"What is your name?" The question was gentle, and Rey wondered how long he had waited to ask, her fingers tracing a small brooch, trying to remember if this was the fourth or fifth piece she had recommended and if he had picked one already. She plucked it up, passing it to him to look over.
"Rey. What is yours?" She knew that Phasma would surely scold her later for talking to this odd man, but she couldn't find it in herself to care—it was exciting, talking to someone outside of her family, especially a man. Her grandfather kept her practically hidden, insisting that it was for the best, that it'd keep her safe.
The man's face brightened at her question and he grinned as he accepted the brooch, nodding serenely to himself. "My name is Finn. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Rey." He glanced back at the jewelry in his hand, look solemn as he turned it over, trying to inspect it thoroughly. Rey felt her curiosity stir once more, watching him hem and haw over the brooch as if his decision would change his life.
"Who is the jewelry for?" The question came out before she could rein it in, the young noblewoman all but slapping a hand over her mouth in mortification as Finn looked up, a bit startled. But then there was that smile again, that nervous laughter, and he turned away for a moment, handing the vendor a few coins, seemingly having made up his mind.
"It is a bit, ah, odd to explain. You see, it's not quite for a lady—" Suddenly there was a yell, a commotion in the center of the crowded square, and a man burst from the crowd, his olive skin flushed with laughter and effort as he panted for air, the satchel at his side hitting his hip as he ran. His eyes brightened considerably as his eyes found the swarthy man at Rey's side, and with a few short strides, he joined them, clapping a hand down on the other man's shoulder.
"Finn! There you are!" He lowered his voice, muttering quickly now, almost darkly, his sunny mood gone for the moment. "I couldn't find a maid able to write the note. Well, in faith, I found several maids who could write, but none with the humor to write it. I was slapped by one for my impudence."
Rey could feel her eyebrows lift, smirking now as she looked at her companion and then his friend. Indeed, there was a red welt on the newcomer's cheek, his dark curls making the mark that much more noticeable. So they are rogues, but well off ones. She huffed, amused, fixing Finn with an exasperated look, her humor making it softer.
The other man didn't seem to take notice, muttering to himself, even as his friend nudged him. He paused now, glancing at Finn's stricken and embarrassed face. "What?"
Finn cleared his throat, forced a smile as he turned to the girl, sweeping an arm out towards his friend. "Poe, this is Lady Rey. Lady Rey, this is Poe Dameron, pain in the side and—"
"And nephew to the prince. My lord." Despite the oddness of the situation, Rey dropped into a curtsey, averting her eyes. Of course—the first day Phasma allows her to come to market with her is the day she meets the prince. There was a sly thought that tugged at her lips with amusement, the lady hoping she wouldn't laugh. Suddenly, I'm not overdressed for market, am I, coz?
"Please, please, don't bow. I'm a rascal compared to my uncle." There were hands on hers pulling her upright, the man's grin charming and dimpled, his eyes interested as he looked her over. "I hope Finn wasn't bothering you. I know him to be a gentleman, though any man would lose their head and their manners from your beauty."
Rey allowed her eyes to roll, her cheeks flushing in pleasure regardless. She knew that he was only trying to be polite, to be charming, and despite herself, she had to admit that it was working. Finn coughed again, and it seemed to pull her out of the compliment's moment, her eyes returning to him.
"The lady was helping me pick out the jewelry for your…ah… gift." Finn stroked his chin, exchanging a glance with Poe that seemed to be an entire conversation, quiet, thoughtful, secret.
"Did she?" There was that interest again, and the young royal leaned in close, Rey pulling back despite herself. "My lady, can you write?"
"Aye, if I know the language and the letters." There was a worried, almost incredulous look from the two men, and she couldn't help but laugh at their faces. "Yes, I can write."
Poe brightened instantly, reaching for his satchel and shoving a hand within, presumably to find parchment and a quill. He paused for a moment, his smile sheepish. "I forget myself. You must wonder what we want you to write…especially since other women refused."
"That is true." Rey faltered, eyes darting away and searching for her cousin. She must have wandered off with those merchants. She turned back to the men, smiling despite the gnawing feeling in her stomach. "What impudent thing do you wish me to write?"
"Nothing too impudent…more so cruel." Poe plucked up the brooch from Finn's offering hand, nodding contently before looking back at Rey. "Finn has a kinsman who is hopelessly in love with a noblewoman who, needless to say, does not return his affections. He's insufferable for her, so we decided to provide a little bit of relief and send him a love note and token. Perhaps from her, perhaps from a mystery woman." He waggled his dark brows at her, his smile contagious, a grin settling on Rey's cheeks unbidden.
"I see. And who is the lady your kinsman is in love with, Finn?" The man laughed despite himself at the question, running a hand through his hair.
"Perhaps you've heard of Lady Bazine Netal?" The men watched Rey's lips pucker and her brow furrow as she sighed. "I'll take that as a yes." There was amusement tinging the words and the lady couldn't help but throw her hands up even as she smiled still.
"She is a cousin of mine. My condolences for your kinsman—Bazine is a fickle, harsh woman. Even if he was an Adonis, your man could never sway her to love." She took a breath, considered the parchment Poe had set before her absentmindedly, plucking up the quill and dabbing it in the little inkpot he had set beside the sheaf.
"It would be better for your poor man if the note was from a mystery woman. In truth, I have never written a love note—I've never been in love—but to make up for Bazine, I shall try." The two men exhaled with relief as the girl leaned forward, careful not to drip extra ink on the page as she formed the first word, and then the next.
She didn't know if she wrote of love well, and she wondered why she had agreed to write the note. Perhaps it was because Rey knew how cruel her cousin could be—vain, cold and generally dismissive of anyone who dared to try breaching her walls. She knew that it was mostly because of the feud, that her family connections made it necessary to keep her guard up, but it made her harsh. Rey supposed she was grateful that she had yet to experience love—her family would always make things difficult, and it was better to be unattached, if not for her heart, then for whoever fell in love with her.
Her handwriting was swooping and graceful, and she nearly lost herself in the motions of writing, watching the black ink bloom into an epistle worthy for any suitor. Too quickly, she found herself at the bottom and she faltered again, wondering what to call herself. What did lovers call themselves? What did secret lovers call themselves? Rey wanted to wonder more, but she could feel the nervousness rolling from her two acquaintances as she paused, and so she simply left her initials. R.K.
She supposed it was best that there was no wax to drip beside her signature like she so often saw her grandfather do at the end of letters. She ran a finger across her ring, the little family crest pressing into her skin as it would have pressed into the wax, giving away her identity.
This experience oddly thrilled her, excitement blooming in her chest and racing to her fingers and toes, up to her cheeks, leaving a tingling flush in its wake. She wondered for a moment what the man's reaction would be to seeing her letter, but she shook the thought away, pushing her hair back once more. It didn't matter, for she would probably never meet him, even if the thought of possibly meeting him filled her with delicious dread, her cheeks flushing once more.
"There you are, my good sirs!" Poe was grinning at her again, reaching for her hand so he could bring it to his lips in thanks. Finn was smiling as well, his eyes roaming over the letter, inspecting it just as he had the brooch. Suddenly, his face changed, his eyes wide, his lips trembling.
"Rey, who is your family?" In an instance, the other man was looking at her curiously, and Rey could feel herself pale, her mouth barely opening before a voice ripped through the marketplace.
"Rey!" The girl whirled around, eyes seizing Phasma who was pushing past commoners and vendors alike, her face a terrifying mixture of concern and rage. There was a clattering behind her now, and she looked back at her new friends, eyes widening and a scream welling in her throat at the sight of their swords, drawn and glinting in the mid morning light.
"Get away from her, you Solo dogs!" In that moment, her cousin's rage made sense, and a strangled cry fell unbidden from her lips. Rey was sure that it no longer mattered to the men beside her that she had treated them kindly—not know that they confirmation of her family line, and she of theirs. Still, she couldn't find it in her to step away, letting herself stay in Phasma's wrathful path as if she was a shield, nothing more.
She didn't have a chance to call for peace, not as Finn's hand found her arm and yanked her back, not as Poe charged at Phasma with a yell, blades clanging as she parried his blow. Rey felt the crush of people around her as merchants abandoned their stalls, taking their customers with them as they fled.
"Stop! Please stop!"
"Put up your weapons, I beg you!" Finn's words mixed with hers, their pleas unheeded as a pair of servants launched themselves at each other, swords drawn and crying for a second man to back them up. There seemed to be men swarming for a fight now, and Rey felt fear seize up in her throat as Phasma fixed her companion with a sneer, spitting at the words.
"My lord, you beg for peace and yet you hold my cousin captive? Your rudeness is expected but this boldness? Unforgivable!" She made to lunge but Poe was quicker, blocking her path, shouting at Finn to run.
The man did, although blindly and carelessly, his grip tightening on Rey's arm instead of loosening. He pulled her under one of the grand archways, away from the open air of the market, into shadows. She could still hear the shouting, could hear cheering as there was a pounding of horse hooves, exclamations of "Lord Solo!" Without Phasma or any of their hired hands in sight, she was sure she would die here, at the hand of her "friend". She forced herself not to think of it, only of living as she attempted to wrench her hand away, her voice hoarse from tears.
"Someone will come looking for me soon if you don't let me go. Do you wish to die?" She hated how ugly the words were, even when spoken with concern and confusion, the man pulling her along, unhearing in his haste. He stopped suddenly, and she collided with his shoulder, crying out with the abruptness of it all.
"Let her go, young sir." The words were cool, the voice familiar, and the girl could've sobbed with the sound of it, calling out instead:
"Grandfather!"
The Kenobi patriarch looked unsurprised at the chaos just beyond them in the square, his pale blue eyes instead settling on the man who had his granddaughter by the arm. His sword was drawn, his face resigned as if he knew that this could only end in blood. Instead, Finn seemed to relax more, his grip on Rey loosening and he even pushed her forward, towards the old man.
If old Ben was surprised, the look was imperceptible, maybe a slightly raised eyebrow at most. The young man shrugged, almost apologetic as he resheathed his sword, avoiding Rey's eyes. "I do not wish to fight you, good sir. I only wished to get the lady out of danger. I know how wild these fights can get."
"Thank you." Lord Kenobi still watched Finn warily, his voice faint, sword still in hand. It was only when the younger man turned away, solemn nodding at Rey, whose lips stiffly echoing her grandfather's words, before darting off, back into the fray, did the old man pull the girl towards him, a sob muffling itself in her hair.
"I was so sure I was going to lose you, Starlight." If she had expected anger, it did not come, her grandfather instead pulling back to inspect her face, sighing with relief at how her face was only pale, not bloody, how she was only shaken. He chuckled at her wide eyes, clucking his tongue. "This is why I don't want you to leave my sight—you always seem to try and befriend trouble."
"Forgive me, my lord." He hushed her, his hand tight around hers as he peered out into the square. His words were soft, unhurried even as he nudged her forward now, his grip on her hand urging her to move faster, the fighting still thick, wrath clouding the air like a noxious fume.
"There is nothing to be only ones who have done wrong are those villainous Solos. Worry not."
"Villains, are we? Turn, Kenobi. Look upon your death."The words were gruff, almost a growl, the timbre low. It reminded Rey of rumbling thunder, and she forced herself to remain still, her legs pushing her to flee. Despite her best judgment, she looked behind them, the tip of a saber pointed at her grandfather's back.
"Solo." With a sweeping hand, the old man pushed the girl behind him and turned as well, leveling a gaze at his enemy.
Lord Solo's face reminded Rey of a storm roughened stone, craggy and stubbled, almost savage compared to her grandfather's smooth cheeks, his soft silver beard. This was a man who had been a soldier, who believed in solving things with action, his sword at the ready in his hand, knuckles white with his grip. The rival lord's dark eyes narrowed to slits, opening his mouth to speak again, but Lord Kenobi waved the impending words off, almost impatient with his own.
"I do not wish to fight with you today. Your kinsman spared my Rey's life-allow me to return that kindness and spare you." Rey watched the other man's face carefully, as if he'd give away some pity, if his face would soften as he glanced at her, studying her as well. She hoped for gratitude, for them to be allowed to pass, but instead there was only a laugh before the man spat at her grandfather's feet.
"It was your niece that started this brawl, villain. Not any of mine. Why should I spare you, old man?"
There was a thundering of hooves behind them, the cries of guards to hold their peace and not raise their hand against another man. Trumpets blared, declaring the arrival of a royal, and the quiet answer to the question that still hung in the air nearly went unheard. But then it was still, and the words seemed to echo in the silence:
"Because the Prince will not spare you if you raise a hand against my family."
The words were cool, measured, too calm for her pounding heart as Rey felt the words escape her lips, her eyes harsh as she stared at the man. She realized what she had just done-talking back to not only a man but the man who hated her for just her name and could kill her where she stood. At the least, she expected a glare, a smack, a command to be quiet, girl spoken through gritted teeth. She lowered her head, waiting for a blow, the slow breathing of the rival lord too loud, too rhythmic as she waited to be rebuked, for some small act of vengeance, even for her grandfather to be ran through for her impertinence.
Instead, the man laughed again, this time lower, softer, out of actual amusement instead of sarcasm. In an instant, his hand was under her chin, his grip pinching, his stare hard as he studied her, smiling all the while. "Cheeky girl, isn't she, Kenobi?"
"Let her go, Lord Solo."
All eyes snapped up at the voice, and Rey felt the air escape her lungs with a whoosh of gratitude as her gaze drifted up to the face of Prince Lor San Tekka. There was a fury building up behind his kind eyes, but he did not speak it as he gestured at Lord Solo to go on, to release the girl.
Solo's hands had just loosened on her face before Rey scampered back, behind her grandfather, dropping a curtsey to the royal Her thanks died on her lips as the crowned man waved it off with a slight smile, the look falling away as he fixed the two patriarchs with a glare.
"Thrice have you disrupted the peace of our city, over nothing more than a petty squabble!" The prince's face reddened, anger tinging his skin as he bellowed at the gathered crowd, the air thick with tension as he continued. "Thrice in the fortnight have you disturbed the livelihood of this fair city, and it ends now! If either you or your families dare start another brawl, I swear that your lives will pay the price."
He sighed, exhaustion flashing across his face, his eyes sorrowful as he looked across his subject as a father would to a naughty child, the wrinkles in his face almost deeper now, as if this feud was slowly draining his life. "For this time, though, put up your swords. Kenobi, come along with me. Solo, I shall send for you this afternoon. As for the rest, depart. We do not need your violence here."
Lord Kenobi turned to Rey, a new worry settling heavy on his brow even as he kissed her's, hand gentle on her shoulder. "Find Phasma and go back to the house. I shall be home as soon as I hear the prince's counsel. Hopefully I am not too late- I should have a guest waiting for me this afternoon, and after all this excitement, I don't want to make you entertain. You need your rest, my starlight."
"I will be fine, grandfather." Rey knew that was quite possibly a lie, the smile she forced on her lips stiff and merely polite, not reaching her eyes. "I do not mind keeping your guest company while you are away. It is an honor to meet with the prince...even if the circumstances are not as honorable."
She felt her voice fall with the thought, and so forced another smile, clutching her grandfather's hands. "No matter what, worry not about your guest. Go to the prince. I will be fine."
Rey wasn't sure if her grandfather heard her, his face dark as he absentmindedly patted her head and turned away, his tread slow, almost labored. She wouldn't dwell on it though, averting her eyes and letting herself drift into the marketplace again. Vendors were returning one by one, merchants grumbling to themselves.
A little up ahead, there was the jeweler that she had visited earlier, now struggling to gather all of her delicate pieces from her overturned table before they were crushed underfoot. Rey rushed forward, hiking up her dress and joining the poor woman on her knees, scooping up the precious metalwork, trying to dust it off the best she could. She could feel tears pricking her eyes, hot and angry, the jeweler's voice quiet in her ears as they worked.
"Don't cry, miss. It was not your fault."
Rey knew that it wasn't her intention, the words soft and sweet and kind, but it just made the tears well up all the more as she sniffled. It was her fault. It was all her name's fault. She couldn't deny it-her family name would only cause suffering for her and anyone who stood too close to her.
She thought back to the letter, cursing at herself with gritted teeth for her damned initials on the epistle written out of fun, out of idiocy. She could only hope that the men would throw the letter out, and if not, that the mystery man would never seek her out. She had hurt enough people today. Rey bent her head down and cried now, the jeweler averting her eyes and patting her shoulder now, saying now more.
When Phasma found her, she was covered in dirt, traces of it smeared across her face as she had tried to wipe her tears away, her eyes puffy, her soul discontent. She knew that there would be a scolding some other time, but for now, her cousin remained respectively quiet as they retraced their steps, following the path back to the grand house, both wishing to erase this morning from their lives.