gone in time to see our ship lift towards the stormy clouds. He is growing up quickly. It was a concession, and I knew Obi-Wan felt it for what it was.
As children do.
I turned away from the door, walking towards the med bay. He used to be a child with me. I was never a child when I was your padawan.
Obi-Wan fell into step behind me, a respectable distance between the two of us. You're right. I felt his hand brush mine as we walked. We didn’t have nearly enough time.
If I wasn’t working to conceal our secret communication, I might’ve smiled. You really should trim your beard. You look like a hermit.
Obi-Wan’s amusement settled over me like a warm blanket as we entered the med bay. You don't like hermits?
I immediately went to Double Seven, inspecting the tissue regeneration pad that covered his chest. Not as much as I like you with your hair short. Satisfied with the pad application, I moved on to address the next clone. “Master Kenobi, would you mind bringing over the Galvanic response meter?”
“Not at all.” What in the world is that?
I pursed my lips. It was wildly inappropriate to smile over blaster wounds. It’s in the corner on the counter. Bringing the image to my mind, I felt Obi-Wan’s understanding and soon the meter was in my hand. “Will you get some clean bandages?”
He shuffled away and I heard the sounds of rummaging as I inspected the next clone. Trying to keep me here?
As long as we're on the same planet, I want to be with you. I gave the clone a comforting squeeze on his shoulder before starting with the bacta patch. I haven't seen you in months.
A deep softness and fondness radiated from Obi-Wan's light. Five months and three days.
I glanced up at him, realizing too late I had no reason to for the clones that could see us and not sense our conversation. “Can I get your help with this bandage?” I blurted before returning to the unsecured bacta patch. You counted?
When you feel like you're being torn in half, you remember the last time you felt you could breathe.
I blinked, struggling against the sudden welling up of tears. Neither of us said anything else as I finished binding the clone’s arm and waved off his thanks.
A male Kaminoan was carefully debriding a burn wound on a clone on the next bed, wearing the headpiece around the fin on his head that denoted him as the medical authority. “Are there any more who need me?” I asked.
“Yes.” He gracefully indicated a doorway with the end of his tweezers then returned his focus without another word.
I washed my hands quickly. “Master Kenobi, I could use your assistance,” I said without looking away from my hands, my tone professional.
“Of course.”
The doorway slid open as I finished drying my hands, revealing a female Kaminoan with a beautiful beaded headpiece. She sat on the bed, holding the hands of a male Kaminoan. Their big eyes might’ve signaled feeling, but their slow blinks betrayed their impassivity. I could feel the female’s pain, and yet she did not look tense or upset.
“Hello,” I said gently. “My name’s Y/N, I’m a Jedi healer. Can I assist you somehow?”
As I listened to the female describe how she’d fallen after the first explosion, I gently felt the bones in her long neck. None appeared to be broken, but Kaminoan bones were fragile.
I pressed on a spot on her back where her neck met her torso, and her next exhale was sharp, her first sign of discomfort. “It helps if you talk about something else,” I said lightly.
The female merely blinked at me, but the male shifted as he peered down at her. “Just think of our ceremony tonight.”
I continued my examination, but kept my voice casual. “What ceremony?”
“We’re getting married,” the female replied, her neck swiveling enough to look up at the male. How strange to see so little emotion while talking about such a thing.
“Really?” I asked. “I didn't know Kaminoans got married.”
“It’s a private ceremony, just the couple.” The female paused as I ran my hands across the muscles in her thin shoulders.
“What does the ceremony involve?”
My fingers almost stopped running up the female’s neck as Obi-Wan’s question registered. I’d almost forgotten he was there, but now that I remembered, his light warmed my back.
“We’ve individually built plasma orbs,” the male said. “They emit light and represent our devotion. For the ceremony, we exchange them as our promise to each other.”
The light flickered.
“That’s beautiful,” I murmured, offering the male a quick smile. “Now, do you feel any pain when I touch here?” I asked, pressing a spot at the base of her neck.
“No.”
I lifted my hands to the point of her neck just below her head. “And here?”
“No.”
I nodded and stepped away. “Based on what you’ve told me and my exam, I don’t think you’re at any risk of long-term damage. But if your pain doesn’t resolve in the next few days, you should come back for another exam.”
“Thank you for your assistance,” the male said, and despite his tone being devoid of feeling, I knew he meant it.
“Of course.” I smiled warmly at them as they left the exam room, taking care to disinfect my hands. When the door slid shut, I turned to Obi-Wan who was staring at the door as if he could see through it. “What?” I asked.
What might have been.
I gave a short laugh as I started to disinfect the bed. You wouldn’t be able to grow that beard you’re so fond of if you were Kaminoan.
Not their race. Their marriage.
My whole body flushed with heat, and I looked sharply at him. What?
He met my gaze without a hint of doubt. It’s a commitment I wish I could make.
To me?
Frozen in the swirling thoughts and feelings of my mind, it was a question I couldn’t bring myself to ask. I didn’t know what was the right response, and in the paralysis of indecision, I merely stared at Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan abruptly looked at the door and started towards it. “I need to go check in with the council.”
Stupified, I watched him go.
A commitment.
The Jedi Order was the only thing I’d ever committed to in my life, and I’d made the decision when I was very young. Obi-Wan’s story was the same, like Ghon’s or General Skywalker’s or even Master Windu. We committed to a life serving the Force and all of the creatures of the galaxy, a life of peace and study. I’d never imagined anything differently.
But Obi-Wan had.
The door slid open to reveal the medical Kaminoan male from earlier. “I need your assistance.”
I shook my head lightly to refocus. “Coming.”
-
I walked down the hallway, rubbing at my sore shoulders. Turns out, hunching over patients wasn’t great for overall back health.
Turn to your left.
I slowed to a stop, glancing over to see a door.
Come in.
Pressing a button on the panel, I peered into the unlit space through the door. Is this a closet?
I don’t care what it is. Hands pulled me further in as the door slid shut behind me, throwing us into darkness. I need to hold you.
Smiling, I raised no protest as Obi-Wan tugged me close to his body, arms wrapping around me. The proximity made me feel as though I were unwinding, my muscles loosening.
And then Obi-Wan buried his face into my neck.
I nearly squeaked at his cold nose against my skin and the sensation of his breath gently warming the skin of my throat. Tingles started against my skin, making a tremble course up my spine.
You smell like you. Obi-Wan’s voice was almost a purr, and my lips parted to let a shaky breath out.
I’m surprised you can even breathe. My words didn’t need my voice, yet they trembled still.
Obi-Wan’s arms tightened, pulling me impossibly closer. Didn’t you hear me earlier?
