They sail to Chandrila, casting their surnames overboard and trading their coin for a small beachside cottage with only one bed. Sometimes Rey wakes screaming, rotted plums on her lips. Ben holds her until the nightmares dissolve and the sea lulls her back to sleep. At night, she doesn't shy away from his touch at night, but awkwardness settles around them with the morning fog. The Force may heal living creatures, yet it cannot repair their ruptured trust.
That comes with time. To Ben's credit, he doesn't push her. He allows her space to lounge under the gnarled tintolive tree that grows alongside their cottage. He brings her orcanthus seeds from the market and clears the balmgrass from their yard so she can plant them in the spring. He introduces her to the seed seller, a woman aptly named Rose, who becomes a fixture at their cottage. He lets Rey grow, along with the seeds, into a version of herself she never thought she could become. Instead of expensive perfumes, she smells of dirt and sea-salt. Instead of keeping elaborate gowns clean, her skirts hems grow muddy and sandy by turns until she adopts a tunic and breeches made popular among the lower classes. Instead of acquiescing to other's tastes, she practices developing her own. Through it all, Ben stays by her side, a guide and supporter, never an emperor.
One night under a blanket of stars enveloping the sky, her lips find his again. It's softer than their first kiss, less certain but more understanding. Her lips are chapped, his hair windblown, but they learn how to fit together again like they did so easily a continent away.
In the years that follow, he teaches her how to swim. She tells him old children's stories and learns to best him with a sword. In her heart, Rey knows she won't stop looking over her shoulder, but when old fears strike, she grounds herself in the icy ocean's surf, in Ben's warm touch and the crinkles bordering his eyes when he smiles.
Some days they wake early to tend their garden, visit the market, walk the shore at sunrise. Other days they lounge in bed until the sun peaks above their little hut, exploring new ways to affirm their feelings for each other in the way their bodies meld.
So this is happiness, Rey realizes one day—weaving their own glittering threads to tether themselves together, threads woven from a thousand shared smiles and a thousand shared nights. They need no magic to pledge their vows. Vows written in the gentle pressure of Rey's hand against Ben's back. Vows baked into the honey cakes he learns how to make for her, working by trial and error until they melt in her mouth. Vows knitted into their skin as they heal each other's wounds in flurries of purple and red sparks.
They've traded their royal heritages for a hut by the ocean, so when they marry, there are no brocade gowns or embroidered tunics, no Coruscanti rings to exchange or Chandrilan net-weaving rituals to perform. Their ceremony is simple, a local Pontifex speaking the same vows that Ben's parents exchanged years before on Chandrilan soil. They seal their promises with a kiss that tastes like sunlight.
Of her own volition she gives her heart to Ben and learns the truth of Maz's wisdom: for what she gives him, she receives in equal measure forevermore.
Sending thanks to my alpha and beta readers, astraea and Padawan_Writer, as well as the wonderful RFFA mods who organized this event! If y'all are in the mood for more Reylo stories, check out the 2021 RFFA Valentine's exchange, To Find Your Kiss, on AO3.