#and when she's young he teaches her how to make all the traditional Knuckles Clan jewelry

[shadamyheadcanons]

Headcanon #284: Heart of Gold

((Inspired by a recent post that shared this cool fact about Amy:

Apparently, one of Amy’s special abilities is “searching for gold.” Who knew?

This headcanon is rooted in the Shadow the Hedgehog route known as “The Black Hero’s Rebirth.” It’s very similar to the “Miracle of Love” route in that Shadow is kind of a dick until he meets Amy and immediately becomes purely heroic for the rest of the run, but this one has the “bonus” of Shadow ditching Knuckles in Glyphic Canyon right before he meets up with her.))

Cross-posted on AO3

--

Amy’s breathless laughter died down as the latest episode of their favorite show drew to a close. She turned her smile Shadow’s way.

“Thanks again for hanging out with me, Shadow. I never have anything to do on Saturdays.” After a moment, her eyes bugged out. “Wait, no! I don’t mean you’re a last resort or anything! I really--”

Shadow held up a hand to stop her. “I knew what you meant. I’m glad to be here.” She sighed in relief.

He almost said ‘I feel lucky just to be a part of your life at all,’ but that felt like a bit much. Instead, he asked, “Why? Are all your other friends busy on Saturdays?”

“Yeah, but I can’t exactly blame them. I never used to be free to hang out on Saturdays. I used to go treasure hunting with Knuckles every week!”

Shadow’s ears perked up. “You did?”

Amy bobbed her head, suddenly looking excited. “You bet I did! One sec...”

She opened a drawer on the underside of the coffee table in front of them. She shoved a few papers aside to reveal an object underneath. “Aha!”

With a flourish, she held aloft a faded red scrapbook. She set it down carefully on the table. Messy handwriting spelled out “Amy and Knuckles’ Treasure Hunting Adventures!” The letters got more cramped as they spread across the cover, as if the writer had run out of space and was struggling to fit the whole phrase. Underneath the title, a barely-legible signature read ‘Amy Rose,’ while Knuckles had signed his own name more neatly beside it. Heart and gemstone stickers peppered the cover. The spine of the old book made a quiet crinkling noise as Amy carefully opened it.

“Aaaand...here it is! This is from our first day!” Amy declared, smiling down at the picture glued to the first page. It showed both Amy and Knuckles looking at least a decade younger than they currently did. Knuckles wore the same cowboy hat and brown jacket he always did for such adventures, and apart from having less height and muscle mass, he looked mostly the same.

Amy was a different story. Her bright smile showed she was missing several teeth, and her quills were wild and sticking out, barely contained by the ribbon she’d tied around them. She wore an oversized hat and jacket that matched Knuckles’ own. The garments dwarfed her tiny frame, but they did nothing to hide her excitement, obvious as it was in her stance and her smile.

“And this was at the end of the day! Knuckles was afraid I wouldn’t be able to handle it or that I’d be afraid of getting dirty, but I sure showed him!” Amy’s grin was proud, but it was nowhere near as wide as the one on her face in the second picture. Patches of dirt covered her fur and clothes. Knuckles was resting an affectionate hand on her hat, as if he were patting her on the head to congratulate her on a job well done. He was matching her radiant smile with a proud grin of his own.

Shadow had long suspected that Amy saw Knuckles as an older brother or even a father figure at times, and the look on her face in the picture said it all. Judging by Knuckles’ own fond gaze, it seemed it wasn’t entirely one-sided, either.

“I was exhausted the next day, but it was totally worth it...Shadow?”

Amy’s inquisitive tone snapped him out of it. He opened his mouth to reply.

This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

He paused, then instead said, “Knuckles looks like he’s your dad.”

Amy burst out laughing. “Don’t tell him that! You’ll make him feel old!” She turned the page. “It was originally supposed to be just a day trip, but it was so much fun that we made it a weekly tradition! Sonic and Tails never wanted to wake up early enough for it, so it was just the two of us.”

She turned page after page, showing pictures of the two of them as the years went by. Amy slowly but surely grew into the hat and jacket, and they both cycled through pairs of boots as they grew out of them. Their grins never faded. They started trying out different silly poses for the pictures as time went on: they’d stand back-to-back, flex their muscles “sarcastically,” or Knuckles would give Amy a piggyback ride. Shadow hid a chuckle at that one.

“And this was taken deep underground in Mystic Cave Zone! It was the first time Knuckles brought me spelunking,” she continued. In the picture, she was happily curled into a snug little nook in a cave wall. Knuckles was crouched just outside of it, and they both wore harnesses and helmets. He was carefully holding the camera to get both of them in the shot. The nervous look on Knuckles’ face as he kept an eye on her made Shadow wonder if she’d wanted to go in the past and this was just the first time he’d said yes. It was clear the day had been special to her; the page was covered in extra pickaxe and flashlight stickers.

Amy turned another page, then gasped. “Oo, this is the day where Cream joined us! We went hiking in the Gigan Mountains that day. Check out all these action shots she and Cheese got!”

The images on the next few pages were a step up. With Cream and Cheese’s aerial mobility, they’d captured some great angles. Apparently, though, the excitement had proven to be too much for them. The last image featured Cream sleeping in Amy’s arms while Knuckles held a drowsy Cheese and took the picture. Nevertheless, the action shots were indeed impressive. One showed Knuckles scaling a wall while Amy leapt up behind him, and another featured Amy using her propeller hammer to cross a gap he was gliding over.

Shadow hummed quietly, impressed. “You really kept up, huh?”

She nodded proudly, beaming. “Not just any hedgehog can keep up with an echidna on a treasure hunt, so I made my own way! I can’t climb as fast as Knuckles can, so I learned my super-high double jump. And I can’t glide like he can, so I taught myself how to propeller-hammer!”

Shadow admired her proud smile and ingenuity. That’s just like you. It doesn’t matter which abilities you don’t have, you always find your own way. I wish I were half as adaptable as you.

“Uh, Shadow? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Realizing he’d been gazing dreamily at Amy, Shadow wiped the look off his face. “It seems like this was really good for you,” he pointed out, hoping to shift the focus.

It worked. Excitement immediately bloomed across Amy’s face once more. “You bet! And it wasn’t just the trips themselves. We found some super cool treasure, too!” She flipped to the end of the book and worked backwards, showing picture after picture of valuable gems, gold, and other minerals. Some especially eye-catching rocks--Amy’s favorites, no doubt--were taped to some of the pages. One of the photographs made Shadow stop her. His eyes shot wide open.

“Is that a Chaos Emerald?!”

“Yup!” she confirmed, beaming. Her grin turned fond as she gazed at the picture of her holding the Emerald aloft while Knuckles grinned up at her, posing proudly with his arms crossed. “Knuckles could sense it, of course, but--!” she paused, holding up a finger for dramatic effect. “He didn’t tell me ahead of time! He put together a bunch of hints to send me on a scavenger hunt, and I found it on my own. It was so much fun!”

Shadow couldn’t help but admire her enthusiasm once more, though he hid his reaction this time. “That’s...actually really sweet.”

Amy bobbed her head. “And that’s not all! Every year for my birthday, Knuckles would make me jewelry with the treasure we found! I still have all of it.” Sure enough, various necklaces, bracelets, and other bits of jewelry were affixed to the pages.

Shadow’s eyes widened. “I knew Knuckles made Rouge’s engagement ring, but I didn’t know he could do all this.”

“The Knuckles Clan wore a lot of it. He’s spent a lot of time working backwards to figure out the methods they used to use. That way it won’t all be lost.”

Shadow nodded as he examined the jewelry in front of him. “Looks like it’s paying off.”

“Mhm! And some of it’s functional, too! I always wear this one.” Shadow looked back up to find Amy was reaching underneath her collar. She pulled out a pendant with a carefully-cut, multifaceted gemstone set into it. “Knuckles made it for my thirteenth birthday with some treasure we found on a week-long trip to Angel Island.” The gem glowed with a dull green luster. Shadow could feel a faint power emanating from it. The energy was weak, but it was there.

He narrowed his eyes. “Is that...”

She shook her head. “Not quite. It’s Mock Emerald. It’s weak, but it can almost match the real thing...and that’s not all!” she declared, clearly excited to share her knowledge. “Ever wonder how I can always find Chaos Emeralds in a pinch?” He nodded, and she looked back down at the pendant. “With a dash of Chaos energy, Mock Emerald can be used to track down the real thing.”

“Really?”

She nodded and smirked. “I can always tell when you have a Chaos Emerald on you. Like right now.” Shadow’s eyes widened at having been caught, making Amy giggle. She looked back down at the pendant. “It’s one of my most prized possessions.”

Shadow’s heart practically melted at her fond expression. I’ve never seen her so happy. “It seems like it meant a lot to you.”

Amy nodded. She looked back to the scrapbook and smiled down at it. Her smile turned more distant than before. “These are some of my most cherished memories. I wouldn’t have half the skills I have now if it weren’t for these adventures.”

Shadow frowned. “So why’d you stop? What happened?”

Amy’s smile turned sad. “Rouge happened.”

Shadow’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

Amy glanced back up at him. Upon seeing his expression, she flinched and waved her hands in panic. “Wait, no! I don’t mean it like that! It’s not like she--she didn’t do anything wrong!” Amy went back to the scrapbook and hastily flipped to the next page. The next picture featured Knuckles, Amy, and Rouge. Rouge was decked out in her own, more stylish treasure hunting gear, and she was leaning on Knuckles, making him blush a little and avert his eyes. Amy was standing on Knuckles’ other side and smiling up at the camera, but it wasn’t as brightly as before. “I was fourteen when Knuckles finally made a move and asked her to join us. It was about time!”

Shadow nodded cautiously. He remembered the two years they’d spent dancing around each other.

Amy turned another page. “She started joining us every week after that. It was fun.”

To anyone else, she would have sounded sincere, but Shadow paid Amy far too much attention to be fooled. He looked over at her in concern, but she kept flipping pages, focusing on the task at hand. As the pictures progressed, Rouge got closer to Knuckles, and after a while, she even shifted to stand between him and Amy. Amy’s smile looked more and more fake with each adventure, but Knuckles seemed oblivious to the change. Rouge’s smirk only grew with time. Shadow’s stomach turned.

Amy winced just slightly at the next picture. She quickly hid the expression, but Shadow saw it. “Right! Uh...this was taken at Labyrinth Zone,” she muttered hastily.

Shadow scanned the picture, expecting Amy to be hiding behind a rock or a ruin somewhere for a joke. “I don’t see you. Where are you?”

“See, half of Labyrinth Zone is underwater. Knuckles can hold his breath for a long time, but we can’t. I sat out so he could lend Rouge his air necklace.” She pointed to a small, vaguely bottle-shaped necklace around Rouge’s neck. It was a little hard to see given that she was practically glued to Knuckles by that point.

Shadow did a double-take and squinted at Amy. “Wait, you didn’t get to go? They left you behind?”

Amy froze for a moment, as if surprised that he’d pointed it out. “Well, I...I mean...” She recovered. “I’m a better swimmer than Sonic is, but hedgehogs aren’t great in water! You know that as well as I do! I only would have held them back.” There was just a hint of pain in her smile. She probably thought she was hiding it well. “Knuckles only has one air necklace, and he’d always wanted to go hunting in Labyrinth Zone. And between you and me...” She held up a hand next to her mouth and mock-whispered, “He swiped some lapis lazuli and cassiterite from their stash and gave it to me. Don’t tell Rouge!” She giggled.

“Mhm...” Shadow crossed his arms, not feeling much better at the admission.

“I got to join them next time, though!” Amy blurted out, trying to change the subject. “I discovered an underground cave when I was hanging out at Big’s house in the Mystic Ruins! We brought Rouge and Knuckles with us the next time. It was a blast!” There were enough images from that trip to fill two pages. Most of them featured the four of them racing around in mine carts: Knuckles and Rouge were cowering in one and holding onto each other for dear life, while Big and Amy shared the other. Amy giggled. “Those two were trying so hard to pretend they weren’t scared. I teased them about it the whole way back! I almost lost my camera, though. Big hooked it on his fishing line to take these.”

Her wide smile had returned, but it faded once more as time went on. “I’d already visited Mirage Road once with Blaze, so I skipped out on that one...and I stayed home when they went to Wild Canyon, too. There was a lot of digging for that.” She let out a weak chuckle. “I’m a force to be reckoned with when I pick up a shovel, but burrowing entire tunnels is a bit much for me...” She rubbed her arm and looked away. “And I skipped out on Sanctuary Falls. It was too high up. They were pretty close by then. I didn’t want them to have to keep an eye on me the whole time.”

After a few more pages, Amy was practically absent. There were a few more trips with Knuckles and Rouge alone, but she eventually reached a blank page and stopped. “That’s about it.”

Shadow’s heart clenched. “That’s it? Why’d you stop?” he demanded, wishing he didn’t know the answer.

She lifted her knees to curl up into a ball. “I dunno, just...I felt like a third wheel. They were finally getting closer, so...” She tugged at a thread on the couch, and her nose wrinkled just slightly. “Plus Rouge and I didn’t get along very well back then anyway. It just got less fun, and I knew how important it was to Knuckles. So I backed off.” She perked up and beamed. “And I was right! They got married just a few years later!”

“But what about you?”

She deflated and tilted her head at his blunt interjection. “What about me?”

He choked, indignant. “It meant a lot to you! It was your tradition. You and Knuckles started it. You’re the one with the scrapbook,” he snapped, gesturing to the old, carefully-maintained book in front of them.

“Well...it was our tradition, but...it’s theirs now,” she muttered, ears drooping. “I just wanted him to be happy. It’s important.”

A growl built up in the back of Shadow’s throat, startling her a little. He grit his teeth. “His happiness is not more important than yours, and hers isn’t, either!”

Amy winced. “Shadow...it’s not a big deal. I...”

“Hmph.” Shadow stood up with a purpose and took her hand to pull her to her feet.

“WHOA! What are you--”

“You need to get changed,” he stated simply, taking out his phone. “Go. I have a phone call to make.”

She choked. “Wait--huh? Why?”

He kept scrolling through his contacts. “Because I’m not letting you go treasure hunting in flip-flops.”

She just stared at him in confusion for a moment, but then her eyes bugged out in realization. “Wait, Shadow, no! You don’t have to--”

“Amy.” He placed a firm hand on her shoulder to stop her, then looked up from his phone. “This is happening. I’m making it happen.”

She just held his gaze for a while. Soon enough, though, her eyes started to water, and she couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across her face. She made a happy little squeal and pulled him into a tight hug, almost making him drop his phone. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

She dashed off to get ready. Shadow managed to hold back his smile until she was out of sight. His customary scowl returned when he looked back down at his contacts list and dialed his best friend’s number. She answered a few seconds later, and he wasted no time. “Don’t leave for your trip with Knuckles yet. You’ll have two more people joining you.” She responded with a confused, slightly whiny protest, and he snarled in response.

“I. Wasn’t. Asking.”

--

Shadow, Amy, Knuckles, and Rouge materialized at the entrance to a wide valley surrounded by towering rock walls. Shadow put away his Chaos Emerald and examined the area, noting the conspicuous absence of the moss-covered stone ruins he’d personally helped Black Doom lift into the sky long ago. He cringed. It just HAD to be Glyphic Canyon, didn’t it?

“Just like old times, eh, Shadow?” Knuckles joked, nudging him with his elbow. Shadow just grunted in response.

“Wait, you two have been here before?” Amy asked.

Knuckles crossed his arms and looked around, probably noting the canyon’s differences just as Shadow had. “We ran into each other here years ago during the Black Arms’ attack, but we got separated pretty quickly.”

Shadow cringed. More like I abandoned you immediately so I could help Black Doom launch a devastating attack on the people of this planet. A planet I’ve grown to love...thanks to her. He peeked up at Amy out of the corner of his eye. Thank Chaos I ran into Amy right after that. If it weren’t for her compassion...

Amy cocked her head, probably wondering why Shadow was staring at her again. She grinned and hopped over to link arms with him. “Don’t worry! You’ve got an expert navigator with you this time. You’ll never get lost with me by your side!”

He nodded his head with a grunt, choosing not to correct her assumption. He subtly admired her smile and let her cling onto him as they approached the first rock wall. He purposely avoided Rouge’s knowing smile.

--

The canyon’s path started out mostly linear, so Shadow had no trouble keeping up at first. As time went on, though, the path got steeper, and sheer cliffs stretched up ahead of them. Without any climbing prowess or absurdly high double-jumping, he was struggling. He improvised using his knowledge from ten years ago, jumping off a few leftover crumbling pillars to make his way upward. Remembering the locations of a few strong updrafts, he used the wind to ascend as he had before. He was still panting before long, though. Luckily, Amy picked up on this, and she hung around to make sure he never got turned around or fell behind. She helped him up some of the steeper cliffs and found shortcuts so they could catch up with the other two when they got too far ahead. He counted himself lucky; without her, he definitely would have had to stealthily use Chaos Control to make up the distance, and he knew he’d never hear the end of it if anyone else found out.

Shadow finally hefted himself up one last ledge to join the other three, trying to hide his heavy breathing. Knuckles smirked at him, not looking winded at all. “Having trouble there, Shadow?” he teased, smirking. Shadow crossed his arms and looked away.

“Hmph. I’m perfectly capable of keeping up on a hike. I handled this place before, and I can do it again.”

“Really makes you respect Amy that much more, huh?” Knuckles replied, clearly seeing through him.

“I have always respected Amy.”

Knuckles looked confused at his blunt reply, while Rouge quietly snickered.

“Well, I think he’s doing a great job,” Amy chimed in shyly, giving him a supportive smile. He nodded in gratitude, trying not to show how flattered he was.

“Especially considering this isn’t really his thing,” Rouge added, then smirked at him. “Something about this really must’ve piqued your interest.”

Shadow rolled his eyes and looked away from her again, afraid he’d snap at her if he didn’t. “So what exactly are we looking for here? You said it was some kind of door, right?”

Knuckles nodded. “It’s right up there.”

He turned around and pointed up at a rock ledge ahead of them. A set of well-worn steps led up to a vaguely rectangular ancient black stone with an all-too-familiar spiky red symbol set into it. Two stone pillars rose up on either side of the base of the stairs, both topped with spherical, glowing green jewels that Shadow couldn’t help but recognize. Knuckles stepped over to one of the pillars and pressed his palm against the pedestal at its base. “I couldn’t open it last time I was here. Those gemstones up there glow if you touch them, and it makes the symbol on that door light up, but it just fades after a minute or so. I couldn’t get anything else to happen. The rock is too tough to punch or dig through. I can’t even read these runes to try and get a hint. I’ve never seen them before, like they’re in a completely alien language. I was hoping Rouge might be able to find a way in.”

Rouge looked around and checked out the other pillar. She squinted at the runes as well. “I’ve never seen these, either. I’m not sure how much help I’ll be.”

“Umm...” Everyone looked up toward the door. Amy was standing beside it, examining its surface. “Isn’t this the same symbol that’s on your bike, Shadow?”

“It’s not just on my bike.” Shadow approached the door. “You two. Touch the gemstones up there to activate them,” he commanded. Knuckles and Rouge climbed up to do so. By the time Shadow reached the top of the stairs, the symbol on the door was glowing, just as Knuckles had said. Shadow looked down at his own hand. He took a deep breath and then removed his glove. The red stripe on his arm ran down to the back of his hand, where it curled into that same spiky red pattern. Amy gasped. He hesitated briefly, then pressed his hand against the symbol on the door.

A soft chime emitted from behind the wall. For a moment, nothing further happened. Then, the ground around them started to rumble. Rouge stayed airborne to avoid it, and Knuckles clung onto the pillar. Amy stumbled and latched onto Shadow’s arm with a yelp to stay standing. Shadow removed his hand from the door and stepped back to keep his balance.

In front of them, the door shook and rumbled. It slowly began to sink into the ground. The motion kicked up enough sand that Shadow had to shut his eyes. He felt Amy bury her face in his shoulder to avoid it, and he held onto her reassuringly.

After a few seconds, the rumbling died down, and the ground stopped shaking. Shadow hesitantly blinked his eyes open to find the dust had settled. He peeked down at Amy. “Are you alright?”

She lifted her head and met his gaze. She nodded and turned back to the other two. “Knuckles? Rouge? You okay?”

Rouge landed safely next to them with a nod, and Knuckles jogged up the steps to join them. He took a look down the dark passage in front of them, then grinned at Shadow. “Looks like you came in handy after all, Shadow!” He playfully punched him on the shoulder. Shadow grunted and tried not to flinch at the hit.

On his other side, Amy reached down to hold his ungloved hand. “What is this, anyway?” she asked, lightly tracing the pattern on his hand.

“It’s the symbol of the Black Arms,” he explained, enjoying the pleasant feeling. “Black Doom told me this area was a holy ground for them. Touching those jewels activates the ruins’ power.”

Rouge and Amy made noises of intrigue, but Knuckles held up a hand. “Just a second. If it’s some kind of holy ground, I don’t know if I feel comfortable with this. I don’t want to loot the place.”

Shadow scoffed. “Hold on, let me check with every remaining member of my race just to make sure.” After an awkward pause, he nodded. “It’s unanimous. Let’s go.”

Amy and Rouge laughed nervously at the morbid joke. Knuckles, on the other hand, smiled reassuringly and gave him a heavy pat on the back in understanding. He retrieved two flashlights from his backpack and handed one to Shadow, keeping one for himself. They switched them on and ducked through the door.

Shadow felt Amy link her arm with his. When he peeked down at her, she glanced around at their surroundings, then looked up at him with a concerned expression. She silently mouthed, ‘Are you alright?’

It took him a moment to realize she was referring to the aversion to cramped spaces that he’d developed during his time in stasis. His heart softened. He nodded, touched that she’d remembered. “I doubt it’ll stay this way for long. Black Doom wouldn’t want to have to duck the whole way.”

He was soon proven correct. The passage widened, and the ceiling rose as well. At his own mention of Black Doom, however, Shadow grew nervous. What kind of obscene deities would the Black Arms have worshiped? Maybe this isn’t such a good idea...

“Stay close,” Shadow muttered, nervously pulling her closer by the arm. He didn’t look at her, afraid she’d be spooked, but she happily walked closer beside him.

Rouge and Knuckles were leading the way. Rouge peeked back at them every so often, not even trying to hide her smirks. He rolled his eyes each time, knowing he was just one snarky comment away from snapping.

It wasn’t much longer before the four of them turned a corner that led to a much wider space. Knuckles and Shadow aimed their flashlights all around the room. It was far larger than an average cathedral, though there were no seats; Shadow wondered if Black Doom simply felt his subjects weren’t worth the effort. A mass of gold and treasure was piled high at the base of an altar. Shadow dragged his eyes higher with trepidation, dreading whatever disgusting deity he might find...only to be met with a giant statue of Black Doom instead, arms outstretched over the pulpit.

Shadow stared at it blankly. Of course he was that arrogant. Why am I even surprised?

Rouge seemed unconcerned. She squealed in excitement and dashed over to the treasure. Amy wasn’t far behind.

Knuckles stayed back with Shadow for a moment and scratched his chin while the other two fawned over the treasure. “It’s been a while since Amy came with us. I was starting to wonder if she thought she was too old for it or something. I’m glad she changed her mind,” he said, beaming. “It’s always been good for her.” Shadow nodded. Knuckles examined him closer, perplexed. “I’m surprised to see you here, though. I’ve never thought of you as the type to do this kind of thing.”

Shadow stared back at Knuckles, noting the sincere confusion in his expression. He really has no idea, does he? He shrugged and muttered some excuse about how he’d wanted to try something new, hoping Knuckles would be oblivious about that, too. No need to drag him into this.

--

The four of them eventually stepped back out into the sunlight, each toting plenty of gems and precious metals. Shadow frowned at his own share, unsure of what to do with it. Normally I give stuff like this to Rouge, but today...maybe I’ll just hang onto it instead.

Knuckles dove off the cliff, clearly excited at the prospect of such an easy glide back down. Amy bounded ahead to join him, easily leaping from rock to rock. Rouge sank into a low stance the way she always did before taking to the skies. Before she could take off, though, Shadow grabbed the collar of her jacket, dragging her back to his side. She side-eyed him, indignant and somewhat irritated. He wasn’t fazed.

“I knew you went treasure hunting with Knuckles, but you never told me Amy used to go with you.”

Rouge’s eyes narrowed in suspicion for half a second before she smirked to hide it. “Heard it was a great time, huh? Is that why you set up this little double date?”

Shadow crossed his arms and tapped his foot rapid-fire. He ignored her teasing and glared at her. “Do you know why she stopped going with you?”

Her brief pause would have been unnoticeable to someone who didn’t know her as well as Shadow did. She shrugged. “Could have been a lot of things. Maybe she just got tired of it. Why don’t you ask her?”

“I did.”

Rouge flinched, but her tone instantly turned curious. “What did she say?”

“She said she felt like a third wheel. She felt unwelcome,” Shadow hissed.

“Aww, that’s too bad!” Rouge pouted, clearly feigning sympathy. “But it makes sense for a sweetheart like her. She’d never get in the way of love!”

Shadow stopped. He could see the hint of smugness behind Rouge’s eyes, and it made his blood boil. “You did it on purpose.” His eyes narrowed to slits. His jaw tightened, and he had to keep his fists clenched to hold himself back.

Rouge held a hand to her heart and scoffed lightly, as if she were offended. “I never asked her to leave. She decided that on her own!”

Shadow rounded on her, now seething. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! These trips meant the world to her!”

Rouge recoiled, then regained her composure by teasing him again. “Aww, defending your girlfriend? How sweet!”

“IS THIS A JOKE TO YOU?!” he snapped. “This was their tradition. She went on these trips every week for years! She learned half her abilities from these adventures. These were her memories. She made a goddamn scrapbook for these trips. She still has it!” Rouge leaned back and held up her hands defensively, but he didn’t stop. “Knuckles is practically an older brother to her, maybe more. He and Cream are the closest things to family she has left, and you purposely got in the way of that.”

For once, Rouge actually hesitated. “It’s not like she...she doesn’t...”

Shadow gestured to a rock outcropping where Amy and Knuckles had landed for a break. Knuckles was petting her on the top of her head with a proud smile. She beamed, tail wagging happily at having earned his approval.

“She does,” Shadow snarled. “You intruded on what was basically a family tradition and edged her out, and for what? So you could go off and make out with Knuckles?!”

“He is my husband!” Rouge shot back at last. “These trips are important to me, too! I love him!”

“More than Amy does?! You are NOT more important than she is! She was there first!”

Rouge balked, then spat back, “I never forced her to leave. That was her choice, not mine!”

“You, Omega, and I hang out all the time, and none of us feel like a third wheel,” Shadow argued. “But Amy didn’t even feel comfortable joining you today until I stepped in. Don’t act like that wasn’t what you wanted.”

Rouge bit her lip, seemingly lost for words.

“Umm...is everything alright?”

Amy’s sweet voice piped up quietly, instantly draining the anger out of Shadow’s muscles. His shoulders dropped. “...Yeah. We’re fine.”

“Good,” she replied, smiling sheepishly. “I told you I wasn’t leaving you behind, and I meant it!” She hopped forward to take his hand this time. He jogged to catch up with her, but not before shooting a heated scowl over his shoulder at Rouge. From the way she recoiled, he could tell she got the message.

This. Isn’t. Over.

--

Once Shadow reappeared in a flash with Amy in front of her house, he expected her to let go of his hand like usual, but she didn't. She was looking away from him.

“Amy?”

When she peeked back up at him, she looked conflicted, torn between happiness, sadness, and gratitude. She suddenly yanked him closer and snuggled into his chest.

“Thank you,” she muttered. Her voice was muffled against his fur. She clung to him, and he hesitantly returned the welcome embrace.

“For what?”

“For everything today.” She tilted her head up to meet his eyes. “For making this trip happen. For helping to make it as fun as it was. And...”

She pressed her lips into a thin line. When he just gazed down at her, she sighed. “I heard you and Rouge talking. Not all of it, but...enough.” He remained silent, so she continued, “I’m not used to people doing that for me.”

“Doing what for you?” Shadow asked.

“Well...standing up for me like that.” She shrugged nonchalantly, but she couldn’t hide the tears welling up in her eyes. “I feel like there’s nothing I can do sometimes. Some people might comfort me when I’m sad, but I’ve never seen someone get so angry over how I’m treated.” She shrank down into herself. “No one really fights for me, and I don’t want to get in anyone’s way.”

Shadow’s stomach lurched at the injustice, and he choked back his indignation. He pulled her closer and hid her face under his chin, not wanting to see her cry. “Amy Rose, you are the kindest, fiercest friend I’ve ever met. Whether it’s a friend, a stranger, or someone who doesn’t deserve one ounce of compassion--” Like me. TWICE. “--you fight harder than anyone else to protect others.” She met his gaze once more, eyes shining. He kept going, afraid he’d lose his nerve if he stopped. “I can’t tell you how much it upsets me that you feel like you don’t deserve happiness as much as anyone else. You should be standing up for yourself just as much as you do for others. Because you deserve it.” He took a deep breath, then brushed a quill out of her face. “If you don’t, I’m going to keep doing it for you. And I’m not nice like you are.”

Amy tried to stay serious, but a huge smile eventually broke through. His favorite laugh escaped her lips, making him relax.

To his surprise, she stood up on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, then pulled away with a grateful smile. “I’m glad you’re not.”

--

From then on, Shadow made a habit of joining Knuckles, Rouge, and Amy every Saturday. He got better each week, though he never quite reached Amy’s level. That didn’t matter to him so long as he got to stay by her side.

With Shadow’s insistence--and a healthy amount of guilt over having split up the “family trips”--Rouge agreed to sit out every so often alongside Shadow so Amy and Knuckles could have one-on-one trips just as they had in their youth.

It wasn’t until a few years later that she and Rouge fully made amends. With Knuckles’ jewelry-making expertise, Rouge’s aesthetic sensibilities, and Shadow’s in-depth knowledge of Amy’s preferences, the three of them worked together to create the engagement ring Shadow gave to her, just as Knuckles had for Rouge. They included some of the materials Shadow had kept from their first trip together.

--

((You have no idea how much time I spent looking up treasure hunting destinations that fit this story.))

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 23

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling Lan QiRen’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2

The Peach Blossom Pavilion is heavily guarded. 

However, the guards are clearly focused on the outside threats trying to find their way in, not the Emperor attempting to sneak out. Wei WuXian’s hand is warm in WangJi’s, squeezing lightly to signal when they must be still, pulling him along when it is time to move. In the darkness, every stretch of cobblestones looks identical to the next. They cross two courtyards, both pitch black, nothing to distinguish them from one another except the faint scent of chrysanthemums. It is not long before no guards can been seen or heard, but Wei WuXian’s hand is still wrapped around his own, his thumb a hot brand on WangJi’s knuckles.

WangJi remembers that same hand coated in blood. Pressing against the arrow wound. Gracefully extended, so someone else’s fingers may rest lightly on its wrist.  

Somewhere in the Immortal Mountain City, there is boy lying wounded, because he had been willing to give his life up for the Emperor. And for a few moments, WangJi had forgotten that he even exists.

“Nie HuaiSang,” he says softly.

“Recovering. He lost a great deal of blood, but there will be no lasting damage. The assassin has not been caught yet,” Wei WuXian’s voice hardens, “but he will be.”

WangJi is relieved to hear it, but this is not the only reason he had said the Royal Companion’s name. Sneaking past the guards, depending on the pressure of Wei WuXian’s fingers to lead him, he could pretend that such contact was necessary. Now, he feels an imposter, holding on to something that does not belong to him.

Gently, WangJi attempts to disentangle their fingers. Wei WuXian’s grip tightens.

“A-Sang is my brother,” Wei WuXian says, “The rumors you hear, they have their advantage. But there has never been any truth to them.”

“Gossip is forbidden,” WangJi says, his face heating.

He can feel his heart beating in his chest, and his steps suddenly feel lighter, as if some pressing weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Wei WuXian laughs softly,

“If I were to forbid gossip, the next person to try and assassinate me probably would be A-Sang.”

WangJi is not sure how to respond to such a statement, and Wei WuXian does not give him a chance to try.

He tugs WangJi to a small door, its shape almost indistinguishable from the wall in which it is set. The door appears to be very old, but its hinges do not creak, soundlessly allowing them over a small stone threshold and into a courtyard. Although the plaque above the door had faded with age, it is still legible.

The outside of the Six Fans Pavilion looks forlorn.

The window holes are covered, the courtyard swept clean but depressingly bare. A long time ago, someone had tended its gardens with care. WangJi thinks that the wide planters out front must have once overflown with flowers in full bloom. Now, star jasmine has grown wild and sprawling, smothering every other sign of life.

He expects that the inside of the pavilion has not fared much better. Everything about the peeling paint and fading colors tells a tale of a place that is dusty and forgotten. Instead, the entry is bleak, but clean. The floors seem recently swept. There are no curtains or rugs, no decorations on the walls, no cushions on the seats. Each room looks stripped to its bones, the elaborately carved shelves gaping empty, tables bare, beds nothing but stark skeleton frames.

Wei WuXian leads him through, looking neither left nor right, until they reach a room that shows some signs of use. A few books are piled in the small cubbies behind an old desk. The desk surface is polished but rough, as if it had served more than one owner. The seats have cushions, although they seem old and threadbare. An old bronze brazier sits in center of the small space. Wei WuXian lights a fire with quickness that would suggest he has done this often.

“The Iron Palm Palace can be suffocating sometimes,” he says, and does not elaborate.

He does not need to; WangJi thinks he understands. It is a refuge, this place. WangJi has his own, at Cloud Recesses. He can appreciate the need for a space where one can just breathe in solitude and silence.

“How much do you know about Lan ZhongYi?” Wei WuXian asks, settling on the floor next to the brazier.

WangJi has always had a reflexive reaction to that name. Anger, distaste, guilt, shame.

He lowers himself not too far away, wishing he was properly dressed. Somehow, speaking of Lan ZhongYi would be easier, if he could hide behind the traditional trappings of Sect and clan.

“Lan ZhongYi was a Lan Sect member. Son of my father’s uncle. He was banished from the Sect for improper conduct. Less than a year after his banishment, he assassinated the Empress and the Emperor Consort.”

The words come out stiff and unnatural, a recitation of something memorized long ago.

“I know this is all that the Lan Sect teaches about him,” Wei WuXian says, “but have you never searched for more? Have you never wondered what this improper conduct was? Why he did what he did?”

“No,” WangJi says.

He cannot see what difference it would make.

“Did you know he had married at seventeen?” Wei WuXian says.

The question lands heavily between them.

WangJi did not know. He does not want to know. Why does it matter?

But Wei WuXian goes on unprompted,

“He married a rogue cultivator from the ShangWu Temple. Her name was Xu XiaoYun. This was some years before my mother took the throne, and the Empire had already begun descending into chaos. Most of the great temples were destroyed in the years that followed, never to be rebuilt. The ShangWu Temple was one of them. Xu XiaoYun’s brothers, sisters, teachers, not one of them survived. For years, I have searched for some information about her, hoping for anything, even a word of mouth. But I think her entire life burned in that temple, and there was only Lan ZhongYi left.”

The firelight is playing across Wei WuXian’s face, shifting his expressions from moment to moment. WangJi cannot guess what he is thinking. He cannot guess why this is the story that Wei WuXian thinks WangJi should need to know.

“She was pregnant when YanLing DaoRen killed her,” Wei WuXian says calmly, “on a day he had not even set out to kill anyone at all. It appears to have been a spur of the moment slaughter. There are no records showing what might have set him off in the middle of a peaceful trip through one of the MoLing’s marketplaces. But Xu XiaoYun had been nighthunting in the area.”

Silence falls between them, thick and unyielding. WangJi feels as if he had been given something he did not want, and cannot give back.

He thinks he knows why Wei WuXian has told him this story. Perhaps to the young Emperor who had lost his parents, it is important that Lan ZhongYi be a human being, with purpose, and feelings, and grievances. But WangJi has never wanted to feel pity for this man, whose actions had doomed all the generations of Lan to come.

Lan ZhongYi’s motivations do not excuse his crime.  

“The Empress did not kill her,” he says finally.

“And you did not kill the Empress,” Wei WuXian counters, his voice gentle.

He is right, but he is also wrong. WangJi is too agitated to address how both can be true at the same time.

“The Wen are not hostages here,” Wei WuXian says, slicing the agitation neatly in half.

Before WangJi can adjust to the fact that the previous subject is being abandoned, Wei WuXian is already explaining in a rush, as if afraid that WangJi will refuse to listen.

“After the rebellion, the Sects demanded that Wen RuoHan pay for the lives that were lost. They wanted this payment in blood. Wen RuoHan was to deliver one of his sons for execution, or the Sects were going to burn the Nightless City down, and slaughter every Wen in the Empire. Looking back, compared to the damage YanLing DaoRen had done, and the lives he had destroyed, the Wen rebellion was fairly insignificant. I have often wondered where this viciousness had come from. The Sects will say that their grief over my mother’s death gave it birth, but they seemed to hold little interest in offering support to her son. Perhaps this viciousness was left over from YanLing DaoRen’s reign, just waiting for a more vulnerable target.”

Wei WuXian waves his hand, his eyes locked on the flickering flames,

“It does not matter. Wen RuoHan did not deliver his son. Instead, he delivered fifty-six members of a small subdivision of the Qishan Wen Sect. An entire clan, led by his own thirteen-year old niece, to be slaughtered in exchange.”

WangJi’s stomach turns, propelling bile to his throat.

“My uncle,” Wei WuXian grins humorlessly, “had made a reputation for himself as a holder of no strong opinions, a man who may sway slightly whichever way the wind blew. This reputation helped delay the decision. In the meantime, I placed the Wen in the dungeons, to await their fate.”

“You-- you were going to--“

No other words will come. WangJi cannot ask the question.

He thinks a wrong answer might shatter something he had not yet given name to, something he still does not fully understand, but desperately wants to keep.  

“No,” Wei WuXian says, “I was young, and angry, and more than a little stupid, but I was not going to execute fifty-six people because the Sects demanded it. But I did put them out of my mind. I was twelve years old, sitting on a precarious throne, all of my power just a pretty illusion. There was a list of issues that had to be addressed, and somehow, the Wen would always move to the bottom of that list. This was another one of my uncle’s tactics, although I did not know it for such back then. Delay, delay, delay, and hope they forget. I almost did forget. Many times.”

Wei WuXian flashes him a bitter smile, and WangJi feels his chest tighten. Not so long ago, WangJi had thought his own burden too heavy to carry. He cannot imagine how Wei WeXian must have felt. He cannot imagine how heavy the weight of the Empire must feel to a twelve year old boy.

“They were willing to let me forget,” Wei WuXian says, the bitterness from his smile coloring his voice, “My uncle, the Council, my advisors, not one of them ever bothered to mention that an entire clan cannot forever live in the dungeons, that some decision must be made. If it were not for shijie, they might have lived and died below the palace floors, forgotten by all. She took me to the dungeons. She went among them as if they were family, passing out medicine and food, speaking to Wen Qing as if they had been sisters their entire lives. And then she put A-Yuan in my arms.”

Wei WuXian’s voice falters for the first time.

He shifts slightly, and clears his throat.

“His mother had been among the fifty-six. She had died in childbirth. In the dungeon. While the Emperor sat on his gilded throne, nodding at everything the Council said. I had been the Divine Ruler for a single season, and I had already created an orphan.”

WangJi’s chest squeezes tighter. He wants to reach out, but he had never learned how to offer comfort. Everything he can think to say is woefully inadequate. Every gesture he wishes to offer seems clumsy and awkward.

“And so they became hostages,” Wei WuXian says, fingers now nervously tapping against his knees, “the Sects were told that the fifty-six Wen who can be slaughtered at the slightest provocation were infinitely more valuable than one dead descendent of Wen RuoHan. They were not happy. For some months after, I was certain that another rebellion would take place, and that this one would end the Dynasty for good. Once it became clear that the Sects would do nothing worse than send assassins through my windows and stuff scorpions into my bed, I started to work on their resentment. I did not want the Wen to always carry the stain of that rebellion. I had already grown attached to Wen Qing and her brother, to Granny, to Uncle Four and A-Yuan. I wanted to protect them.”

He moves to face WangJi, his hands now curled tightly in his lap, something in his eyes hinting at desperation.

“I thought I knew resentment. Mine had always been a fleeting thing, so I believed everyone else to be the same. No one had bothered to tell me that removing one target would only exaggerate the other. I spent years trying to shift their perception of the Wen, but never understood the simple fact that your uncle had grasped in a single season of drought. The river must flow somewhere. And all the resentment, no longer flowing to the Wen, had simply shifted to the Lan Sect instead.”    

If not for Wei WuXian’s pained expressions, WangJi would have immediately declared his words to be utter nonsense. WangJi’s burden does not exist because Wei WuXian had placed it on his shoulders. The Lan Sect would have never relinquished its responsibility for the wrongs one of their own had committed, regardless of whether the Emperor had shown them favor or neglect. Even if everyone else in the world were to forget the sin he carries, WangJi would have never been allowed to do the same.

A part of him does wonder if the Emperor’s favor had gone to the Lan Sect instead of the Wen, how many of their circumstances might have been changed for the better? Would it have created a world in which his uncle is still allowed to teach?  A world in which the Lan Sect disciples are allowed into the Immortal Mountain City, to mix among the others? A world in which his brother smiled more often?

But even if this was the case, if he were to take Wei WuXian’s words as absolute truth, and the river of resentment truly must flow somewhere, then better circumstances for the Lan Sect would have meant worse circumstances for the Wen. WangJi would never demand his burden be made less; not even if the cost was a single life of an absolute stranger, not to mention an entire clan of people who had done nothing wrong.

“By the time I realized why the rancor toward the Lan Sect kept growing, even as the resentment against the Wen dwindled, it was too late to turn the tide,” Wei WuXian says miserably, “Trying to stem the flow only seemed to make things worse. Your uncle-- each time I tried to extend a hand, he would slap it out of the way. He does not want my help or favor. He does not trust me to do right by the Lan Sect. And considering that someone has already tried to kill you, and frame the Lan Sect for another assassination, I would not be surprised if he blames me for all of it.”

WangJi struggles for a few moments, trying to find the right words. It does not help that Wei WuXian is much closer now, his face flushed from the brazier, their knees nearly brushing.

“The Lan Sect would not wish to relinquish its burden of responsibility at the cost of others,” WangJi finally says, “and uncle would not blame you for the assassination attempts. He would consider it just another burden that the Lan Sect must carry, one that must be borne with courage and dignity. Uncle is-- proud, and stubborn. He perceives your favor as charity, and each time you imply that he may need this charity, he will only resent you more. There is no need to keep trying.”

“You are saying that there is nothing I can do,” Wei WuXian says, frustration coloring each word.

“You can do whatever you wish,” WangJi says, “You are the Emperor.”

“But he is going to hate me no matter what I do.”

“You are the Emperor,” WangJi says again, “I am sure my uncle is not the only one who hates you.”

Wei WuXian gapes at him, then seems to choke on nothing but air. He bends over, coughing heavily, and struggles for so long that WangJi wonders if he should perhaps try and find him something to drink. Only when he looks back up does WangJi realize that the cough was actually stifled laughter.

“You are something else, Lan Zhan,” he says, “I really like spending time with you.”

WangJi’s heart trips twice, painfully, as if Wei WuXian had reached through his chest and pushed it off course.  

He does not make a conscious decision to stand up, but suddenly, he is on his feet, trembling with a thousand emotions he does not want to acknowledge. Wei WuXian scrambles up as well, his expression startled.

“I must go back,” WangJi says, cursing his voice for wavering.

“Oh,” Wei WuXian says, “Of course. Let me put out the fire, and I will take you back.”

“No need,” WangJi says quickly.

He needs to be alone. He needs to think. Wei WuXian had given him a great deal of information that requires careful examination. 

I really like spending time with you, his mind offers unhelpfully. WangJi feels as if he had pressed his entire face directly to the brazier.

Wei WuXian’s expression seems hesitant now. WangJi desperately wants to see him smile one more time before he leaves.

“Use the door tomorrow,” he says.

“I-- what?”

“Tomorrow,” WangJi says firmly, his heart now beating in his throat, “Do not lounge on the rooftop, or hide in the dark. Come to the door.”

The slow smile that spreads across Wei WuXian’s face is devastating.

WangJi says nothing else. 

He runs.  

[spectral-musette]

The Worthy Partner

Set in an AU in which Duchess Satine Kryze asks Obi-Wan Kenobi to stay on Mandalore with her (before TPM). The couple attends an official function on Satine’s homeworld a few months after their marriage.

~ 3000 words

I used a little Mando’a (based on the dictionary at Mandoa.org), but the meanings of the words and phrases hopefully should be clear from the context. A couple of endnotes are included as intended translation notes in case I messed up, though.

Cross-posted on AO3

(Written when I got carried away working on a sketch of the scenario.)

*     *     *     *     *

           “How are you enjoying the meal?”

           Satine glared down her officious host, the Minister of Arts and Culture of Kalevala, but Obi-Wan merely nodded. “Your spices are extremely flavorful,” he complimented.

           “Be sure to try the tiingilar with the sauce.”

           He obligingly took a spoonful from the serving dish onto his plate. Satine tried to cast a warning glance in his direction and refilled his goblet with the cold ulik milk from the pitcher.

           She watched his face turn crimson as he tried a bite, but he smiled pleasantly. “Thank you for pointing it out.”

           He did, however, empty his goblet quickly.

           “Are you all right?” she whispered, leaning close as the Minister moved to the next table of dignitaries. “That stuff will peel the paint off a starship hull.”

           “No harm done. Hazing the Offworlder is to be expected, isn’t it?”

           She let out a hiss of disapproval. “They’re deliberately trying to humiliate you.”

           “Let them. I’ve had far less palatable meals than overspiced Mandalorian cuisine.” He dipped his bread into the offending sauce and smiled his most charming smile at their host, who was glancing over his shoulder surreptitiously to observe Obi-Wan’s response to the spicy delicacy.

           “I know. I’ve eaten Qui-Gon’s cooking too.”

           A wistful shadow passed over Obi-Wan’s handsome countenance, and they gripped each other’s hands under the table.

           “I’m sorry,” she said gently. “I miss him too. He promised to visit soon.”

           “No doubt the Council is keeping him busy.”

           Though she hadn’t managed to get him to talk about it, she suspected that there were moments when Obi-Wan felt miserably homesick, not just for his former Master, but all his friends and mentors and for the community of the Jedi Temple. This was not the time to try to discuss it, though. “Just don’t let the Minister goad you into gulping the tihaar,” she warned, changing the subject and trying to distract him from falling into introspective melancholy.

           “Don’t think I can stomach it?”

           “No, I just hate the stuff, and I don’t want to taste it on you later.”

           “Fair enough,” he replied, laughing softly and squeezing her hand before releasing it.

           Perhaps not that much later, depending on how long etiquette demanded they remain at the Minister’s gala. She and Obi-Wan had been husband and wife for a few months now, and the touch of his hand and light of a smile in his eyes still made her heart quicken – as she happily suspected they always would.

           The Minister stood from his table, raising his arms to announce his intention to address the guests. The room quieted as everyone put down their flatware to listen attentively.

           “Before dessert is served, I wonder if the Duchess would be so kind as to grace our company with the performance of a traditional dance.”

           The orchestra struck up the opening measures of a familiar tune, and Satine’s heart sank.

           Ruusaanyc Riduur, the Worthy Partner.

           She hated this dance. She remembered learning it as a girl, practicing with her sister until they knew the complex steps by heart. But the childhood memories were overshadowed by the few times she had been asked to dance it publicly with a would-be suitor, under her father’s watchful gaze. The young warriors who’d courted her in those not-so-distant days had been ambitious, vicious men, interested only in clan alliances and winning her father’s favor. And after her father’s death…

           For a moment, the orchestra seemed to thin to a badly tuned mandoviol drunkenly meandering through the notes, the elegant hall to dim to the ramshackle camp where she’d once been held prisoner by a warlord with aspirations bigger than his arsenal, a boy no older than herself, stinking of tihaar as he held her by the chin.

           You might be dar’manda, but you’re almost pretty enough for it not to matter. Bet your clan would be grateful if I’d lower myself to marry you.

           Satine tried to banish the unpleasant memory as well as the sickening one of the Protectors’ retaliation when they had rescued her shortly thereafter. She took a deep breath, rallying her wits to counter the Minister’s latest onslaught of social warfare.

           “Perhaps,” he pressed, taking advantage of her brief silence, “if your consort is not familiar with the steps, I might find you another partner.”

           Before she could voice her outrage at the suggestion that a married woman perform this particular dance at an official function with anyone but her own spouse, Obi-Wan stood, grasping her hand and leading her from the table to the open floor at the center of the hall.

           For a moment she thought he was leading her out, refusing to put up with further insult – the implication was plain, that if her consort did not participate in the traditional dance, he was not a worthy partner – but he stopped in front of the Minister’s table.

           “Don’t try to bluff your way through this,” she warned quietly, a heavy knot of dread in her stomach. Performing it badly might be worse than refusing to participate.

           “I won’t,” he promised, the hint of a dimple creasing his cheek. “Trust me.”

           Of course, she always did.

           And he might’ve been a little stiff and nervous, held her hands a little too tightly, but he trod the steps precisely, even catching the subtle shift in the way they clasped their hands to indicate that the dancers were vowed to each other rather than merely courting.

           “How…” she breathed in wonderment when he briefly grasped her close.

           “In the usual way. Took lessons.” He broke his concentration a moment to favor her with a smile, and she cursed his dimples for almost making her trip. “I’d hoped to surprise you under rather better circumstances.”

           “I didn’t know you could dance at all,” she confessed.

           “How do you suppose they start teaching us saber forms in the Temple? Let a bunch of toddlers loose with laser swords?”

           “When you put it like that…”

           More couples began to fill the floor, and Obi-Wan relaxed a little as they were no longer the center of attention.

           Satine took a moment to admire him, graceful and lithe as he gained confidence in the movements of the dance. Most days he wore his simplified version of the Royal Guard’s uniform, but she’d managed to coax him into a few bits of finery for the occasion – please don’t make it easier for them to pretend to mistake you for my bodyguard this time. He looked very dashing in a tunic of fine-spun silk instead of his preferred coarse linen, with a smart half cape over one shoulder, a pair of bright silver vambraces, and a wide belt of intricately tooled leather.

           She was also feeling rather grateful for his cool temper under the current trying circumstances. Her Mandalorian disposition was apt to spit fire when delivered insults and slights. He tolerated them with such grace that it left her enemies baffled most of the time. He had a way of making them aware that he was on to their game and refusing to engage in it. She knew some of them were foolish enough to doubt his courage, but the wiser ones never did; if a Mandalorian worth his beskar knew anything at all, it was how to size up a fellow warrior.

           And that was the final irony of her choice of a husband: she’s sworn she’d never marry a warrior, and yet here he was. He might not wear the beskar’gam, he certainly didn’t share certain hard-headed Mando perspectives, and she knew that he abhorred violence in his heart, but he still dealt it out with skill and cunning when he had no other choice. Her eyes went to the lightsaber at his belt, and she thought of the would-be assassin he’d apprehended mere weeks ago, now in custody on Coruscant waiting for his trial. Someday, she hoped, that last resort would stop being necessary quite so often.

           The music slowed to a halt, and Obi-Wan brought her hand to his lips, bestowing a light, courtly kiss on her knuckles as he met her gaze. He could be difficult to read sometimes, so she always felt a swell of affection when he let her see his heart in his eyes: his eagerness to please and impress her, his unabashed devotion, and the ember-glow of his desire, no doubt brightly mirrored in her own eyes. They would both be very glad indeed to leave the party.

           “I’m sorry your plan was spoiled,” she said, smiling at the charming thought of him plotting a romantic setting for her, with music and dancing.

           “You were surprised,” he conceded, grinning.

           “Very pleasantly. I admit it’s not a favorite of mine, so perhaps it’s better this way,” she said, lacing their fingers together as they headed back to their table. The crowd on the dance floor was moving slowly, a particularly large man Satine recognized as one of the Minister’s aides blocking their path. He glanced over his shoulder at them, and turned to give her a polite nod.

           “Dal’alor.[i]”

           Apparently someone had been serving the tihaar already, judging from the fumes on his breath and his odd choice of the rather archaic Mando’a translation of her title. She decided not to take issue with the way his slurred speech had shifted dal towards dar –“former” – changing the honorific into a rather ominious threat of deposition. However, it did put her on edge.

           “Gar veriduur redalur jate,[ii]” he continued.

           Satine froze.

           It wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard be’jetii veriduur – Jedi’s whore – flung at her before, but she hadn’t been expecting such crass invective in this ostensibly civilized setting, least of all under the guise of a compliment.

           “Perhaps your Mando’a is rusty,” he said, feigning surprise at her outraged expression. “I said your young husband dances well.”

           Another subtle shift in pronunciation, vaar to ver, plausible given his drunken state, but a stretch. Nor was simply “young” a very accurate translation of vaar, carrying more of an implication of wanting size and maturity, as evidenced by the way the man was looming over Obi-Wan with a rather unpleasant smile.

           “You did not,” she spat back.

           “Vaar, I may be,” Obi-Wan replied, assessing the man coolly, “but wise enough to know it’s not always a disadvantage.”

           Satine let out a slow breath. Rely on Obi-Wan to handle the situation with diplomacy.

           “Unlike inebriation, which generally is,” he added.

           Also rely on Obi-Wan to be too damn glib for his own good. She squeezed his hand and rolled her eyes.

           But then, perhaps Obi-Wan had read the situation correctly, as the jibe seemed to shift the big man’s drunken state to good humor rather than belligerence.

           “They said you were mir’sheb.” He landed a playful punch on Obi-Wan’s shoulder with one large hand. True enough, though Satine wouldn’t have put it in quite those terms – the linguistic connection between quick-wittedness and the anatomical region where the Mand’alor met the throne, as it were, had always mystified her.

           “More like mesh’sheb[iii],” someone muttered in passing. Satine spun in the direction of the voice, but the floor was clearing out, making it impossible to tell who had delivered the rather crass compliment - also not untrue, Satine had to admit, and patently obvious given the tailored fit of his trousers.

           “Did you follow all that?” she asked Obi-Wan as he pulled out her chair for her back at their table.

           “I think so. Vague threat to your sovereignty, calling me your prostitute – which is a change, I suppose we can give him points for that – backpedaling and saying he meant to call me puny, and finally that I am apparently known to be a smart-ass, to use the Basic vernacular.” He ticked off the items on his fingers.

           “Oh, did you miss that last anonymous expression of admiration?”

           “Your admiration is the only sort that interests me,” he countered, grinning.

           “Consider it bestowed.”

           “Likewise. In all things, my love,” he told her sweetly, kissing her hand again.

           “I’m looking forward to expressing it more emphatically.”

           “I’m not sure how much emphasis this particular setting can tolerate.”

           “I daresay not much. Do you suppose we can leave yet?”

           “You’d know better than I.”

           By now, the guests were milling around the dessert tables and the wait staff was distributing alcohol freely.

           “Let’s risk it,” Satine said decidedly, running her fingertips over the back of his hand. “We’ve made more daring escapes.”

           “Better wait for the Royal Guards to make it to the dessert table, at least, or I won’t hear the end of it,” he advised with an apologetic, lop-sided smile.

           “An acceptable concession.”

           Fortunately, there was not much that would keep the Royal Guards from uj cake, so the retinue was contentedly stuffed with the beloved confection and ready to leave in short order.

           While many in the government and the population at large remained dubious about her husband, it comforted Satine that Obi-Wan had at least found his footing with the group of Protectors who formed the Royal Guard. Juvenile as it seemed, after he’d shown them all up in swordplay and marksmanship, it had taken finding a martial art at which at least some of them could trounce him – Mandalorian kick-boxing – before they softened towards him. The captain had carefully reassigned anyone who was really hostile due to old prejudices, and those remaining formed a tight-knit group that treated Obi-Wan with respect and a kind of fondness. Despite leaving the Order, he was still jetii, but he was their jetii. These days, they didn’t insult him any less, but it was done in much better humor.

           “A goddamned piece of cake is not so much to ask, after all, is it?” the captain inquired, helmet not quite concealing his amused expression.

           “We waited,” Satine protested. They must have been making quite a habit of leaving events early if this was an ongoing source of ribbing.

           “Never mind the captain,” his lieutenant chimed in, holding the heavy door to the hangar. “When cake is involved, he thinks with his stomach and forgets what it means to be young and in love and think with your…”

           Obi-Wan cleared his throat loudly and cast a stern glance at the guard.

           “Your heart,” he concluded defensively.

           “No doubt with the sweet looks they’ve been casting at each other all night, uj cake seems bland by comparison,” the captain agreed.

           Satine felt her cheeks go a little hot at the guards’ teasing and glanced appreciatively at the adorable blush painted across Obi-Wan’s face as well. Even at the risk of further commentary, she couldn’t resist leaning close to press a kiss against his cheekbone, feeling the warmth of his flushed skin against her lips. The guards’ chuckles were not too high a price to pay for their security, and though Obi-Wan had certainly proven himself an able bodyguard on countless occasions, there were times that she required his undivided attention.

           One of which was fast approaching, as the guards boarded their starfighters and she and Obi-Wan made their way to their shuttle. It would be a long journey back to Sundari at sublight speed, as the two habitable sister planets in the Mandalore system were at far points in their orbits and intrasystem hyperspace jumps were needlessly risky.

           Obi-Wan headed for the shuttle cockpit, but she wrapped her arms around him from behind, tugging him back into the passengers’ quarters. He stumbled back against the bulkhead, resting his hands lightly at her elbows while she nuzzled eager kisses along his neck and jaw.

           “At least let me set the autopilot,” he pleaded with a breathless laugh.

           “That’s probably for the best,” she agreed reluctantly.

           He started to draw away, and then he caught her glance, his eyes bright and his dimpled smile affectionate. Shaking his head a little, he stepped close again to cup her cheek in his hand and kiss her, soft, lingering, and tasting sweetly of familiar spices, until her knees were weak. He broke the kiss too soon, tearing himself away to go attend to the shuttle controls, and she sank down onto the soft couch to catch her breath. The shuttle lifted from the ground, and Satine caught a glimpse of the familiar constellations of the world where she was born through the viewport. Nothing about Kalevala had felt like home for a long time, but perhaps some lingering sense of nostalgia brought the tune of the old folksong, Ruusaanyc Riduur, back into her mind. And this time, she didn’t think of being forced to dance to it with suitors she despised or enemies she feared, but choosing to dance with her own worthy partner. Their life together was like the dance, careful steps around unseen obstacles and the loving support of each other’s hands. There were words to the song, but she only recalled them in snatches – return to my arms… together, we are home. She was singing it softly, without words, by the time Obi-Wan returned to hers, and he joined her, sitting beside her on the couch and clasping their hands together in the particular attitude of the dance. She felt the vibration of his sweet, clear voice in his chest, his breath on her hair as he pulled her against him, resting his other hand at her waist.

           “I thought you didn’t like it,” he pointed out, kissing her temple as she finished the last phrase of music in a soft hum.

           “I changed my mind,” she declared, tugging him into a kiss, slow and deep, as the music replayed in her mind.

           Together, we are home.

 *     *     *     *     *

[i] I put this together from “dala”/woman and “alor”/ruler to be something like “milady”, “queen”, etc.

 [ii] I’m sure the grammar is a nightmare here, but I don’t know how to conjugate verbs in Mando’a. Literally “Your hired-spouse dance good”, but the speaker is very drunk, so…

 [iii] Won’t find this one in the Mando’a dictionary either, smooshed together from related words as “possessing a pleasing posterior” more or less.