(This originally started as a fluff prompt here, but I’ve updated it since then and expanded upon it, so tadaaa!)
Theron ran the towel over his damp hair one last time, then stretched. The baths at this inn were extravagant and luxurious, especially in contrast to the past week spent sleeping rough on the side of the road.
Worth every coin it had cost—and then some—if you asked him. This was by far the nicest place he had stayed in quite some time.
A soft snore greeted him as he left the bathroom: Vassanna was asleep already? The bed stood untouched, and he turned to find her on the small sofa before the fireplace. She sat reclined, her head tipped back with her long, freshly-washed hair hanging down the back of the couch to dry. A book had fallen to the floor, her place in its story lost.
A frown crossed his features: she’d been exhausted the past few nights, near impossible to wake for her watch, and groggy in the afternoons.
Something was wrong.
He didn’t think she was injured and, based on the precautions they both took, there was no way she could be with child. A trill of fear shot through him at the thought: the last thing anyone needed right now was a little princeling—or a princess—crawling around in a year.
An image, vague and shimmery, of a little girl toddling towards him, with eyes like her mother’s filled his vision. He batted it away, focusing on his concern for the very real woman before him.
Theron sat gingerly beside her, inspecting the dark smudges beneath her eyes. Normally, he requested permission before inspecting someone with his feeble Healing magics, but concern outweighed propriety.
He held his hand above her heart and, after a moment’s hesitation, focused, searching for anything that didn’t belong. Hmm... only a bruise or two, no big internal injuries—and thank the stars for that, because he wouldn’t be able to mend those—and strained muscles from the journey. He found no physical reason she should be this tired.
Magic, then? It had to be.
A stray lock of hair brushed across her face as she breathed; it must have tickled, as her features twitched even in slumber. His fingers moved of their own accord, tenderly sweeping the hair to the side and tucking it behind her ear.
With a sigh, he shifted and slipped his arms beneath her, scooping her up; the bed would be far more comfortable for her than this sofa. Vassanna woke with a start as he stood, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Was I asleep?” she mumbled, confusion written on her features. “‘time is it?”
“It’s time for you to go to bed,” he answered. “The actual time doesn’t matter.”
“But dinner—”
“You can have dinner here,” he said as he laid her on the bed. “I’ll wake you when it arrives.”
“Theron, I’m fine, just a little tired,” she insisted. “Don’t give me that look; we’ve been sleeping on the ground in the fields for a week now and have been on the road for so long.”
“You’re exhausted,” he snapped, gesturing to the book still lying on the floor.
“Well, as far as I’m aware, we have no plans this evening except for a meal, correct?”
“Yes,” he said with a sigh. “Though the innkeeper wanted to talk to you about tomorrow’s meeting.”
Vassanna snorted. “The innkeeper also wants to catch up on all the Sentinel gossip she’s missed out on since retiring and settling down here.”
“She was a Sentinel?” Theron couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice; the teal-skinned Twi’lek behind the bar seemed far too gentle to have lived that life.
“Mhmm. That’s why this is the only inn we’ve stopped at within the borders of Korriban.” A yawn displaced her smirk.
Concern for the innkeeper and her family muted Theron’s voice. “Is it safe for them?” he whispered.
She nodded. “No one here knows. They’ve changed their names and shifted their appearance a bit using magic. Apparently—”
“Hey, wait,” he protested. “You’re changing the subject. Are you sick? Hurt? Why are you so tired?”
Her entire demeanor shifted in the blink of an eye: a frown twisted her lovely features, her posture immaculately straight, chin raised in challenge. “I’m allowed to be tired, my lord,” she bit out. “It’s been a very long week.”
All he wanted was for her to tell him what the hell was wrong: was that too much to ask? In his frustration, he planted his fists on his hips and returned her frown. “You’re far more drained than you should be.”
“According to whom?” she snapped, pulling back the covers and standing toe to toe with him. “Are you my bodyguard? My nursemaid?”
“No, but it seems like you could use one,” he muttered. Stars above, she could be so damned stubborn!
Anger flashed in her violet eyes, like lightning during a summer storm, and he decided a different approach was necessary. Playing on her sense of duty and devotion to him, to his cause, felt dirty, but it would be worth it if he could just get her talking.
“Well, how do you expect to protect me if you can’t even stay awake for dinner?”
Oh, but he was sorely mistaken: he’d pushed too far.
Sanna’s eyes widened in shock, then narrowed. “How dare you!” she hissed. “Do you think I’ve just been napping in the saddle all week? Dozing or flitting off to dreamland? That I haven’t been doing everything in my power to keep you safe while we’re so close to his domain?”
The specter of the Shadow King loomed large in the room, raising the hairs at the nape of Theron’s neck.
“I thought you trusted me to keep you safe; I didn’t realize I had to explain every step I took to do so. But fine,” she said with a snarl, “yes, it’s magic. Would you like all the details, your majesty?”
“No, I trust you; I do. I’m just worried.”
The anger in her eyes melted away, leaving hurt in its place. Stars, he was an ass.
“I will keep you safe, Theron, even if it is the last thing I do.” Her jaw clenched and she swallowed hard. “I swore an oath and I intend to keep it.”
They stood there, silently, neither meeting the other’s eyes. He owed her an apology for casting doubt on her loyalty and skills. Why didn’t he trust her to tell him if she was hurt or not? She was an adult, as well as a frighteningly competent bodyguard.
You’re afraid you’ll lose her, a little voice in the back of his head whispered.
Ignoring that stupid voice that didn’t know at all what it was talking about, he sighed. “That was uncalled for, I’m sorry. I do trust you, very much so, and—”
“It’s fine,” she interrupted softly and one could cut the uncomfortable tension between them with a knife.
“Why don’t you rest for a bit?” he murmured sheepishly. “I’ll wake you for dinner.”
With a silent nod, she climbed into the bed, tugging the covers up to her chin and staring at the ceiling.
Gently, carefully, Theron sat on the edge of the bed. “Hey,” he said softly as he cupped her cheek in his palm, “we can talk more later—if you want.” He offered a small smile as a peace offering as he placed his other hand on her forehead. “But for now, rest.” Pulling from his shallow store of magic, he gently nudged her into a deep, peaceful slumber.
Theron sat there for a long moment after her eyes fluttered closed and her breathing evened out, his hands still cradling her face. He told himself it was to ensure that Vassanna stayed asleep, but if he were honest, he didn't want to let go.
He brushed his thumb along her cheek and the tattoos embossed on her skin. The urge to press his lips to those diamond-shaped marks seized him so strongly that he almost gave in before catching himself at the last moment. What was wrong with him?
Standing abruptly, he stalked to the fireplace to pace until their meal arrived.
————
Hours later, long after the sun had set and the fire died down, their bags lay packed by the door, ready to leave at a moment’s notice should the need arise. Vassanna had slept through it all, waking only for dinner and a short explanation—and a heartfelt and sincere apology from her prince. Theron mulled over her words while he prepared for bed.
We’re trained in whatever aspect of magic comes naturally to us, so we try out many different things as children. My mother’s a Healer, but all my healing tonics made my classmates ill. She had chuckled ruefully. My energies were focused on combat after that.
My sister, she’s a ghost: she can disappear into the shade of a tree and no one would ever see her again if she didn’t wish it. She bends the light around her, somehow. I don’t understand, but it’s impressive.
I can’t hide within the light like her, but I can make myself look... Vassanna had trailed off, a thoughtful look on her features. Inconspicuous, unassuming. I’m still in plain sight, but it’s almost as though people overlook the fact that I’m there.
A yawn had interrupted her explanation. It’s not as natural for me as combat magic, so while I can do it, it’s exhausting. Moreso if I’m trying to keep more than just myself concealed. But seeing as we’re too close to Korriban Hold for my liking, it’s been necessary to keep us safe from notice—or worse.
Back in the present, Theron stretched and yawned. Climbing gently into the bed to not disturb her rest, he chuckled at the loud snore that greeted him.
Vassanna mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over, facing him. The covers tangled around her waist and she shivered at their loss, goosebumps skittering across the bare skin of her arm.
With a soft grin, he pulled her side of the covers up, tucking her in, and was nearly lost when she sighed contentedly in her sleep, shifting closer to him. He gently swept the tangled hair from her face, smoothing it back and behind her ear as she did whenever it was loose.
Resting his hand lightly along her jaw, Theron inspected his bodyguard, lover, and—dare he say—his friend. She looked so calm, so peaceful in sleep; carefree, almost. That she would quietly sacrifice so much of herself touched him, twisting something in his chest and making it hard to breathe.
The need to hold her close threatened to overwhelm him. He resisted, however, content to brush his thumb against her cheek instead.
“Sweet dreams,” he murmured.
————
“Vassanna? Sanna, it’s time to wake up.”
The voice in her ear was soft and warm, as comfortable as the bed she lay in.
“Five more minutes,” she mumbled. Stars above, she was so tired.
“Sorry, I already gave you as much time as I could. We meet with our informant in forty-five minutes.”
Informant? What was—
Sanna bolted upright with a gasp as she remembered where they were: not far from the lands of Korriban on Theron’s quest to gather support for their rebellion. Sunlight streamed in through the window and birds chirped outside.
“Stars, what time is it?” she asked, anxiously glancing around for the chronometer. “Eleven fifteen!? How long have I been sleeping?”
“Honestly, not as long as you needed, unfortunately. You still feel exhausted. Er, you look like you feel exhausted, I mean.”
“Thanks,” she said drily and he shot her a look.
“You know what I mean.”
Nodding with a small smile, she rose to prepare for their meeting, hurrying into and out of the bathroom. As she rushed to dress, Theron glanced over quizzically.
“Full armor?”
She froze mid-buckle, her leather cuirass slipping slightly as she shrugged. How did she explain that she had a bad feeling about this meeting?
“You don’t think this is a trap, do you?”
Yes. No. Maybe it was simply that she’d overslept and her mind was still foggy. Perhaps she preferred the comfort and safety the armor provided. Sanna sighed.
“Everything is a trap.” She finished buckling her chest piece as she spoke. “Better over-prepared than caught unawares. You should wear your hauberk.”
“I think it would inspire more trust and confidence if we didn’t show up to meet this person armed to the teeth,” Theron said. Before she could open her mouth to argue, he continued. “You should leave your weapons up here.”
“What?”
“Why do you need eight different blades for a lunch meeting? You’re being paranoid.”
“Just in case something—”
“It’s an order, Sanna.”
She stared, open-mouthed. What was he thinking?
“And how, pray tell, am I supposed to protect you with no weapons?”
“You shouldn’t have to. What kind of information-gathering meetings have you been to?”
His question hit her like a slap in the face: he knew what had happened to her the last time an informant had turned, he knew. And the stakes were ever so much higher now than a few Sentinels; the future king’s life could hang in the balance.
But it was an order. So, clenching her jaw so tightly that her teeth creaked, she took up her sheathed swords and placed them on their saddle packs.
(She was briefly impressed that Theron had done such a fine job of ensuring they were ready to leave at a moment’s notice while she was sleeping like the dead, but her irritation and anxiety swiftly swept it away.)
She removed all but two of her throwing daggers and set them beside her swords, grumbling internally about how foolish this was.
“As you say, your majesty,” she bit out, bowing low to Theron.
He sighed. “Sanna—”
“After you, my lord.” She snapped the door open and gestured for him to lead the way, plastering a smile on her face.
Heaving another sigh, he shook his head and walked out the door. She followed, somehow managing to keep herself from slamming it behind her in her frustration.
————
Standing at the bar, Sanna chatted with A’lema, the owner of the Seven Stars Inn—and a former Sentinel.
“I’m assuming you’ve got plans for this meeting?” A’lema asked as she set a pint before Sanna.
“Well, plan A is ‘meet the deserter, gather the information, stay here another night to enjoy the delicious food and warm bed, and then go on our merry way.’ Hopefully, that’s the plan we end up using.”
“And plan B?”
Sanna smiled at her host. “What’s the phrase? ‘You can take the girl out of the Sentinels, but you can’t take the Sentinel out of the girl’?”
“Look, this is my house,” she said, tapping the bar counter, though she returned Sanna’s grin. “I’d like to be prepared if we have to skip ahead to plans B, C, or D.”
“That’s fair,” she replied with a small chuckle. “Plan B is that it’s a trap. Either he’s faking the desertion or he’s been coerced into it. Or he’s simply a pawn and is being followed here by the false king’s men.”
“I can portal you both away if worse comes to worse. Not to Tython—that would be too dangerous this close to Korriban—but somewhere else safe.”
Sanna inclined her head in thanks. “I’ll do my best to keep you and yours out of it; I don’t want to destroy the life you have here.” She nodded towards Theron. “He’s convinced it’s going to be Plan A.”
“And you?”
“I’m prepared for Plan B.” She paused, thinking of all her weapons upstairs, and frowned. “Mostly.”
“I did notice that your swords are conspicuously missing, Guardian.”
“They’re in the room. I might make our contact ‘uncomfortable.’” She managed to keep from rolling her eyes.
“He may be a prince,” the innkeeper said, leaning forward, “but you are his guard. You can veto his rules, you know; you outrank him on the battlefield.”
“It’s not a battlefield yet.”
The door to the inn opened, halting their conversation, and a haggard-looking man matching the description of their contact strode in.
“Ah well. Too late now,” Sanna sighed and turned.
“Hey.”
A’lema’s tone stopped her in her tracks.
“You’ve considered the need for a last-ditch plan?”
It wasn’t technically a plan, per se, but all Sentinels learned that they were part of a larger whole; they served the people of the land before serving themselves. Sometimes a personal sacrifice saved more than was lost, like pruning branches from a tree to see it bloom all the better the next spring.
“I swore to keep him safe until my last breath. I’m no oathbreaker.”
A’lema nodded solemnly. “We’ll get him out of here and to Orgus if need be.”
Sanna glanced back toward the bar. “If need be, I’ll buy you all the time I can. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go join what’s hopefully Plan A.” She saluted with her glass and joined Theron at the table as their contact approached.
At least his all-knowing majesty hadn’t protested against the safety of sitting with their backs to the wall, so they had an advantageous view of the entry. She spent most of the conversation with her focus there, to ensure the soldier hadn’t been followed.
Maybe she was being overly paranoid.
A snap from the fireplace at her elbow drew her focus back to the table. Though Sanna would never admit it to Theron, she would have been cooler and more comfortable without her armor: the cheery fire crackled and glowed, throwing far more heat than she would have expected.
“He’s controlling ‘em somehow,” the deserter said. “My buddy and I had been talking about getting out, heading somewhere we could keep our heads down until making for home, and then he started ignoring me when I’d talk to him about it. I tried one last time to talk him into coming with me today, but he just got all glassy-eyed, tellin’ me King Tenebris was the rightful king and ‘not to presume that there were limits to his power.’ I couldn’t talk any sense into ‘im after that.”
The phrase sent a prickle of fear shuddering down Vassanna’s spine: she’d heard it before, in a time she’d much prefer to forget. “You invited your friend here with you? Today?” She tried to keep her tone even, but based on Theron’s shifting posture, she wasn’t as successful as she’d hoped.
“Yeah. For a minute, I really thought he’d join me and—”
The door to the inn’s common room slammed open and bedlam broke loose. A’lema dropped behind the bar and dashed into the kitchen as a dozen of the Shadow King’s fighters poured into the room, each firing an arrow and nocking another in the space of a breath.
With a curse, Sanna dug deep within, reaching for her pitiful amount of magic. (Her store of magic hadn’t replenished itself as much as she had hoped; it must be their proximity to Korriban and the magics wrought there.) She shoved the defector out of the way and to the side of the room, then tugged at the air, shielding herself and Theron from the arrows hurtling rapidly toward them. The shield wouldn’t hold long—not with the state of her depleted magics—but it bought her enough time to flip the table to its side, providing a far more substantial shelter.
Theron was on the ground, facing away from her, and an arrow whizzed past him, far too close for comfort. She grasped the back of his tunic, yanking him fully behind the table, and froze.
No.
Two arrows with the Shadow King’s black-purple-red fletching had lodged themselves in his chest, sticking out grotesquely, and his features were twisted in pain, eyes screwed shut. She stared in horror, unable to move, to breathe. “No,” she whispered as time slowed to a crawl, the thunk of arrows into the other side of the table drowned out by a woman’s sobs.
She reached out and cradled Theron’s face in shaking hands. “Oh stars, please...”
He grunted in pain, then cracked open his eyes, concern briefly replacing the agony etched there. “No, don’t. Don’t cry,” he murmured. “I’ll be alright; I can Heal myself, remember?”
Another sob escaped and she clamped a hand over her mouth, surprised to find tears on her cheeks. Nodding, she closed her eyes and dashed away the tears, drawing her focus back to the here and now—and the very real danger awaiting them across the room.
Reaching out with a small tendril of magic to see what they were up against, she found the soldiers at the door woodenly preparing another volley of arrows, and nearly two dozen soldiers waiting outside as backup, should the first group fail to take their quarry. Making things worse, every one of them was under the control of the Shadow King.
And here she was with practically no magic left and only two damned knives.
Movement from the bar area caught her attention: A’lema and her wife Pirri were carefully making their way to Sanna’s makeshift shelter. The former Sentinel bore a large shield in one hand, sheathed sword in the other, with a bow and arrows slung over her shoulder.
As soon as the pair made it behind the table, A’lema waved her hand, and blue lights danced through the air before coalescing into magical armored knights, who squared off with the Shadow King’s soldiers. Perri immediately got to work inspecting Theron’s wounds.
“So,” A’lema asked cheerfully, “what plan are we on now?”
The casual question snapped Vassanna out of her panic. “Unclear,” she answered. “There are, however, two dozen more troops outside, waiting. For how long, I’m not entirely sure.”
“Well, shit,” she murmured and fired off an arrow that exploded with a flash, blinding the enemy.
Theron let out a groan of pain as Pirri worked to remove his vest without causing more damage. At a second, calmer glance, the wounds weren’t nearly as bad as Sanna had thought: one of the arrows had hit the muscular part of his upper arm, not his chest. The second was higher up, nearer the collarbone. At least his lungs and heart were safe; the arm would be an easy fix, but the shoulder still had her worried.
“She may not have healing magic, but she’s damn good and has patched me up more times than I can count. Just so you know.”
“Aww, thanks for the compliment, my dearest.”
The banter between the couple warmed her heart. A’lema and Pirri would keep Theron safe; Sanna felt it in her bones. All she had to do was take out enough of the enemy to buy them the time needed to escape.
Resting her hand on A’lema’s arm, she met her gaze. “There are too many of them. I think we may have skipped over the rest of the plans and landed at the last one.”
With a whispered curse, the innkeeper nocked another arrow and sent it flying toward the enemy before handing her sword to Vassanna with a nod. “It may not be your own, but it’s good Tythonian steel. It’ll serve you well.”
“The honor is mine.” She turned to her prince. “Theron, can you walk?”
He glanced over, grimacing. “Yes, but—” He hissed. “I’ll be fine.”
She tilted Theron’s chin up so she could meet his eyes one last time. “Go with them now. They’ll get you back to Orgus.” She kissed his forehead, then picked up A’lema’s sword, testing its weight and heft. “Don’t look back when you go. That’s an order.”
The confusion on his face shifted quickly to understanding, anger, horror. “Absolutely not,” he barked, reaching up with his good arm and grasping her wrist. “We started this together, we’ll— You promised me ‘until the end,’ unless you’ve forgotten.”
Sanna’s stomach twisted and she blinked away the sting of tears again. “We are running out of time. You must go with them: these people cannot lose their king.”
“And I can’t lose you,” he snarled through gritted teeth.
Her eyes grew wide as his words sank in.
“You will not throw your life away today. I won’t—” He stilled, pain stealing his words. “You’re a brilliant fighter and strategist, dammit; come up with something else.” The words came out as a near whisper, but they carried determination and pride.
“Look you two, we don’t have all day,” A’lema muttered. “I’m running out of arrows and they’re running out of patience with my magical decoys, so let’s get moving.”
Pirri finished wrapping a bandage around Theron’s arm; he winced as she tightened the knot. The bloodied arrow lay on the ground and terror tore through Sanna.
“Burn it,” she cried, and Pirri glanced over in confusion. “The arrow. Anything with Theron’s blood on it. Tenebris uses blood magic, and the stars only know what he’d do if he got a hold of that—”
The fire in the hearth roared, blazing with a fury that nearly bowled Sanna over. An old lesson dredged itself from her memory: fire magic was highly effective in neutralizing other forms of magic—especially blood magic.
“Wait,” she breathed as an idea took shape.
There was, unfortunately, a drawback to fire magic: it was incredibly dangerous and difficult to control, and if you lost your hold on the fire, well... a wildfire would blaze through anything in its path, including magic-wielders.
Desperate times, however, called for desperate measures.
“I need you to stall them for a few more minutes. Don’t do anything reckless, but I just need a few minutes,” Sanna said. Setting the sword down, she hurriedly sat in a meditative pose, hands held open before her.
One deep breath to center herself. Then a second.
A third for good measure.
Reaching out toward the fireplace, she beckoned the fire to her hands. Hello there. Come to me, help me. Her instructor had taught her to treat the fire as though it were alive; it would give more respect for the sheer power it held and if one happened to find a Sprite, that would be even better.
Why should I help you? You’re the one who put my family in danger in the first place.
Sanna’s eyes flew open with shock and she stared into the fireplace. Stars above, they had a fire Sprite! If today weren’t already going so horribly, she’d count herself the luckiest person in the lands.
You’re the only one who can help us all, Sanna thought as she closed her eyes again. Fire Sprites hated to be bound against their will, so she felt certain that it would want to destroy any trace of Tenebris’s blood magic. The people attacking us don’t want to be in this situation either. They’re trapped, held captive by the Shadow King.
Her hands tingled with heat and she glanced down to see the Sprite flickering in her hands, leaving sooty trails on her palms.
For the first time since she’d escaped from Arkanis Hold, Sanna purposely dug up all the memories she’d hidden away, safely out of sight. From the seemingly innocent dagger slash across her jaw from one of the soldiers who quickly retreated, to the moment Tenebris cast the spell binding her to his will to, oh stars, all the terrible things she did under his control.
Outrage and disgust radiated from the Sprite as it experienced her memories.
Please help them. Don’t let them have any more memories like this.
Sanna held her breath, uncertain of what would happen next. The glowing fire in her hands had moved past uncomfortable, drawing near unbearable. Sweat beaded on her brow and trickled down her face.
Stars, she was hot.
Yes, it hissed. I will free these people and scorch those who would control the innocent. But what will you give me in return?
Anything I have is yours. She could hopefully summon up enough magic after this to get into the nearest Sentinel safehouse, but that was a problem for the future; she would deal with it then.
One step at a time.
A rasping chuckle echoed through her ears before the fire melted into her hands, searing up her arms and through her chest.
The intense heat was unforgiving, all-consuming, overwhelming; she could barely draw a breath. Shouts echoed through the building, mixing with the screams etched into her memories. Clapping her hands over her ears did nothing to block out the noise.
Just as Vassanna was certain she would burn forever, an icy cold swept through her, sending uncontrollable shivers in its wake. Her teeth chattered; she hugged herself in a vain attempt to stop the trembling.
“Sanna? Vassanna!” Theron’s right hand was clasped tightly around her upper arm, pulling her closer. He tried to reach with his other arm, which was a mistake: blood seeped from the arrow still lodged near his collarbone and he groaned, leaning back against the table with a grimace.
Shifting closer, Sanna cradled his cheeks in her sooty, blackened—yet miraculously unburned—hands. “I’m here.”
“Your nose is bleeding,” he murmured, eyes still closed, and she swiped the back of her sleeve across her face.
“Not anymore.”
He pried one eye open and frowned. “You look like shit.”
A near-hysterical giggle bubbled from her lips. “Thanks, so do you.”
(They both missed the matching eye rolls from their hosts.)
“What about the soldiers? What did you do?”
Oh, stars, what had she done?
A whoop from A’lema drew their attention and Sanna poked her head above the table. To her pleasant surprise, most soldiers strewn across the floor appeared to be breathing still, though there were two piles of dark ash alongside the living bodies.
“Some chose the shackles of your Shadow King in exchange for power over the subjugated,” the Sprite’s voice hissed from the fireplace. “I dealt with them as I saw fit. They would not have gone in peace. The rest will wake soon and leave this place, but the ones who served willingly let their master know that you are here and that my family helped you. He is dispatching more troops to bring retribution upon the Seven Stars. We must leave, permanently.”
Damn.
“Well, at least we keep the important things packed up,” sighed A’lema. “I'll gather what I can; you finish with his majesty, sweet. Sentinel, go prepare for your journey, then you can help me prepare for ours.”
In an exhausted daze, Sanna stood, swaying slightly before stumbling up the stairs to their rented room. She sniffled and tasted the tang of iron as she opened the door. Heading to the bathroom, she quickly washed the blood from her face, but to her dismay, the soot stains left by the sprite were not so easy to rinse away. In growing dread, she removed her bracers and rolled up her sleeves to better scrub away the scorch marks only to discover they climbed up her arms as far as she could see—and no amount of soap or scouring would remove them.
With a sigh, Sanna attempted to make peace with the markings: if they had saved her and Theron, then so be it. She’d carry them as long as they lasted.
Donning her weapons—stars, that made her feel better—she gathered up their saddle packs and made her way downstairs. The horses were quickly tacked up and she turned to help A’lema pack their wagon.
“Do you know where you want the portal to go?” A’lema asked as they heaved a chest into the back. “I’ve only got enough magic left for one, so you’ve got to make it count.”
“What? No, absolutely not,” Sanna said with a shake of her head. “We’ll be on horses; wagons are much slower and you’ll need as much of a head start against the Shadow King’s minions as you can get. You need that portal more than we do. There’s a safehouse not far from here and I need to touch base with Master Orgus after all this anyway.”
“It’s a good half-day's journey from here and our prince isn’t at his prime.”
“We’ll make it. He’ll insist you use the portal for yourselves as well, I can promise you.”
At the innkeeper's dubious look, Sanna continued, taking her hand. “You’ve done far more than was necessary to help us and you’ve lost almost everything because of it. I’m absolutely certain that neither of us wants you to lose any more. And you know the Shadow King isn’t kind to those who support the Shans.”
The threat of the Shadow King’s retribution tipped the scales and A’lema agreed to use the portal for herself—and just in time.
Theron appeared at the door, looking weak and wan but very much alive, supported by Pirri.
Tagged by @starknstarwars and @commander-krios (and a handful of others that are so far back in my notes, they're near-impossible to find - I'm sorry!) for these fic-sharing memes. Please consider yourself tagged if you see this!
Since "Shan-anigans" came in second place in this poll, I'll share the last bit that I wrote of it! It's more than 6-7 sentences, but we'll consider it interest earned ;) This is set in approximately 40ATC in some nebulous SWTOR future where Sanna & Theron are still happily married but mostly RETIRED FFS, Amareesa is about 13 years old, and their youngest Lucca, is training to be a Jedi. The basic plot? Sanna's diplomatic meeting goes sideways and Theron rushes off to rescue her -- while Reesie tags along to help, unbeknownst to Theron at first. Then they team up, hence... Shan-anigans :D
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“Are you ready?”
The question, asked in a crisp Imperial accent, startled Reesie and she whipped around to find a man in uniform, hands clasped behind his back and posture impeccable. She reached for the dirk attached to her belt and froze as the man began to chuckle. Her mouth dropped open in recognition.
“Dad?” she hissed and he grinned, spreading his arms wide.
“What do you think: do I pass muster?” His regular speech pattern was back, thank the stars.
She took a moment, inspecting his cover: The brimmed, military-style hat hid most of his implants and hair, though a small amount of salt-and-pepper peeked out at his temples. The jacket fit snugly across his shoulders, belted at the waist, and the starched collar of the shirt underneath seemed determined to strangle him. The boots were shiny and looked like they’d pinch his toes.
“It looks uncomfortable.”
It also looked nothing like what he usually wore and it was weird.
“Unfortunately,” he said, tugging at the collar with a grimace, “it is uncomfortable, but I’ll blend in.” He gestured to the pins on the front left panel of the jacket. “High enough rank to not be questioned at every corner, but not high enough to draw too much attention.”
For the fluff non-verbal starters: Tucking them into bed. For Sanna and Theron 😊
(This is set sometime after Confession, but before they start wrapping up their journey.)
Theron ran the towel over his damp hair one last time, then stretched. The baths at this inn were extravagant and luxurious, especially in contrast to the past week spent sleeping rough on the side of the road.
Worth every coin it had cost—and then some—if you asked him. This was by far the nicest place he had stayed in quite some time.
A soft snore greeted him as he left the bathroom: Vassanna was asleep already? The bed stood untouched, and he turned to find her on the small sofa before the fireplace. She sat reclined, her head tipped back and her long, freshly-washed hair hanging down the back of the couch to dry. Her book had fallen to the floor, her place in the story lost.
A frown crossed his features: she’d been exhausted the past few nights, near impossible to wake for her watch, and groggy in the afternoons.
Something was wrong.
He didn’t think she was injured and, based on the precautions they both took, there was no way she could be with child. A trill of fear shot through him at the thought: the last thing anyone needed right now was a little princeling—or a princess—crawling around in a year.
An image, vague and shimmery, of a little girl toddling towards him with eyes like her mother filled his vision before he batted it away, focusing on his concern for the very real woman before him.
Theron sat gingerly beside her, noting the dark smudges beneath her eyes. Normally, he requested permission before inspecting someone with his feeble Healing magics, but concern outweighed propriety.
Reaching out, he held his hand above her heart and, after a moment’s hesitation, focused; he “read” her muscles, bones, and ligaments, searching for anything that didn’t belong. Hmm… only a bruise or two, no big internal injuries—and thank the stars for that, because he wouldn’t be able to mend those—and strained muscles from the journey. He found no physical reason she should be this tired.
Magic, then? It had to be.
A stray lock of hair brushed across her face as she breathed; it must have tickled, as her features twitched even in slumber. His fingers moved of their own accord, tenderly sweeping the hair to the side and tucking it behind her ear.
With a sigh, he shifted and slipped his arms beneath her, scooping her up; the bed would be far more comfortable for her than this sofa. Vassanna woke with a start as he stood, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Was I asleep?” she mumbled, confusion written on her features. “‘time is it?”
“It’s time for you to go to bed,” he answered. “The actual time doesn’t matter.”
“But dinner—”
“You can have dinner here,” he said as he laid her on the bed. “I’ll wake you when it arrives.”
“Theron, I’m fine, I only—”
Irritation spiked as she tried to deny something that anyone with eyes could see.
“You’re exhausted,” he snapped, “but I can’t quite figure out why. I’m assuming magic, but for some reason, you’re just not telling me.”
She had the grace to look sheepish as he pulled the covers up to her shoulders, slightly rougher than he should have.
“It is magic,” she whispered, not meeting his gaze. “I didn’t want to worry you.”
Theron’s gut twisted: he had been an ass, insisting that she be honest with him, even though he’d examined her without permission. Why didn’t he trust her to tell him if she was hurt or not? She was an adult, as well as a frighteningly competent bodyguard.
You are worried about her, some little voice in the back of his head whispered. You’re afraid you’ll lose her.
Ignoring that stupid voice that didn’t know at all what it was talking about, he sat on the edge of the bed. “Hey,” he said softly, all frustration and concern melting away as he cupped her cheek in his palm, “we can talk later—if you want.” He offered a small smile as a peace offering as he placed his other hand on her forehead. “Now rest.” Pulling from his shallow store of magic, he gently nudged her into a deep, peaceful slumber.
Theron sat there for a long moment after her eyes fluttered closed and her breathing evened out, his hands still cradling her face. He told himself it was to ensure that Vassanna stayed asleep, but if he were honest, he simply didn't want to let go.
He brushed his thumb along her cheek and the tattoos embossed on her skin. The urge to press his lips to those diamond-shaped marks seized him so strongly that he almost gave in before catching himself at the last moment. What was wrong with him?
Standing abruptly, he stalked to the fireplace to pace. The ghost of Vassanna’s body, soft and warm in his arms, haunted him, and the heat that rushed to his face and ears rivaled that of the fire before him.
———
Hours later—long after the sun had set and the fire died down—their bags lay packed by the door, ready to leave at a moment’s notice should the need arise. Vassanna had slept through it all, waking only for dinner and a short explanation. Theron mulled over her words while he prepared for bed.
We’re trained in whatever aspect of magic comes naturally to us, so we try out many different things as children. My mother’s a Healer, but all my healing tonics made my classmates ill. She had chuckled ruefully. My training was focused on combat after that.
My sister, she’s a ghost—she can disappear into the shade of a tree and no one would ever see her again if she didn’t wish it. She bends the light, somehow. I don’t understand, but it’s impressive.
I can’t hide within the light like her, but I can make myself look… Vassanna had trailed off, a thoughtful look on her features. Inconspicuous, unassuming. I’m still there in plain sight, but it’s almost as though people overlook the fact that I’m there.
A yawn had interrupted her explanation. It’s not as natural for me as combat magic, so while I can do it, it’s exhausting. Moreso if I’m trying to keep more than just myself concealed. But seeing as we’re too close to Korriban Hold for my liking, it’s been necessary to keep us safe from notice—or capture.
Back in the present, Theron stretched and yawned. Climbing gently into the bed so as to not disturb her rest, he chuckled at the loud snore from his bed partner.
Vassanna mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over, facing him. The covers tangled around her waist and she shivered at their loss, goosebumps skittering across the bare skin of her arm.
With a soft grin, he pulled her side of the covers up, tucking her in, and was nearly lost when she sighed contentedly in her sleep, shifting closer to him. He gently swept the tangled hair from her face, smoothing it back and behind her ear as she did whenever it was loose.
Resting his hand lightly along her jaw, Theron inspected his bodyguard, lover, and—dare he say—his friend. She looked so calm, so peaceful in sleep; carefree, almost. That she would quietly sacrifice so much of herself touched him, twisting something in his chest and making it hard to breathe.
The need to hold her close threatened to overwhelm him. He resisted, however, content to brush his thumb against her cheek instead.
For the prompts: [ WAIT ]: realizing the receiver is about to leave the room, the sender hastily reaches out and catches their wrist, preventing them from continuing their departure.
For Theron/Sanna in whatever universe speaks up
“Well then,” Theron said, “the battle plan is set, provided the scouts come back with the information we’re expecting. Until then, dismissed.”
He could see pride in his mother’s eyes, mixed with sorrow—she’d never enjoyed the idea of him leading an army to battle. As this seemed to be his fate, however, he’d do the best he could.
The assembled group of advisors and Sentinels bowed to their king, sending a shudder through Theron at the responsibilities the title implied; would he be able to live up to their expectations?
They made their way out of the planning tent, located near the back of the field. A single Sentinel hung back, removing her helmet and tucking it beneath her arm. Her long dark hair was braided around the top of her head.
“A moment of your time, your majesty.”
As they were alone, Theron allowed himself a smirk. “For you, Sanna? Always.”
She didn’t return the smile, a frown twisting her beautiful features. She closed the distance between them, dropped her helmet to the table, and took his face in her hands, kissing him soundly.
Well, this was a pleasant surprise.
“Be careful out there,” she gasped between kisses. “The moment they realize who you are, you’ll be targeted by everyone on the battlefield.”
“Kaedan and Traless will keep me safe.”
She pulled away to meet his gaze, her hands still cradling his cheeks. “I mean it, Theron.”
His arms encircled her waist, drawing her near, and he kissed Sanna again. “So do I.” Resting his forehead on hers, they stood, wrapped in each other, for long moments. Stars, it felt so good, so right having her in his arms.
“I love you,” she whispered.
His heart processed the words first, skipping and leaping for joy in his chest. Then his mind caught up in the space of a heartbeat and he recoiled in horror: had she never heard the ballads and stories of warriors who declared their love before battle? Most of them never returned!
In an attempt to be helpful, Theron’s imagination supplied an image that belonged in the ballads: Vassanna, his knight, his guard, fallen on the battlefield. Fear, cold and sharp, twisted in his gut.
“No,” he hissed through gritted teeth. He wouldn’t, couldn’t let that happen.
Surprise ghosted over her features before she smoothed them into a pleasant mask. Bowing her head sharply, she murmured, “As you say, your majesty.” She pivoted abruptly, snatching up her helm as she strode from the tent.
Cursing as he realized what he’d just done, how he’d reacted to her declaration of love—love!—Theron called out, “No, wait!”
Her steps never faltered and he darted after her. Plunging out from the tent flaps, he caught her wrist a few rushed steps later. “Sanna, wait,” he said.
She stopped but didn’t turn to face him, and he sighed. He’d royally messed this up.
“I didn’t—”
“Your majesty! Two of the scouts have returned!” The unexpected messenger distracted Theron enough that Sanna pulled her arm from his grasp and stalked off. He watched her leave, regret and shame drowning him: none of this was how it was supposed to have gone. He had been trying to tell her for weeks how he felt—he loved her, dearly, desperately—but the words had stuck in his throat every time.
“Your majesty?”
Right: the messenger, the scouts, the impending battle. Theron sighed again. “Yes, thank you. Have the advisors convene. I’ll be waiting.”
His gaze searched for Vassanna once more, but she was lost to the chaos of a full war camp.
Please, he begged whatever higher power would listen, let me have a chance to fix this.
He glanced around once last time before heading back into the planning tent.
Don’t let this be the last time I see her. Please.
A heaviness filled the room in Castle Organa. Despair and loss filtered through the air like dust on the breeze.
“I think it’s time I stop this insanity,” Theron murmured. He sat hunched over the desk in his room, maps and lists strewn about, his head buried in his hands.
Vassanna looked up from mending her gambeson, uncertain she had heard him correctly. “Stop what?” she asked. Unease settled in the pit of her stomach: she had a bad feeling about this.
“We are out-manned and out-weaponed.” He looked up at her, dropping his hands to the table. “The king has servants and spies everywhere. Our every step has been dogged by his people and death has followed in our wake.”
The destruction of Uphrades last week had hit them both hard: the people of the town had joyously welcomed them, offering food and a place to stay. Eager to aid the prince in his bid to remove the Shadow King from power, a small feast to laud their future liberators had been hastily prepared and enjoyed by all.
The king had sent his armies and mages to destroy the town a day later, and only by the sacrifice of the innkeeper were she and Theron able to escape alive.
“What are you saying?” Vassanna asked softly.
“I’m saying that I will no longer lead this rebellion.” Theron’s response was dull and hollow, his forlorn gaze reflecting the gloom in his heart. “I cannot bear more losses for my sake.”
She had learned during their travels that, though he was witty and irreverent, he had a gentle heart; it seemed this new grief had broken it.
What could she say that would make it better? Nothing she could do could bring those people back. The only thing to do was hope that they were in a better place and make their deaths worth it, make it worth something by removing the Shadow King.
“Theron, do you truly believe that if you stop fighting, there will be no more losses, no more death by the king’s hand?”
“Perhaps.”
To her mind, ‘perhaps’ wasn’t good enough; to justify stepping aside, he needed to be completely certain.
“How many lives has he destroyed to remain in power? It will only continue!” She stood, setting aside her gambeson, trying to control her anger and frustration; the only ones who stood to benefit from the Shadow King remaining in power were the small group of cronies who did his bidding without question.
“Not if I tell the kingdom to—
“You would have us bow to him? Never!” she snarled, pacing back and forth, stalking the room. “Someone else will step up to lead if need be, but you are the rightful king.” Her finger pointed at him accusingly. “You are the one the people will rally behind.”
“Yes, they will, and they have,” he hissed. “And they’ve paid the price for it—too high a price!”
“No, you can’t give up!” she cried. “You must do this. Don’t you see what lengths he’s willing to go to, just to remain in power?” She gestured around, pointing out her damaged armor, the lists of dead and captured, the maps depicting the spread of the vile king’s influence, before dropping her hands to her sides.
“You’re our only hope,” she whispered.
“It’s too much.” He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’m one person. How can I hope to fix all that he’s destroyed, all that he’s corrupted?”
“With help! From me, from advisors and others that you trust. From the Sentinels. No matter what you think, there is no way on this earth that you can possibly be a worse king than Tenebris,” Vassanna said, choking on the lump in her throat. Did Theron truly have so little faith in himself? He must see reason. Surely he knew all the evil deeds the king had done to those in this kingdom.
“Will you murder people who speak out against you?” she asked. Theron looked aghast as she continued, the volume of her voice growing with each question. “What about to stay in power: who will you kill to keep yourself as ruler? What about the innocents who happen to be in the way? Will you threaten them, murder them, if they become inconvenient?”
She was shouting now, shaking with rage at Tenebris and his crimes, as well as desperation: Theron couldn’t walk away now, their people needed him on the throne instead of the current monster. She needed the Shadow King gone and a kinder, more honorable ruler in place. Theron had been her hope that it could happen, and that she could help bring about change for the better. “Would you turn to blood magic, twisting people to your will? You would abandon these people who need you because you fear for their safety. What safety do they have now?”
“Blood magic?” Theron’s voice was faint, shock and surprise clear on his features. “How do you know he uses blood magic?”
Her stomach dropped and she froze: she had revealed too much. What parts of her past could she tell him and still keep his respect? He was too clever by far; he’d see through any lies she tried to spin and would want a full explanation.
“Vassanna?” His voice grew hard, insistent. “How do you know?”
Memories she’d tried desperately to forget flooded her view. Their accompanying screams of pain and terror drowned out his words, blending into the ringing in her ears. Shame and horror swept through her. Oh, gods, he can’t know, she couldn’t tell him—what would he think of her? She couldn’t meet his gaze, her vision fixed firmly in the past.
“It hurt, you know.” The words slipped out in a whisper before she could stop them, bottled up as they had been for so long. “Fighting his control, trying to break free. It hurt.”
Her voice broke. She wrapped her arms tight around herself to keep from shattering along with it. If he must know what happened, she could at least reassure him that she had tried to resist, to fight back.
Oh stars above, it was too much. She couldn’t breathe.
Crossing quickly to the open window in his room, she rested her shaking hands on the sill, taking large gulps of fresh air.
Just tell him and get it over with; that was the only thing to do. Squaring her shoulders, Sanna took one more deep breath and gathered her courage.
“A year or so ago, Provost Marshall Tol Braga and the Sentinels received credible intelligence that two of the king’s closest advisors would be vulnerable at Arkanis Fortress, where they had gathered to plot against us.” The words came out wooden, stilted, but she confessed them nonetheless. “A small strike team was dispatched to capture or kill them, capture preferred. I was selected for the team, which was a great honor. But by the time we realized our informant had been compromised, it was too late.”
She spoke of her team: caught in the trap and subsequently ensnared by the Shadow King's blood magic. How he had bent them all to his will. How she had struggled in vain for months, committing foul deeds as he commanded.
How she was broken.
How one of the King’s own men had severed the hold on her and helped her escape. How her new mission became the rescue of her lost team.
(She left out the part where, though she had succeeded in bringing her team home, none of them had quite regained the complete trust and acceptance enjoyed before their capture. The bond joining the four of them to the Sentinels was tarnished now, rusted and worn thin in places.)
Leaning against the windowsill, Vassanna watched as the sun set, a perfect reflection of her life with the Sentinels—and her time with Theron: ending in a blinding blaze. The silence weighed heavy between them.
Setting aside dreams of atonement, of retribution against Tenebris by placing his rival on the throne herself, she cleared her throat.
“The Organa lands are well-protected, the castle doubly so. You’ll be safe here until Orgus can send a replacement guard.” Somehow she kept her voice steady, still avoiding Theron’s gaze.
“Replacement?”
She couldn’t quite read the tone in his voice, but didn’t trust herself to look at him.
“It may take him a few days, but as I said, you’ll be safe here. And Orgus will understand your request for a new bodyguard.” Sanna swallowed hard. “As will I.”
“Why do I need a new guard? Are you quitting?”
She turned around, confused. “Did you not hear anything I said to you?”
“Yes. I heard that you were captured by the enemy while on a dangerous mission, you were made to comply against your will.” Theron ticked off the list on his fingers as he continued. “You managed to escape, went back to free your cohort, and are still one of the best damn Sentinels we’ve got.” He shifted his weight to the side, crossing his arms on his chest. “What part did I get wrong?”
Theron left out the part where he wanted to hunt down each of her captors, to hurt them as they’d hurt her. He didn’t think it would help the situation, though.
She stared blankly ahead, confusion writ plain on her features, and he continued with his reassurance.
“Orgus trusts you with both my life and the future of this kingdom. That alone would have been more than enough for me.” He took a slow step towards her—she looked as skittish as a deer—and took her cool hands, still trembling, into his own. “I have trusted you with my life since I met you,” Theron continued softly, “and that trust only grows each day.”
It wasn’t often that a person bared their soul, especially so painful a portion, to another so completely and he’d never felt so humbled.
“I’m not certain that ‘thank you’ is the right thing to say, but thank you for trusting me in return.” He ran a hand up her arm, thumb brushing her shoulder in encouragement. She still wouldn’t meet his gaze and concern—worry—tightened its grip on his chest. He cradled her face in his hand. “Vassanna?”
“It doesn’t bother you?” she whispered, brows furrowed. “How can it not bother you?”
“Well, of course it bothers me,” Theron started, but paused as her features went blank, her jaw clenching. Had she flinched away from his remark? Choosing his next words cautiously, he forged ahead. “It bothers me that you suffered through that ordeal, that you were hurt.”
Sanna glanced up finally, finally and he found surprise in her wide violet eyes. Stars above, he could get lost in those eyes, but now they were glistening, filling with tears. Words failed him, and in their stead, he pressed his lips gently, tenderly to her forehead before pulling her close and holding her safe in his arms.
Tagged by both @captainderyn and @jbnonsensework -- thank you! Have some sentences from the mf!au:
“As you say, your majesty,” she bit out, bowing low to Theron.
He sighed. “Sanna—”
“After you, my lord.” She snapped the door open and gestured for him to lead the way, plastering a smile on her face.
Heaving another sigh, he shook his head and walked out the door. She followed, somehow managing to keep herself from slamming it closed in her frustration.
Tagging @keldae @queen-scribbles @commander-krios and @starknstarwars
