Chapter Text
The dark rider came from the East, in mid-afternoon. He came alone, black cloak fluttering behind him, looking like the shadow of a hawk sweeping over the barren hills. His horse was flat-out galloping across the countryside. He didn’t come by the road, which swept southwest, around the mountains. He came across the foothills – he’d crossed the mountains, the shorter, but far harsher, route to Jakku.
Rey watched him from atop an outcrop, with a sense of detached curiosity. A lone rider poised little threat to the village, and in any case, he was riding from the East. The raiders came from the North, and in great numbers. She didn’t care to meet him alone, in the hills, though, so she regarded his progress for a moment longer before tugging the reins and turning her own mount around. He was riding hard, and her horse was admittedly old and thin, but she had a head start, and she knew these hills better than anyone.
She’d been riding and playing in these dry, dusty hills her whole life. Her adoptive father hadn’t had the heart to make much of a lady of her. Every morning, without fail, she’d studied her letters and arithmetic and languages. After her noon meal, he hadn’t known what to do with a little girl, and so she’d become a rapscallion. Helping the serfs with their work seemed infinitely more interesting than needlework or painting, so she’d endlessly pestered the stable boys, been thrown off a pony more times than she could count, picked vegetables with the old women, brought goats in for the night, and hunted rabbits in the short, stubby bushes that dotted the rocky, sandy soil.
Luke was dead, now. They’d buried him in the hills, without much ceremony, three weeks ago. He’d seemed to know his death was imminent, retreating to his room and sitting deep in thought, barely eating. On the last day, he’d sent a mysterious letter, via horseback courier, and then wordlessly gone to bed, and expired during the night.
This dark rider wasn’t their courier returned to them. Rey knew, though, that he must have something to do with Luke’s letter. There was no other reason to ride over the mountains to the far reaches of the Empire.
She circled around the village, rather than cut through it, pushing the old horse into a reluctant canter. Jakku was little more than fifteen or twenty stone cottages, shanties, and sheds, huddled in a dip in the hills. It sat in a hollow, sheltered from the wind and sandstorms, and at the north end, on the lip of the hollow, was the manor house. It was far too humble to be called a manor house, but it did sit on an outcrop, with a view over the village, the hills, and the snow-capped mountains beyond, giving it some appearance of importance.
Rey rode around the back of the manor, urging the animal under her up the hill. The barn and dusty yard were quiet as she slung her leg over the side of her still-moving horse and slid to the ground. Three or four years ago, this area to the rear of the manor would have been bustling. Jakku had never been rich, but it had been industrious, at least, and the manor had been the epicenter of all activity.
Now, it was dusty, and dry. She couldn’t remember the last time it had rained. The cattle and goats and horses had dwindled in numbers, succumbing to the drought. People had begun to dwindle too – to old age, or sickness, or they’d simply slip away during the night to eke out their existence elsewhere. Somewhere that wasn’t so dry and dusty and hot, likely.
The old horse groaned with relief when she lifted the saddle off his back. He ambled into the corner of the barn, nibbling at the scraps of hay on the floor. Rey frowned at him, counting his ribs. The years-long drought had made whatever grass grew in the hills wither, and they couldn’t afford barley or oats.
She shook off thoughts of all the things they couldn’t afford – Luke had always managed their finances, and she couldn’t quite mount the courage to look at the ledgers yet, knowing their situation was likely dire – and crossed the yard purposefully. She ducked into the narrow door cut into the limestone walls, shouting for her old nursemaid.
“Maz!” No answer. She wiped sweat off her brow. It was nearly as hot in this, the kitchen, as it was outside. “Maz!”
The short, shriveled woman appeared, to her left, holding a ladle and frowning. She was the one responsible for the ungodly heat in the kitchen – embers were glowing in the fireplace, and a watery stew hung over it, suspended in a pot by a crude iron hook. “Don’t yell.”
“There’s a rider coming from the East.” Rey grabbed the loaf of coarse, brown bread on the counter, famished. As she stuffed a chunk in her mouth, she made a face. Even the bread tasted sandy.
“That was for dinner.” Maz had been the only feminine influence in her life, and although she’d utterly failed at instilling any decorum in Luke’s ward, she’d at least insisted on basic manners.
“He’s riding hard. He’ll be here soon.” Rey spoke through her mouthful. Maz looked like she might scold her for that, but she dropped it, processing this news, instead. A stranger in Jakku was exceptionally rare, and usually it meant nothing but trouble.
“Alone?”
“Alone.” Rey perched on the wooden table as she ate, too hungry to mind the awful taste of the bread.
Maz paused for a moment, deep in thought, and then said, “Clean up. I’ll tell the Peti boys to go meet him at the gate.”
“I’ll go.”
“You’ll clean yourself up for an audience with our guest.” Maz’s tone brooked no argument, but Rey couldn’t resist.
“Our guest?” She scoffed. “Since when do I entertain guests? He’s probably a courier.”
Maz looked almost offended. “Since your father died.”Rey went silent, cowed, and Maz went on. “You are all that’s left. You are the representative of your father’s house.”
“That’s not women’s work.” Rey murmured, defiantly. She was right – she had inherited her father’s fiefdom, and by extension his serfs and responsibilities as a feudal lord. However, if her inheritance laid anywhere but a remote village in northwest, she’d have been married off to a man who would become the feudal lord before she could even bury her father.
Maz practically growled. “I’ll be damned if I didn’t raise you to be capable of this.” She flapped her hands. “Go. Out of those old leggings.”
Rey obeyed, leaving the stifling heat of the kitchen, and moving down the relatively coolness of the dark, long passageway. Rooms branched off of it, mostly empty or used for storage. Luke’s room was shut up, too. She remained in her small childhood bedroom, unable to accept that this was now her house, and hers alone.
In her room, she stripped off the leggings in question, hanging them on the line by her window to air out. Water was too precious to wash clothes with, or bathe with, these days. She didn’t even wrinkle her nose at the scent of her own sweat, now. The kirtle she pulled from her chest at least smelled somewhat fresh – likely because she hadn’t worn it in months.
She had never liked dresses, and didn’t want to put this one on, now. She stood naked in front of the window, searching the hills for the dark rider.
He was nearing the gates. She saw the Peti boys – the strongest, gruffest boys in town, a wise choice of a greeting committee by Maz – walking towards him. He pulled up his horse, and she could just make out that he wore a dark cowl over his head. She snorted. Not only was he a stranger, then, but he was a stranger from far away. No one from this part of the Empire would think to wear black clothes, let alone a heavy, dark cowl, in this climate.
She wiped her face on the damp rag in a clay dish by her bed, then ran it over her sweaty arms and stomach, realizing the dust and her sweat had made a kind of mud on her skin. Nimble fingers collected her hair, sweat-damped, into three buns, and then, there was not putting off getting into the dress. Once it was on, she knew, she would look as much like a lady as she was ever going to.
It was as bland and sand-colored as her leggings and shirt had been – fitting, for Jakku – but unbearably more hot, with long sleeves and two layers of fabric wrapping around her torso. It felt like they were suffocating her. It was too big, too – she’d never been very big, but these lean years had made her even a little smaller – and she needed to belt it to avoid swimming. As it was, the fabric pooled on the ground and tripped her.
This rider could have come bearing good news, or candy – that rare treasure that merchants sometimes brought through Jakku – and she still would have hated him, for being the reason she had to put on a dress and pretend she knew what she was doing, managing her father’s land. She heard the clamor of the big, wooden front door opening, and the distinctive sound of boots on stone. He was here, then.
Rey hesitated before entering the main hall, feeling like an imposter. She wasn’t even sure how to introduce herself, let alone how to hold an audience. Luke rarely entertained guests – as strangers rarely came to Jakku with good intentions – but she could remember a few occasions. She’d always been the child half-hiding behind the doorframe, watching her solemn, bookish father play the role of feudal lord. Now, it seemed, that was her role to play, although hardly an appropriate one for a slip of a girl. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, and moved, as imperiously as she could, into the hall.
If the rider’s shadow had looked like that of a hawk flying over the desert, he looked even more like a bird of prey now. The hall was the largest room in the manor, and he seemed too big for it, tall and swathed in black. She couldn’t miss the broadsword sheathed at his side, even though he’d made an obvious effort to conceal it in the folds of surcoat. He seemed to blot out the sun that streamed through the windows.
This man regarded her in the dim light very seriously, but, to his credit, did not blanche or laugh at her size and age. “My lady.”
Rey frowned. His bow was a bit sardonic. It wasn’t quite deep enough to be sincere, and it wasn’t fast enough to just be sloppy. That, and the quirk of his eyebrow, told her that he was amused to be addressing her as a lady.
She tried to meet his eyes without craning her neck. “What brings you to my village?”
There went his eyebrow again. “Your village?”
“My father is dead.” She kept her voice flat and emotionless, and was quite proud of that. “So it is my village.”
“Then you should have a husband.”
“I do not.” She said it too quickly, too sharply, and then sucked in a breath, wondering if she’d revealed too much. She wasn’t naïve enough to think that a young woman, alone on her fiefdom in the desert, without a husband and protection, wasn’t a tempting target for vagabonds and n’ar-do-wells. And this strange man still had not announced himself.
He seemed to sense her fear, or perhaps he saw her eyes widen and jaw clench. “I mean you no harm. But you will have a husband, my lady. That is why I am here.”
Rey faltered for a moment, confused as to exactly what he meant and fearing the worst – that he was an opportunistic traveler, apprised of her new situation, who had come to marry her and steal her land. “You… you cannot be serious.”
“Your guardian’s last letter was well received in the capital.” The rider settled his hand on the hilt of his sword, as if by habit, and Rey couldn’t help but flinch. “When the Emperor heard that an heir of the great house of Kenobi lived, and alone, in this gods-forsaken place – ” Rey glared at that remark “– he sent me riding here.”
Rey almost laughed, feeling a little relieved that there had been some mistake. “I am – I was Luke’s ward. I am heir to no other house.”
“My uncle never told you of your parentage?” The man looked genuinely surprised.
“Your uncle?”
“Lord Skywalker was my uncle.” The rider suddenly seemed to remember himself. “Forgive me. I haven’t introduced myself.”
“Neither have I.”
“You need no introduction, my lady.” He skimmed his eyes up and down her, sizing her up, and she noticed. “You are Reyna Kenobi.”
“No.” She blew out her breath, exasperated. He seemed to ignore her.
“I am Captain of the Imperial guard.” He inclined his head slightly, as if doing her a courtesy, and it occurred to her that he was imperious by nature. She was trying to exude authority, but that air came to him naturally. “And I am here to deliver a message on behalf of the Crown Prince.”
Rey did laugh, this time, at the sheer absurdity of this conversation. “Oh.”
“He proposes marriage.” The captain looked perfectly serious. When she didn’t react, he added, as if she was not quite bright, “To you, my lady.”