"The date for your coronation is in two weeks. I've taken the liberty of making some arrangements."
Lady Leia was striding back and forth across the stone floor, parchment trailing from her hands, stabbing at the sheet with her finger as she spoke. Rey was standing in the middle of the room with her arms outstretched, trying to hold still as two women worked around her quickly, stitching and snipping fabric against her form. They had all gasped when she initially unlaced her kirtle- her arms were still mottled with bruises, remnants of the fall from her horse. After a brief interlude of fussing over her bravery, the seamstresses had poked and prodded at her in wonder, remarking that they had never seen a woman so muscular.
It was both uncomfortable and pleasant to be in the company of women again. Two years of roving and training with Luke had made that a rare thing indeed.
Lady Leia paused in front of the fire, hitching the parchment up a bit. Rey was quickly learning that this stately woman's energy and organization were something of a wonder to behold. "Obviously, two weeks is almost no time, but we must move quickly to establish legitimacy. We can alter some of the dresses from your Great-Uncle's Queen- they must be around somewhere- to something more stylish. The Archbishop of Canterbury is riding as we speak to officiate the ceremony." She tapped her fingers to her lip. "I have placed Lady Kitrynn in charge of finding a place for visiting nobles to stay; obviously the Tower doesn't have enough room. The sooner the crown is secured and we can leave here, the better."
Rey couldn't help but agree. Even with her short stay, she already knew the Tower was draughty and damp, the rooms small and uncomfortable, and the kitchens so far that food was inevitably cold by the time it reached the table. All the same, at least until she was confirmed by the Church as God's own anointed, it was safest to be behind six-foot walls. "Where will we move to?"
"Anywhere you please." She gave Rey a deferent nod. "But I would suggest Whitehall. Perhaps Westminster." Pausing to inspect the seamstresses' work, she ran her finger along a few of the finer stitches before she nodded, apparently finding it satisfactory. "I have paid the merchants of London for 500 barrels of wine and two performing troupes for the benefit of the people. This will be in addition to the masques during your procession through the streets-"
Rey interrupted, chewing her lip uneasily. "Does the treasury have the funds for this?"
"My dear girl, absolutely not. But it must appear as though it does, and I am marshalling loans as we speak. Power is about performance."
The seamstresses stepped away, finished with their work. Rey lowered her arms, trying to rub the stiffness from her joints.
Lady Leia stepped forward to help her back into her gown. "And of course, after the coronation itself, there will be your first Feast. The public will view, naturally, and ambassadors and the nobility will be in attendance. They will all be presented to you over the next week, so you will know some names and faces in advance."
Rey was starting to feel vaguely dizzy. "Right."
"Don't fret, your Grace. My son will be there to help."
Staring at the strange beasts lining the tapestries on the walls, Rey found herself not terribly reassured.
The sky was a clear and bright blue as she made her way to the training yard, halberd over her shoulder. It caused something of a commotion when she began her forms; the only woman on the grass, most of the fighting stopped as people turned to stare.
It was hardly the first time this had happened. Thrusting and spinning the staff, she recalled when she had stepped out to train in front of the mercenaries. There had been open mockery until she dealt out a few bruises.
There was the crunch of footsteps behind her. "Not the most Queenly behaviour."
Even without turning, she knew that voice. "And what would you define as Queenly behaviour, Lord Ren?"
"Certainly not wearing men's breeches."
With a spin, she moved the staff of her blade so quickly in his direction that he had to hop back to avoid it. "What a relief, then, that being Queen falls to me and not to you."
His tone was droll. "That's one perspective, your Grace." He still managed to make it sound like an insult.
Gritting her teeth, she paused and faced him. Fully armoured and with his visor down, she couldn't make out his expression. "Do you have something to say to me, Lord Ren?"
"Regretting not having me executed yet?"
"That happens when a man doesn't even give me the respect of showing me his face when he speaks."
Raising his hands to his helmet, he tugged it off. It was her first time seeing him in proper daylight, and she was first struck by how irritatingly perfect his hair looked- how did he manage that? Without the shadows, she could see now that he had small black moles dotted across his face, scattered like a constellation.
In a smooth movement, he tucked the helmet under his arm. "Better?"
She turned away from him. "Debatable."
There was a pause as she resumed her exercises, resolutely determined to ignore him. He was less willing to let the conversation go. "Is this what you used to fight at Bosworth?"
"Yes."
"A curious choice."
She was proud of her halberd. "It extends my reach, to compensate for my height." A problem, no doubt, that he had never come up against.
He clicked his tongue. "Do you use a blade?"
She did. "When necessary."
There was a vague snorting noise from him. Pivoting again, she brought her halberd down over her head and buried it into the ground next to him with a solid thunk. "Boy!" she called out, beckoning over to a young man standing on the sidelines in a dusty white tunic. "What's your name?"
He sprinted over and sunk down in a bow. "B-b-Bobb, I mean, uh, Robbert, your Grace. Eighth of that name in my family."
"Bobb," she said, not unkindly, "would you please go to the Round Tower and have my sword fetched?" She gave Ren a filthy look. "I would do some sparring."
Bobb sprinted off without a backwards glance.
A small crowd was gathering, drawn by the obvious animosity between them. Ren's expression had slid from derision to amusement. "You do realize I'm almost twice your size."
She rolled her shoulders, limbering up. "I've fought bigger."
Bobb returned with admirable speed, holding out her scabbard. As Rey faced Ren and drew the blade, his face immediately darkened in a fury that she didn't expect. "Where did you get that?"
There was a definite shift in the mood of the crowd, sliding from interested to nervous in a moment. They began to back away, as though he had given a signal for them to scatter like chaff in the wind.
Undeterred, she gave it a few practice spins. "Luke gave it to me."
"That blade belongs to me."
Ignoring him, she stepped into position, gesturing him forward. He drew his sword with a snarl and tossed his helmet aside, slipping into position as they circled each other.
She lunged first, swinging her sword over her head as she darted forward; he blocked the blow easily, forcing her to her left. She tried a few more strikes, and again, he merely clashed their blades together and slid hers aside, metal shrieking as they made contact.
When he finally moved into the offensive, it was to do an even sideswipe that she ducked easily. He was clearly used to fighting bigger, slower opponents, men that weren't able to dart away as nimbly she could.
Unable to land a satisfying blow, they circled and circled, slashing at each other while the anxiety of the crowd grew. After one deflecting blow, he suddenly switched his feet and shoved her with his shoulder, swiftly stepping out of reach as she staggered and fell to one knee.
He tossed his hair out of his eyes and sneered. "You don't deserve that sword."
Bloody bastard. She leapt back to her feet and lunged at him again; they locked blades, braced and leaning into the crossed swords until her arms ached.
Closing her eyes, she drew on the core of clean flame that burned in her chest, connecting her to the ground and the soft grass underfoot. With a deep breath through her nose, she calmed herself and drew the tendrils of light through chest, to her hands, letting the power flow through her whole being.
When she opened her eyes again, he was staring at her in blank shock.
Narrowing her focus, she shoved with the light. He staggered, almost as though his feet were yanked out from underneath him, falling against the ground as his sword thumped beside him.
Panting, she held her blade to his nose. "Do you yield?"
Wordless, his stare had changed to something akin to wonder.
Sheathing her sword in a smooth movement, she turned her back on him and marched away.
The introductions came thick and fast. Ambassadors, nobles, attendants, clergy; they were all keen to make their faces known to her and ensure that they would not be forgotten in the coming days.
Many of them blurred together. A few stood out.
The first notable presentation came when she was beginning to drift away one afternoon, thoroughly tired of trying to keep up with the Latin spoken by endless representatives of the Church.
A figure stepped forward at Leia's beckoning, looking nervous. Getting on one knee, he kept his eyes trained on the ground. "Your Grace, I have been recommended by Lady Leia to be Captain of your Guard, with your permission."
She leaned forward out of her chair in interest. He had the most beautiful skin, dark like the Moors from Spain. "What is your name?"
"I am called Finn," he said, with an accent that she couldn't place.
"Well, Finn," Rey said, motioning for him to stand. "I give my permission freely. I am indebted to Lady Leia's advice."
Finn stood stiffly. "As are we to your accession." She gave him her fullest smile and he relaxed slightly. "You are slightly less… Unpredictable than he who came before you."
Rey laughed at that. "I'm glad to hear that. I look forward to working with you."
Finn's returned smile was shy and keen. From that moment on, he became her shadow, constantly present in order to ensure her safety.
The second remarkable introduction came not in her throne room with a crowd watching on, but with a knock late at night. When an attendant opened the heavy door, a man was standing at the arch in a cloak and with his hat drawn over his eyes. As he lifted the brim, she vaguely recognized him as one of the many people pointed out in passing by Lady Leia.
"Your majesty," he began, "might I have a word in private?"
She nodded and the room emptied. Walking to her, he sank into a low bow. "My name is Dameron, your Grace, and I would like to offer the services of my network on these shores and beyond."
She frowned at him. "Your network?"
Raising his head, he grinned at her. "Your Grace, have you ever had need of a spymaster?"
It was the eve of her coronation when she felt it for the first time, a ripple in the air like someone had walked over her grave.
The sensation was unlike anything she had ever grasped before. It could have almost been her own gift, sparking in her skin, if it were not somehow toxic and laced with poison.
Shoving her covers aside carefully in order to not wake the attendant sleeping beside her, she pulled on her slippers, wrapping a cloak around her shoulders. Candle in hand, she walked briskly, determined to find the source of this seeping wound.
She crossed the grass, quickly gesturing to the guards who recognized her with the light held to her face. The sensation led her across the green, to the tower opposite, and up the stairs. The damp of the walls glittered against candlelight as she climbed, flame guttering from the breeze that cut through the arrowslips.
The closer she got, the thicker the feeling became in the air. By the time she reached a slightly open door, it was almost dense enough that it made it difficult to breathe.
Hesitantly, slowly, she peered around the corner.
He stood in front of a roaring fire, knife in one hand stained with dripping blood. As she watched, Ren lifted his other palm, revealing a long red laceration that made her wince in sympathetic pain. Moving deliberately, he pressed his hand to the wall above the fireplace, letting out a long and hissed breath as he dragged a slow and torturous circle onto the stone. When the circle was complete, she felt the air heavily warp and snap; and just like that, the tension eased, the sickly cloud vanished in a moment.
As if suddenly sensing her presence, he glanced towards the door.
Swallowing a gasp, she skittered away and back down the steps. Back in the moonlight with damp grass underfoot, she slowed and made her way back to her bed, trying to understand what she had seen.
Long after she crawled back under the covers, she could feel the flaring glow of her own gift within her skin.
Author's Notes:
I have no idea if you can actually use a halberd the way I describe Rey doing. But I don't care, because in my head it looks badass as fuck and it makes more sense than a pike.
I had a choice of going with traditional and realistic names or giving them a more fantasy/SW tilt. I decided to go with the latter. This is partly because I thought it would look less strange in combination with names like "Rey" and "Kylo Ren", and partly because I didn't want the headache of writing Rey interacting with fourteen different Marys (as would have actually been the case at the time).
When Rey goes exploring at night, she has to be careful not to wake the attendant in her bed because it was quite common- even for monarchs- to have another person under the covers with them (platonically!). Partly for safety, and partly for warmth.