Imagine Aemond with his precious baby girl, who is barely at at the age of one and a half and exploring everything around. Using all her senses, curiously touching and feeling. And the little princess' favourite feeling of closeness is to her daddy. She spends her mornings, bedtimes and quite some time in between those within dada's embrace by watching his expressions, movements of his good eye and lips closely.
Considering her age, she is surprisingly conscious of his "owie" eye and stitch marks. Dada has a "boo boo" according to her young cousins Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Although never had seen what's under the eyepatch before, she can comprehend he was hurt in a way now and her little tummy feels weird at the thought of her favourite big person being hurt. So she acts on to make it better.
That evening Aemond holds her in his arms as he often does before tucking her in, as close as possible to his chest which is bursting with his love for his precious. She watches his closed eye intently as he tells her tales of old Valyria and dragons from the story book with colourful dragon paintings that he had made for her first name day. With his relaxed state, busy good eye and hands full with her and the book, he doesn't see her baby hands coming to his eyepatch and tugging at it; pushing it up successfully and baring all his stitch marks. He is so petrified but yet again careful not to hurt her in a panicked movement, he can only close his eyes and drops the book to fix his eyepatch.
He is late to break that shock moment though. Precious is already yanking his head towards herself by his soft locks -which are also among her favourite touch and grab items- and pushing her face into the owie side of his face, gives a warm and light lick to his scar trying to kiss her loving dada better. Neither stops there and keeps giving open mouthed healing kisses all over his cheek and eye.
Aemond is so struck by his little princess' affectionate act, he opens his eyes to see her properly without a second thought. He pulls her away from his face and the sapphire meets her equally bright eyes she inherited from her father. Her initially bewildered looks turn into awed ones and between her chubby cheeks, a wide smile with four baby teeth appears.
While still eyeing the sapphire she snuggles closer to his face and carefully reaches her short forefinger to touch the blue shine. Aemond is holding his shallow breaths as she examines. As soon as she is content and familiar with the newfound wonder of hers, she puts her cotton candy like hands around his face and gives yet another notoriously eager kiss on his sapphire eye.
Aemond finally releases his breath as tears fill his good eye but his chest feels even tighter than before. He lets out a sobbing laugh and rains his precious with kisses everywhere within the reach of his lips, breathing without a single worry or insecurity for the first time in a decade.
This is something I came up with after 3x15, aka what If Nina and Jasmín didn’t come :I It doesn’t even make sense but I had it in my head and thought I would share this with you :D
The moment Luna fell into Matteo's arms, his heart skipped a beat. He knew it was a bad idea, letting her climb up the tall mountain of tech workstations*, but that didn't matter now, the only thing that mattered was her in his arms, eyes wide as a doe caught in a streetlight, heart beating fast and loud against his chest for him to feel - or was it his heart he felt? He couldn't tell, adrenaline rushed through his veins because she could've hurt herself, he shouldn't have let her do that.
He searched her eyes, getting lost in the beauty of green in them for a second.
, Are you okay?''
, Yea-yeah,'' she panted, watching him with these big eyes, probably still taken aback by how close they were. He was too, his eyes drifting to her parted lips for just a millisecond, and Luna couldn't help but do the same.
, Are you sure?''
She didn't register what he had asked her, too distracted, and so she just nodded. She couldn't even remember the last time when they got so close that she could see him - really see him - when she could count the light freckles that dotted his nose or see the crease on his forehead that showed up whenever he smirked. Or the curve of his lip, that shaped whenever he smiled at her with that one smile reserved only for her. He was too distracting, and she couldn't concentrate on anything but him.
Luna didn't even know how her feet made contact with the floor beneath her but when they did, she stumbled a bit, making her move even closer to him. A blush spread across her cheeks and she cursed her little legs for being so clumsy and not holding her upright when she needs it the most.
Matteo caught her elbow lightly, smiling down at her. He didn't move away from her, not even a little bit. He could have, If he wanted to but instead, he only got closer (If even possible) by slowly leaning in.
His eyes flickered to her lips and back to her eyes, twice, giving her the time to pull away, and when she didn't, he closed the gap between them.
If Luna wanted to pull away, or at least stop him by saying something, it was too late - her mind was blurred and anything responsible or sane inside of her screaming at her to stop this got locked far away from Luna's reach. She found herself tugging at his sweater to bring him closer, her lips moving in synchrony with his, so gentle and caring.
How is it possible she survived without this? Without the feeling of his soft lips on hers, his hands bringing her closer, tangling his fingers in the messy curls of her hair. The sensation of feeling suddenly alive, her whole body tingling with energy as If she just now woke up from a long sleep.
She felt the thin fabric of her sweater sliding down her arms and Matteo's hands on her cheeks as he pulled away slowly, tugging at her bottom lip.
It took Luna awhile to catch her breath and open her eyes. Something in Matteo's eyes shifted, they were pure and full of adoration as he brushed his thumb over her left cheek, and that's how she knew she was blushing, a rose color spreading over her cheeks. He wasn't smirking or smiling really, he looked serious, and suddenly, Luna remembered.
, No,'' She backed off a few steps, fixing her sweater and wrapping her arms around her small frame. , This- this shouldn't have happened, we're friends.''
She shook her head and walked over the opposite side of the dressing room, trying to make as much of a space between them as she could - even though the furthest she got was not even two meters away.
, You and I both know we're not just friends, Luna.'' He didn't move,
only turning to lean his back on the wall next to him, keeping the space she created clear.
Luna shot him a nasty look, the one saying it's not true, but in reality, deep down, she knew he was right, she just didn't want to admit it.
, It can't be like that, what we were before, means nothing now. We're friends.''
Matteo caught her mistake before she did, and at that moment she decided she should keep her mouth shut before she makes it even worse.
, It means nothing? So everything that we've been through, means nothing to you? You just gonna wipe it all off?!''
, That's not what I meant!'' Luna stood up to make a point, walking a bit closer to him, knowing she had to explain this because, Matteo, the hot-headed chico fresa got it all wrong. She stopped when she got in front of him, not making the mistake of getting into his space because she knows how that would've ended, just like 5 minutes ago and nothing would be solved. They need to talk about this.
, We hurt each other,'' Luna started slowly, bringing her hand up to stop him when she saw Matteo straight up, opening his mouth to speak.
, We both made mistakes, ones that didn't even had to be made, but we did them.'' She dug her hands into the sleeves of her sweater, biting her lower lip. , we hurt each other so bad it ruined what we had, and the good that remained got ruined by our fear of destroying it, too,'' Luna slid down the wall opposite to Matteo, shrugging her shoulders.
, We can't solve this by just going back to where we left off, saying we're going to do better, or making out in a dressing room Matteo-,'' she sighed, ,I think we both need time to heal,''
Matteo nodded his head, knowing that Luna was right, there's nothing they can do except for gaining back the lost trust and understanding they had
for each other. , So, you're saying there's still chance for us,''
, I don't know,'' Luna whispered, ,,but what I do know is that I still love you, Matteo, more than anything,'' she added quietly.
Matteo's eyes flickered with hope, a grin creeping up on his face.
Luna realized what she had said, and blushed, again.
, I love you too, chica delivery,'' Matteo told her to let her know, and maybe to keep her from the blushing, but it didn't help, it only got worse. ,,You mean to much to me to screw this chance up,'' Luna covered her face with her hands so he couldn't see her, feeling like a shy little girl watched by hundreds of people.
He laughed at her fondly, because she was adorable, and nudged her with his foot, making her laugh with him.
They probably didn't even notice the sound of the door unlocking and muffled awe's of Jazmín as Nina dragged her away, closing the doors quietly to give the healing lovers some space to be with each other.
*I have no idea what are these things called, uncle Google helped.
Supper was a silent affair. Scrapes of cutlery against porcelain filled the air, each one feeling like whispers of a forbidden conversation.
For Rey, time passed with the vision of what she had seen upstairs. However much she tried to push it away, she kept seeing him. His eyes, which carried the weight of years of wondering and questioning, endured by one man who – judging by eye – could not be more than thirty. And if that were true, then that would mean he had been locked away when he was fifteen.
A child of Jakku had cried for her parents, while in a prison tower, another child had cried for his freedom.
On the other side of the table, Han was in his usual mood, slowly running his forefinger across the top of his goblet. His shoulders were slumped. His eyes were downcast. He didn’t seem plagued by thoughts as such but by memories. Perhaps he was playing out the other great adventures he’d undertaken with his former comrades—and how it had all resulted in a prisoner whimpering before a lit hearth.
Maz broke the silence.
“Well, he’s not the King. So who is he?”
Solemn as a priest, Luke stood, his chair scraping against the floor. He placed the key with which he’d bestowed freedom on the table. It glinted and glowed before the flames roaring in the grate.
“His name is Benjamin. When he was born, he was taken to live in the region of Ahch-To. It was as far as the old King could get him from the palace without involving other countries in his secret. The first fifteen years of his life were peaceful. He was cared for by a blind scholar and a mute governess. He was educated and raised as a gentleman. But he had guards at every door, and no friends his age. No-one could know of his existence.”
“I see it, kiddo. I see it well and true.” Lando leaned back in his chair, running his forefinger across his bottom lip. He looked sad, yet his eyes twinkled with astonishment. “You want to swap one for the other.”
Rey glanced at Maz; she was saying nothing, but her opinion on the matter was clear.
Han shook his head. “You always had too much ambition, Luke.”
Rey swallowed, but her throat still felt dry. She took another gulp of wine.
“You said he was raised as a gentleman. How did he end up in the mask?” Rose asked.
Luke sighed and ran his left hand through his hair. “It was Kylo’s first command after his ascension,” he growled.
“His own brother…” Lando’s astonishment faded, leaving only sadness and a growing fury. “Tell me what needs to be done, Luke. We’ll do it,” he said, glancing at his son. Finn affirmed his father’s promise with a nod. He took Rose’s hand, interlinking his fingers with hers. She nodded too as he kissed her hair.
Luke swallowed. He pushed aside any surprise, any relief, and carried nothing but grim determination. “My plan will take time,” he said, in a firm tone. “You all have to be prepared to wait.”
Rey felt her lips twitch with a sardonic smile.
“I’m good at waiting,” she declared.
Luke nodded once. He turned to his old friend. “Han?”
“I think… No.” Han furrowed his brow, shoving his hand through his silvery hair. (He and Luke were so similar, in so many ways.) His fingers trembled as he tried to drink from his goblet. “Everything’s fine.”
Without another word, he stood and left the room.
“He’ll be fine,” Maz said, with an easy air that didn’t take. Rey’s eyes focused on the empty chair and the door, left swinging in Han’s wake. All of them had promised revolution… and yet it still felt like a fantasy.
That was why, when dawn came the next morning, Rey wasn’t surprised when she found Han’s horse missing and met Luke in the yard, reading from a scrap of paper. He passed it over to Rey with no words. The hand was spiky, the ink blotted. Written in a hurry.
“I’m sorry, kid.” Luke recited the note in a soft voice. “But may the Gods be with you. One for all…”
Rey looked out over the horizon. The dawn sky was slashes of oranges and pinks, casting a glow over the distant paddocks and hay fields. She crossed her arms, hugging herself.
Bile climbed in her throat. “He’s a coward.”
A furious look came across Luke’s wrinkled features. When he spoke, it was like she was a child, being scolded by the father she’d never known. “Han is the bravest man I’ve ever known. Of all of us, I think he is the only one who knew true courage.”
Rey scoffed. “And what’s that?”
The weight of the world was in his answer. “One day, I hope to find out.”
=======================================
Breakfast was an equally morose affair as supper. The empty spot at the table had been filled by Ben, who—for all his height and broadness in the shoulder—was remarkably adept at shrinking into the corner, wordlessly bringing meagre amounts of his supper to his mouth, and quietly chewing. Luke would glance at him at intermittent moments and give him nods or smiles of encouragement. It was the first time that Rey had seen the great old Musketeer look truly sorry for anyone.
As soon as supper was finished, Rose and Finn made their excuses and took a walk around the grounds. Lando too, made his excuses, claiming a need to speak to a man about a dog. Maz was the last to leave but she made certain to smile at Ben before she left and wish him a good day.
Rey pushed her chair out to depart, but as soon as her chair scraped against the stone flag floor, Ben spoke.
“Stay, please.” It was an order said like a plea. Turning in Han’s chair, he tilted his head up at Rey. His dark eyes were soft, lit by the morning, and his hair, cut and washed by a barber, was dark and thick, falling just above his brow. He reached out with his long fingers towards her, but, at the last, pulled away.
Rey took shallow breaths. She could hear her heart beating in her ears.
Ben bowed his head and looked at Luke.
“I have something to confess to you, sir,” he murmured. He continued and his eyes flicked back to Rey. Their gazes locked, and she missed a breath. “I would request a friend to hear me too.”
Rey stood there for a moment, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. At last, she pulled herself together. “I am that.”
Luke’s eyes darted between them, his eyebrows knitted together, as Rey returned to her seat. She avoided his scrutiny—paranoid old man, there was nothing to scrutinise—and focused on the painting above the fireplace. It was a nondescript portrait of an ancestor, whose eyes gleamed with usual pride over his estate, and soon her attention fell back to Ben and Luke.
Ben swallowed, the lump in his throat bobbing with the force of it. “It is my fault that Han left last night. I couldn’t sleep, and I decided to explore the house. I found the library – he was in there, reading by candlelight. We got to talking. I can’t remember much of what we spoke of. Only that he asked if I ever thought of my parents. He asked if I thought of my mother.”
Ben closed his eyes. His shoulders sank with a silent sigh. Rey swallowed, glancing down at her hands and then Ben’s. His left was tucked against his waist—as if he were trying to hug himself. His right hand was hanging limply by his side. He needed strength—would need strength—if he were to be the key that Luke needed him to be. Rey glanced towards the old Musketeer. He was still leaning back in his chair, listening and yet not at all; he was too busy factoring this new information into his grand plan.
Within a moment, Rey was white-hot with anger towards the old man, and in defiance to his plans—his scheming, his plotting—she reached forwards and grasped Ben’s right hand, tightly interlinking their fingers despite their difference in size.
Almost immediately she realised what she’d done. She stammered out an apology, trying to pull her hand away. Ben, however, did not let her go. Instead, he retook her hand and placed it on his knee.
“Thank you,” he whispered as the sun passed over the room. Rey blinked, taken aback. There was a growing lightness in Ben’s eyes, which danced in the sunlight. She swallowed a smile and bowed her head.
“You’re welcome,” she mumbled.
Luke gave a hard cough. “Let’s get back to the story.”
“There isn’t much left.” Ben seemed perturbed to have been alerted to Luke’s presence. “I never had parents to remember.”
Luke drummed his fingers on the edge of the table. “Did you tell that to Han?”
“I think so.”
“Hm.” Luke gave a nod. “You have parents now.”
“I know I’m the brother of the King. You want to swap us. Make me King instead.”
Rey studied Ben. He looked to her, as he straightened his spine and looked Luke in the eyes, less like the boy lost without a mask, but a man.
“Are you willing? It will mean training. For this to work,” Luke leaned forward, suddenly eager, “you will need to be not just a gentleman – you will need to be a King. You must possess arrogance, conceit. You must believe that this position was given to you by the gods.”
Ben was silent for a long moment. He tilted his head at Luke. “How old am I?”
Luke’s cheek twitched. He pressed his lips together into a thin line as if trying to hold back some uncouth curse. “Nine and twenty.”
Ben shook his head. “You misunderstand me. How old is my brother?”
A laugh tripped out under Rey’s tongue. She quickly covered it with a cough, but Luke still side-eyed her, his mouth downturned into a glare, until he registered Ben’s question. He chuckled, but more at his own delayed understanding.
“Your brother was born fifteen minutes after you.”
“A year for every minute,” Ben remarked dryly. His meaning was clear. Below the table, her hand warm on his knee, Rey gave the rightful King’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
===========================================
The next day, Ben’s training began in earnest. Over the next month, the morning at Naboo began to resemble what Rey assumed a finishing school to be. Under Luke’s watchful eye, Ben learned the etiquette of being a king; military strategy, how to walk, how to eat, even how to speak. During those hours, Rey had been left to fend for herself. She found herself often in the library, surrounded by tomes she had never read.
The library itself was a small to medium-sized room, with heavy oak shelves lining the left, right and far oak-panelled walls. A stone fireplace stood in the centre of the right wall, but the iron grate was unlit. The stone flag floors were covered with the usual rushes, swallowing the footsteps of anyone browsing the shelves. Red velvet cushions made seats out of the window sills. A circular pillow, stuffed to the edges, provided readers with additional comfort. Two larger seats, high-backed and wooden, were positioned in the room’s right corner. An ornate table was situated between them, but it wore its age with marks and scratches.
At first, Rey used the sumptuously domestic room simply as a place to think, curled up on the window seats with the hot sun on her cheeks.
However, the books contained more power than she’d first thought. She had never quite thought herself to be a book lover; her first love had been—would always be, so she assumed—fencing. But those leather-bound books would catch the light and just like a man’s dark eyes, they became something she couldn’t just dismiss out of hand.
Her first go at choosing a tome hadn’t been successful. A dry textbook on fencing. She thought it could’ve given her some tips; an extra advantage when she was next practising with Finn, perhaps. She put together enough, though, after thumbing through its thick pages, to realise in the end that she knew almost all the tricks—plus a few the author hadn’t yet discovered. That’s my advantage, she thought proudly as she put the text back on its shelf and pulled out another. I learned from a Musketeer.
Her second choice had been an adventure, filled with heroes, betrayal, and revenge. She sat in one of the high-backed chairs and she pored over the words, trying to commit their shape to memory and losing herself in the cities and islands depicted on the page. It became as if she’d stepped onto the ink itself and was now descending into the luscious dark, head spinning as the words quickly enveloped her in their new world.
“I didn’t take you for a reader.”
Rey jumped to her feet, the adventure falling out of her hands and onto the floor with a decisive thump.
“I’m not.”
“You’re lying.”
Rey stepped in front of the open book, covering it with her skirt. Ben’s expression did not change, but his disbelief filled the silence. Rey huffed. “I am not.”
Ben straightened himself up and placed his hands behind his back. Looking down his nose, he arched an imperial brow.
“Tell me what you were doing,” he said, every syllable velvet smooth, “and tell me now.”
Her heart constricted, her head seized in an instant with the memory of green and the King’s fingers wrapped around the ribbon of a diamond. Until Ben broke the illusion with a lopsided grin, and his eyes sparkled once again. Rey relaxed. She revealed the book with one gentle pull of her skirt. Ben leaned down and picked it up, the large tome fitting easily into his hand.
“I mostly come in here to think.”
Ben nodded and thumbed through the chosen tome.
“You’re teaching yourself to read?” he asked, without judgment.
For a beat, Rey searched for a reason, a lie, but finally, she had to settle on the truth. “I…” she glanced helplessly at the books, their power at all inexplicable. “I felt like it.”
“Do you need help? I could help.” Then, as if trying to correct a mistake only he’d seen, Ben hurriedly blurted out: “I want to help you.”
Rey blinked. “You want to help me?”
“It would give me an excuse to read,” Ben replied, avoiding her eyes and his answer by perusing the book again. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and far away. “I know now my brother hid my face, but he didn’t hide my mind. I held onto that, on the nights when I knew for certain that I was destined to die there, among the screams and the blood. I told myself, that whoever put me in the mask… my thoughts weren’t beholden to them. They never would be.”
He looked to her for a reaction. Rey could say nothing at first. Her astonishment stilled her mouth. This horrendous thing done to him, for so long—and yet. He was still so defiant.
A man like that could defy the stars. Could defy the gods.
“My offer still stands,” Ben coaxed, leaning into her. She could practically taste his voice; it was like sweet honey.
She began to speak, sketching out the start of a polite refusal. She liked to master things on her own. A stutter entered her speech. He was drinking her in. In what felt now to be another life, those same eyes had burned and demanded to take.
These eyes didn’t roar like a fire out of control. Ben’s gaze was calm and steady—despite everything he had been through—and unhurried. It was the gaze of a leader, willing to hear. Was this what it was to look into the eyes of a rightful king? Rey’s head swam. She opened and closed her mouth, then shook her head, trying to shake off her silence.
“It’s very kind of you monsieur,” she managed at last, though the words came out in a rush. The corners of Ben’s mouth tipped up with an amused smile, and he handed her back the book.
“It was just an offer.”
“I want to take it!” she burst out, making his already retreating frame stop. He turned on his heel and cocked his head. Rey oscillated left and right, fixed to her spot. She dropped her gaze, worrying her bottom lip. “If you can find the time, sir.”
“Ben. Never ‘sir’.” Then, with a softness she somehow knew in her heart was just for her, he murmured a soft, “Please.”
“Thank you. Ben.”
He tipped his head in thanks and left the room.
=========================================
Rose fell onto her back, stared up at the worn beams of the barn, and cursed. Her husband entered her line of sight. Wearing a lopsided grin, he tilted his head at her.
“Best of three?”
“You copied my move,” she huffed. Finn’s shoulders shook with a stifled laugh. Rose nudged his leg with the tip of her boot. “Don’t deny it.”
Her husband gave a theatrical bow. “I admit it, madame.”
Madame. She liked that form of address more every time she heard it. She especially liked it when her husband said it. Reaching up, Rose grasped his shirt in her fist. He moved with her, letting himself fall into the hay beside her. He scooped bits of straw out of her fringe as she rolled on top of him, embracing him and dropping kisses on his cheek, temple, and forehead.
Their peace was interrupted by a bellow. No—not a bellow, but a screech.
“Bastard!” Rose jumped to her feet, Finn following suit, just as the barn door swung open. Rey thundered in, sword drawn, and her eyes darting wildly. She grabbed Finn’s sword and threw it to her friend. She settled into a duelling stance. When Finn remained where he stood, she growled.
“Fight me. I need to fight something.”
Finn’s look was stony. “I am not your villain.”
“If I don’t fight someone, I swear to the Gods that I’ll kill him! The leader of our grand revolution.” Rey spat on the ground. Rose looked again at her friend. Her hand was trembling, and her sword shook, but her eyes were black with fury.
It was no idle threat.
Finn was his father’s son. He knew how to size up an opponent. It was for Rey’s sake that he engaged. A mess of forward thrusts, parries and blocks followed. Rey spun and spat curses to Luke’s name but left herself open one too many times; Finn easily disarmed her, and her sword swung from her hand, landing with a clatter on the stone flag floor.
Before she could grab it, Finn stepped forward and tucked the tip of his sword just underneath Rey’s chin. Rey’s following look could cut glass—but so could Finn’s. The silence echoed across the barn, filling the air until you could feel the stillness in the very rafters.
“He’s making me go back.” Rey’s voice was thick. She swallowed, her throat bobbing with the force of it. Her gimlet eyes glistened with unshed tears. “To Chandrila.”
Finn swiftly disengaged. Rey stepped forward, but her legs were wobbly—Rose swooped forward, and caught her weight. Rey’s heavy, hard sobs were hot on her cheek as she guided her outside and sat her at the base of a tree. The orchard surrounded them, blossoming with nearly ripe cherries, wrapped in white linen which was stained red from where the birds had pecked at the sweet fruits.
Rey pulled her knees to her chest and hugged herself, her head hung low as the last of her sobs faded away.
“I won’t do it,” she declared, dragging the back of her hand against her cheeks and chin. It was as if she was embarrassed that she’d cried. Her declaration, her mini rebellion, faded into the breeze that passed through the trees. The pink-white blossom leaves fell around them, landing on the forest-green grass, in their laps and in their hair.
“But I have to,” she said, soft now; soft and small. Rose drew her close.
“Tell me.”
“There’s a ball in three weeks. Luke wants someone on the inside, to get all of us – all of you—” Rey amended, a bitter snarl entering her monotone recital of Luke’s grand scheme, “into the palace. He said that only Kylo’s mistresses get to roam the castle as freely as the king. If he was to send a spy in as a guard or a courtier, they’d be asked questions. The revolution would be over before it began.”
Rose cuddled her friend close and gently pushed her hair out of her eyes.
“Is it the only way?” she murmured. She felt the prickle of growing tears in her eyes as Rey fell silent.
In the long quiet, Rey idly scooped blossom petals into her palms and let them fall from her hands, watching them dance briefly in the breeze before they fell to the ground. The three of them stared out at the horizon, and the manor drenched in sunlight. Finn dropped to his knees, and cuddled his wife and his friend tight, encapsulating them in his natural warmth.
The sun reflected in Rey’s watery eyes. With a sigh, she at last admitted what they all knew: “It is.”
I’m combining this with another prompt I got, from an anon: "Spiteful arranged marriage AU (not true, they totally want to bang each other)”. I made this into a sequel to another little prompt fill I did, which was a Victorian version of The Decoy Bride, where Sherlock finds himself marrying old almost-flame Molly Hooper. Read it here.
---
Molly paled. “My wedding night… Heavens, our wedding night…” Her pale cheeks flooded pink. “How will I get through it, Mary?”
Mary, up until that moment, had portrayed a sympathetic manner, tinged with the softest amusement, but when she heard Molly's question, all amusement left her. Her lips thinned, her features becoming stern.
"Yes. Dash it all, but I hadn't thought of that. I don't think Mycroft did. John certainly didn't." Mary sighed. The wedding feast was a melee of cheerful conversation and some dancing--a lively galop, followed by an equally sprightly polka--had broken out at Molly's request, so Mary felt no qualms about ushering her newlywed friend out of her seat and into a small alcove, out of earshot of the main party.
"I confess," she began, in a hurried whisper, "I had your fears. I had no one to teach me what to expect, and mothers, in general, I think, are afraid of exposing their daughters to such realities..."
"Mine certainly was," Molly muttered bitterly. Now away from the main wedding party, she'd let all pretence drop and her face, framed by her veil, was drawn into a concerned frown. She worried her bottom lip. "This is all so sudden -- oh, I cannot bear it! No, no," she said, barely letting herself breathe for the speed of her thoughts, "it will be alright. I shall claim a headache. Then he shall not have to consummate the marriage, and he can divorce me on the grounds of non-consummation. Yes, yes, that is the correct path---"
"Molly?"
Miss Hooper, Mrs Holmes as she was now, finally stopped in her chattering, looking to Mary. Her look, Mary was fascinated to note, did not carry relief. It instead carried a sort of... regret. Or perhaps not even regret, but a note of a wish made and lost in the same second.
It was not her place to make that observation out loud, however. Molly was close to fainting as it was, and Mary pointing out that perhaps the reason she felt so nervous was not the characteristic nerves of a new bride, but in reality, the fear that her new groom would reject her---that would be enough to make Molly swoon.
So instead, Mary Watson calmed her friend with a pat on her back and nodded.
"Yes. A headache solves all ills," she said, growing pleased when Molly managed, at least, a laugh. "There," she continued. "I'll distract the party while you calm yourself."
Molly nodded, thanks shining in her eyes and quiet smile. Content, Mary headed back into the fray.
---
The newly married couple of Holmes wore their mutual smiles for as long as it took them to reach the end of the drive. As soon as they knew they were out of sight of the wedding party (each one delighted by the success of the ruse), both Mr and Mrs Holmes' dropped their feigned delight and set about their individual business.
Sherlock leaned back against the carriage seat, closing his eyes and losing himself in thought, his palms steepled under his chin. Mrs Holmes, seemingly unknowing of what to say or how to start any kind of conversation, watched the scenery go by.
They were heading to the Holmes' familial estate, Petworth. Even without the silence between bride and groom, it would be a long journey, and as a result, prior arrangements had been made to stop at an inn. The innkeeper was a genuine sort, welcoming but not to the point of being suffocating. The rooms too, Sherlock observed, were of a good size and to the back of the property, giving sleeping guests privacy from any ribaldry around the bar.
Mycroft had organised everything perfectly.
I'll give it a month. His words haunted him as he stood in the same room as his new wife, both of them mute and useless while the innkeeper's maids unpacked their trunks and put away their clothes.
The maids bid them goodnight with a solemn curtsey, but the second of them -- dark-haired, dark-eyed -- let out a giggle as she closed the door.
The silence was unbearable; like he was trapped in a bed with too many blankets and furs upon it.
Lord, he was thinking of beds. Why was he thinking of beds? Such impropriety!
And yet, still struck silent.
If he remained this quiet for a moment longer, Miss Hooper (Mrs Holmes) would think him a mad fool, as well as cruel.
Six years. Too long a time, and yet, with her stood before him, now carrying his name, all too short a time as well.
Sherlock cleared his throat, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
"I..." His voice was ragged after so much quiet.
"I have a headache!"
Sherlock blinked. His wife immediately blushed. Her outburst hung in the air between them.
"Oh." His wife was ill. Even if they were only to be a marriage of convenience, he needed to... remedy that. It wouldn't compensate for those six years but it would be polite. He could do polite. For a time.
He would definitely try to be polite. It was the least she deserved.
"I hear that lying down can help soothe a headache." Standing to the side, he gestured to the chaise longue that was situated underneath the window. The summer evening was ending, the sunset casting orange and purple hues across the sky and green grounds. Sherlock kept his eyes on it as he spoke. "Maybe here would be ideal."
"Yes. Yes, I think it could be." Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock watched as this new bride, like a newborn babe learning to walk, stumbled and then hurried to sit upon the chaise. Every movement she made was awkward, too stiff or too loose, clearly so aware of his presence, of their... situation. Of what was expected.
Heavens, what had her mother taught her? That the man she would marry would pounce as soon as she was alone and demand his rights?
A beast, that was what she expected. Instead, she'd got something worse; she'd got him. The man who'd let her hope, and then snatched it away from her when he'd become scared. Fearful of a little chit like her because she'd spoken openly, unfolding her heart as easily as breathing. She'd dared to feel something for him beyond what he wanted her to feel, and such defiance had set him running.
"Oh dear--" Her soft voice pulled him back to the real world, this room and this sky. "The sun - it's in my eyes--"
Sherlock leaned over her and immediately tugged the curtains shut, bathing the room in darkness. He fumbled for a lamp and match and breathed easier when he achieved his goal.
Dragging the bedside table closer to the chaise, he placed the lamp on it and stood, staring down at his wife.
She was laid out, but not in any manner seductive. Instead, she was merely herself, at long last, settled and her features softened by the low glow of the lamp. All while he'd fumbled and fussed for light.
Unsure of why, but certain that he had to do it, Sherlock strode towards the footstool by the bottom of the bed and pulled it over to the window, uncaring of what scraping and banging might result. Removing his coat, finally relieving himself of such heavy a weight, he unbuttoned his cuffs and loosened his collar to sit by his wife.
His wife frowned curiously at him.
"Mr Hol -- Sherlock." She wrinkled her nose slightly, a soft laugh escaping her. "What are you doing?"
"However you feel about me, we are husband and wife, at least for this night, and rules of etiquette dictate that a husband should at least be kind to his wife. I don't have much knowledge of kindness, God knows I have been told that many a time, but what knowledge I do have, I learned from you so---"
"Why are you being so nice to me? We are only meant to be married a month."
Sherlock's words died on his lips.
"I -- uh," a strange noise came up from his throat, a noise of confusion and denial all at once while his mind tried to reset. "Pardon?"
Molly sat up, suddenly miraculously cured of her headache. She glanced down at her hands, fiddling with the hem of her shawl.
"The wedding breakfast. Mary engaged me in some conversation, away from the main party and she, well, she departed after a bit, and I was left alone. Such madness, such chaos… I was relieved to have a few moments by myself. There was a window nearby that was open to let in a little air. And it… it let in voices as well."
"My voice."
"And your brother's... and Mr Watson's," replied Molly, a soft, knowing smile forming on her lips. "I heard the full conversation, Sherlock."
Sherlock felt as if he'd been caught in a winter rainstorm, chilled to the bone.
He buried his head in his hands.
"My tongue is sharp, Molly. A weapon I wield to keep away some and imprison others. I am... sorry, for what you heard. It was said in anger. But..." he ventured as she sat quietly, patiently, openly, as she had six years ago. He shifted in his seat, facing her fully. "That anger was not for you. It was for my brother, and it came from jealousy. I envied that he knew... he knew what I wanted before I knew myself."
Molly swallowed. Leaning forward, her small hand encapsulated his large one, turning his palm upwards. She stroked her thumb along the lines of his palm and counted each of his long fingers. She was no longer smiling but there was a certainty, beginning to bloom from within. In the little light of this room at an inn, she sat up straighter and held his gaze. Her eyes were warm and soft, the colour of the earth; she looked at him with a growing glint in her eye.
"Don't think I have forgiven you yet, for running away these last six years."
"Can I earn forgiveness? For it seems I've been running in circles, right back to you."
Quite without warning, his wife -- Mrs Molly Holmes -- leaned forward, cupped his cheek and joined their mouths in a delicious kiss. A reunion, a reclamation of what, if he was to be honest (finally) with himself, had always been hers.
"A kiss," she murmured against his lips, laughing as he chased her for another, "is the beginning of forgiveness, Mr Holmes."
"And what comes after it, Mrs Holmes?"
She gave a wicked grin. "I don't know. But I'm very happy to find out with you."
Sherlock brushed his lips against her cheek, dropping his head to press a kiss on her shoulder as he moved her to lie back on the chaise, clambering over her. Her fingers were already on the buttons of his waistcoat.
"By the way," she said through a breathy sigh as he knelt before her, "your brother lied about the merger."
"You know..." Sherlock replied, his voice a low rumble as his hands caressed her, pushing away the skirts of her dress to expose her lily-white thighs, "I'm rather glad he did."
man in the iron mask (1998) AU | chapter one here, and also available on AO3.
CHAPTER TWO: she smiles back / her fear will eat her alive
Rose pushed the silver ring back up her finger. She had to clench her fist to keep it in place. Finn sighed and took her hand. He ran his thumb over the ring as they walked the gravel path together.
“I’m sorry.”
Rose rolled her eyes. “I’ve told you. It is your mama’s ring, and it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t fit today. What matters is that I’m yours, and you’re mine,” Rose declared as they came to a natural stop. Finn said nothing in reply. He could not, for he was just too happy. Facing her, he gently cupped her cheeks and kissed her slowly and lovingly. The palace of Chandrila stood tall behind them.
In the distance, a piglet, squealing madly, shot across the path. A red silk collar was tied around its neck, and the red collar carried a diamond. Courtiers ran after the creature, calling after it in vain.
Finn glanced at her. Rose stared back. Her eyes glinted mischievously with a challenge.
“Are you sure?” she asked. Finn shrugged. He kept one eye on the chase, which was a line of courtiers worming their way around a fountain, running towards the distant forest. One courtier tripped and fell, the pig just out of their reach. Others scrambled to step over him, still calling for the pig.
“It doesn’t matter which of us wins, you know,” Rose remarked, urging them both on into joining the fray. “We’ll have each other – and the diamond.”
Finn was already rolling up his sleeves. “When you put it like that…”
Rose picked up her skirts and took her betrothed’s hand. Together, they burst into a sprint and joined the chase.
================================
Rey grinned when she saw Rose and Finn’s faces among those chasing down the pig. She laughed when she came across, not a moment later, the little creature in question cowering behind a tree on the outskirts of the palace’s forest. It was trembling, squealing in fear for its life. Rey appreciated the irony; the only participant not in the race, finding the prize. Calming the pig with kind words and patience, she eventually called it to her. When it approached, she slipped the diamond off its neck and released it in the opposite direction to the forest. The little creature, grunting in relief, sprinted up the gravel path toward the palace.
Smiling to herself, Rey hung the ribbon around her neck and tucked the diamond against the valley of her breasts, hiding it from view.
Behind her then, she heard footsteps. She turned quickly to see who it was, only for her vision to be blocked by the foliage of the forest.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, shaking her head when she realised. “Stupid.”
She doubled back on herself, hurrying away from the forest and towards a more sheltered part of the gardens. Walking down a gravel path lined by high bushes and sheltered by intertwining tree branches, she briefly admired how the dappled sunlight caught the ribbon around her neck. At the same time, the diamond was cold against her chest. As she walked, it formed a heavy presence. She would have to give it back, she knew. A diamond like that could feed entire families for months. It was a cruel prize from the start, and it was not hers to own.
“Mademoiselle.”
Rey stumbled to a stop.
Turning her head, seeking the voice, she saw a medium stone temple or chapel of some kind, hidden among a grove of trees. Above her, birds sang, and the leaves, bright emerald green against the sun, rustled against the soft breeze.
Standing in the doorway of the chapel was the Sun King.
He cut a foreboding figure. He was tall, and broad-shouldered, his dark hair falling to his shoulders and his features caught in shadow. His black clothes were a stark contrast to summer.
Remembering herself, Rey fell into a curtsey. She hadn’t seen the need to practice them and cursed herself as she wobbled, struggling to stand.
It was a privilege to be standing before the King. They called him the ‘Sun King’, after all. So-called because he was a miracle, sent by God to the childless King and Queen. Some soldiers who stopped at the farm spoke of him—especially the ones returning from the Siege of Kijimi. He was a true-born leader, they said, who fought alongside them.
And she couldn’t properly curtsey to him.
The Sun King laughed, half-amused, at the sight. Rey flushed and cast her eyes to the ground. There were so many things to remember, so many things she didn’t know, and she felt low for it.
“I thought I knew the name of every noble in my court,” began the King. Gravel crunched under his footsteps. His shadow loomed closer, passing over the hem of her skirt. “Yet, I cannot place you.”
“That will be because I am not noble, Majesté.” His footsteps stopped and, afraid she had offended, Rey hurried on. “I am part of the Calrissian party. He was kind enough to invite me. He knows how much I have yearned to see the gardens of Chandrila for myself.”
A lie, and easily thought up. It probably would not bode well, to tell the truth; that Lando had invited her because, as in many things, his generosity made him feel awkward to involve his son and Rose but leave Rey out when the three had such a kinship. He’d even spent what he could to help her blend into the crowd, assuring her that wearing an out-of-date garment would cause any noble to ignore her and let her roam free.
“I see you have the diamond. Quite amazing,” said the king into the silence between them. His footsteps resumed, his shadow encroaching until it covered her face. His fingertip entered her vision. She felt his touch at the tip of her chin. She could do nothing but let him tip up her head so their eyes locked.
“So many nobles, tripping over themselves to catch such a prize, and yet, you… a commoner.” The right corner of his mouth tilted up with the threat of a smile. “You convinced the creature to give up the prize.”
Rey swallowed. Her heartbeat filled her ears, the birdsong around her deafening now as she held her ground before a king and his desires.
Oh yes, his desires.
She was only a country girl, but she knew men. She knew when they wanted something more than life.
Unkar wanted money and didn’t care how much he broke someone with manual labour to get it. Some of those soldiers and travellers wanted her body and didn’t care how much she blushed at their whistles and lewd comments.
They would try to sweeten themselves to her by claiming that they were joking. Playing the fool. Every time, their eyes betrayed them. Fortunately, Maz had always been there to curse them and kick them into the dust.
At that moment, her king’s eyes were deep, dark and they were still—looking into them now, she felt that she was staring into the heart of a fire.
Rey wondered if Maz would do the same to the Sun King.
She swallowed, and her throat felt dry.
“Such compliments are unnecessary, Majesté.”
His hand slid from her chin. “You’re my guest.” His look sharpened, becoming impish. “Tell me, do you often walk alone?”
“No, Majesté.”
“Tell me your name.”
“I… I have no name, Majesté, no title. I’m no one.”
“Not to me. Give me your name,” he commanded.
“Rey.” She hurried to speak. “Just Rey. Please, I must re-join the others…”
“You can join them in time. My lady,”—such an address felt like mocking—“amuse me. Dine with me tonight.”
He began to move again, slowly circling her. Rey tried to smooth down her skirts, attempting some semblance of propriety, but it was impossible.
“I cannot.”
He continued to circle her. She felt, studied. Examined. “Why, my lady?”
“I have no reason to do so, Majesté.”
“Astonishing.” He came to a stop behind her. He bent his head towards her, and the edges of his breath were warm on her cheek. Her breath hitched as she felt his hand encapsulate her waist. He settled his palm against the low of her belly. His fingertips ghosted against the fabric of her dress.
He spoke. His voice was a dangerous rumble. “I saw you, you know, from my palace. Among all those courtiers, desperate to impress me, I saw you. The girl in the yellow, who was never meant to be here. You. A scavenger.” He tilted his chin and pressed the ghost of a kiss to her exposed shoulder, softly dragging his lips across her skin. He chuckled. “Oh, there’s such loneliness in you, Rey. Such dark loneliness that I think you dream of it. Don’t be afraid. Dine with me.”
He pressed his hand harder against her belly, drawing her closer. Rey gasped, and wrenched herself out of his grasp, whirling on him.
“I can’t!” she blurted, face flushing red. “Majesté, I – I will not.”
His features turned cold in the face of her fury.
“I am the Sun King.” He took a step forward. “You know I can take whatever I want.”
The King offered out his hand. “Dine with me tonight, and this offence shall be forgotten.”
“Majesté! Are you here?”
Rey let out a shaky sigh of relief as the Captain of the Musketeers, calling for his king, entered the grove.
The stories of Han Solo, Luke Skywalker and Lando Calrissian, legends of the King’s Musketeers—or, as the townsfolk were fond of calling them, the Knights of Ren—were ones she had heard many times. She had lived them through Lando’s retellings, enacting tales of assassins and foiled plots with nothing but a scarecrow and his old sword.
At this moment, Han Solo carried a storm with him.
“The pig’s been caught but there was no diamond,” he said, glancing towards her. “I’ve told the guests it must’ve slipped from the pig’s neck during the chase. The court now awaits the presence of their King.”
The King’s eyes didn’t leave her for a moment. Leaning forward, he took her hand. She felt her chest constrict as he lifted her hand to his lips. At the last moment, he turned her hand upwards. His lips pressed a soft kiss to her palm.
“You need a teacher,” he murmured against her skin.
Dropping her hand, he quickly departed.
Solo remained at Rey’s side, his attention on the King as he walked from the gardens. When he was gone, Rey let out a breath. She hurried to grasp the ribbon around her neck, lifting the diamond from around her neck. She pressed it into Captain Solo’s hand. Her eyes felt hot with the pricking of tears.
“Thank you,” she murmured. Hearing the tightness in her voice, she flushed. She hurried to cover herself. “It isn’t that I don’t love the King—”
“We all love the King, girl,” the captain said gruffly. His thoughts elsewhere, he waved her away. “Go on, before he comes back.”
Picking up her skirts, she ran. She ran, and she didn’t stop running until she reached the gates of Chandrila.
================================
The day after the festivities, Rey dreamed of men bursting into her room and arresting her in the middle of the night. You know our King can take whatever he wants, they leered with echoing voices. She dreamed of the King’s face, looming over her, with desire burning in those dark eyes. Dine with me, he whispered in her ear, and she awoke in a cold sweat, gasping for air.
The second night, she slept fitfully but did not dream.
The third night was peaceful, and waking on the fourth day, she thought she’d got away with it. Maz smiled as she went about her duties that morning.
“Managed not to spill a drop this morning,” she noted as Rey worked, hurrying to and fro, making sure the workers got their regular breakfast. “You must be in a good mood.”
“A peaceful night does wonders,” Rey replied with a smile, filling a jug with wine. Picking up two goblets, she set them down in front of two weary farm workers. They thanked her with a nod.
“NO!” The cry echoed, filled with tears and anguish. “No! He can’t do this! I won’t let him!”
Barely pausing to take a breath, Rey left her duties and ran up the stairs to Rose’s room. Throwing open the door, she saw Rose in Finn’s arms. Her engagement ring rolled around and around her finger as Rose clung to him again and again—like he were about to disappear from her hold forever.
“Rose…” Finn murmured, with his voice thick. He held her just as tightly, brushing her hair with his fingers. “I’m so sorry…”
“What’s going on?” Rey demanded, storming towards them. Rose wordlessly pointed, with a trembling finger, to a crumpled piece of paper lying abandoned on the floor. Rey hurried to pick it up. Her reading was not as advanced as her abilities with a sword, but she knew enough to pick out words that made her heart sink into the pit of her stomach.
Summoned… serve the King… battle.
Rey violently shook her head. She could tear the paper into a million little pieces, but instead, she stood there, only able to shake her head and curse, over and over, until the words lost their meaning.
“It’s a sad day,” Maz said later when the tavern was quiet. She handed the three of them a cup of wine each, urging them to drink up. “It’s a terrible day. The King’s shadow grows with each passing moment.”
“I should not have rejected him,” Rey whispered hoarsely, the strength of her voice lost by crying. Now she sounded small and weak. “I should’ve… It’s all my fault.”
“It is not,” Maz said firmly. “The army took hard losses at Canto Bight, and now our wondrous King’s strategy is to summon every farmhand and family's first boy to hold a sword so he can try again. The fault is not with you, Rey. The fault lies with a weak, debauched King who rules with either his ego or his cock.”
Rey gasped. “Maz! Don’t say such things! What if one of the King’s men was to hear?”
“I'm too old to hold my tongue.” Maz gulped her wine. “Anyway, a Knight of Ren would never come here. No brothels for miles. But, by the Gods, we shall not let our great King ruin the happiness of you two,” she added, addressing Rose and Finn directly. “It won’t stop Finn from going to the front line, but I have an idea. If the two of you are amenable to it.”
It turned out to be a plan which suited Finn and Rose perfectly. In an ideal world, it was an idea that Maz would never have needed to have. But it was beautiful anyway, and it was how—two weeks later and three days before Finn would leave peacetime behind—Rey watched her friends marry.
Calling in favours from everyone in the nearby town, Maz had put together a wedding ceremony in quick time. Lando gave Rose away, and Rey was her bridesmaid. Both she and Rose wore a crown of flowers for the occasion, but Rose alone carried a bouquet of hand-picked daisies. Rose’s gown was provided by a young newlywed bride of one of Maz’s workers, Finn wore wedding clothes bought special by his father, and the location was the garden at the back of Maz’s tavern. The green paddock and a golden field of wheat were behind them as the priest conducted the ceremony.
Dancing and wine came soon after the ceremony, with Rey being pulled into a country dance by her best friend and his now wife. Two of Maz’s stable lads turned out to possess the gift of music, one able to play the violin and the other the piano. It was chaos and peace at the same time, and Rey left her fears behind to drink and be merry awhile, clapping along as the bride and groom danced for their guests by a sunset and orange sky, the gathering clouds brushed with the purple of approaching dusk.
A blanket of stars came hours later, after the dancing and the guests had dispersed, and Finn had taken one of Maz’s horses (with permission) to ride his bride down the dirt path towards his house.
Climbing slowly up the stairs to her room, Rey entered and shut the door. Now the guests had gone, and the bride and groom were enjoying their brief bit of peace before Finn’s departure, exhaustion had come to claim her. Crawling into bed, she curled up among the thin blankets and watched the moon from her window.
As her eyes fell closed, she let the fear join her in her bed.
She cried until she slept. The fear followed her into her dreams and his face appeared again, twisted grin and his voice heavy in her ear.
“You need a teacher.”
Rey yelled out, at once awake. Hurrying to her feet, she ripped at her clothes, shedding her dress and pulling at the crown of flowers. It exploded in her hands, the flower petals scattering across her blankets and her pillows. She broke. Collapsing to her knees, she clung to her bedsheets and sobbed.
“I don’t want…” she whined through tears. “I want them to stay… Let them stay… Please… Please. Please.”
She wiped hard at her tears until they dried. She got to her feet, staring down at the scattered flower petals.
This was not fear that she was letting in. It was a weakness.
It was a weakness familiar to her. The same weakness that kept her in the hell of Jakku, sweating under a hot sun for no pay, because she’d hoped her parents would return for her once she’d paid off their debt. That they would be her great rescuer.
When that day arrived—the day she’d paid off her parents’ debt—she’d waited on the front steps of Unkar’s home, with her satchel packed and wedged in beside her. She’d watched the horizon until the evening came. Finding her still there, Unkar told her what she already knew. Her parents weren’t coming. They never were. Last he’d heard, they’d got onto a boat set for the Outer Regions to seek their fortune there.
“You were never a part of their grand plans,” he said with a snarl. Then, with a burst of humanity, “Go to the city of Chandrila and seek your fortune there. Go on, get.”
She wondered sometimes, about him, and that scrap of humanity he’d shown her. A gift, maybe, after years of treating her as nothing but cheap labour? Or had she just looked so pitiful, waiting all day for parents who cared nothing about her, that she’d managed to stir an element of sympathy from his greedy heart?
Whichever it had been, his advice had led her to the road to Chandrila and led her to find Maz on the way. And here, on the outskirts of the city, she’d found a family and found strength.
“I will not be weak,” Rey said aloud to herself, renewing her years-old promise. “I will never be weak.”
Be he a pauper, be he a king. She would never be weak.
She would play the games life wanted her to play, and she would be strong.
Lizzy sighed as the trees trickled past, the horses going a-pace towards Netherfield. Opposite her, Lydia and Kitty were fighting to peek outside of the carriage to witness the great house hove into view; Mary had her nose steadfastedly planted into a book, only occasionally looking to their father; Jane preoccupied herself by smoothing her gloves against her lap, which to anyone, would seem a sign of self-assurance and not (as Lizzy knew it truly to be), a sign of self-comfort.
"Mama shall be most perturbed she was unable to attend," Lizzy murmured, sliding her piercing gaze towards her father, who was hidden behind a copy of that day's newspaper, "and I doubt her nerves shall tolerate it!"
"That, my dear," intoned Mr Bennet, failing immeasurably to hide his amusement, "is entirely the point."
Give me a pairing, an AU setting, and I’ll write you a three-sentence fic!
"So many nobles, tripping over themselves to catch such a prize, and yet, you… a commoner.” The right corner of his mouth tilted up with the threat of a smile. “You convinced the creature to give up the prize.”
Rey swallowed. Her heartbeat filled her ears, the birdsong around her deafening now as she held her ground before a king and his desires.
Oh yes, his desires.
She was only a country girl, but she knew men. She knew when they wanted something more than life.
"The Man in the Iron Mask" (1998) AU: chapter two | chapter three [[story also available on AO3]]
CHAPTER ONE: take what you want / take what you can
The Empire of the Seven Seas was vast and wide-ranging, but the jewel in the crown was the palace of Chandrila. The king had been a boy, eleven and barely able to get onto a horse without help, when construction began. The palace had grown with him, starting from the domesticity of the summer estate where he had been born to a sprawling mass of glass and gold by the time of his coronation.
Grimly, Han walked past stone sculptures of the gods of the Empire of the Seven Seas and towards the King’s chambers. He knew what he would find, but it was heart-sinking to come upon the sight anyway. The man, forty and beginning to grey, was sitting alone with his tricorne hat squashed tightly in his fists. He was fighting back tears; an ambassador enduring humiliation, in deference to the King’s foolish whims.
Han sighed. This was a particular favourite game of Kylo’s. He would draw a loyal politician’s wife into his bed, and then summon the politician to wait outside until they were finished.
Shoving open the chamber doors, Han marched inside. Within, Kylo Ren had the wife of the Coruscanti ambassador on her hands and knees in his bed. He was behind her, riding her to his finish.
Han closed his eyes and sighed.
No doubt, outside of this room, the ambassador’s wife was a tower of diplomatic strength for her husband. No doubt at all that she represented her land with airs and graces learned from a young age. Here, however… here, she was a plaything. She probably thought she could be a royal mistress if she was convincing enough.
The King found his pleasure (thank the gods), and the Coruscanti woman praised him again and again.
Han cautiously re-opened his eyes. Kylo lay back in his bed and tugged his covers across his lap. The ambassador’s wife draped her arms around his shoulders, kissing his jawline and chest, murmuring sweet nothings.
Still caught in the haze of delusion. Her King would put pay to that. Indeed, it happened in no time at all. The moment Kylo saw Han standing in the doorway, he jumped out of bed and pulled on a banyan. It was a brilliant red of fire embroidered with gold and the hem and sleeves were lined with black fur.
(Such were the skills of the tailors of Chandrila. However plain thinking the man who came through Chandrila’s doors, the tailors would get their hands on him and have him worshipping silk and satin just like the rest.)
Kylo paid more attention to how his banyan fell on his shoulders than he did to the woman in his bed. She knew it, and her smile crumpled.
“My king?” she ventured; her voice was soft. She quietly, sadly covered herself.
Kylo made a show of remembering her presence, glancing over his shoulder at her.
“Don’t keep your husband waiting, Madame.”
She fled then, only stopping when her husband called her name. From his place, Han watched as the husband tore his coat from his shoulders, covering his wife with it. As she wailed, he held her hand, held her up by her shoulders and began walking her down the corridor.
The guards quietly returned and shut the bedchamber doors.
Han sighed. Slumping into a chair, he ran his hand down his face. He did not need this kind of chaos today.
“…Do you want more war?”
“The King of Coruscant has despised his ambassador since they were at school. When news of this gets to him, he’ll offer me half of his army as a thank you.” The king’s bayan brushed the floor as he wandered. “I’m not reckless.”
Sitting by the unlit hearth, the king began to eat from a platter of meats, cheeses and freshly picked fruits. Nothing but the best for the so-called Sun King. He’d been happy to wear cotton as a prince; nothing but silks and satins and feasts would do for him now.
“May the Gods help me,” Han grumbled. “Other kings find their thrills in chequers. Or cards.”
Kylo chuckled. His eyes were clear and cold.
“Why don’t you spend some time with your mistress?” Han pressed. He leaned forward, cocking a grin. “I’m sure Bazine misses you.”
“You need to keep up, Captain. Madame Netal has been retired to a convent, with half a million francs as pension.”
Han stared at his king with growing dismay. Madame Netal had been admired throughout the court for her wit and beauty, true, but to Han, he’d only admired her for her ability to calm the king whenever he’d been in a fractious mood.
Kylo tilted his head, clearly reading Han’s expression.
“You disapprove.”
Han remembered himself. “Not at all.” Standing up, he cleared his throat. “Everything’s fine.”
“Hm.”
Kylo leaned back in his chair. He picked out an orange from an ornate crystal-cut bowl. Picking up his letter opener—its hilt was adorned with blood-red rubies—from his writing desk, he swiftly peeled the orange skin in one motion.
“Han.” He cast aside the peel, abandoning it on the floor. “You promised me that you would be as loyal to me as you were to my father. Didn’t you?”
“I just wondered..." Han shifted in his seat. It was wise to choose his words carefully. He sighed. Unfortunately, that never seemed to be his strong suit. “Why the Coruscanti woman? There are other women…”
Kylo gave a thoughtful nod. “I suppose you’re right. I am bored with aristocratic women.”
“That’s not what I—”
“They can’t offend," Kylo continued while digging his finger and thumb into the flesh of the orange. He pulled out a section of it and took a bite, juice running over his fingers. “They’re not bred for it.”
Han said nothing. He knew when his king had his mind made up.
“I need someone who hasn’t come from the noble stock… someone who…” Kylo pursed his lips, thinking as he ate. A sly grin crossed his face as he found his answer. “Someone who needs to be taught.”
Han blinked.
Kylo waited for a reaction, prompting his captain to speak with a raise of his brow.
Han swallowed. Any reaction he had would only be an admonishment, and his king was already pleased enough.
So instead, he nodded, swept into a deep bow, and left.
Rey smiled as she approached the barn, hearing the clash of swords. She came round the corner and watched from the doorway. Finn, sword in his right hand and his left tucked at the small of his back, lunged forward. Rose, his opponent, sidestepped the move with a twist of her feet and a flourish of her blade.
“Ooh! The slowest of blocks, easily avoided,” Rose added, more flirting than fighting. Finn, laughing, doubled back. They both reset their footing, a wink from Finn beginning another series of playful parries and blocks between them. Rey rolled her eyes.
“And,” said Rose, panting, “the most skilled of denouements—”
Her ankle wrapped around the back of Finn’s shin, and she pulled.
“Oof!” He was suddenly on his back in the hay.
Chickens clucked outside. From its stable, his father’s horse whickered above him. Finn narrowed his eyes. Propping himself up on his elbows, he glared up at Rose.
“You cheated.” His glare turned to Rey. “And you let her.”
“Like all good swordsmen, she used her knowledge of her opponent to gain an advantage,” Rey replied, glancing down. Just inside the barn was Finn’s cat, Babette. Usually, she was a ferocious hunter, bringing little gifts to her owner with those wide brown eyes of hers. Right now, the sunlight was lighting Babette’s white fur, spotted with orange, with a soft yellow. Her stomach—swollen with the promise of kittens—rose and fell as she snoozed. Rey bent down to rub her thumb over the crest of her little head. Stirring, Babette purred. Her tail swished happily and she tilted back her chin, unsubtly demanding more attention.
Rey happily obeyed, kneeling by the cat to scoop her up into a cuddle.
Finn’s attention returned to Rose. Like Rey, she was wearing a man’s garments; trousers and a too-big shirt with a thick leather belt cinching in her waist. Finn tried to look furious with her, but all that earned him was Rose sticking her tongue out at him. In response, Finn reached up and grasped her hands, hanging limp and unguarded at her sides. Rose shrieked as he tugged her down into the hay beside him.
Rey laughed as they wrestled each other. Babette mewled a yawn and returned to her spot by the doorway.
“Finn!” Rose gasped, lost in the hay with him, but she quietened as he wrapped his arm around her waist. He pulled her closer. Gently, he kissed her. Rose easily fell into the embrace, hanging her arms around his neck.
Rey politely lowered her gaze, already planning a quick exit—but a clearing of the throat had them all scrambling to their feet and falling into line.
Lando, entering, cocked an easy smile.
“So, how goes the lesson?” he asked.
Snatching a piece of hay from Rose’s hair, Finn cleared his throat.
“Father.”
“Finn was just showing Rose some new counter-moves, Monsieur,” Rey said, unable to bite back a laugh as she spoke. Rose nudged her in the ribs as punishment.
“Ah, he takes after his father,” Lando replied, not batting an eye. He pointed up the road with his cane, looking at Rey and Rose. “Maz is waiting for you two.”
Rose tipped her hat to the former Musketeer. The high of her cheeks were pinked and she hurried out of the barn. Rey and Finn came closer to Lando as they watched her climb over the fence boundary and hurry up the rutted dust path.
A distance up on the hill, there was the familiar ramshackle farmhouse that always sheltered nearly a dozen stray travellers and workers. Maz's horses grazed in the far-off paddock. Figures were gathered in the courtyard, soldiers, and travellers. From the crowd came Maz, small and wrinkled, cheerfully weather-beaten and carrying a wine jug almost twice her weight with ease.
“My boy,” Lando started, catching both Rey and Finn’s attention, “I know it’s only a matter of hours before you ask Rose for her hand. I’ve heard you rehearsing enough times. So, I thought—” As he spoke, Lando reached into the leather pouch at his hip.
From it, he brought a scrap of fabric. “You could do with this. It was your mama's.”
Finn frowned, almost in disbelief. Carefully, he took the offered piece of fabric. He felt the weight of it in his palm. The hem of it, folded in on itself, fluttered in the wind. He pulled at the fabric.
His eyes widened.
A single silver ring lay in his palm. A small diamond was its top.
Rey swallowed. She’d known this was coming for a long time, since the moment Rose had thrown an apple at Finn’s back for riding one of Maz’s horses without permission; but it didn’t stop the fear from tugging at Rey anyway, reminding her that all she had in the world, right now, was Maz’s tavern and her friends. She’d worked so hard to achieve it too. Working off her parents’ debt to Unkar, escaping Jakku…
Marriage, in one fell swoop, would change all of it.
Rey was good with a sword and could ride a horse, so technically, she was brave. She didn’t think she was brave enough for this. For so much change, so soon.
"Do you think she'll accept?" Finn asked breathlessly, pulling Rey from her thoughts.
However scared I am, I must face it and not run, she thought, reminding herself of the earliest lesson life had taught her. It had fuelled her fiery hope that her parents would return; later, when she’d been forced to grow up and put away childish things, she turned that fire towards making a new life, away from Jakku.
It would help her now too.
“Finn, I think you’ll be returning to your father as the happiest man in the world. That’s what I think,” she declared, with a beaming grin. Before either son or father could reply, she turned away and hurried towards Maz’s tavern, kicking up dust behind her. “I’ll see you later!”
“What is the latest news?” The question was simple enough, but his war council of yes men still scrabbled for answers. Kylo glanced at himself in the full-length mirror. The new design was admirable, his signature black embroidered with accents of red and gold. The Chandrila tailors had done themselves proud, a fact confirmed by their king with a nod. The tailors set about packing away their things.
Leia sat by the fireplace and watched the scene. Her lady-in-waiting, Amilyn, stood at her side. Ever loyal in her silvery day gown.
“The city of Kijimi was a sizeable victory, Majesté,” said one, shuffling through papers.
A familiar smirk tilted at the corner of Kylo’s lips. “I was there.”
“Of course Majesté, my mistake, forgive me.”
Amilyn’s eyes slid towards Leia’s. Her expression was minimal, barely changed, but it said everything. Leia smiled. (Her lady-in-waiting was wise and knew foolishness when she saw it.)
The war council continued.
“We’ve formed five armies, as commanded, for the five fronts,” said another, his eyes sliding towards the first advisor. He pointed with a gloved hand to the map on the table. “Lothal, Corellia, Jakku—”
“Pasaana and Batuu,” Kylo finished. He examined the map, his long fingers tracing over the drawings. It had been barely a month since he had returned from the siege, eyes shining with triumph. “Hux performed well at Kijimi. Now I am back at Chandrila, he can remain there for now and focus on keeping our victory secure. Canady can put his attention to Canto Bight.”
“Majesté, Canto Bight is neutral.”
“If played right, our strategy will reward us,” Kylo said. Leia glanced at the ministers huddled by the archway of the war room. They stood below gilded frames containing painted victories. Directly above them was a painted vision of her son sitting astride a horse, beating back a crowd of foes on a battlefield ablaze.
Leia could remember the day he posed for it. He’d spent thousands to sit on a padded box with his sword raised high for hours while a master painted in broad brushstrokes, promising a masterpiece. Meanwhile, his people across the kingdom starved—and rioted as a result.
As if hearing her thoughts, Kylo’s attention snapped to her. He tilted his head at her.
“Maman. Do you have something to say?”
Leia took a breath. She had forged a reputation in her youth for a temper, a thing that flared and fired and remained long after the ashes had settled.
In reality, she’d simply been unable to hold her tongue around stupidity, and the men in the room—unable to tolerate having their perspectives questioned—declared her unmanageable and a harridan.
Only in courtly whispers though. She had, after all, still been the Queen.
“This is your council,” she said plainly.
“Yes,” Kylo replied, looking back to the map, “you’re so right.”
Leia glanced at the ministers. They stared back at her, with pleading in their eyes. Their proposal, heard by her, was fair enough (and, in her son’s current mood, easily dismissed). Leia rose to her feet.
“My son. Your subjects are hungry.” She received nothing and tried again. “Your people are being forced to eat either rotten food or nothing at all.”
Her son’s fist tightened impatiently against the lines of the map. “It’ll be dealt with.”
“A king,” she said carefully, “doesn’t delay his decisions.”
“There’s no delay, Maman,” he bit on his address of her, glaring up at her. “There are more important things at play.”
A pregnant silence swelled up, filling the room.
Leia broke it, turning on her heel to the cowering advisors.
“Monsieur Mitaka,” she called, and a nervous-looking man stepped forward from the ministerial huddle. “Half of the food reserved for military measures will be sent to the city.”
Kylo darted out from behind the table towards his mother. “No,” he snapped, like a father defending his child, “that food is for my soldiers.”
“Half is enough to feed the people,” she said, focusing on him. “To save them.”
Kylo glowered. “You don’t have the authority to make that order.”
A hush fell over the room as the silence returned, larger than before; practically a physical thing between son and mother—King and Queen Mother—growing without restriction.
“I make this order on behalf of my son,” Leia said finally, keeping an even tone and her eyes on her son. “As he is currently focused on military matters.”
Kylo turned away. Leia felt relief but no true triumph at her victory.
Tugging on his sleeves, Kylo headed into the grand mirrored hallway that led out onto the gardens of Chandrila. Leia, with Amilyn beside her, followed behind his train of aides and high-ranking courtiers. She saw the other courtiers through the high arched windows that lined the path outside. They were gathering in the gardens for the festivities.
Pastel hues and bright shades and parasols, and all of them arm-in-arm with potential allies, lovers, or enemies. All of those would be decided with words; the relationships would be decided with negotiation over days, though, more often than not, in a matter of moments. Words were the weapon of the courtier and they could be wielded however they liked.
As the king and his train stepped into the sunlight, Kylo raised a hand, bringing the train to a stop. His gaze became like a pinpoint, zeroing in. Leia followed his line of sight.
Among the courtiers gathering towards the gardens was a dark-skinned man. Handsome, with short, cropped hair, he wore soldier’s garments. Walking beside the dark-skinned man was a pale-skinned female—and that was on whom Kylo was fixated.
She wasn’t the usual kind of woman that Leia saw every day at the royal court. Her dress, though it showed her slender figure and sloping shoulders, was two seasons out of fashion. Its colour was a soft yellow and its collar was low across her shoulders, displaying her collarbone. She smiled and greeted those few who greeted her but walked with an uncertain gait, clearly uncomfortable to be around such finery.
Kylo’s dark brown eyes burned as he watched her. His mouth tilted with the threat of a smile.
Another girl hurried to join them and broke the spell. Shorter than the pale girl, with tan skin and black hair swept into a low bun, she was dressed in a bronze-coloured gown (which was as old, if not older, than the yellow gown) with an uncontentious engagement ring on her finger. Its diamond was so small that it barely managed to glint when it touched the sunlight. She was positively delirious with contentment, however, kissing the dark-skinned man’s cheek in greeting. She fell into step with him, her arm around his.
Soon enough, lost in their world, the lovers left the pale girl behind. She was left to wander along with the rest of the crowd, ignorant of how closely her king was watching her.
Leia looked closer at the girl. She had to be nineteen, almost twenty.
Kylo beckoned an aide forward.
“Monsieur Quinn, tell me – who is that?” asked Kylo.
“Finn Calrissian, sire. The son of the former Musketeer, Lando Calrissian. He’s recently applied to become a Musketeer himself.”
Leia smiled. Calrissian’s son. It had been a long time since she had seen Lando or Luke. They’d been here since the first day she’d arrived at the Royal court, a newly minted Queen married to a boy-faced King, but time slipped on, they grew older and their ambitions grew too, beyond their lives as Musketeers and beyond the walls of the royal palace. Lando settled to become a farmer with a wife and son while Luke—the last Leia had heard from him—was travelling the world, preaching the word of a single God.
The only one who’d remained in the palace was Han.
“I don’t mean the boy, Quinn,” Kylo said curtly, his tone inferring a joke that the rest of his train immediately snickered at, “I mean the girl who was walking with him. She seems… unguarded.”
Quinn hid his annoyance with a solemn bow of the head. “I confess, I don’t know her sir. She may have come as part of Calrissian’s party, but she is unrecognisable to me…”
Behind them, the doors to the mirrored Hall opened. Han entered. Leia allowed herself a small glance at his face. As always, his face was drawn. Her heart fluttered a little as she remembered the smile that used to be on that face, the arrogant grin that she wanted to slap away when she’d first seen him all those years ago in the courtyard, training as a Musketeer. When he was barely a man, and she was barely a woman (barely a Queen), wondering what she’d say if she ever saw the infuriating beautiful boy with the mop of brown hair again.
“Majesté—” Han started but Kylo waved a hand, immediately dismissing whatever his captain was about to say. He was still focused on the girl, watching her as she walked, separating herself from the crowd to venture down a narrow path of the gardens. She passed a fountain of stone sirens in her wake.
Kylo moved off. The train followed.
Han turned to leave. Without thinking, Leia started forward.
“Han.”
He paused but did not turn to see her.
“Yes, my lady?”
There was so much she wanted to say, every time she saw him. Quietly, she turned to her lady-in-waiting.
“You may leave us, Amilyn,” she murmured. Amilyn departed with only a single nod of the head, politely disappearing into the crowd.
It was just the two of them now, him and her among mirrors, watching one another’s reflections with a held breath between them.
At last, he turned to face her.
In a moment, the weight lifted from his shoulders. In a moment, he took a step forward, his arms lifting as if to embrace her—but a passing laugh from a courtier outside made him rethink. He dropped back.
“There’s a girl. Nineteen, brunette, in a yellow dress. Kylo spotted her. I think…” Leia glanced out of the windows. The girl was gone, and so was her son, his aides and courtiers mingling (as no doubt he’d commanded them to). All at once, she felt quite hopeless—Kylo would find the girl, seduce her, bring hope to the life she had, and then get bored of her. Another game to amuse himself, once again uncaring of the effect false hope had on a life.
Leia quietly clenched her fist, feeling the pressure of her fingernails against her palm. She breathed hard. Calmed, she tried again. “That girl, in the yellow dress. Please… make sure to look after her.”
Han sighed.
“I’ll try. That’s all I can do.” A glimmer of a smirk appeared on his lips. “Princess.”
Despite herself, despite her better judgement, she smiled.
