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My name is Ben Organa Solo.

Yep. That Organa, and that Solo.

I was born famous. Son of Leia Organa: the last princess of Alderaan, the Rebellion general, the New Republic senator. Son of Han Solo: the notorious smuggler, now reformed; also a Rebellion general, but by accident. Nephew to Luke Skywalker: the Jedi Knight who blew up the Death Star, saved the galaxy, and began the new generation of Jedi.

Grandson to the dark lord Vader.

…But most people don’t know that part.

And we do our best to keep it that way.

I was born on Chandrila in 5 ABY, one year after the birth of the New Republic. I am twenty-three years old, one year younger than the New Republic. And I am doing fantastic , just like the New Republic.

I leave the intent of that last statement up to personal interpretation.

My first name, “Ben,” isn’t short for anything. People have nicknamed me “Benjamin,” or “Benji,” or other variations on my name, but “Ben” is what’s entered on my birth records. I’m named after some late family friend I never got to meet—and even then it was a pseudonym, I think, and not his real name.

My middle name is not Chewbacca—though Chewbacca and his wife Malla did christen me with two Shyriiwook names when I was born (one that means “little Han,” and one that means “hope child.”) My middle name is Organa, after my maternal grandparents, whom I also never met.

Believe it or not, I am only the third Solo in the Solo family line. My dad named himself Solo. My mom married a Solo (though she still goes by “Leia Organa” in professional settings). I am the first and only Solo to be born under the name.

But there’s also my little sister Rey, who we adopted when she was twelve. My mom found Rey on Jakku during a relief mission some years ago: just a scrawny, sandy seven-year-old who scavenged ships for parts and was known by the locals as “Anklebiter.” We fostered Rey for several years…but it took some time before she agreed to be adopted. She was still holding out for her birth family, who had left her on Jakku when she was five.

Mom and Dad tried to find Rey’s parents. They hired a private investigator to look for any record of them. They issued public statements saying they were looking for them. They even offered a significant reward.

But her birth family never showed up. And now, we’re her family.

The Solo family.

My family.

And so, being Ben Organa Solo, I was born famous—but I have also earned some of my own fame.

If you look me up on the HoloNet, you’ll learn a few things:

That when I was six, I lisped my way through an interview for a news segment on “victory kids” (they call us “Gen V” now—the children born out of the Empire’s fall).

That when I was seventeen, I had a severe mental health crisis and ran away from home, triggering a galaxy-wide search effort to find me.

That following the incident, my mom and I founded an awareness campaign to encourage kids to express their emotions and experiences through the arts.

You’ll find my professional holosite, where I tell you how I graduated from the University of Naboo in 28 ABY with a Journalism major and a Galactic Policy/Nonhuman Studies double minor and how I interned at a news publication after junior year (this is true) and how I work well in teams (this is false).

You’ll find paparazzi candids where my ears look bigger than normal, and tabloid headlines that claim I’m doing spice, and my Encyclopedia Galactica page that I edit every now and then to lie about myself for fun. (I’ve got an ongoing war with the actual editors, who keep changing my height to six-foot-two instead of six-foot-three. I’m six-two and three-quarters—can’t they give me a lousy quarter-inch?)

And…oh yeah. You’ll also find my personal blog: Ask Ben Solo. An embarrassing record of my teenage years, memorialized for the ages.

…But of course, no one reads that stupid thing.

I live in Theed, Naboo’s capital. I moved here for college, and stuck around after graduation. It’s a beautiful city. Summers are warm and long. Spring and fall are more like summer’s bookends than seasons themselves. The winters are crisp, but moderate. The atmosphere is clean: there are no skylanes like there are on Coruscant or Taris, and it’s against the law for civilians to fly speeders above a certain height. There is an abundance of museums, architecture, nature, and history, which is perfect for a sensitive soul like me. The only downside is the cost of living—but ain’t that the same almost anywhere?

I am a writer (if you can’t already tell). I work for The Chommell Sector Daily , which is the biggest news publication in the Chommell Minor and Naboo systems. I was working in the local news division for a while, but after a year I transferred departments. Now I work for what’s essentially the gossip section, except it sounds a lot nicer on my resume—I’m an Advice Column Assistant Contributor. And I thought it would be more fun than being a Junior Community Correspondent, and reporting on the Theed Farmer’s Market and Craft Fair over and over and over…but now I’m essentially a content creation slave, with my own text-generation droid and the oh-so-inspiring mission of cranking out as many clickbait-y, buzzword-y articles as humanly and robotically possible.

And now, here you find me, writing a novel during my free time to scratch the itch, because what I do at my job can hardly be described as “writing.” And these evenings alone, with a hot cup of tea and my personal computer (okay, fine, I’ve been writing some of it at work too but don’t tell my supervisor), are far more fulfilling than anything I do between the hours of nine and five.

If you are reading this, by the way, that means I have finished writing said novel.

My first-ever attempt at a novel, I might add.

So…hey! Now you can say you knew me before I got famous. (Although, like I said, I was born famous.)

But— since I’m famous—perhaps you’re wondering why the heck Ben Organa Solo is a working young professional in starchy white shirts and business slacks, and not a Jedi like his uncle.

Well…I was supposed to be.

When I was five years old, my parents took me to my uncle’s school on Ossus so I could begin my Jedi training. They dropped me off with Luke, kissed me goodbye, and were about to head home.

Unfortunately, I was extremely anxious as a child. (And a teen. And an adult. I’m working on it.) When I realized they were going to leave me on Ossus, I freaked out, started wailing, and refused to let my parents go without me.

“Okay, then,” my mom said to my dad, as I cried and cried and cried. “We’ll wait another year.”

And then we waited-another-year and we waited-another-year and we waited-another-year, all the way till I was seventeen. I finally visited Luke’s school for one week as a trial run. And I guess it was an okay experience—but then, well, that was when I had the mental health crisis, and my parents decided it was better that I stay at home.

…You know, I keep calling it a “mental health crisis.” And it was . But…that’s actually not the most accurate way to describe it.

You see, I, um…

…I used to hear these…

…voices.

…I still kind of do.

I don’t know when it all started. They’ve always been there.

Sometimes they’re more there. Sometimes they’re less.

And you may ask—well, are they voices that you hear? Literally? With your ears? And the answer to that is no —at least, I think it is. I hear them in my head. And you may ask—is it your voice? Or someone else’s? And the answer to that is…it’s hard to tell sometimes. I definitely have an inner voice, an inner Ben, who has a tendency to maybe say things that he shouldn’t—things that sometimes scare me.

But…there is someone else in there. Someone who’s not me. Someone who didn’t have a name, for a long time. And in the latter half of my teen years, this… person …began to flesh himself out—become more defined—become more distinctly not Ben at all.

The event I keep on calling my “mental health crisis” was the final culmination of a saga that, really, I hate remembering. I don’t remember most of it. I don’t know if I’ve just repressed it, or what. But basically, this person, this monster— this voice inside my mind—took advantage of me while I was in a vulnerable seventeen-year-old state. Over the course of several months, he slowly began to brainwash me, until I really, truly believed that he was the only one I could trust…and ultimately, he convinced me to run away from home and join him.

Join him where, you may ask? And in doing what?

And the answer to that is…

…I don’t know.

To this day, I still don’t know.

Though…I certainly doubt it was anything good.

I almost ran away with him. I really almost did.

Except…I didn’t.

And I lived, I’m here, I’m okay now. So…

…Enough of that.

Let’s move on.

So—I didn’t become a Jedi, as you know. But I did end up getting something pretty valuable out of my time at Luke’s school: a couple of really good friends.

One of them’s Amalia: this giant, hulking Togruta girl who looks like she could snap you in half. She and I used to hate each other’s guts…but somehow we ended up as unlikely friends. Amalia’s a lot like me—rough around the edges, has a dry sense of humor, is easy to get mad at, and even easier to make mad at you. But maybe that’s why she and I ended up getting along so well. She was a Jedi—Luke’s first student, actually—but she isn’t anymore. She follows a different Force religion now.

And the other friend I made—her name is Fannie. And I could describe her now…but you’re about to meet her pretty soon, so I’ll hold off on that till later.

Though, uh—I should probably mention that she’s…actually a bit more than a friend.

She’s, um…my girlfriend.

…Yeah.

I have a girlfriend now.

My first one ever, in fact.

This recent development has been the source of much interest for many of my HoloNet friends, who would often pester me about such things when I was younger: “Do you like any girls? Do you have any crushes? Will you go out with me? ” (Geez, what is this? Coruscant Cosmopolitan?)

Anyway —I’ve got a girlfriend now, despite the fact that I never thought I would.

See, I didn’t grow up experiencing crushes like other people. People were just people to me—girls were just people; women were just people. And Fannie’s just a person, too…but she’s a person that I like, and I like her enough to want to spend the rest of my life with her, maybe.

…Heh.

So…hey! I’m Ben!

Nice to meet ya.

And now, you can meet my girlfriend, too.

I think you’ll like her.

I definitely do.

Chapter Text

The first thing you would notice about Fannie Pentarra, if you were looking at her for the first time, is how short she is. She is five feet tall, if you measure her from the ground to the top of her head, and five-foot-two if you measure her from the ground to the top of her head-tails.

She is Twi’lek, with a seafoam-green complexion, and two long lekku that hang to her waist. (“Head-tails” are what humans sometimes call them in Basic. “Lekku” is the culturally-accurate term, and generally considered to be more politically correct.) Many Twi’leks have some kind of patterning on their skin, and Fannie has a pale green dappling on the top of her head, at each base of her lekku.

She has big brown eyes: warm, curious, and usually held as wide open as she holds her heart. In fact, she has a general fullness to her entire appearance: she has a round nose and a round face, both of which complement her large eyes, and there is almost always a smile on her full lips. She is short, but well-built: she gives good, solid hugs, and even though she’s small, she has more than enough strength to push you around if she has to.

Usually, she never has to.

You know when you meet someone for the first time, and you don’t know anything about them, but you instantly sense that they’re someone you can trust?

That’s Fannie.

Her voice is high-pitched, but delicate—pleasant, and sweet like honey. There is a careful deliberateness and sincerity behind every word she speaks. And she is definitely not shy to speak, despite her reserved demeanor. You’ll find that out pretty quickly, if you spend some time around her.

More often than not, you will find her listening.

Fannie, whose given name is Fa’nakhra, was born in 7 ABY on the planet Ryloth, to a Twi’lek man named Ruut Pentarra and his first wife, Fashha. Perhaps you have heard of Ruut Pentarra—a successful businessman, you might call him—as notorious for the rumors that surround him as he is for his mysteriously-acquired wealth.

Or perhaps, you have not heard of him.

That’s all right. You’ll meet him later.

After bearing Fannie, Fashha bore Ruut Pentarra three more daughters. And after marrying Fashha, Pentarra took his second wife, Orpah.

After Orpah, Athena.

After Athena, Merdicea; and after Merdicea, Kuhrii.

None of these wives died, by the way, despite what one might infer. Nor were they the only women Pentarra took on as his own, even if he did not marry all of them. I don’t know how many mates Ruut Pentarra has…and I would honestly be surprised if he knew, either.

Fannie has three full-sisters: Coneeyla, Ginevrah, and Pen’awen.

Fannie’s half-siblings, on the other hand, are innumerable.

I won’t get into too much detail about them, here.

You will meet them later, too.

And I call Pentarra a businessman…but it is unclear what, exactly, his business is. He is wealthy, and he is powerful—that much is certain, given how much people fear him, on his homeworld and especially within his region—but as well-known as he is on Ryloth, there is an air of secrecy about him.

There is one thing Rylothians know, though:

You respect Ruut Pentarra.

You respect him, or you watch your back.

When Fannie was eight years old, my uncle, Luke Skywalker, visited Ryloth and discovered her playing in a field of lothii flowers with her sisters. He sensed Force potential in each of the young girls, and in Fannie especially. He approached Pentarra, and inquired if his daughters would like to train in the ways of the Force.

Distrustful of a man who was both a human and a Jedi—as Rylothians are generally wary of outsiders, and superstitious by nature—Pentarra refused to let Skywalker take any of his children to train.

…Any, that is, except for one:

His least favorite child.

Can you guess who that was?

At eight years old, Fannie was angry and tumultuous—furious with the life she had been born into, and imbued with the intuition that the world around her Was Not Right. The way that her father treated women like property. The way he supported his own lavishness by taking advantage of those who would work for dirt. She was rebellious and outspoken and full of rage, and her father was pleased to send her away.

I never had the chance to know that Fannie…although I’ve caught glimpses, now and then. I met Fannie when she was sixteen, after the Force had changed her, she says. She still knows the world around her Is Not Right. She still hates injustice, and loves what is good, and speaks out against what is wrong. But…there is a peace about her that anchors her against the galaxy’s unfairness, and a love within her that burns fiercer than her anger. And she is sweet, and she is kind, and you cannot hope to go unnoticed by her. She will see you in a room full of strangers, and catch your eye, and treat you to a smile that is meant just for you. She is incredibly patient and impossibly gentle, and she always sees the best in everyone.

She is nothing like me, in all the best ways.

I’ve known her for seven years now. And in lieu of going over all of the past seven years…I will provide you, instead, with seven key moments from our friendship.

…Maybe seven-and-a-half, depending on how you count it.

KEY MOMENT #0: HOW WE MET

As I told you before, I was seventeen when I first attended Luke’s Jedi school for a one-week trial run. Just to see if it was really as bad as I thought it would be.

At first, it was. I felt really awkward. Uncle Luke had talked about me a lot, apparently, so everyone knew me… but I didn’t know any of them. And the fact that I was a socially-underdeveloped homeschool kid sure didn’t help—throwing me into a school of any kind was like drop-kicking a womp rat into the Naboo Abyss.

On my second day at the school, I was standing out on a rocky hillside between lessons. You know—disassociating. Having existential thoughts. Wondering if my parents had forgotten about me yet.

That was when Fannie Pentarra walked up to me.

She was sixteen, then, and wearing sky-blue robes that she had sewn herself, complete with pink ruffles on the sleeves, as well as a great big smile that was practically unnerving in its realness.

She came up to me, and I froze.

“Hi, Ben! I’m Fannie,” she said warmly, and held out her hand to me. “It’s so nice to meet you!”

I was so flustered, I forgot what a handshake was.

Not flustered because she was a girl. Flustered because she was a person. And worse yet, showing genuine interest in meeting me—which I didn’t know what to do with.

Her outstretched hand was waiting. Her friendly smile was terrifying. I knew I had to do—well—whatever it was that this specific social interaction required of me—and do it quickly enough to avoid being thought of as a dunce for the rest of the week.

Yet, for the life of me, I could not remember what a handshake was.

Oh, no—do something, Ben, do something, do anything—

So I held out my hand to mirror hers, tapped my middle finger lightly against her middle finger—

—suddenly remembered what the heck handshakes were—

—and then, of course, ran the frick away.

End scene.

Thank you.

KEY MOMENT #1: HOW WE BECAME FRIENDS

Well. After that awkward little incident, I was determined never to speak to her again.

But I guess, the Force works in mysterious ways.

Most of Luke’s students were teenagers, then. You get a bunch of teens together—stuff happens, you know? And sometimes, that “stuff” is…weird kissing games.

And so it was a game of spin-the-saber that brought Fannie and I together—not because we were both in attendance, but exactly the opposite. 

I told you: I was homeschooled. I wasn’t sure what spin-the-saber entailed, when I first received the invitation. But I definitely found out pretty quickly—about five minutes in, to be precise, as I was watching a couple of other teenagers make out three feet away from my face while everyone cheered and lost their minds.

I, on the other hand, was about to lose my lunch.

I ran away as fast as I could. And then I saw a light in Fannie’s hut—and so, desperate for refuge, I knocked on her door, and she let me in.

“My, you look a mess,” she said, looking me over, and probably seeing the trauma written all over my face. “Are you all right, dear?”

“I…yeah, I just…” I gestured vaguely behind me. “The others were…”

Concern flashed in Fannie’s eyes. “Were they being mean to you?”

I shook my head. “No. Not exactly. Kind of the opposite, to be honest. One might say things were getting too friendly back there.”

Fannie rolled her eyes. She stood up on tiptoe and let her heels fall back down with a tiny sigh. “Goodness. What was it this time? ‘Never have I ever?’ ‘Seven minutes in Force heaven?’ ‘Spin-the-saber?’”

“ That one. The last one. I didn’t know what spin-the-saber was! I haven’t been able to practice with a saber all this time—I thought we’d be sparring, and doing cool spinny-tricks, or something—”

Fannie giggled, then, and I looked at her self-consciously, shuffling my feet. I was afraid she was laughing at me.

“You’re not like other boys, are you?” she asked with gentle amusement, her brown eyes sparkling.

I interpreted this remark offensively, of course, because I’m great at that.

I shot her a nasty little look. “Well, I don’t see you over there.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant; it’s not bad at all to be different,” Fannie assured me. “You’re right. I’m not over there. Why don’t you sit down, Ben? I can make us some tea.”

“Thanks,” I said, surprised by her kindness. “I, um…forgot your name.”

Fannie giggled. “I’m Fannie.”

“Oh. Right. Fannie,” I said. “I’m Ben. Nice to meet you.”

And then I cringed because of course she already knew my name—she’d just said it.

Awkward.

But…Fannie didn’t seem to mind.

“Yes,” she smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

The tea was made. The tea was drunk. A half-hour later I was sitting on her bed, while she sat on the floor and knitted (Fannie loves knitting and crocheting and other ways of making stuff out of yarn and thread).

“I’ve never actually liked anyone before,” I told her. “Like …like-like. Is that weird?”

“No, of course not,” she said. “Perhaps you simply haven’t found the right person.”

“Geez, you sound like my mom,” I groaned. “No—it’s not that. It’s not that at all. I just…don’t think I ever want to be with someone like that.”

“Ah, I see,” Fannie said. “Well—there’s nothing wrong with that, either. The old Jedi used to take vows of celibacy. Did you know that?”

“Yeah…I knew that,” I said, tapping my fingers rapidly against the clay mug. “But…this isn’t something I chose . I’m just… like this. I’ve always been. I don’t know why.”

Fannie was quiet for a moment. I began to worry again that she thought I was weird.

“…I sense that this has been difficult for you,” she said at last, her voice weighed down with sympathy. “To feel like you’re different from other people.”

I looked up at her. She was gazing at me with such compassion.

My heart got all full with something warm, sweet, and achy.

“…Yeah,” I said. “Yeah…exactly.”

“Hm.” Fannie took my empty mug, and set it on the little table by the door. “Well…I can’t presume to know what you’ve experienced, or what you’ve gone through, Ben. But I’ve felt rather different from people, too, so I know a little of how it feels. I’m sixteen years old and I’ve never dated anyone, or kissed, or been kissed.”

I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. What she would have wanted me to say. That’s too bad? That’s okay? You’ll find someone eventually?

“…Well,” I said finally, “I’m seventeen, and I’ve never done any of those things, either.”

Then I grinned. “Maybe Uncle Luke should reinstitute the Jedi celibacy rule,” I joked. “Then, everyone would have to be like you and me.”

Fannie giggled. “Oh, but I wouldn’t like that. I do want to be married someday.”

“Oh,” I said. “You do?”

She nodded. And then I nodded back.

“Yeah, I guess I can see that,” I said. “You do kinda seem like you’d end up married.”

She cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

I shrugged awkwardly, wondering if I was about to say something offensive. “Well, I dunno. You just seem—kind of—like a mom.” I paused. “In a good way, this time.”

Fannie laughed, again—and I decided I liked her laugh, because it was delicate and delightful and sweet. “I have become rather known as the ‘mom friend’ around here.”

I paused, looking at her, and then around her little room: from the mugs on the table, to the knitting in her hands, to the kindness in her eyes.

“Yeah—I can see that, too,” I told her.

She smiled. “Thank you, Ben.”

“Well…I’m glad you don’t like kissing, either,” I said. “I thought I was the only one. I don’t know. It just…always seemed gross to me.”

Fannie was quiet.

“What? You don’t think so?” I asked.

“...Actually…I would like to kiss someone, someday,” Fannie admitted, turning pink. “But…not while playing spin-the-saber.”

“Really? Why? ” I asked—because I was starting to feel comfortable with her, and I’d always wanted to ask, but never felt like I could. “I don’t get it. It’s like—your mouths—touching each other—and germs—and spit—”

She giggled. “Well, when you phrase it that way, Ben Solo, of course it sounds revolting.”

“No, it is revolting,” I told her, “and I’m saying it like it is. Well, okay. Okay, okay. Would you—would you ever do it with tongue and stuff? ‘Cause—that’s nasty.”

Fannie turned even redder.

“Oh, my Force,” I gasped. “You’re about to say yes.”

“It…it might be nice,” she confessed, smiling bashfully through her fingers.

“Ewwww!” I threw a pillow at her, laughing—and then I realized we didn’t know each other that well, and I didn’t know if she and I were close enough for me to throw things at her—but she only ducked and smiled.

“But I wouldn’t want to kiss just anyone ,” she explained, blushing. “I’d like to have my first kiss on my wedding day, to make sure that it goes to someone very special. My mother didn’t have the opportunity to choose, you see. I do.”

“What do you mean, your mom didn’t get to choose?” I asked curiously. “Did your parents have, like…an arranged marriage, or something?”

“Well…it was arranged by my father,” Fannie said sadly. “He took my mother on as his wife…along with several other women. He calls them his wives, but…he does not treat them as equals.”

“Oh,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. “Well …you deserve someone who will treat you as an equal, Fannie.”

“Thank you, Ben,” she said.

Then there was an awkward silence, and neither of us knew what to do, and so we both wound up in a fit of giggles.

At last Fannie cleared her throat, and stood up to put the militarized pillow back in its place on the bed.

“...Goodness, let’s talk about something else now,” she said, smoothing her skirts. “Quite enough of that.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” I said, then offered her a high-five. “Team No Kissing?”

“Team No Kissing,” she agreed, laughing.

We high-fived. And from that moment on, we were friends.

In fact, she was such a good friend to me, that when the thing I call my “mental health crisis” began to spiral out of control, she was the first one I went to for help.

KEY MOMENT #2: WHEN I TOLD HER MY SECRET

Like I said before, my “mental health crisis” was less of a “mental health crisis,” and more of a…“Force-mind-possession” type of deal.

For the first fifteen years of my life, the voice inside my head seemed more like a vague presence than a person. I’m not sure if I even knew he was there. Does a fish know that it’s surrounded by water? Does a mynock know it lives in a cave?

But gradually, he began to emerge, and he used my fears to his advantage—my fears about whether my parents really loved me, and whether I would survive adulthood without them.

“I will be here for you, child,” he would croon to me, in the dark of the night. “I will always be here. Once you are of age, your parents will cast you off forever to the narrow confines of the Jedi teachings. They never knew what to do with you. They always feared you. They are eager to finally be rid of you. But I, I who have watched over you since your first drawings of breath, will always be here…to nurture you, and to guide you toward who you are meant to become. Yes, child…I will always be here.”

“Thank you, Leader,” I would whisper back.

He already knew every thought and emotion that I couldn’t express to my parents. He offered me comfort whenever I cried myself to sleep. When I was tucked into the corner of my bedroom, and panicking so hard I couldn’t breathe, he had the ability to reach deep into my mind, and extract the long, long tapeworm that was my string of anxious thoughts.

I loved him.

Loved him till it hurt.

Except it wasn’t really love—it was desperation. It was hunger. It was like being so parched that I began to gulp down my own saliva like water, which only served to increase my thirst instead of quenching it.

The months dragged on. The closer I became with him, the more joy he sucked out of my life. The longer I depended on him, the more he instilled in me a deep distrust of the galaxy. He soothed my episodes of violent panic and intense fear…but he replaced it with a miserable state of constant, starving despair—one that, over time, I became comfortable with, and eventually accepted as my new reality.

My parents didn’t know.

But…my HoloNet friends did.

They were lightyears away, and I didn’t even know all their names. But they eventually talked me into seeking help.

…Maybe you can relate.

I had only known Fannie Pentarra for a matter of days when she became the first person in real life that I told about my mind-voice. But like I said, she’s the kind of person you instantly know you can trust. And so the night before I was supposed to leave Luke’s school, I found myself in Fannie’s hut once more—snotty and shaking and sobbing, as I sat on the dirt floor with my knees folded up to my nose.

Fannie was sitting next to me, my holopad in her hands, reading a confession that I had not been able to say aloud—and that I hadn’t even been able to write myself. I had asked my friends to write it for me.

There is a voice inside my head.

I don’t know what to do.

Help.

There was a lot more to the letter I showed her, of course. But that was the crux of it.

I had never felt more scared in my entire life. I didn’t know what she was going to do, now that I’d told her my secret—the secret that I had kept to myself for the past seventeen years—the secret that I wasn’t even sure how to properly explain. What was she going to do, once she had read it all? Run out of the room screaming? Go immediately to my uncle to warn him I was dangerous? Unsheath her saber and end me right then and there?

She didn’t do any of that.

When she was done reading, she set my holopad carefully aside…and then she pulled me into a big hug. And somehow, that hug hurt, hurt like hell, more than anything else she could have done.

I don’t know why. Maybe because I thought I didn’t deserve it.

But her love burned. It burned . And she loved me despite the fact that she had not even known me for a week, and I was nearly a stranger to her. I found myself wrung tight in her arms, white-hot tears and vocalized suffering squeezed out of me, reduced to a mucoid, hyperventilating mess in Jedi robes.

I lifted my long sleeves to my nose, but Fannie stopped me, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket. “Kartakk erai de numa,” she said softly, as she gently wiped my slimy face.

“Wh…what?” I hiccuped.

“It means ‘call me your sister,’” she explained, setting the handkerchief aside. “According to legend, the slave women of my people would whisper it to one another, to show their solidarity. Let me be a sister to you, Ben Solo.”

“Th…thank you,” I said, and I meant it.

Fannie stroked her fingers soothingly through my hair, starting from the top of my crown and ending toward the nape of my neck. I closed my eyes, and let her do it—the gesture reminded me of my mom.

“This …voice you hear,” she said. “Is it…a person?”

“It’s…something like a person,” I told her, trembling. “Like a man. But…not a normal man.”

“And…you’ve heard this voice all your life?”

“S…sort of,” I said. “It hasn’t always been clear. But recently, it’s become clearer, and clearer, and clearer.”

“Have you seen this person?”

“...Yes. I’ve seen him. In my dreams. And possibly when I’m awake—I’m not sure.”

“Does he have a name?”

My stomach plummeted. I hesitated, staring at her in terror. My breath was caught in my throat—like barbed wire, drawing blood.

“Well…y-yes…he does,” I admitted. “But—he—he doesn’t let me say it, so—I…I don’t know if I should—”

“Say it,” Fannie commanded sternly.

I held my breath, dizzy, staring off the edge of the cliff…

…And then I jumped.

“...S…Snoke,” I said.

Snoke.

It was the first time I had ever said his name out loud. It made me feel lightheaded, and sick to my stomach.

“Snoke,” Fannie repeated in a murmur.

I threw my hands over my ears, terrified. “Don’t say it,” I begged, shaking my head. “Please.”

“And you’ve never told your family…?”

“No. Why would I?” I asked, rocking anxiously back and forth. “They’ll—they’ll have me committed. Or sent away. Or worse . What are you going to do? Are…are you gonna tell them, now?”

Fannie bit her lip, and smoothed a tear-wet lock of hair out of my face while I snuffled miserably.

“Well…I do think they need to know,” she said quietly. “But…I think you need to be the one to tell them, dear.”

“But I told you, Fannie: I can’t,” I protested. “That’s—that’s why I came to you—I didn’t know where else to turn—”

“Ben…there’s really not much I can do, besides be here for you,” she said. “We…we need to tell some grownups about this. We need to tell your family, and Master Luke. Because this has all been going on for a very long time, it seems, and…I don’t think it will go away on its own.”

“Well, it has to,” I choked out, starting to panic. “It has to, it has to—because I am not going to bring my family into this!” And then I broke down, in ugly-messy-teen-boy sobs, and grabbed hold of both of her arms in desperation. “Fannie, promise me you won’t tell. Promise me you won’t tell!”

“...This is a very difficult situation for both of us to be in, Ben,” Fannie said, her voice trembling, but her resolve firm. “You know I can’t keep this secret for you. Still…I won’t tell your family—but only if you can promise me that you will.”

I was gripping the loose fabric of her sleeves and losing my mind.

“Fannie, there is—there is no way I can promise you that,” I said amidst ragged gasps, feeling like her hut was about to crumble down on us and swallow me alive. “I can’t do it, I can’t do it—that is just—not an option for me.”

“Then I’m sorry, but I can’t promise you anything, either, Ben,” she said softly.

And she didn’t. A few days later, she did end up telling on me.

…Though, to be fair, I forced her hand.

After my parents picked me up from the Jedi school the next morning, I entered a catatonic depressive state, and released some mildly concerning blog posts into the ether that made it sound like I might be about to do something stupid—

—which, then, of course, I did.

I caused #FindBenSolo23ABY, to be precise.

I think some of my online friends found a way to contact Fannie, once they saw the things I was posting, and told her she should speak to Uncle Luke. So she did, and she told him everything I had confessed to her.

That same night, Snoke appeared to me in my room. He told me that he had sensed it—that my family now knew about him. About us. That my life with my parents was over—because how could things ever go back to the way they were now?

I had no choice, he told me.

I had to leave, he said.

And…I told you. At that point, I trusted him completely.

So…I left.

I stole my dad’s blaster and some credits, and caught a ship off Hosnian Prime around midnight on January 17th, 23 ABY.

I was not seen again until January 21st, four days later.

When they finally found me, I was lying in an open field on Chandrila. Wrapped in my favorite red blanket. Clutching my stuffed bantha, Ren. Unconscious. Starved. Dehydrated. Ill. With the worst haircut of my life, and on the brink of death.

…But?

Breathing.

…Alive.

KEY MOMENT #3: SHE CAME TO SEE ME IN THE MEDBAY

The next thing I knew, I woke up on Chandrila, in the Hanna City General Medcenter, where I had been born seventeen years earlier.

Funny. I was born in that medcenter; I nearly died in that medcenter. Poetic, ain’t it?

And now…it was like being born a second time.

When I woke up, the first thing I saw was my parents. And I was so sure they’d be angry with me—after all, why shouldn’t they be?—but…instead, they embraced me, and they cried over me, and they told me they were so, so grateful I was alive.

And for the first time in a long time…I was also glad to be alive.

Snoke disappeared for the time being, leaving my mind all to…

…me.

“Mom, I’m scared,” I remember saying from my hospital bed. “My head feels—empty . Like…like I’m supposed to be worried, but…I’ve got nothing to worry about. Am I …forgetting something? What’s wrong with me?”

Mom took my hand.

“Ben…you’re at peace,” she said softly. “What you’re feeling right now is what it’s like to be calm. ”

…Oh.

The medcenter kept me in custody for a week and a half, until my condition was stable. On the third day, Uncle Luke and Fannie came to see me.

“Ben!” Fannie said, coming up to give me a hug, and I let her—I felt embarrassed to be seen by anyone besides my family or the med staff, since, well—I really didn’t look too great—but even though she and I were hardly more than acquaintances, what interactions we had shared had been incredibly significant.

“I’m—I’m so sorry, Ben,” Fannie stammered, her eyes wide. “I know you asked me not to tell anyone, but—”

“Hey,” I said, feeling kinda shy. “Don’t worry about it, Fannie. You did the right thing. And I’m sure glad you did.”

KEY MOMENT #4: WHEN SHE STARTED DATING DEIRAK

Fannie and I became good friends after that—I think any two people would. Even though I didn’t end up staying at Luke’s school (my parents, understandably, wanted to keep me close to home for a while), I did visit Luke weekly for Force counseling. So I still saw Fannie quite a bit, and she and I hung out often.

We were an unlikely pair, me and her. Fannie could make friends with almost anyone, while I could barely mumble “hi” to someone I didn’t know. I would get pissed at the slightest provocation, and she had the patience of a thousand years. She was wise for her age—the most insightful sixteen-year-old I’ve ever met—while I felt like I had the mental and emotional maturity of a toddler.

If I’m being honest, I’m still not sure what she liked about me.

But I definitely knew what I liked about her: she was always willing to listen to me, and she’d put down everything to do it. She knew I was weird and intense and hard to like, but she always treated me with a non-judgmental curiosity. She always asked me how I was doing whenever she saw me, and she never let me get away with a “good” or a “fine” or even an “okay.” She was the first person outside my family who seemed to truly and genuinely care about me, and I hadn’t ever thought that possible. So yeah—I liked her a lot.

But…I liked her as a friend.

Not as a girl.

Because I was a guy and she was a girl, the other Jedi students used to tease us for hanging out so much. You know what I mean—“Ben and Fannie, sittin’ in a tree,” and all that tripe.

I always made a huge fuss, and got all mad about it.

…Fannie, on the other hand, would always get quiet.

After a few months, I noticed she was starting to act …strange around me. Staring at me sometimes. Getting all flustered when I touched her. Seeming to think my jokes were a lot funnier than they deserved to be.

I didn’t think too much of it, being a guy—and at the risk of sounding redundant—kind of an idiot.

At some point, I did start wondering if she maybe had a crush on me. And it made me feel all sorts of things…but mainly stressed, and worried, and confused. Sure, I liked her—but not like that . What if she did ask me out? What would I do? Would she still want to be friends with me if I turned her down? I didn’t want to lose our friendship. Would I be forced to date her, just to keep her in my life?

It was complicated, and scary, and I’d never even had a real friend before—let alone anything else. As the weeks went on, it became more and more obvious to me that something weird was definitely going on between me and her…but I sure as heck wasn’t gonna be the one to bring it up.

We kept on hanging out, but…I began to feel increasingly nervous around her. I started asking my mom to pick me up from Luke’s earlier. I didn’t respond to Fannie’s messages as frequently. The closeness that the two of us had shared began to steadily decline.

It was spring of that same year that Fannie admitted that she did have a crush on me…but also that she was going out with somebody else: another Jedi student named Deirak.

“I like you a lot, Ben,” she admitted. “I’ve grown to care for you quite a good amount, and…I do find myself rather attracted to you. You’re smart, creative, passionate, and authentic. But…I know you don’t feel the same.”

“No, I…I don’t,” I told her, feeling bad about it—but I didn’t feel the same, so what could I do?

“Still,” I said, “I think you’re a really good friend.” I scratched the back of my neck. “We, um…we can still be friends, Fannie…right?”

“Do you…still want to be friends with me?” she asked. “Even though I told you that I liked you?” She twisted her skirts in her hands. “You won’t feel uncomfortable around me?”

“Well…do you still want to be friends with me? Even though I don’t like you back?” I asked, tugging at the edges of my sleeves. “Your boyfriend won’t think it’s weird?”

We looked at each other.

And then…we both nodded, super embarrassed, at the exact same time, laughing with teenage awkwardness and relief.

“Good,” I said shyly. “I didn’t want to have to say goodbye.”

“Me neither,” she said, smiling softly. “Let’s stay friends, then.”

I smiled back at her. “Yeah. Friends.”

And so we stayed friends—good friends. And even though she had a boyfriend, a lot of people assumed she was dating me, because we were so close.

I always got the sense that Deirak didn’t like me all that much.

…But hey. Who does?

KEY MOMENT #5: WHEN SHE AND DEIRAK BROKE UP

It was three years later, when she was nineteen and I was twenty, that Fannie asked me to meet her on Ossus to talk. It was important, she told me.

I wasn’t meeting with my uncle as often anymore, so she and I didn’t hang out as much as we used to. But I still considered her my best friend.

I flew to Ossus as soon as I could.

It was spring again, then. I was still living at home, and taking HoloNet college courses with plans to transfer into a four-year university. She was about to finish her Jedi training, and move back to Ryloth to work with a Twi’lek anti-trafficking organization. Her boyfriend, Deirak, was staying on Ossus to become a Jedi teacher like Luke.

I’d spent a lot of time with Fannie and Deirak over the past few years. I had known what each of them wanted to do after graduating, and I had always wondered how they were planning to make it work.

I think maybe they were wondering, too.

It’s easy to be teenage sweethearts, when you’re both in school and stuck in the same place together till you’re done growing up. But sometimes, teenagers grow up to be adults with callings on opposite sides of the galaxy.

“I’ve put this off for far too long, Ben,” Fannie whispered through tears, while I stayed quiet and listened. “I’ve known for a long time that Deirak and I were heading in different directions. That we each had different plans, and different visions for our futures. I…I suppose we each thought the other would change.” She shook her head sadly.

“I didn’t want to end things with him, which is why I waited so long…but it seems such a waste, now,” she murmured. “We invested so much time into our relationship…three whole years… even though we always knew in the back of our minds that our respective vocations were more important to us than staying together.”

Then she let out a mournful little sob, and put her face in her hands.

I had never been envious of people in dating relationships. But hearing the strain in her voice, watching the tears run down her cheeks…I definitely did not envy her in that moment.

I didn’t know what to say. So…I gently pried one of her hands away from her face.

She let me take it.

Her hands are small, but always warm.

I squeezed her hand. She squeezed mine back.

“...I spent three years with him, Ben,” she whispered. “I was practically a child when he and I first came together. I…I almost feel that…that perhaps I won’t know how to be grown-up without him.”

Her eyelashes fluttered, weighed down by clinging dewdrops, and her lower lip trembled, like she was a little girl caught in the cold.

The silence settled, and I cleared my throat. She looked up at me, her eyes wet.

“Listen to me, Fan,” I said. “It’s gonna be okay. I know it’s—well, a big deal—to lose a relationship, and that it’s something I don’t understand. That I’ll never understand. But…hey, you’ve still got all your friends. Right? And, you know—you’ll still have me.” I flashed her a cheeky grin. “So…how bad could things be, really?”

She snuffled, and wiped her nose with her handkerchief, and smiled. “Maybe you’re right, Ben.”

“Hey, sister: I’m me,” I said cockily. “I’m always right.”

I spent all my weekends with her on Ossus for the next three months. I took her on walks, and let her cry on my shoulder, and asked her every week how she was handling everything. In a way, I saw it as my chance to repay her, for how much she had helped me with the Snoke situation.

Whenever I came to visit Fannie, I would see Deirak around the school. He seemed to like me even less than before.

I wondered what his problem was.

KEY MOMENT #6: WORLDS APART

That spring, I received an acceptance letter from the University of Naboo. I told Fannie about it, and she was really proud of me.

That spring, Fannie received a job offer from the non-profit she was hoping to work with. She told me about it, and I was really proud of her.

Spring turned to summer, and summer turned to fall. Fannie left Ossus for Ryloth, and I left Hosnian Prime for Naboo. I moved to Theed, transferred into UNaboo as a junior, and threw myself into college life—studying and midterms and finals and clubs and internships and campus politics and fraternities. I was never officially in a fraternity—but my best bud, Treeso Wonga, was, and I became somewhat of an honorary member.

I met Treeso in NHS 101: Introduction to Nonhuman Studies, and we soon became fast friends. I’d never been friends with a Gungan before—I’d had a lot of preconceived notions about them that turned out to be completely false. He and I got along so well, in fact, that we rented an apartment together for the next two years.

We had the best of times together, Treeso and I. He was an extrovert and I was an introvert, but we always split the difference—he helped me outta my homeschool-kid shell, and I usually served as his impulse control. I would tag along to house parties with him and talk him up to girls he thought were hot (while also trying to discourage them from pursuing me, usually). And he would stay up with me till 2 AM playing Podracing Simulator, with enough mods to render it nearly unplayable, while we laughed our butts off.

Treeso and I belonged to different majors—he was studying Subaquatic Civil Engineering, and I was studying Journalism—but we both had a minor in Nonhuman Studies, so we tried to take our NHS courses together whenever possible. We had a running joke in the classes we shared, where he would pretend he was convinced he was a human, and I would pretend I was convinced I was a Gungan.

For some reason, I always got in more trouble for our little joke than he did.

Even though he and I had our own apartment, we spent a lot of time at the Osk Trill Osk frat house, where Treeso’s fraternity mates lived. And there are a lot of stories I could share about that—including the one where I threw up after eating five blue slug-beetles (which are a delicacy to Gungans but not typically consumed by humans)—but I’ve already told that one on my blog, so I’ll share this one instead:

One afternoon, after Treeso and I finished a lecture for NHS 174: Near-Human Privilege in Human Spaces, we found a mysterious, unopened box of male contraceptive products on the counter. We asked the other guys about it, but no one knew why it was there. Presumably, someone had brought it home the night before and forgotten about it (whoops).

Well. One thing led to another, some light day-drinking occurred, and we wound up inflating them all and starting an epic pretend lightsaber battle with all the guys in the house. (It was a co-ed frat, so there were some girls who lived there, too—they rolled their eyes and ignored us.)

Being a college student is a little like being a kid—a kid who pays rent and cooks his own food and goes to the dentist without his mom—but a kid nonetheless. Fannie, meanwhile, had already begun her professional life. And as grown-up as she had already been at age sixteen, she was even more grown-up now, with a job and everything. I always found that so funny: a Jedi Knight, with her very own lightsaber, who worked with normal people and attended organizational meetings and earned a salary.

The organization Fannie works for is called Num’ataan. (Numa means “sister,” and taan means “hope.”) I can’t tell you much about it, since they maintain a high level of privacy for security reasons, but its mission is to rescue Twi’lek women out of sentient trafficking and provide them with trauma counseling and rehabilitation assistance. It’s a slim operation, and Fannie doesn’t make a lot of money.

Because of her financial situation, she moved back in with her family when she came back to Ryloth—which I found absolutely bizarre, because her work was entirely focused on getting women away from men like her father.

“Does your dad know what kind of work you do?” I asked her once.

“Well…I haven’t discussed it with him,” she said. “I rarely speak to him. But…yes, I am sure Pentarra knows. It would be impossible for him not to know, I think.”

“What does he think? Or…what do you think he thinks?”

“I…I’m not sure. But I doubt he’s concerned. He knows he’s too powerful for us to target him.”

“Is he?”

Fannie fixed me with a sad, hard stare.

“...Yes.”

Fannie holds a flexible support role within Num’ataan, and from what I can tell, that’s just how things work there—anyone in their operation has to have the willingness and basic training to jump into any situation. The stories that she’s told me about her job are wild—she’s assisted in undercover rescue missions, she’s helped deliver babies on the spot, she’s posed as a decoy to apprehend slavers (which is the craziest thing she’s ever done at work that I know about).

Most of the time, though, she provides post-rehabilitation counseling, for women who are a few years out of the program and living all over the galaxy.

“Really? They let you do that without a counseling degree?” I asked, surprised.

Fannie looked as surprised as I was. “Why would I need a degree?”

“Well …most jobs require a degree,” I told her. “That’s why I’m working towards mine.”

“Hm,” she said thoughtfully. “I don’t see why you need a degree, either. Ben. You were an excellent writer before you went away to school, and I know you would have only continued to improve even if you had not.”

And you know what? She was right. More and more, I’m starting to question if my degree wasn’t a waste of my parents’ money. Rylothians like Fannie aren’t too heavy on bureaucracy, which is difficult for a New Republic citizen like me to understand—but every so often, good ol’ Fan gives me somethin’ to think about.

Fannie and I were living on very different worlds. But…we were also living in very different worlds. I always felt so awkward whenever we called to catch up, and she’d tell me all about the things she was doing with Num’ataan—all the women whose lives were being changed through her work, and the sense of fulfillment she received from helping others—while I griped about petty college boy drama, and bemoaned all the classes my parents had paid thousands of credits for me to attend.

Because, if Fannie told me what she had done that day, and then asked me what I had done that day, and what she had done that day was something crazy, like assisting a slaving transport raid or sneaking little girls out of a smuggler’s ship—well, then how the hell was I supposed to tell her I’d spent most of my day goofing off with the boys and using inflated condoms as pretend lightsabers?

I ended up keeping a lot of my college stories to myself, whenever we called.

Because our lives had become so different, our friendship became more difficult to maintain—more difficult for me than for her, I think—but we were both pretty busy. Over time, I took longer and longer to get back to her when she messaged me…and eventually, stopped replying to her altogether.

We drifted apart.

Two years went by.

I got my degree.

She messaged me that summer: “Hi Ben! Did you graduate?”

And I said, “Hi Fannie, yeah, I did!”

And she said, “Congratulations!” and I said, “Thanks!” and she said “How are you doing?” and I spent way too long trying to figure out how to explain to her how I was doing—and in the end, never replied.

I got a job. I threw myself into post-grad life—working and meal-prepping and laundry and bills and holding onto whatever friendships I had left from college and saying “hey man I’ve got a free night two months from now let’s go hit the bar if something doesn’t come up before then.”

Another year went by.

I definitely thought about her sometimes. Thought about that girl who had come up to introduce herself to me at my uncle’s school, all those years ago. The one who had shown kindness to me at my lowest, and allowed me to do the same for her. But the longer it became since the last time we’d talked, the more awkward I felt, and I wasn’t sure how to ever reach out again.

For a time, I wasn’t sure if I ever would.

… But don’t worry.

I did, eventually.

KEY MOMENT #7: WORLDS COLLIDE

When I was twenty-three, I was writing a piece on a Twi’lek pop star for work, and it made me think about Fannie again, and wonder how she was doing. I finally mustered up the initiative to message her, and we holocalled for the first time in years.

But something about her seemed…off. And it’s hard to say how I was able to tell, because she was polite and friendly and attentive and as good a listener as she had ever  been—exactly the Fannie I had first met on Ossus, but…not the Fannie I had come to know so well. I hadn’t talked to her in so long, but I knew her well enough to know that there was something she wasn’t telling me.

I figured it must have had something to do with her family, since Fannie’s family was the most important thing in her life. And that part, I guessed—but I could never have guessed what, specifically, was going on with her family.

I invited her to come visit me on Naboo, one weekend in the spring. Picked her up from the spaceport, showed her my favorite spots to get food, introduced her to Treeso (who was still my roommate at the time). Took her to the Theed Farmer’s Market and Craft Fair that I had written so many community articles on. And then, we sat by the lake, and talked.

“So…what’s going on?” I asked.

Fannie laughed—but it was an empty laugh. “What do you mean?”

“C’mon, Fan, don’t play. I know it’s been a while, but I still know you pretty well. I can tell something’s bothering you.”

Something wavered in her eyes, and her lips twitched. It took a while to get it out of her, but eventually I did get her to talk.

See—I’m not patient, in the way that she is.

But: I am stubborn.

After a long period of silence, Fannie looked up at me.

“...Do you remember my sisters?” she asked.

I had never met her sisters. But I did remember her talking about them: Connie, Ginnie, and Pennie—all younger than her, and each of them one year apart.

“Yeah, I remember,” I said, then hesitated. “Did…something happen to one of them?”

Her eyes, unblinking, began to fill with tears.

“Oh, Ben…yes, something dreadful,” Fannie whispered. Her whole body was rigid.

Oh, no, I thought. No wonder she seemed so messed up.

“I’m listening,” I told her quietly.

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Her eyes, wider than I had ever seen them, darted anxiously—and then she began to shudder, like a desiccated leaf in the wind. She seemed as though she were in denial about something—and terrified that speaking it out loud would suddenly make it true. Whatever it was, I could tell it was something big.

I was right.

When she finally spoke, her voice was dry, and she sounded as if she were using the last dregs of her breath.

“...My father,” she said in a low tone, her eyes dark as night, “has betrothed Pennie, my youngest sister, to himself.”

I stared at her, shocked.

“...What?”

Fannie nodded, as if in a dream.

“Fannie, that’s…no. No way,” I said.

“I wish it were not true,” she said sadly. “But yes, Ben: he intends to make her one of his wives. And Pennie has accepted his offer—seeing it as an honor and a recognition of her adulthood. She is the youngest of our sisters, and has always struggled to find her place. She yearns for love. She thinks this is love. But—it is only a semblance. A perversion. I have told her so. But…she will not listen.” Fresh tears fell, and I reached out to swipe them away.

“But…he’s her father,” I said. “For him to marry his own child—isn’t that …illegal, or something?”

“And what difference would it make, if it were?” Fannie replied bitterly. “My father has the stubborn, selfish will to do whatever he wants, and enough power and influence to allow him to do it.”

“What do your mother and sisters think?” I asked. “I can’t imagine they’d possibly approve.”

“Then clearly you know nothing of my family,” Fannie snapped, with a bite to her tone that was most unlike her.

I drew back, stunned.

“...Sorry,” she said, embarrassed.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” I said quietly—though I was still shocked to have seen that come out of her. “You’re…under a lot.”

She paused, and then nodded.

“...Anyway,” Fannie continued, “yes: my mother approves. She thinks the union will ensure a secure future for Pennie. As for my other sisters—they are neutral. And yet: is that not almost worse? I can understand my mother’s perspective, as wrong as I think she is. But Connie and Ginnie simply do not care. ‘Let Pen’awen do what she wants,’ they say. But—that is not in my nature, Ben. I cannot not care.”

I put my hand on her shoulder. I wasn’t sure if there was anything that would be helpful for me to say.

“I have always had a special relationship with Pennie,” said Fannie quietly. “I used to help my mother take care of her when she was a baby, almost as if she were my own child. She was only four years old when I left Ryloth to go with Master Luke. I do not regret that I began my training when I did…but I have always wished to have spent more time with my sisters in our youth…and especially with Pen’awen. It is difficult, now, not to wonder if things might have turned out differently, had I been more present.”

My heart went out to her—I knew that feeling. Rey had only been nine when I moved away for college. Now that she was fourteen already, I felt like there was so much I had missed. 

“When I close my eyes,” Fannie whispered, “I still see my sister’s smile…when she was happy, and young, and untouched by the world’s cruelty. Yes…Pennie was always so sweet. So full of light. But…she was always rather vulnerable, I think. She was so very small for her age, and used to hide behind my legs whenever anyone spoke to her. Oh, Ben…she must be so sad, and frightened, and desperate inside to have resorted to this…but of course, I do not know. I cannot know. She does not speak to me anymore. Pentarra has made sure of that.”

Then she buried her face in her hands, with a sigh that seemed almost to crush her lungs. 

I was quiet for a few moments.

I wondered how long Fannie had struggled in silence: separated from the other Jedi and surrounded by her family who accepted whatever her father chose to do. And I began to wish that I had been a better friend to her, during all those years we had drifted apart.

I licked my lips, and looked up at the sky for a second.

Then I put one hand on her shoulder, and my other hand under her chin. And I gently lifted her head and moved her hands away so she would look at me.

“Spend the summer here with me on Naboo,” I told her.

Fannie blinked, teardrops spilling from her eyes. “Wh…what?”

“Spend the summer here with me on Naboo,” I repeated. “Get away from home for a while. Treeso’s about to move back to Otoh Gunga to be closer to his grandma—so I’ve got the space. And, well…space sure seems like something you could use, right about now.”

Fannie looked surprised that I would even suggest it.

“I—I couldn’t do that, Ben,” she said. “You’re—well…you’re a boy.”

“A boy?” I echoed, taking mock offense and drawing back from her dramatically. “Hey, watch it, sister! At my age? I think I’ve sure earned the right to be called a man.” I grinned, and gave her a wink.

Fannie giggled as a trail of snot trickled down over her full lips. “Well—that’s even worse, then.”

“C’mon, what’re you afraid of, exactly?” I asked, giving her a playful nudge. I reached out, and wiped her nose with my sleeve (she made a face that showed she thought that was gross). “We’ve been friends since forever. I rejected you, five billion years ago—remember?”

She smiled, but looked unconvinced.

“Hey,” I said. “What’s that Twi’leki phrase you would always say? Kartakk…”

“Kartakk erai de numa.”

“Which means…?”

“‘Call me your sister.’”

“Exactly,” I said. “So: call me your brother.” I gave her a shrug. “Whaddaya say?”

She smiled at me again. But she didn’t speak.

“Look, sis. Nothing weird’s gonna happen,” I told her. “Promise.”

She thought about it for a minute.

“Well…no, I suppose not,” she said finally. And she smiled a little more.

“Great,” I said, and patted her on the arm. “I can’t fix home for you, Fan. But—I can give you a temporary home for the summer. And I can definitely make sure we have some fun while you’re away. There’re still plenty of good things in life, bud—no matter how messed up the galaxy is. You’ve helped me believe that. Let me help you.”

So…she spent the summer with me.

And even though I had promised her nothing would happen…

…Well.

Something did indeed happen.

Something I never would have expected, or even dreamed:

…I fell in love.

It’s hard to say exactly how or when. Maybe it was the night she surprised me with homemade dinner to share. Or the time in the kitchen I taught her how to do the Alderaanian waltz. It might have happened over the many nights we spent folding laundry and doing chores together. Or perhaps it was when I came home one weekend and found her dancing like an idiot with her big, clunky headphones.

There were a hundred other little moments like that, during the course of that blissful summer on Naboo. Little things that made me stop for a moment, and think to myself: hey. Wouldn’t it be nice if I could keep her here with me forever?

I won’t get into all of them here. You can read about ‘em on my blog (though I’m not sure you’d want to, as the whole thing’s a total sap-fest).

I had grown up extremely lonely. As a kid, my only friends had been my parents (and Snoke, of course—but he doesn’t count). I had finally begun to make friends as I got older…but I had also watched so many of them leave, or had to leave them behind myself. Everyone grows older. Everyone eventually goes their own way. Your paths cross, for a time, and then that time ends…and then your paths don’t cross anymore. Even my ol’ pal Treeso, who I had seen every single day for the past two years, would soon be gone.

…I couldn’t help but think how wonderful it would be to have someone you knew would stay.

At first, I wasn’t sure if I was “in love” with Fannie. I wasn’t even sure I knew what “being in love” meant.

But: I did know that I loved her.

I also realized that, the more time we spent together…the more my love for her grew.

And grew…

…And grew.

By the time summer had ended, and she left Naboo to go back to Ryloth…I had begun to feel that Fannie had become super important to me, that every day was better with her in it, and that I never wanted to drift away from her again. In fact, I was beginning to think that I very much wanted to see her and talk to her and do things with her and hold her close to me every day for the rest of my life.

And I thought to myself, well:

…There’s certainly one way I know of to make that happen.

So to make a long story short—I ended up asking her out.

And she said yes.

Which…y’know.

Basically made me the happiest guy alive.

Chapter Text

I had fallen in love with Fannie because we were such good friends. So naturally, I assumed that being boyfriend-and-girlfriend wouldn’t be too different.

I mean, come on. Boyfriend? Girlfriend? It’s in the name.

As it turned out, there were some differences: namely, that the differences between us, which had once been merely quirks between pals, carried a lot more impact once we were spending all our time with each other and beginning to imagine a life together.

Don’t get me wrong. Fannie and I are a solid team in so many ways. But see—that was the part I already knew.

What I didn’t know was…all the ways in which we weren’t. Or at least: weren’t yet.

I will provide you with three examples from that summer on Naboo.

EXHIBIT AUREK: THE WOMAN WITH NO SHOES

One of the things I have always admired about Fannie, long before I ever began to see her romantically, was her kindness and her compassion for other people (and especially for me). I am amazed by Fannie’s capacity to care for others—something I have always found difficult. Most of the time, I barely have the energy to properly attend to myself, let alone to anyone else. So caring about strangers that I’ve never met, and will never see again, is not really even on my radar.

Not so with Fannie.

Perhaps you’ve seen holos of Theed. As I said before—it’s a beautiful city. Idyllic lakesides. Clear, blue skies. Regal stone buildings that have seen countless Nabooian queens. Rough-hewn cobblestone that you have to watch your step as you walk on, so unlike the polished walkways of more “modern” worlds.

What the holos won’t show you, however, are what you’ll find in any city, rustic or not: poverty. Sentients without places to live, food to eat, or the credits to obtain either.

Fannie and I used to go out on the weekends, and walk around downtown Theed at night. Any city after dark tends to be a little sketchy, and Theed is no exception. Whenever we went out at night, I would hold Fannie’s hand and keep her close to me.

And then we met the woman with no shoes, on the corner of Amidala and Fifth.

She was a Gungan woman with a heavy accent, who smelled strongly of fish. She was also the kind of individual who yelled at you as you passed by. I pulled Fannie closer to me and tried to hurry past, but Fannie stopped in front of this woman, causing me to nearly yank my shoulder out of its socket.

“Fan—” I tried to say, but it was too late. Fannie had already started speaking to the old lady.

“Good evening, mother,” she said kindly, and I wondered if that was some Rylothian thing, the way she called her that—or maybe, it was just Fannie. “What’s your name?”

The old lady ignored her. “Meesa need credits for shoes,” she rasped, her voice dry, like the croak of a sun-bleached gizka. “Shoes. Credits for shoes.”

“Of course,” Fannie said, bleeding sympathy. “How much do you need?”

I stared.

Of course?

How much do you need?

The old lady finally lifted her eyes from the dirty street to look at Fannie—sizing her up to see how dumb she was, maybe. “How much can yousa give?”

Fannie opened her mouth to speak, but I put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back.

“Fan,” I said solemnly. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

I pulled Fannie aside, took her around the corner, and looked her in the face.

“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I know you’re a Jedi and all, and helping people is your thing—but I live here. I’ve known a lot of Gungans. My best friend is a Gungan. Gungans don’t wear shoes—they don’t need to. They have tough feet. In fact, Treeso only wears shoes ‘cause he has, like, sensory issues, and he says all his friends make fun of him for it. Gungans don’t wear shoes—she’s just trying to scam you.”

“But…you said that Treeso wears shoes.”

“Well, yeah—but Gungans don’t , generally speaking. She wants to take advantage of you, Fannie. She’s asking you for credits, not shoes—you don’t know what she really plans to spend the money on.”

“But why shouldn’t I be generous to her?”

“Well, I told you—because you don’t know if she’s telling the truth.”

“Ben, if she isn’t telling the truth, then that is her own fault to bear. But if I do not give, when I have the means to—then that is mine,” Fannie said staunchly. “I have more than enough. It’s not right that I should keep more than I need, while someone else has less.”

“Okay, but—are you gonna do this every time we come across someone on the street? You can’t help everyone , Fan.”

“Perhaps not,” she said stubbornly, “but I don’t see why that ought to mean I should help no one at all.”

We argued for several minutes, and neither one of us was willing to concede.

We finally settled the matter by agreeing that they were her credits, and she could do what she wanted with them, even if what she wanted to do was something I thought was foolish—but when we went back around the corner, the woman with no shoes had wandered away.

“See?” I said, giving Fannie a sideways glance. “Evidently, she gets around fine without shoes.”

“...I do hope she’s all right,” Fannie said softly.

EXHIBIT BESH: THE TOPIC OF CHILDREN

We went out on weekends a lot that summer, but we also spent most of our weeknights together as well. On Tuesdays, we did our laundry together, and folded it on my bed.

Fannie was fascinated by washing machines, since she hadn’t used them on the worlds she’d grown up on. She was also fascinated by my clothes—my white synthweave work shirts that didn’t wrinkle in the dryer like her cotton robes did; the pants that were normal-sized to me but almost spanned the length of her entire body.

Once, she held up a pair of underwear from the laundry pile, blushing, and said—

“Oh, Ben—the seam came undone. I could sew it back up for you, if you like.”

I looked, and saw that she was holding up a pair of open-fly boxers.

I struggled to come up with an appropriate response before finally stammering, “Uh…well, actually…it’s supposed to be like that.”

“Really?” she said, eyes wide, the perfect image of a girl who had only grown up around sisters.

“Yeah,” I said, embarrassed.

Her eyes were so wide, I couldn’t help but laugh at her.

“Do you, uh…want me to explain?” I asked.

“Goodness, no,” she said quickly, and thrust them at me.

We had a lot of conversations over laundry that summer. We talked about our families, and we talked about our hobbies and the things that got us excited—and we also talked about us, and about what our future together could maybe look like.

We also talked about…kids.

Kind of.

…Sort of.

Not really about our kids. The way we phrased things, it was more about her kids and my kids than it was about our kids—but I’m sure in the back of both of our minds was the possibility that her kids and my kids might end up being one and the same.

One of the things we talked about, over laundry that summer, was whether or not we’d want our children to train as Jedi.

Fannie had grown up hearing legends of the Jedi. But she had never dreamed she could become one—not until the day Luke Skywalker came to Ryloth.

As for me, however—Luke Skywalker had come to see me the day I was born. And over the course of my entire childhood and adolescence and even into adulthood, I had always felt like my mom and my uncle wanted me to train as a Jedi, and were disappointed in me that I hadn’t.

For Fannie, Jedi training was an escape from her father’s house, and the life of oppression she had been born into.

For me, Jedi training would have forcibly stripped me away from my mom and my dad, who were the only safety I had ever known.

To Fannie, the Force was a well of deep comfort and peaceful strength.

To me, the Force was something of a horrible mystery: the power that had made the connection between me and Snoke possible, and subjected me to countless dreams and nightmares.

Is it any wonder we should have such different views on how we’d hope to raise our kids?

“I don’t believe in telling kids what to think,” I said. “They should be allowed to figure things out for themselves, not be told what they oughta believe or do.”

“But I believe that the Force is real,” countered Fannie. “And that the way of the Jedi allows one to find peace and harmony. If I wholeheartedly believe something to be true, should I not teach it to my child?”

“Well…what if your kid wants to believe something else?” I asked.

Fannie was quiet for a moment.

“...Do you remember the woman with no shoes?” she asked.

“Uh…yeah,” I said. I wasn’t sure why she had brought it up.

“You stopped me from giving money to her,” Fannie pointed out. “Why did you stop me, Ben? Why did you not simply say, ‘Fannie, you are entitled to believe and do as you please,’ and let me do as I wished?”

“Because that lady was obviously trying to scam you, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to give money to strangers,” I said. “And anyway—in the end, I did tell you that you were allowed to do whatever you wanted to do.”

“Yes, you did tell me that,” she agreed. “But…only after arguing with me for a very long time. So: why did you argue? Why did you try to dissuade me from what I thought was right in favor of what you thought was right, if, in the end, I am allowed to do whatever I like?”

…Well. She had me there, I guess.

“Because…because I care about you,” I said. “And—because I don’t want anyone taking advantage of you. It’s not that I don’t want you to be kind, Fan—I just want you to be smart about it. Of course I can’t stop you from doing whatever you decide to do. But…if I see you doin’ something that I think is a bad idea, you know I’m gonna tell you about it.”

“And you think that’s the right thing to do,” Fannie clarified. “To tell me what you think is a good or bad idea, even when I feel differently.”

I suddenly became very occupied with stacking my folded shirts on top of each other.

Fannie didn’t look at me—but she did smile.

I sighed.

“...All right, all right, I get your point,” I muttered. “Geez. You oughta go into politics.”

“Oh, goodness, no,” Fannie giggled. “But—you see, Ben, I don’t think we actually disagree about guiding others toward what we think is right and dissuading them from what we think is wrong. I think you and I merely disagree on what those things are. Or perhaps—on which of them are significant enough to speak up about.”

I thought about it for a second.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

EXHIBIT CRESH: THE ONLY THING WORSE THAN BEING WRONG ABOUT POLITICS IS NOT CARING ABOUT THEM AT ALL

I have always been interested in politics. Even as a kid. I don’t think my brain was developed enough to understand all the nuances, until I got a lot older—but I’ve always loved history, and found governmental theory fascinating.

Fannie, on the other hand, has no interest in politics.

Never has.

Probably never will.

On one of our weekend outings, Fannie and I were sitting in a diner in downtown Theed—one of those joints with sticky red stools and sticky white tables and holoscreens all over the walls. Most of the holoscreens were showing sports, and a couple were showing soaps—but one of the holoscreens, the one in the corner, was showing a report on the new military spending bill that had been proposed for the upcoming ballot.

The demilitarization of the New Republic has been a hot-button issue ever since the government’s founding, and it makes sense why. After all, when the Galactic Empire rose to power—with the stormtroopers and the AT-ATs and the Death Star and the Sith Lord called Darth Vader—it did not do so by defeating the Galactic Republic.

It rose out of the Republic.

During the Clone Wars, before my mom was even born, the Galactic Republic poured billions of credits into military spending. As the war raged on, the Republic declared a state of emergency and granted special powers to its chancellor, Sheev Palpatine. Palpatine then used his newly-acquired authority to reorganize the Galactic Republic into the First Galactic Empire …and to declare himself Emperor.

Once the Republic became the Empire, all of the military power it had amassed—the clone army, the starship fleet, the sheer blasterpower—all of that allowed ol’ Sheevy to squash entire star systems into submission, and maintain complete control over most known worlds.

That is…until the Rebel Alliance finally brought the Empire crashing down in 4 ABY, and the New Republic was born.

One of the first pieces of legislation the New Republic passed was the Military Disarmament Act, which officially renamed the military to the New Republic Defense Force…as well as decreased its size by a whopping ninety percent.

Some have criticized the action, pointing out that this now leaves the newborn government wide open to the threat of attack. But those who are wary of history repeating itself have consistently voted against any amendments to it, fearing a second Galactic Empire.

I was trying to explain all of this to Fannie. But…she looked utterly lost.

“Sorry—it’s all a bit over my head,” she said apologetically. “Ryloth is an independent world, you know.”

“Yes—I know Ryloth is an independent world,” I said, more impatiently than I meant to. “And I can get why, given how badly the Empire screwed you guys over. But even if Ryloth remains unaffiliated, whatever happens in the rest of the galaxy is going to affect your world. So it’s important to stay informed—you know?”

She was quiet.

“Look,” I said. “Do you even know who your emissary to the New Republic is?”

She shook her head blankly.

I stared at her.

“Fannie! It’s Yendor Brethen!” I exclaimed.

“Oh,” she said. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“Fan,” I said, exasperated. “I can forgive that you don’t get the nuances of New Republic policymaking. I can forgive that you don’t keep up with current events. But you should at least know who’s representing your planet to the New Republic Senate. Like, at the bare minimum. That’s kind of important!”

“Well…it’s not very important to me,” she said. “I know that your mother is on the New Republic Senate, and that her job is to fight for justice through the government, and the law. And of course that’s a good thing. But…it’s not every thing. It can only go so far. There will always be corruption, despite any government’s best efforts—because at the end of the day, governments are merely made of people, Ben, and people are imperfect.”

“Well—yeah, I agree no government’s perfect—but I don’t see how that should mean we shouldn’t care,” I argued. “Doing something is better than nothing. Right? Isn’t that what you were trying to convince me of? With the shoe lady?”

“But that’s exactly it, Ben!” Fannie said. “This world is part of the New Republic, no? And yet, there are people in need, like that poor old woman. And they will remain that way no matter what policies your government enacts. So I would much rather work with people, and focus on people, than engage in theoretics and political theatre.”

“Look—that’s great and all,” I said. “And definitely—the stuff you do with Num’ataan is noble and incredible and necessary and everything, and you know I mean that. But staying involved in government and politics, or at least paying attention to them, is also important, because when good people are not paying attention, bad people take power. Which is exactly what happened to the Galactic Republic.”

“Actually, it seems to me that power is what turns people bad, more often than not,” Fannie argued. “And it also seems like we simply have different perspectives on the matter. Why must you try so hard to change my mind, when you claim to value freedom of opinion so much?”

We argued so passionately over this in our booth that we earned several dirty looks from other patrons who were trying to, y’know, have dinner. Even our waitress, who came out of the kitchen with our tray full of food, gave us an awkward side-eye as she approached our table and looped around so she could come back later.

“Fannie,” I said at last. “Listen. The way you feel about the Force? Is the same way I feel about politics. It’s something really important that affects people’s lives, and the welfare of sentients across the galaxy. And the way that you feel, about me not caring about the Force? Is how I feel right now, about you not caring about politics. Do you get what I’m trying to say here?”

She tilted her head, and recognition flashed in her eyes.

“Oh,” she said slowly. “So…that means that the way I feel about politics, that it’s incomplete, and can only get you so far…is…the same way you feel about the Force.”

“Yes!” I said, slamming my palms down on the table and leaning back, because we had finally gotten somewhere. “Yes, Fan—exactly.”

“I see,” she mused.

And then, I think, she and I really got each other—

—but I think it also made us feel sad, and frustrated, because what we got was…that we didn’t get each other, in some ways.

We both looked down at the table.

The waitress spotted the lull in our conversation from across the diner, and quickly snatched the opportunity to serve our food without having to interrupt a heated debate.

We were both pretty hungry, at that point. So…we silently but mutually agreed to abandon the previous conversation, eat our food, and discuss other things instead. Things in which we did fully get each other—relationships with family members, struggles with work burnout, memories from Jedi school, the things we liked about being grown-up and the things we missed about being kids.

Come to think of it? We never did come back to that conversation.

I think we were both afraid to.

Which, I suppose, is an issue all its own.

But…there was one more issue I haven’t told you about yet. And this one was, well…a little bit bigger than the rest.

Because while our other issues were all things we could have definitely worked through, with enough time and conversation—this one was a different sort of problem:

…I had convinced Fannie to date me with a lie.

EXHIBIT DORN: WRITERS ARE REALLY GOOD AT MAKING STUFF UP

Luke Skywalker did not approve of Fannie and I starting a relationship.

I, on the other hand, did not approve of Luke Skywalker butting into grown adults’ affairs.

Although Fannie and I hadn’t met until our teens, both of us had grown up around Luke. Fannie had practically been raised by him—she and the rest of the young students he had trained in the Force. And because Luke was my uncle, I was familiar with him, too—he called my family often, and we would always see him around the holidays.

Luke and my mom are very close. They’re twins, although they were separated at birth—and although their individual callings have separated them once again, they share a special bond. Whenever Mom needs advice on something, she always goes to him.

Maybe that’s why she always wanted me to go to Luke’s school. Perhaps, at times, I was one of the problems that she didn’t know how to fix.

I grew up feeling almost afraid of my uncle—afraid he was going to take me away from my family, and force me to center my life around something I didn’t understand or want a part in. But for Fannie, being taken away from her family was a good thing. She adored Luke. And I guess that everything he taught her about the Force made sense to her in a way that it never has for me.

I can forgive Fannie for latching onto Luke, and viewing him as her mentor and protector, and trusting everything he says. She has led a difficult life. I can’t deny that Luke has spared her further difficulty.

I cannot, however, forgive Luke for taking advantage of that trust to control Fannie and manipulate her decisions.

Luke spoke to Fannie and I separately, but his message for each of us was the same: that she and I were on different paths. That she was a Jedi, and I was not. That she and I would end up pulling one another in different directions.

And you know what? Maybe he had a point. Even I could see that—yeah, there were some areas where Fannie and I had different ways of looking at things. I mean…I just told you about a bunch of ‘em.

Still—it was never Luke’s place to try and tell us that. If Fannie and I did have fundamental problems that doomed our relationship from the start, surely that was something for the two of us to discuss and decide—not something for Luke to conclude by himself, even though he had never even seen us together as a couple, and lecture us about from behind his office desk.

To say I was pissed about it would be grievously underselling the truth.

I was livid.

And one of the things that upset me about what he did, among many, was that Luke chose to talk to me and Fannie one at a time—like we were children he needed to separate because we’d talked too much in class. And I think I know why he did it. Luke knew he had to be the only one in the room with her, in order to have that conversation with her and get the outcome he desired. Because Force forbid there be another voice she dared to listen to, besides his own.

It was a pity for him, really. Who knows? If Fannie and I had been in the room at the same time, her presence might have gotten me to behave.

I won’t go into details about what went down.

That’s not the point.

Though, if I could do it over, perhaps I would have tried harder to keep my anger in check.

But unfortunately, life does not grant us such luxuries. I said what I said. I did what I did. And Uncle Luke and I have not spoken since.

And following that conversation, I was also planning never to speak to Fannie again.

After Luke had talked to both of us, Fannie reached out to me and asked if she and I could discuss our relationship. Well, I knew what that meant—it meant she was breaking up with me, and it wasn’t something she had come up with on her own—it was all because of Luke.

I ignored her. I was too scared. I put off talking to her for weeks and weeks, until finally I couldn’t anymore. And of course at that point I had made things so much worse: because now I also had to answer for why I had ghosted her.

Even if she had been on the fence about breaking up before, I had really put our relationship in the ground, now.

And…even though that part was my fault, I was still mostly angry at Luke. Because he was the reason the whole thing had started.

However…there was one way in which Luke’s decisions turned out to work in my favor…

…Which was that Fannie wasn’t there to witness what he’d said to me.

When I finally spoke with her, and gave her my account…I may have performed some light embellishing. Or…outright lying. Whichever you prefer.

I hated Luke. And I wanted Fannie to hate him, too.

I won’t go and hash out everything I told her. That’s not the point.

The point is that, somehow, I achieved the impossible. I thought for sure Fannie wouldn’t believe my version of events, and that she’d go right back to Luke again and straighten things out. And then I’d be toast, we’d be so over—but then again, we had already been over, ever since Luke had decided it was his job to come in and tell her I wasn’t good enough for her—

But …she never talked to Luke.

She wept, and she held me, and I held her. And she said:

“Ben, I don’t understand. That doesn’t sound like Luke at all. Why would he tell you never to speak to me again? Why would he tell you that you couldn’t even be friends with me, or talk to me, or even say goodbye? Why would he be so cruel?”

And she said:

“He practically raised me. For eleven years of my life. Why would he turn so cold against me now? And against you? Even if we’ve made a mistake?”

And she said:

“This, on top of everything going on with my family, with my sister—oh, Ben, I—I don’t know who to trust.”

Then she looked at me, terrified, and said:

“I…I can always trust you, Ben. Right?”

I began to see the boiling hot water I had put myself in.

…Well.

What was I supposed to say?

No?

So I said:

“Yes, Fan. I’ll always be here for you. You can always trust me.” Which was, of course, an incredibly ironic thing to say, in that moment.

Oh…and that’s not all. It gets worse.

Do you remember that, when I said Snoke disappeared, I said he disappeared “for the time being?” That I didn’t say he disappeared for good?

As it so happens, it was right around this time that I began to hear Snoke in my mind again, after he had been silent for years. Luke had taught me how to shut him out, after my mental health crisis, and for a long time, it had worked. But…somehow, either gradually, or suddenly—I’m not sure which—the dark presence that had been with me throughout my childhood began again to take residence in my head.

I should have told my parents. I know I should have. But there were too many things going on at the time, too many things I was afraid of losing—

—and so Snoke’s unexpected return became one secret, out of many, that I kept to myself.

And so concludes my three examples of The Ways In Which Fannie Pentarra and Ben Organa Solo Do Not See Eye-to-Eye, plus One Really Big Problem—

—plus, One Even Bigger Problem.

So…yeah. Now you know how I met Fannie Pentarra, as well as everything that happened between us afterward.

Both the nice parts…and the ugly ones.

And one evening in November, I brought her home to Hosnian Prime, so my parents could meet her, too.

Chapter Text

I have to admit I didn’t use the word “girlfriend” when I told Mom and Dad I was bringing someone home to meet them.

Well, I say “meet.” Fannie had met them before, earlier in our friendship. But this was the first time she was meeting them as my girlfriend, and the first time they were meeting her as my girlfriend. So even though they’d already met, it was still kind of like she was meeting them.

Can you blame a guy for feeling nervous?

Especially a guy like me: someone who’d spent his entire life battling his parents about whether or not he’d ever end up dating. My dad would ask to tease me, my mom would ask because she was thinking about my future—and every time one of them asked, I’d roll my eyes all the way back into my skull and gag.

But…I think it was clear by how absolutely ill I looked, as I was holocalling my mom that, well—this wasn’t any ordinary friend.

I had called Mom specifically to ask if I could bring Fannie home to meet them. But I didn’t muster up the courage to say so until about fifteen minutes into the call, when I was finally sick of hearing about how Rey was doing in math class, and which boys she was beating up on the playground, and how long it had taken her to get over her last cold.

“Uh…Mom?” I asked weakly, cutting off a detailed play-by-play of one of Rey’s after-school droid engineering competitions. Mom stopped, and looked at me, concern etched on her face.

“Yes, Ben? Are you all right?”

“Um, yeah, I’m fine—listen, there was…something I wanted to tell you about. Or…ask. I guess.”

Mom’s brow furrowed, her eyes intensifying, and I could tell she was getting worried. My mom has a bit of an overprotective tendency with me.

…Then again, I suppose I’ve earned that from her, given some of the things that happened to me while I was growing up.

Given some of the things that were still happening, that I hadn’t yet told her about.

“Ben. What’s wrong?” Mom asked urgently. “Have you been having nightmares again?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I insisted, but now that this was becoming a Whole Big Thing, I was getting more anxious, and starting to fidget, and definitely not winning my case here. “I just…um…well, wanted to ask…”

“What is it?” Mom pressed, barely concealing the alarm in her voice, and I figured I had better spit out whatever before she called emergency services on me.

“Is it okay if I come over for dinner soon?” I blurted lamely, feeling the absolute helplessness radiating out of my eyes.

Mom blinked a couple of times, and pressed her lips together, trying to read me. I knew she was already assuming the worst: that I’d had some big unspoken crisis, that my mental state had taken a crippling blow, that I’d somehow wound up in an unsafe situation and needed to get out.

“Ben, have you been hearing from Snoke again?” she asked seriously—and that was a question I was definitely not interested in answering, so at that point I knew I had to bite the blaster shot.

“Mom—there’s a girl that I want you and Dad to meet,” I said all in one breath.

That did the trick for sure—even if it made me want to die inside.

Mom forgot all about Snoke.

“A girl?” she asked, her face lighting up, like she was tasting hope for the first time after abandoning it many years ago. “What girl?”

“Well, uh—I guess you’ve met her before. It’s, um—my friend Fannie. From Luke’s school. You remember her, right?” I asked, without enough breath to fully support my voice.

Like I said—I didn’t use the word “girlfriend.” But I don’t think I had to for Mom to hear it loud and clear.

“…Oh!” Mom said, surprised. “Oh!” She smiled, and looked delighted, and I wondered if she was having one of those mother-y moments where she was already seeing herself at my wedding and holding my babies and whatever the heck else mothers imagine when they look like that.

…Well. At least I’d gotten her to stop worrying about me.

“Aw, please, Mom, don’t make this too weird,” I begged. “It’s only Fannie.”

“Yes, yes; I remember Fannie!” Mom gushed. “The two of you used to be so close when you were younger. I didn’t know you were still in touch, after all this time!” She sounded like a mother who was doing her best not to sound nosy—and therefore, sounded nosier than anything. “So, how long have you been seeing each other?”

“It’s…a…new thing,” I struggled to say, dying of embarrassment.

“Oh, Ben, that’s so sweet—of course the two of you can come over! Oh, Dad is going to be so excited. Do you need us to pick you up? We don’t mind paying for your spacefare. What food does she like?”

I will spare you the rest of that horribly awkward holocall—not that there was much left to tell you about, because once I was able to secure a date for the big Ben-Brings-His-Girlfriend-Home event of the century, my mission was to end that call as quickly as possible.

We set a date for a weekend in November. And when that weekend in November finally came, it found us in the back seat of a taxi speeder, on Hosnian Prime, on our way to my parents’ house.

On most developed worlds, taxi speeders are droid-operated, and owned by large galacticorps. I’ve ridden in taxi speeders before where the drivers are people. I don’t know about you, but I prefer the droids, because the droids don’t try to talk to you—not unless you select that feature, at least.

I suppose the fact that the droids don’t talk does not preclude that they may listen, though I prefer not to think about that. If our droid driver was listening, the only data he’d have learned about us is that Fannie was really excited to meet my parents, and I was really nervous—even though they were my parents. Fannie was blushing and smiling and swinging her feet, and I was staring straight ahead and tapping my toes and trying not to throw up.

Fannie may have been on Cloud City, but it wasn’t long before she took notice of my sorry state.

“Ben—are you okay? You look—pale.”

I laughed—but there was no mirth behind it, so it came out as more of a cough. “No, I’m—I’m stressed. I’m freaking out.”

Fannie looked at me, concerned, and took my hand. “Well…do you know what you’re afraid of?”

I shrugged. Because I didn’t know . I just felt .

…Well.

Maybe I knew a little bit.

“…I’m afraid my parents won’t want us to date,” I admitted. And then I winced, because it sounded even dumber out loud than it had in my head. After all, you saw how my mom reacted on that holocall—me dating was basically like the third destruction of the Death Star to her.

Fannie stopped stroking the back of my hand with her fingers.

“Why would they not want us to date?” she asked slowly. And it was in the voice that I call her “counseling voice,” with the pitch sort of raised, and an even-tone calm, but…I could sense there was something else, there, too. She sounded worried—as if maybe there was a reason my parents wouldn’t want us to be together, that I knew and she didn’t.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said bitterly. “Out of human decency? Maybe my mom will pull you aside and go, ‘hey sweetie, I know I’m the one who raised this little skrithead, but I really suggest you find someone else—oh, how do I put this?—less kriffed up.’”

“Language,” murmured Fannie, because she doesn’t like when I cuss.

“Sorry. Sorry,” I sighed. “I just…keep thinking about Luke, and how he didn’t want us to be together. Somehow, I worry my parents will feel the same.”

Fannie was quiet for a moment.

“...I understand, dear,” she said softly. (She calls everyone “dear”—it’s not just ‘cause she’s dating me.) “I think about Luke often, too. I still can’t believe your uncle told you to cut contact with me completely, after he shared his concerns about us being together.”

As you know, of course, there was a very good reason why she couldn’t believe it—but I nodded, and didn’t say anything.

“Well,” Fannie said gently, and I looked at her. “For what it’s worth…I’m really looking forward to seeing your family.” She smiled.  “And you needn’t worry that they’ll think you’re not good enough for me—whatever that means. They’re your family, Ben. They’ll be happy for us, I’m sure of it. Happy for you, and happy for me. In fact, I’m sure they’ll understand more than anyone how lucky I am to be with you, because they all love you as much as I do.”

Her eyes and her smile were both so genuine, that I couldn’t help but feel my anxiety start to melt away. I let myself smile back.

“Well…all right, Fan. If you say so.”

“I do say so, love.”

She calls everyone “dear.” But only I get to be “love.”

She ran the backs of her fingers lightly against my cheek, and then tapped her index finger lightly against my nose. I chuckled, and she giggled back, her wide eyes like full moons. She looked so…pretty, when she looked at me like that.

Never thought I’d ever call a girl pretty.

I looked at the droid driver, who had issued the standard greeting and rider confirmation upon our entrance, but had remained silent all this time. Then I looked at Fannie…and let a sly grin spread across my lips.

“Say…do ya think they’ve got cameras on us, back here?” I asked. And I nudged her with my shoulder, and raised an eyebrow.

She blushed furiously, and gave me a prim little shove. “Oh, you stop that, Ben Solo!”

I laughed, and grabbed her shoulders, and squished her up in a hug. I hadn’t really wanted to do anything; I’d just wanted to get a reaction—and that was exactly the kind of reaction I’d hoped to get out of her.

Fifteen minutes later, the taxi speeder dropped us off outside the gated community where my parents live. They don’t live there because they’re fussy or nothing—my mom may be a princess, but she’s as practical as they come. It’s mainly for security reasons, since my family is sort of famous, and my mom is a high-profile political figure and everything.

My parents live on Hosnian Prime, in Republic City, which was recently re-elected the New Republic capital. You may not know this if you live on an independent planet like Fannie does, but the New Republic doesn’t have a permanent capital. Every year, we elect a new one. (When I was born, the New Republic capital was Hanna City, on Chandrila.)

If that sounds insane, and like a whole lot of work to move the capital from world to world every year—well, you’re kind of right. The New Republic’s founders established the rotating capital for the same reasons they practically abolished the military: to decentralize the New Republic’s governing power, both practically and symbolically.

To put it simply: the New Republic was designed to be weak so it could never become the Empire again.

Some of it is just for show. For example, the annual capital rotation doesn’t do much. Because of how quick the turnover is, there are only a handful of worlds with the existing infrastructure to support an interplanetary government—and that’s why Hosnian Prime is now the capital for the second time.

My parents have lived in their house on Hosnian Prime since 22 ABY (the first year that the planet hosted the capital). Before that, we moved every year, following the capital for my mom’s work. We’ve lived on Chandrila, Nakadia, Corellia—too many worlds to count.

In 23 ABY, we were about to move from Hosnian Prime to Gatalenta, which had been recently elected the new capital host world. But then I had my personal crisis and triggered #FindBenSolo23ABY, and in the aftermath of making sure I was alive and getting me psychiatric care and therapy, the move never ended up happening.

Shortly after that, Rey started living with us. And I think my mom wondered if maybe her second kid would turn out better if she didn’t keep bouncing us around from planet to planet, so—my parents never ended up moving again.

My parents’ house (isn’t that funny, when you stop calling it “my house,” and start calling it “my parents’ house?”) is a three-bedroom home. One of the bedrooms used to be Mom’s home office, until Rey came to live with us. There is a gate with an entry code that I used to know by heart, but that I now have to check the personal notes on my holopod to remember. Within the gate is a little courtyard area, where Rey keeps a garden, and Dad keeps random crates of rusted junk that he refuses to get rid of. There is a garage, and that’s full of junk, too—but it also houses my mom’s speeder…as well as my dad’s speeder bike that Mom won’t let him ride anymore, ever since he crashed and busted his hip. (He’s okay now—just old.)

There are three little steps that lead up to the front door, which has a keyscan entry—but the keyscanner has been broken for the past five years, and we’ve never gotten around to fixing it. So we use the phys-keys, which are super clunky and annoying to carry around, but they work.

Even though I had my key with me, I felt like we were supposed to knock, since Fannie was with me and she was a guest.

So…I knocked.

It was my little sister Rey who opened the door.

Like I told you, Rey is adopted—but she’s so like the rest of us in terms of sass, spunk, and sarcasm, that you wouldn’t be able to tell. Rey is fourteen—seven years older than when we discovered her on Jakku, but still with sun-streaked brown hair and a peppering of freckles from the harsh planet’s light. Her favorite color is green, because she saw so little of it where she was born. My dad and I call her “Kid,” a nickname she now despises because she doesn’t want to be thought of as one. My mom calls her “sunshine,” but ever since becoming a teenager, Rey’s disposition has turned somewhat less sunny.

Rey has a bit of an entrepreneurial streak: leftover ambition from her days of struggling to survive on Jakku. One time, we caught her selling my gym holos to her female classmates. Another time, a bunch of angry parents reported that Rey was selling Youngling Scout cookies at slightly under the official price and undercutting the competition.

Rey is not a Youngling Scout. We do not know how she obtained the cookies.

Rey is ten years younger than me. And it’s weird to have a sibling that much younger than you. When I moved away from home, Rey was a kid—now she’s quickly becoming an adult.

Not as quickly as she thinks she is, though.

“Mom! Dad! Ben’s here!” Rey yelled, without saying hi to us, or even referencing Fannie, and walked away.

Fannie looked at me with a bewildered little smile.

“Do you think she remembers me?” she asked in a low voice. “I suppose it has been several years since I last saw your family.”

I shrugged, not all too interested in trying to psychoanalyze my sister, and gave Fannie a pat on the back. “She knows who you are, Fan. She’s just being fourteen.”

“Ben! It’s so good to see you!”

We turned, and saw Mom coming down the stairs, and Dad poked his head out from the hall.

“Hey, guys,” I said, kinda bashfully. Which was partly because I was here with my first-ever girlfriend and everything felt weird, but…also because that’s always how I feel when I visit home. Like when you play a hologame, and go back to one of the worlds you already beat, and everything’s familiar…but also strange.

My mother, Leia Organa, is nearing fifty, but doesn’t look it. Her long brown hair (which she always wears up, except before bed) is going a little gray, and there are creases around her eyes from all the times she’s smiled and all the times she’s frowned and all the times she’s cried. She’s a short woman, standing only as high as my chest. But she holds her chin high, and when you look at her, you can imagine her as she was during the days of the Rebellion: commanding a squadron of men all a head taller than her. She holds the same command over her family, and it was never Dad I worried about getting in trouble with—it was Mom.

But she’s as gentle as she is fierce, and as funny as she is serious. She is complicated, like I am complicated—not that Dad and Rey aren’t complicated, too—but I think Mom and I share a lot of similarities: the permanent anxieties, the deep thoughts, the strong opinions…

The connection with the Force that, I think, neither of us has really known what to do with…

And maybe that’s why my mother and I have butted heads so often as I was growing up, and even now to this day.

My father, Han Solo, is older than sixty, but not yet seventy. (To be honest, I’ve lost count of how old he is—but once you’re that old, does it even matter?) He’s about as tall as I am—maybe a couple inches shorter—but he carries himself with more confidence than I will ever dream of having. His eyes are always set in a fond squint, and he smiles like I do—with a flash of tooth and one side higher than the other. He is an old man in terms of the jokes he makes and his growing inability to understand the generations that have come after him, but not in terms of how well he moves around, or in the pursuits that occupy his time.

Far from the rogue he once was (as well as, I think, the rogue he mistakenly assumed himself to be), he’s a devoted husband and a loving father. And although he fails to fully understand emotions almost as much as I fail to fully process them, he’s always gotten me, I feel like. As much as he could, at least.

Han Solo is the normal one in our family. Not that he is normal (which I say both a fact and as a loving jab)—but he’s more normal than the rest of us.

Maybe that’s what I like about him. When it’s just me and Dad, I can pretend that I’m normal, too.

So…yeah: my parents.

And while I’ve been telling you all of this, Mom and Dad have been executing the typical pleasantries—the “good to see you, son,” the hugs and the hair-ruffling; the “hello again, Fannie, it’s been so long,” accompanied by a firm handshake from Dad and a generous smile from Mom.

And Fannie is beaming and blushing and telling them that they look well and that she’s so happy to be here and that she’d forgotten how charming our home is, and I’m wearing a smile too big to be real and telling myself not to breathe too fast and asking myself why I’m so nervous when obviously I’ve known these people since I was born.

I was able to keep it together for a while, as my parents were asking me how work was going and asking Fannie what she was doing these days. But then, Threepio, our protocol droid came into view, and well—that was too much for me. As my mom started setting dinner on the table, and I recognized that I was about to be stuck in a chair with my mom and my dad and my sister and my girlfriend and the galaxy’s chattiest droid for approximately the next hour if not longer, I excused myself to go upstairs so I could wash my hands—but really, it was so I could seek refuge in my old bedroom and panic in privacy.

My bedroom has remained much the same since I was sixteen. And when I'm there, I feel sixteen. My model starships are still there, and so are my band posters, and so is my desk where I used to sit and write for my blog. There’s something comforting to me about my old room…but also something sad, too. I’d spent a lot of nights there staying up late, obsessing over my teenage interests, and talking to my HoloNet friends (some of whom I’m still in contact with to this day).

I had also spent a lot of nights there wide awake, unable to sleep, and gripped by the terrible, inescapable feeling that I was forgotten and alone.

I wasn’t sure if I felt that bad right now. But…I did feel pretty bad.

…It was about to get a whole lot worse, though.

“Ben.”

I blinked a couple of times, sitting up straight. And then I pressed my lips together and knit my brow, and tried to decide whether I was going to acknowledge that, or pretend like I hadn’t heard.

“Oh…pretend, if you wish to. I know your mind.”

My head was spinning. I knew everyone was waiting for me downstairs, and wondering where I was, and that the food was getting cold. And now…this.

…Him.

“What do you want?” I whispered.

“You misunderstand me. I don’t want anything. I am here for your sake, Ben Solo. I can help you.”

“No thanks,” I muttered. “I don’t need any help from you.”

I heard—or maybe felt?—something like a low chuckle, rippling through my mind like a stone falling into a pond.

“Very well.”

Then he faded away and retreated once more to the back of my mind, and—as he did—my anxiety suddenly got about a thousand times worse.

I found myself gasping for breath as my heart began to beat faster, and faster, and faster. And all I could think about was everything going wrong at dinner, about Fannie finding out I had lied to her about Luke, and five hundred thousand other things. My hands were shaking, my head was pounding, I found myself both shivering and sweating at the same time—

…I will spare you the rest of that miserable episode.

It’s always hard to gauge the passage of time when I’m like that. But after about the longest ten minutes ever—I heard someone come up the stairs, and knock on my door.

I swallowed hard, and tried to catch my breath.

I figured it was Fannie, coming up to check on me. I rubbed my sweaty palms on my pants.

“...Come in,” I said weakly.

But…it wasn’t Fannie.

It was my dad.

He opened the door, and leaned in the doorway.

“...Hey, kid,” Dad said, in a quieter tone of voice than was his custom. “You, uh…doin’ okay?”

“Yeah, uh…fine,” I said, because I was caught off guard, and because that’s what you say—but Dad disregarded it completely, because he knew me better than that. He came over and sat down next to me on my bed.

I didn’t know what to do, or what to say. And maybe he didn’t, either. But he sat with me for a couple of minutes in silence, and then he clapped his hand gently on my back, and I looked at him, feeling like a little kid as I rubbed the back of my left thumb over and over with my right.

At last, Dad spoke.

“…You know something, Ben? I’m proud of you,” he said.

“...Why?” I asked.

“Well… ‘Cause you’re my son,” he said. “And a man, now. And ‘cause you’ve been through hell, and made it through.”

I still didn’t know what to say. So, I nodded.

Dad squinched up the side of his mouth affectionately, and rubbed his hand over my back. For a second, I pondered whether I had become too old to do so—but I gave in, and leaned my head on his shoulder, and began to feel better.

“...Thanks, Dad.”

“Hey…listen. You don’t need to be nervous about tonight,” Dad said. “Everything’s gonna go how it’s supposed to.”

“I hope so,” I said.

“You like that girl?” he asked, then—that girl, of course, being Fannie—and I looked away and shrugged, because, well—he was my dad, and it was embarrassing.

He gave me an unimpressed look. “You brought her here, din’tcha? You must like her at least a little .”

Well, he had me there.

“...I like her a lot,” I admitted.

“Yeah, I like her too,” Dad agreed. “Seems like a good kid. Seems like she’d be good for you, the same way your mom’s good for me.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’m good for her, ” I said, sitting up straight again—and then I wished I hadn’t said it, because it was a little too honest.

Dad chuckled. “Well, I didn’t think I was good for your mom, either. But then again—maybe a little corrupting influence was good for her.” And he grinned in that way that always made my mom swat at him.

“Maybe,” I said. “But maybe, if Mom had been a Jedi like her brother, she never would’ve gone for someone like you.”

Dad gave me a curious look, and once again I wished I hadn’t been so honest.

“...Listen,” Dad said finally. “You and Fannie—you’ll have your own stuff to work through, like me and Mom did, and still do. But if it’s meant to be, kid? It’s meant to be.” He made a fist and brushed it against my shoulder. “So…don’t sweat it.”

Don’t sweat it . That was easy for him to say. For me, it wasn’t so easy.

Both for reasons that weren't my fault…as well as a few that were.

But…still. That didn’t mean it was worth nothing, to hear him say it.

I do love my dad. He doesn’t always understand me…but he does get me. You know what I mean?

I gave him as much of a smile as I could, and meant it.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“No problem, buddy. Think you’re ready to come downstairs?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Good.” Dad patted me on the back again, and tilted his head and raised his eyebrows at me. “‘Cause…that was my ulterior motive, y’know. Hurrying dinner along. I’m hungry.”

I laughed and smacked the back of his head. “You ol’ son-of-a-gundark.”

Chapter Text

My parents do not possess the ability to cook.

My mother was part of the royal family on the late planet Alderaan. Her meals were prepared by hired staff.

That didn’t make her pampered, though. Once she joined the Rebel Alliance, there were no more salad forks for her.

My dad grew up in the sewers of Corellia. He couldn’t afford to be picky.

Neither could Rey, before we took her in. She grew up eating military ration packets: leftover war supplies harvested from the felled ships littering the desert from the Battle of Jakku.

I’m not a picky guy, myself. To this day, my comfort meal is what my mom used to make for me when I was growing up: a glass of blue milk and a plum-tomato sandwich, cut diagonally (that part’s important; makes it taste better, somehow ). Tinned Nabooian sardines are a fantastic sandwich addition as well.

Ever since I moved to Naboo and started living on my own, I’ve learned that food can surpass the threshold of “edible” and become “enjoyable to consume”—and so in that way, I guess I’ve become a little too good for my mom’s cooking.

I’ll still eat it, though.

The reason my mom cooks, by the way, isn’t ‘cause of a gender role thing. It’s ‘cause if Dad did the cooking, none of us would be alive.

So there we were, sitting around the dinner table: Mom and Dad and Rey and Fannie and me. There was a bowl of mashed starchroot (only slightly too watery) and a glass tray of tip-yip drumsticks (only slightly undercooked) and a plate of steamed greenflowers (only slightly mushy). And I wasn’t feeling super hungry, but I nursed my plate all the same.

Not that I would’ve been able to eat a whole lot anyway, because Mom would not stop asking questions about me and Fannie.

Figures, I guess: her first kid, in his first relationship, bringing his first girlfriend home for the first time. So she was having the time of her life. If she was having any more fun, she’d probably slip a disc or something.

“Please forgive an old woman for her curiosity,” she said, clearly loving this. “But since Ben is my baby, I’ve got to know. How did you two start liking each other?”

Fannie and I exchanged glances. But I was the only one of us whose hesitation was the result of discomfort—Fannie’s face had been painted a permanent pink ever since we got here, and I wondered if her cheeks hurt from smiling yet. She was potentially having as much fun as my mom—if that were even possible.

“Do you wanna…?” I asked.

“You can tell it,” she said bashfully.

“No, you do it,” I insisted. “You’ll tell it better.”

And also spare a poor man from having to explain to his mother how he fell in love, after he spent the last ten years swearing he never would, I thought, suddenly very interested in a hangnail on my left thumb.

“Oh, I do enjoy love stories!” chimed in Threepio—and I had to fight not to bury my face in my hands.

Fannie nodded, and looked up to address everyone in the room (including Threepio).

“Well…I always admired Ben,” she said. “And we were friends for a long time. I was having a difficult situation at home, so Ben offered to let me stay with him this summer. We spent a lot of time together, and ended up growing a little closer.” She smiled and looked to me for approval, and I shrugged and nodded.

I noticed Rey gag into her steamed greenflowers. I shot her a look.

“And how did Ben ask you out?” Mom inquired sweetly, placing her chin in her hand.

“May I be excused?” Rey groaned loudly, even though her plate was half full (but I couldn’t blame her at this point, ‘cause I kind of wanted to be excused, too).

Rey was ignored.

“I just…ya know…asked,” I said lamely.

“Zero rizz,” Rey coughed into her plate—and by this time I’d had enough of her. I set my glass of water down on the table a little too hard, and fixed her with a durasteel gaze.

“Oh, shut up, Kid—I’ve gotta have at least some rizz,” I retorted, and gestured to Fannie. “She’s here, isn’t she?”

“What’s ‘rizz?’” asked Fannie.

“What’s ‘rizz?’” asked Dad.

“I am fluent in over six million forms of communication—” Threepio began to say.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, ignoring him. “It’s just one of Rey’s little kid words—”

“One of many,” remarked Dad.

“I am not a little kid!” fumed Rey.

“Ben, be nice. Rey, hush,” Mom said, raising her voice to cut through the noise, and shifted the conversation back toward the topic she was most interested in. “Well, I can’t argue with simplicity. The two of you have been friends for so long, I’m sure you hardly needed all that song-and-dance, anyway. So! Have you told Luke yet?”

And Fannie and I stopped with our forks in the air and turned to stare at each other uncomfortably, and then both looked down at our plates.

Rey tilted her head suspiciously.

Dad raised an eyebrow.

Threepio looked like he was still anxiously wanting to explain to the rest of us what “rizz” was.

Mom looked bewildered, and she frowned, and parted her lips to say something—but I found myself speaking first, if only to stop her from talking.

“Yeah, uh—Luke knows,” I blurted. “He’s—supportive.”

Fannie looked at me, her eyes wide. I looked back at her, twisting the corner of my mouth a bit.

For a second, I was so sure she was gonna say, “Actually, the last time we spoke to Luke, he said he didn’t think we were a good match, and neither one of us have spoken to him since, and honestly, we’re afraid to,” or something along those lines—

—but she didn’t.

“Ah…yes,” Fannie said, sounding out of breath, then looked at me for approval.

I was stunned.

Fannie never lies.

I nodded at her, and we both looked at my mom.

Mom’s eyes flitted between the two of us. She looked like a million follow-up questions were brewing in her mind. But luckily, Dad came to the rescue.

“Aw, c’mon, Lei; let the poor kids eat,” he said cheerfully, patting her on the back.

Amazingly, Mom looked at him for a moment…and nodded.

Then she turned to Rey, and asked her which elective she was thinking of taking next semester. So in the end, Mom let us off easy.

And if you’re thinking Fannie let me off easy, too—well, I was thinking the same.

…Maybe I was a bad influence on her.

The rest of dinner went better, and I have to admit there was something charming about watching Fannie interact with my family. She asked my mom about her job, and asked Rey about her droid-building competitions. She listened to my dad recount the Kessel Run story—the long version, mind you—and even played a captive audience to Threepio’s most-prized anecdote about how he was once mistaken for a deity on Endor.

After dinner, Mom had to take a call for work, which she apologized about profusely, and Dad started doing the dishes, which Fannie insisted on helping with. I went upstairs to charge my holopod, since it was running low on battery.

I heard footsteps coming up the stairs behind me, and I turned—and saw that Rey was right on my heels, in typical younger sister fashion.

“Geez—you scared me,” I said. “A little space, Kid?”

Rey folded her arms. “There’s something you’re hiding, Ben,” she said. “I can tell.”

“Maybe,” I said, halting at the top of the stairs, so that she nearly bumped into me. “But…if there’s something I’m hiding, that means I’m not likely to tell it to you.”

“It’s something about Uncle Luke,” Rey persisted, narrowing her eyes even more than usual—she has a habit of squinting constantly, from years of shielding her eyes against harsh sun and windswept sand. “Uncle Luke doesn’t know about you and your girlfriend. Does he?”

“Maybe he does, and maybe he doesn’t,” I said, heading to my room. “But I don’t see why it’s any of your business.”

“Why’d you lie to Mom?” she demanded, following me in.

“Oh, come on. Like you’ve never lied to Mom.” I fished my holopod charger out of my travel bag and plugged it in, then threw my holopod onto the charging pad and watched the screen light up.

“Have you ever lied to your girlfriend?” Rey asked suddenly from the doorway.

My head snapped up, and I stared at her.

“Why do you ask?”

“‘Cause girls don’t like being lied to, you know,” Rey said, looking at me seriously. “It’s very bad for your rizz.” Then she turned on her heels, and flounced off toward her own room…but she stopped short of the door.

“Besides,” she said, as an afterthought. “She’s pretty nice, I guess. It would suck real bad if you lost her.”

Tell me about it, I thought to myself, as Rey disappeared into her room.

Chapter Text

I ended up lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling, thinking about what Rey had said to me, until Fannie came upstairs.

“Your father is so sweet,” Fannie said, giggling. “And so funny.”

And then she stopped, and looked at me, concerned. “Are you all right, love?”

I wasn’t sure what it was about me that made her ask. But Fannie does have a pretty good read on me (most of the time).

“Um…yeah,” I said, sitting up. But I must not have been convincing, because she sat down next to me, and put her arm around my shoulder.

“Are you still feeling nervous, dear? Dinner is already over.”

“Yeah…I know. You did great, by the way.”

Fannie smiled. “You speak as if it were a test. It was truly my joy to spend time with your family.”

“I’m glad, Fan.”

“But…you’re not. I can tell. What’s bothering you?” She took my hand and played with my fingers.

I hesitated.

“Fannie…do you think it’s ever okay to lie?”

She looked up quickly, meeting my eyes, then blinked a few times and looked back down again.

Strangely…she looked uncomfortable. The Fannie I knew would have had an immediate answer, with her whole heart behind it.

“Why do you ask, Ben?”

And I hesitated again…because I couldn’t tell her the real reason why.

…But luckily, there was something else I could say.

“Because we lied to my mom about whether Luke knew about us,” I said. “Well—I lied. But…you went along with it.”

Fannie was quiet.

At last, she spoke.

“...Luke probably already knows, even if we haven’t told him,” she said slowly. “So…that part is true enough. And…he may not be fully supportive, but…he hasn’t done anything to try and stop us.”

Well—of course he hasn’t, I thought. We’re grownups. If he went out of his way to try and stop us now, that’d be the last straw.

“So…what you’re saying is…you don’t think we really lied?” I asked.

Fannie didn’t speak for a long time.

“...I think what I’m saying is…that it wasn’t something that was really necessary to unpack, at that moment,” she said finally. And she offered me a small smile—but there was something strange in it, though I wasn’t sure what.

But regardless, I started to feel better.

“You had a good time with my dad?” I asked, and Fannie seemed relieved by the change of subject.

“Oh, yes,” she said, her smile becoming more genuine now. “He had me in stitches nearly the whole time we were cleaning up the kitchen.”

“Aw, don’t tell me you laughed at his jokes, Fan,” I said, swatting her shoulder with the back of my hand. “You’ll encourage the poor bastard.”

“Ben!”

“Sorry—the poor fool,” I laughed, and fell backward on the bed, and took her down with me. She squeaked in surprise, giggling, and shimmied her arm out from underneath my back.

Our legs were hanging over the side of the bed—we scooted over so that we could lay side-by-side on my twin mattress.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to forgive me for finding your father so endearing,” she said, in that polite, dainty little way of hers, taking my hand and threading her fingers through mine. “You know that I never really had a dad. I have a father, of course. But…not a dad.”

I turned my head to look at her, and I could see the sadness in her eyes.

Poor Fan.

I lifted her hand up to my lips, and kissed the back of it. She turned her head to look at me, too.

“Well, I guess not…but you’ve got me, sister,” I told her solemnly. “You can count on that.”

She smiled shyly.

“Thank you, Ben,” she said, and rolled over, and pressed a kiss to my cheek. She cuddled up to me and wrapped her arm over my chest. Her knee came up a little. She leaned against my thigh.

I shifted my arm behind her so that she could rest her head on top of it like a pillow, and rubbed my knuckles slowly against her shoulder. I felt her relax in the crook of my arm, and she sighed deeply through her nose, and settled into me.

I could feel all the warmth and the weight of her, her body resting against mine, and I wished I could put that moment in a bottle and keep it with me forever.

I craned my neck a little, and kissed her on the forehead.

“Love you, Fan,” I told her softly.

And at one time, it had been embarrassing enough to be painful for me to say that.

But…now, it was simply as natural as saying her name.

“I love you too, Ben,” she said, reaching over and trailing her fingers gently along the line of my jaw.

And at one time, it had been as humiliating to hear her say that, as it had been for me to say it.

…But now, it was possibly the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.

My heart began to beat faster, and I felt myself suddenly become swept up in all this feeling—oh, how I loved her. I leaned over, and put both arms around her, and squeezed her real tight, and then I rolled her up and over to lie on top of me—she gasped and laughed and issued a half-dozen half-hearted protests—and then she blushed, and quieted, and sank down slowly, and cradled her forearms around my head, her eyes big and sparkling.

Her lekku hung down on either side of me, like curtains shielding us from the rest of the galaxy. We looked at each other, observing the details of each other’s faces, sharing that little moment that belonged to us and us alone.

And then, she bent down, and tucked her chin into my neck, and I felt her breath tickle my skin.

“Oh, Ben…I am so tempted to do something that I do not want to do,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“...Like what?” I whispered back, feeling strange, and excited, and curious.

“Well—I don’t want to tell you,” she said, the skin of her cheek hot against mine.

“Tell me,” I said.

She hesitated.

And then she turned her head to the side, her lips right against my ear. And she whispered to me so quietly that, even if there had been anyone else in the room, no one would’ve been able to hear her but me.

She drew back, flushed, and gave an embarrassed giggle.

“But…only if we were married,” she concluded shyly.

I grinned.

“Well—guess I’d better marry you someday, then ,” I said—and grabbed her around the waist, and tried to roll us over. But twin beds, despite the name, are not really built for two, so I nearly bashed her head into the wall with my attempt at romance—I caught her just in time. We burst out laughing…and then we shushed each other, so we wouldn’t disturb my family.

I laid her down (more gently, this time), and half-sat, half-leaned beside her, and I took her hand and I rubbed my nose against her cheek affectionately.

And she reached up, and wove her fingers through my hair, running her fingertips lightly over my scalp…

And I pressed my lips just barely to the soft, warm skin of her neck…

…But I’ll do you a favor, and spare you the rest of that mush.

After a few minutes of this embarrassing middle school softcore, I began to feel sort of…well, claustrophobic—a feeling that came out of nowhere, and only got worse as we laid there. My heart started pounding again. Only…it didn’t feel so good, this time.

And I didn’t want to pull away from her. Because I didn’t want to ruin the moment, didn’t want her to know anything was wrong—but eventually, I was too uncomfortable to stand it anymore.

I sat up quickly and swung my legs over the side of the bed, and gazed dispiritedly at the floor.

Fannie and I, to this day, have never kissed on the mouth. A boundary that, given how much we’ve kissed each other everywhere else above the neckline, is almost laughable—but I suppose she had to draw the line somewhere.

The night that Fannie and I first became friends, she told me she was saving her first kiss for her wedding day. I had always known that about her. I absolutely intended to honor it.

I guess it helped, though, that I’ve never been crazy about kissing or any of that. Fannie is the only person I have ever been willing to do any of that stuff with…and even then, what I was willing to do wasn’t a lot.

I told you that when I was a kid I wasn’t interested in girls. I was homeschooled, so I hardly even knew any, anyway. But I never had a childhood crush, or anything like that—not even on a celebrity or anything.

And then I became a teenager. And I experienced all the other changes that teenage boys normally go through—the shooting-up-fourteen-inches-overnight, the mood swings, the voice cracks. But there were certain other things that were supposed to happen that…never did.

And I figured, well, okay—maybe things will change when I’m an adult…but again, the changes never came. I spent my college years with a smile pasted to my face while my buddies talked about women in a way I couldn’t relate to, and I wondered how long I could trick them into thinking the sparkling water in my hands was a beer.

Things finally did begin to change, as I gradually fell in love with Fannie…but not all at once. And definitely nothing like what I thought I was supposed to experience.

…But then again. Most of my relationship with Fannie wasn’t like what I thought I was supposed to experience.

Sure, some of it was. But…most of it wasn’t. It wasn’t love at first sight and feeling jealous about her ex and thinking she was hot. It was comfort in shared silence, and giving each other advice, and having so much common history with her that she really did feel like a sister to me (just…not in the same way that Rey did). In fact, it was a lot like being friends—only, with a few key differences, as I mentioned before.

It had taken me a long time to open up to the idea of getting married. Eventually, I had, because I did want to have her by my side for the rest of my life. But even then, the idea of getting married sounded far more interesting to me than the idea of…

…You know.

Having sex.

But as far as I know, people never do just one, and not the other.

…I mean. Obviously people do one and not the other all the time. Still, I’ve only ever heard of one way people do one and not the other.

Maybe I’m overthinking it. But sex just sounds kind of…

Well. This is gonna make me sound twelve years old. But…

It sounds gross.

Now, granted. I understand that there are things in this galaxy that are gross, and yet somehow immensely pleasurable. Popping a huge pimple, for one. Digging a booger out of your nose. (These statements, I’m sure, also make me sound like I’m twelve.)

But even if I’m at a point now where it sounds like it’d be nice to sleep beside her—I’m a long way from wanting to sleep with her.

…You know?

“Ben…”

I felt the bed shift as Fannie sat up. But I didn’t want to look at her.

She scooted over and sat on the edge of the bed next to me.

“Ben…what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just, um…” I thought about trying to play it cool, but it was too late for that. “Well, I…started thinking about…sex, and…”

She got all quiet, and I felt her stiffen up next to me. Because Fannie Pentarra is—and I can say this ‘cause I love her—a certified prude.

“...Sorry,” I said, with an apologetic laugh. “Should’ve clarified. I was thinking about how I’m afraid of sex.”

“Oh,” she said, laughing just as awkwardly. “I suppose I should have assumed that, knowing you.”

She looked at me for a moment, and then put her hand in mine.

“Well…you needn’t worry, love,” she said. “It’s a long way off. And whatever challenges we face, we will face them as one.”

“But if we stay together, we’re gonna reach that point eventually. And once we are there—well, I don’t know what we’ll do. I mean—you’re a virgin, too—don’t you ever worry about it?”

She paused. “Well…I suppose I’ll feel…sort of nervous, when the time comes. But…mostly, I feel…rather… excited, at the thought of it.”

She giggled, embarrassed. And even though I wasn’t looking at her, I knew her cheeks were turning pink.

“Excited?” I repeated. “Speak for yourself. I’m terrified.”

This conversation reminded me of when we were sixteen and seventeen, and talking about how we felt about kissing. Funny, how things had turned out.

“Hm,” she said thoughtfully. “I think it’s reasonable to have a little anxiety. I’ve heard it can… hurt, for women, the first time. But…I don’t think it hurts for men, so… at least you needn’t worry about that, I suppose.”

I think she meant it to be reassuring.

It wasn’t.

“Great,” I said bitterly. “So now on top of everything else, I also gotta worry about hurting you.”

We both got quiet. I think we both felt embarrassed.

It was one thing for me to talk about how I felt when I thought about having sex. And for her to talk about how she felt when she thought about having sex. It was another thing altogether to talk about the possibility of us having sex.

But if I was ever gonna do it at all—it was probably gonna be with her.

I felt Fannie squeeze my hand, and I turned my head to look at her.

“Well…if we ever do get to that point, love,” Fannie said gently, “we will figure it out together.”

“But…what if we don’t figure it out?” I asked. “What if I can’t…well…you know… stay … Or what if I can’t…you know, find … Or what if it happens too fast—or worse, never happens at all? And what if I can’t…you know…” I let go of her hand and sighed. “...You know what? Let’s stop there. What if I can’t .”

“I think we’d be able to figure it out,” she said warmly. “It may just take a little time. A little patience, and a little practice.”

“Practice?” I echoed sarcastically. “Practice is what you do when something is hard . Or perhaps, not hard—”

“Ben.”

“Hey, here’s an idea. How would you feel about… never having sex at all?” I asked, kind of joking.

But also…maybe…kind of not .

Fannie was quiet, and she bit her lip. She looked at me hesitantly. I think she was trying to figure out the exact ratio of joking-to-not-joking with which I had made the proposal.

I looked back at her, my smile fading. And I remembered again, with a sinking feeling, that for all her blushing and her innocence and her modest demeanor—she was a normal person , with all the normal desires and longings that normal people have, and she had normal things she wanted from me—things I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to give her, not being normal myself.

She stayed silent for what felt like forever.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I sighed angrily (angry at myself, not at her) and tore myself away, and stood by the bedroom window with my back to her.

“Oh, forget it. Maybe you oughta find someone else,” I grumbled. “Someone who doesn’t have something wrong with him.”

“Oh, Ben, love…don’t be so silly.” I heard the bedclothes rustle as she stood up, and sensed her join me at my side. “True, you might be a little different than most. But it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you. A lot of people have a complicated relationship with intimacy.”

Fannie has such a funny way of speaking, sometimes—the way she avoids saying certain words.

“Oh, I’m fine being intimate with you,” I told her dryly. “You and I are very intimate already. Emotionally, and otherwise. It’s sex I’m worried about, to be specific.”

I earned myself a well-deserved little slap on the arm, for that, because she guessed correctly that I had only said it to fluster her. But flustering her—that oh-so-enjoyable pastime of mine—did end up making me feel better, and I snickered, and laid just-barely-a-kiss on the top of her head.

We looked out the window together.

“Ben, ah…may I ask you something?” Fannie asked, faltering.

“Yeah. Sure. Go ahead,” I told her.

“I’m wondering if…” She paused. “Well, you’ll have to forgive me if this is…”

“It’s fine, Fan. You can ask me anything.”

“All right.” She took my hand and squeezed it again. “I’ve been wondering, Ben… When you were with Snoke… Did he…er…do…anything to you?”

Well. That was certainly a big question.

I raised an eyebrow at her.

“He did a lot of things to me, Fan.”

“But…did he…?”

She stopped short. But…I knew what she was asking.

I squinted at her, wondering why she was asking something like that. Was she just trying to figure out how screwed up I was?

But all I saw in her eyes was sympathy, and concern—and I suppose, having known her for so long, that’s what I should’ve expected.

I gave her a pat on the shoulder, and what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Well…he did a lot of messed-up stuff. But…no, Fan. Nothing like that.”

Then I paused, and I rubbed the back of my neck.

“...Though…I guess you’re onto something, in a way,” I said quietly. “I mean…I was only a teenager. He convinced me he cared about me, and invaded my mind. Over and over. Repeatedly. Nightly. Which, you know, isn’t the same, but…”

We looked at each other, and I pressed my lips together, and tilted my head at her and shrugged.

Fannie looked at me like her heart was breaking.

And then she led me back to the bed by the hand and pushed me down so I was sitting. And without a word, she pulled me into her chest, and placed her hand on the back of my head. And she held my head down against her heartbeat, and stroked through my hair with her fingers.

I leaned into her warmth, feeling some of the tension ease out of me.

She’s a good girlfriend.

…Well.

She’s a good person, in general.

I folded my arms around her and sighed.

“...You know, Ben,” Fannie murmured after several minutes, “I also had to relearn the way I thought about…all of that. That it’s meant to be an act of love—not an act of power, or ownership, as I witnessed growing up. There were a great many things I learned from my childhood environment, that I had to carefully examine and revisit. Perhaps, my love, there are some things that you will need to relearn, too.”

I nodded, and held my arms around her tighter.

“...Yeah. You may be right about that, Fan.”

“You know…out of all the things you did to me, I never thought affecting my ability to be close with my girlfriend would’ve been on the list.”

“You speak as if that were my fault. If memory serves me correctly, you were always that way. Weren’t you?”

“Well—how the hell am I supposed to know which parts of me were always that way, if as long as I can remember, you’ve been there, too?”

“Hm. How convenient for you, that you have found a way to blame every single one of your flaws on me. I’m sure that next you’ll claim I am the reason you’re keeping secrets from your family again… When we first reunited, you warned me you were going to tell them I had returned. How curious, then, that you have not.”

“Well—you know what? It is your fault. You’re the one who created this whole situation in the first place. Because I don’t want my mom to freak out and force me to move back home—not when I have my own place and a job and a girlfriend. Things are finally looking up for me—no thanks to you. I don’t have any other choice but to lie, and you know it.”

“Speaking of the girl…I suppose you’ll find a way to blame me for the secrets you’re keeping from her, too. What will you do when she finds out, I wonder? Where will you go? To whom will you turn?”

“...Well—not to you, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, of course not. It was merely a suggestion.”

Chapter Text

A couple of weeks after Fannie came to visit my family, I came to Ryloth to visit hers.

I’ve told you that I’ve lived all over. But my residences have been limited to metropolitan worlds—planets with the infrastructure to host the New Republic capital, and planets that are part of the New Republic to begin with. So, Ryloth is a little different than I’m used to.

Ryloth is located in the Outer Rim, beyond Tatooine and Geonosis. It is the homeworld of the Twi’lek people, and features both lush forests and rocky terrain. It is not like Hoth, or Dagobah, where the entire planet is comprised of a single biome.

The people of Ryloth are as diverse as the planet itself. Its villages and communities are much more isolated from one another, and have developed distinct societies with their own cultural quirks. Even the language—which is called Twi’leki in its spoken form, and Ryl in its written form—differs from area to area, and is made more complex by the addition of lekku gestures (which are sometimes indicated in Ryl with special accents). A word said in one Twi’leki dialect can mean something completely different in another dialect. Even within the same dialect, words can have different meanings depending on the tone with which they are spoken and the way one moves one’s lekku.

The Twi’lek people have suffered thousands of years of oppression, going all the way back to the Old Republic. Their women have been sought after as sex slaves—their men, as forced labor. During the Clone Wars, the Confederacy of Independent Systems invaded Ryloth, forcing them to seek alliance with the Galactic Republic. The Republic offered the Twi’lek people its protection…until, of course, the Republic turned into the Galactic Empire.

The Empire, though not stated explicitly, was a speciesist regime. They treated the Twi’leks like animals, and subjected them to the same injustices they had faced for centuries prior. The people of Ryloth rejoiced when the Rebel Alliance defeated the Empire at the Battle of Endor.

Sick of being controlled by outside governing systems, Ryloth is now an independent world, and belongs to no one but the Rylothians (though, this, of course, does not render it entirely free from outside influence).

But there has always been another type of power at play, in the lives of the Rylothian people—besides the warring governments and the despots at their helms—and those are the criminals and the outlaws: the Hutt gangs, the spice cartels, the slavers.

You have the pirates like the famed Hondo Ohnaka, reckless and cunning and lawless.

You have the bounty hunters like Cad Bane and Boba Fett, surprisingly professional despite their bloodlust.

You have the Han Solos—the “I’m just doing a job” sort of guys—who may only be in it for the money, but keep the machine of oppression running nonetheless. 

And then you have the Jabba the Hutts, the Dryden Voses—the ones who make you wonder how they ended up in such a position of power, when they even hardly seem to lift a finger—and yet, they are the ones who drive the game, and pay everyone else to keep on playing.

Ruut Pentarra is one of those men.

I asked Fannie what she knew about her father. Despite being his offspring, she knows very little about him.

Nor does she particularly wish to know.

Most of Ryloth is poor. Their economy is weak from centuries of exploitation. It is common to know Twi’leks on your own world who are sending credits back home to their families on Ryloth. Even free Twi’leks, you may often find, are sometimes suffering slavery under another name.

Ruut Pentarra, however, is not poor. And I would tell you why, and how—but again, I don’t know.

I don’t think he wishes for anyone to know.

The Pentarra estate is located in the dry, mountainous Tcha’buli region, surrounded by imposing red rockfaces and far away from any other surrounding villages. There is little rainfall in this area, and the ground is stone, veiled with a shallow layer of dry dust and crumbled shale—but the estate itself resembles an exotic oasis, encased in a green, vibrant garden, which is supported by an invisible climate control field surrounding the grounds. You cannot see the clime-con field, but you can immediately feel the rise in humidity when you step within the gates. It is as if Pentarra wished to thumb his nose at nature, and prove he could live quite luxuriously even in a place where nature had never intended him to.

When my taxi speeder dropped me off outside the grounds, Fannie was waiting for me—along with three other women: one older, and two younger. I recognized them from Fannie’s holos as her mother and two of her sisters. I waved, feeling nervous all of a sudden—but Fannie came at me, and hugged me, and then I felt better.

“Oh, Ben, you made it!” she said, beaming.

“Sure did,” I said, kissing her on the cheek, and patted her on the back with my free hand—but over the top of her head I was looking at her family, who, well…did not seem very happy to see me.

I glanced down at Fannie. She seemed unaware of this.

“Ben, I’d like you to meet my mother, Fashha,” Fannie said, stepping back and gesturing toward her mother, who was staring at me, and not kindly.

Fashha looked to be in her late thirties. She had pale blue skin—a cooler tone than Fannie’s seafoam green—with dark blue stripes on her lekku, like the design on a fish’s scales. She was dressed in a deep violet outfit that covered all of her, yet did not conceal much. It wrapped snugly around her frame, unlike the flowing tunics that Fannie liked to wear. And I also noticed she wore a headdress of little seashells.

She was also looking at me with a great deal of surprise…and suspicion.

Fashha turned to Fannie, and urgently whispered something I didn’t understand while Fannie’s sisters exchanged glances and wry smirks. Fannie whispered back, doing her best to smile—but I could tell something was off.

Finally, Fannie took her mother’s arm and pulled her a couple of steps toward me. “Mamaa, this is Ben Solo.”

Fashha did not seem interested in knowing who I was.

I tried to assume the best, and carry on like normal. She was my girlfriend’s mom, after all.

“Hi, Fashha. I’m Ben,” I said, putting out my hand for a handshake. “Nice to meet you.” I was thankful to have remembered what handshakes were this time, unlike when I had first met Fannie.

But…Fashha only stared at my hand distrustfully.

I stared, hand out, helpless.

Fannie chuckled, embarrassed, and took my hand, giving it a squeeze.

“On Ryloth,” she told me in a hushed voice, “men bow.”

“Bow?”

Fannie demonstrated for me—she crossed her right arm over her chest and put her left arm behind her back, and then she crossed her left ankle behind her right, and bent over at the waist.

“You couldn’t have shown me that earlier?” I muttered, trying clumsily to copy her.

“Sorry,” she said apologetically. “Would you have remembered to teach me how to give a handshake, if I didn’t know?”

That was fair. I guessed I wouldn’t have.

I bowed toward Fashha, and only wobbled a little.

Fashha placed both hands behind her back and inclined her head to me, and said something I didn’t understand.

“She says she’s pleased to meet you,” Fannie translated.

Could’ve fooled me, I thought to myself. The woman wouldn’t smile, or even look my way.

I supposed I could forgive that Fashha didn’t speak much to me. After all, she didn’t speak Basic.

But I knew Fannie’s sisters did—and they wouldn’t speak to me, either.

“Ben, this is Connie,” Fannie said amiably, gesturing toward the sister with blue skin. “Connie, this is Ben.”

Connie said something in Twi’leki that I couldn’t understand—but I’ve had a younger sister long enough to know sass when I hear it, regardless of language. Connie seemed to have the most attitude out of the four sisters (I hadn’t met Pennie, yet, but Fannie had described her as quiet and timid and shy.).

“Yes, Connie, I know you know who he is,” said Fannie patiently. “I’m just introducing you formally.”

Connie was taller than Fannie, but not as tall as Ginnie. She had deep blue skin that was a little darker than her mother’s complexion, and deep-set brown eyes, sharply lined and with thick, dark lashes. She had the same full lips as Fannie, which often quirked up in a smile that seemed to be at your expense. She had the same striped lekku as her mother and a shapely figure: narrow at the waist but rounded elsewhere, and she dressed to complement these features. She wore a crop top with a low, square neckline and long, slender sleeves, and low-rise trousers that were open at the sides and revealed the full length of her legs.

I bowed to Connie. She did not make any gesture in reciprocation—though she did at least put in the effort to glare at me.

Awesome. Cool.

“Ben, this is my other sister, Ginnie,” Fannie went on, seemingly unperturbed. “Ginnie, this is Ben.”

Ginnie, in contrast to her two other sisters, was tall and thin, with an angular face and a yellow-green complexion. Her lekku, also narrow, had the same dappled pattern that Fannie’s had—that pale green spotting near the top of her head. The expression on her face hardly ever changed, and she didn’t speak often. Her eyes were set in a squint that reminded me of my dad, or Rey. She was dressed in a one-piece outfit: a halter top connected to long, flowing pants.

Actually, neither Connie nor Ginnie’s clothing would have looked particularly out of place at a shopping mall on my world. I wondered if, even here in the Outer Rim, fashion was still mostly dictated by those on the Core Worlds. They looked even trendier than Fannie—even though Fannie had been offworld, and they hadn’t.

…Then again, perhaps that wasn’t a good metric. It’s not difficult to be trendier than Fannie. She doesn’t pay attention to any of that stuff.

Ginnie seemed about as thrilled to meet me as Connie and Fashha were. “May we go now?” she said—which was the one thing she said at all during the entire course of our introduction. She had a low, earthy voice—in contrast to Fannie’s delicate tones, Connie’s melodic croon, or Fashha’s hushed utterances.

“I…I suppose,” Fannie said, sounding disappointed, and hurt, while also trying to sound grateful and accommodating. The resulting mix was a strange cocktail of wounded sweetness that failed to hide her true feelings, and I felt bad for her.

But if her family noticed, they didn’t seem to care. Fashha and Connie and Ginnie turned swiftly away from us, and walked off toward the house. Fannie sighed as they left.

I put my hand on her shoulder to comfort her…but she seemed to think I did it because I needed her to comfort me. She lifted her head to give me an apologetic smile.

“Don’t worry, Ben,” she assured me. “They’ll warm up to you.”

“You don’t need to promise me that,” I told her, then paused. “Hey, uh…what was your mom saying to you? When you were first introducing us?”

“Oh, ah…” Fannie said, sounding embarrassed. She fiddled with her skirts, and then reached out her hand toward my suitcase, as if looking for something to do.

I swatted her hand away affectionately. She was so much smaller than me—I wasn’t about to let her carry it.

We began to walk toward the house.

“Well…” said Fannie slowly, “I…I think my mother was expecting you to be Twi’lek.”

I looked at her, surprised. “You hadn’t told her before I was a human?”

“I shouldn’t have had to,” Fannie said stubbornly. “What difference does it make?”

“Well…you’re right that it shouldn’t make a difference,” I said. “But…that doesn’t change the fact that it is, for some people.”

Interracial relationships aren’t uncommon in our galaxy, but it depends where you go. On the more cosmopolitan worlds, where all kinds of sentients mix, it’s a given—although, there remains a tendency for people to choose partners of species that are similar to their own (and if you want to have biological offspring, that’s your only option). You don’t see a lot of humans and Hutts, for example; unless we’re talking about Jabba the Hutt—but Jabba was pretty well-known for being a little eccentric in his attractions.

But…on a more culturally-insulated planet like Ryloth, I guess I can see why they’d be less ready to accept it.

Twi’lek-human relationships are actually the most common type of interspecies relationship in our galaxy—especially human guy, Twi’lek girl relationships. I’m not sure why…though there’s probably some sociological explanation. People make jokes about it: Rylothian fever, it’s called, when a guy seems to be on a Twi’lek-only dating streak.

Well: I’ve only had one girlfriend, so far. I don’t think we can make a call at this point.

I had never thought about race having a significant impact on our relationship. To be honest, I’d never even thought about Fannie being different from me at all. And maybe part of that was because when she wasn’t on Ryloth, she blended in with the larger galactic melting pot that surrounded her—but whatever the reason, the fact that she was Twi’lek and I was human didn’t matter to me any more than the fact that she was short and I was tall.

But clearly, it mattered to her family.

And…especially to her mother, apparently.

“It’s ironic that my mother and sisters have no problem with my father pursuing Pennie, and yet, this is where they draw the line,” Fannie sighed.

“Well…I can understand why,” I told her. “Ryloth has been invaded by other worlds, especially human-dominated ones, for centuries. I mean …you know that. You’re from here. I know you know that.” I looked at her curiously. “Were you hoping that, when your mom saw me, she’d be too focused on being polite to make a scene?”

Fannie looked embarrassed. “Perhaps I had made such a wish.”

“Aw, c’mon, Fan, you know better than that.” I spread my fingers over the top of her head so that they spanned the entire round part of her skull, and playfully rubbed her head around. (She hates it when I do that.)

“Yes…you’re right. I’m sorry,” she apologized, ducking away and grasping my hand so she could prevent me from annoying her again. She dropped her hand to her side, and we held hands as we walked.

“Y’know…come to think of it, Deirak’s a human, too,” I said. “Did he ever meet your family, when you two were together?”

“No, he never met them,” Fannie replied. “I had told my family beforehand that he was a human, and because of that, they refused to meet him. Which was why, this time, I did not tell my mother what you were. I thought I was making the best decision, given the circumstances…but I suppose it was not the most honest of me.”

That was the second time this month I had become aware of Fannie being less-than-honest. It was strange.

“Well…don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s not your fault. Though…it does feel weird, I guess, to feel  like an outsider. Humans are the dominant species on most worlds where I’ve lived.”

“Yes, that would feel odd for you, wouldn’t it?” Fannie said, with genuine compassion, and I almost laughed—she was too sweet.

“Geez, sister, you don’t need to give me sympathy,” I teased. “You encounter a heck of a lot more speciesism than I do.”

Fannie smiled demurely. “Well. Not really. The only other place I’ve lived besides Ryloth was the Jedi school. I am used to being thought strange by the people around me…but not for my species.”

“Yeah, I guess not, huh,” I said. “But—it’s not just how they treat me that makes me feel weird. It’s also the concept in general, that anyone could be so openly discriminatory. Where I come from, speciesism is seen as a thing of the past. A problem that’s been fixed—though, perhaps we shouldn’t be so quick to think so…but that’s another topic. Anyway. It’s pretty much ingrained in us that all species are equal. We have a mandatory unit on species relations in the New Republic education system.”

“Are all of the schools in the New Republic controlled by the government?” Fannie asked incredulously.

“Well…kinda,” I said. “I mean—obviously there’s thousands of schools per planet, and thousands of planets in the New Republic, so there’s, like, different levels of authority. There’s the galactic level, and the system level, and the planetary level, and the district level—”

“With so many levels, I doubt whoever’s in charge at the largest level would be able to accurately assess what is needed at the smallest levels,” Fannie mused.

That was a good point.

Not that I was gonna give it to her.

“But you don’t even have an organized education system on Ryloth,” I pointed out. “Nor did Luke’s school actually teach you anything, besides how to lift rocks with your mind, or whatever. I mean, the sheer amount of galactic history that I’ve had to teach you—”

“What are you talking about? We learned history at Luke’s school,” Fannie protested.

“Well, yeah —Jedi history—”

“Oh, do be charitable, Ben Solo; Luke taught us about things besides the Jedi—”

“All right then, pop quiz: in what year was the Rimma Trade Route established?”

“Well—I don’t know— that hardly sounds like something I would need to know—”

She was getting so worked up, I found it kind of funny.

I laughed and bent over and kissed the top of her head, and she made a face at me.

“Well, anyway,” I said. “Returning back to the previous subject: I’m always on worlds where everyone looks like me. So it’s probably good for me to get away from that, sometimes. Cultural enrichment. That kind of thing.”

And right as I said that, we entered through the large swinging doors into the house, and I stopped short…and stared.

The Pentarra house is very magnificent, and very large. So large, you’d almost need a mouse droid to help you navigate, if they used those here—but Pentarra does not own droids. He owns people.

And there were people everywhere. Because the Pentarra house was almost like its own mini-city, and his family not just a family, but a clan: a tribe made up of women he had married and some he had not, children he had fathered and some he only claimed he had, slaves that he had purchased and slaves that had been born to him. All of them lived there. I didn’t know if they were all happy there, but I assume they didn’t have much other alternative.

The mansion’s massive atrium had all the grandeur of the ancient historical Nabooian buildings I had toured in Theed. But while the style of Nabooian architecture was light and windowed and flourished, Pentarra’s house was dim and moody and austere, with exotic archways that resembled lotus petals—round at the sides, pointed at the top.

And immediately I felt strange here, in my “Go Shaaks!” college hoodie and my skinny jeans—in this place that was somehow both more wealthy and more destitute than anywhere I was accustomed to.

And I didn’t just feel strange. I was strange. I was strange in this place, and I knew it by the way the other people in the hall looked at me. The way women eyed me with fear and distrust or curiosity and intrigue. The way children stared at me and pointed and made remarks about me to their companions. The way grown men did not think it rude to do exactly the same.

And then I cast my eyes upward, and saw a very large mosaic portrait in a gilded frame on the upper wall, directly facing me from where I stood at the entrance. I squinted against the sunlight—the only sources of natural light in the great hall were the two skylight windows on either side of the portrait, and right now they were shining directly into my eyes. Through the little specks of dust that caught the light, floating in and out of my line of vision, I observed the likeness—a Twi’lek man, as magnificent-looking as the hall in which I stood, portrayed from the waist up: in rich crimson robes, and with one of his long lekku wrapped around his neck like a scarf. His hands, bejeweled with many rings, were folded serenely before him, and a placid, yet somehow cruel expression rested on his rounded face. He had sage-green skin that resembled Ginnie Pentarra’s, and his lekku darkened at the ends like Fannie Pentarra’s, and he had Connie Pentarra’s deep-set brown eyes…but the look of savage mirth in his smile was all his own.

I felt a chill run down my spine, and my skin prickled.

The portrait was not labeled with a name. But I did not need one to know who the subject was.

And as I lowered my gaze to the people bustling around or milling below the picture’s watchful presence, I realized that many of this man’s features were reflected in the younger Twi’leks I saw in the hall around me. Not in all of them, but in enough of them so as to be disconcerting—like something out of a thriller holofilm. And they continued to stare at me, and point at me, and whisper—or not even bother to lower their voices at all.

Fannie noticed my discomfort, and drew me aside to a bench against the wall, away from the others’ prying eyes.

“Ben. Are you all right, dear?”

“Yeah. Fine,” I said. “Just feelin’ a bit like I’m in a zoo.”

Her face fell sympathetically, and she drew up the hood of my hoodie for me.

It was a small gesture. But for some reason it made me feel very loved.

“Here,” she said. “I will draw you a map, so you can find your quarters and get settled—and hopefully find a bit of reprieve in which to gather yourself. You can come back and find me when you’re ready. Do you have your notebook with you?”

“Oh—yeah,” I said, and slung my knapsack off of my shoulder, and fished out my paper notebook and my fountain pen. (I know, I know—call me a mythosaur.)

I flipped to a blank page, and handed her both of them. Usually people have to ask how my pen works, but Fannie didn’t need to—she had grown up using paper and ink at Luke’s school. I watched as she began to sketch out a rough map.

“So—this is where we are, down here, in the entrance hall,” she said as she drew. “The sleeping quarters are all on the upper floor, up those stairs—either staircase will do. The men’s quarters are on the west, and the women’s to the east. The dining hall is through that archway right ahead, on the bottom floor, in the center atrium. I think that’s all you need to remember. And your room is going to be right here—” She circled a spot in the men’s wing, and wrote a number in the circle, first in Basic numerals and then again in Ryl. “Room Twenty-Three—and here is the key.” And she fished in her pocket, and handed me a phys-key.

“Thanks,” I said. “Want to come up with me and help me find the room?”

“Oh—but that’s why I drew you the map,” Fannie said. “So you could find it.”

I tilted my head at her. “But…you could still come, though.”

“But…those are the men’s quarters,” she said, with a serious stare, like there was something here I was supposed to be understanding.

“Well…you don’t have to come into the room with me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I said with an awkward laugh. “You could just…you know…help me find it.”

“It’s—it’s best that I stay out of the west wing,” Fannie said firmly, with an embarrassed laugh of her own. “It’s…simply the way things are, here. But—you can go and get settled, and put your things away, and then meet me right out here again when you’re ready.”

“Are you gonna show me your room?” I asked.

“Not unless my mother and sisters are also there,” she said quickly.

I rolled my eyes. “Fan. We lived together for like, three months last summer. Why are you being so fussy?”

“We were friends then,” Fannie insisted. “It was different.”

“Well, if we were friends back on Naboo, we must’ve been the special type of friends,” I said, shouldering my knapsack again, and gripping the handle of my suitcase. “‘Cause you and I? Sure got pre-tty friendly.”

Fannie blushed. “Well—we didn’t mean for things to happen that way; it simply —turned out that way. But…that was Naboo, Ben. This is Ryloth. Things are different here. And…I don’t want people to assume.”

As we began to ascend the staircase, I looked up just in time to watch a teenage boy slap a servant girl right on the ass. The nature of her garments allowed him to strike flesh—the sound echoed on the polished stone, and the boy laughed and skirted away.

I turned to Fannie—she had seen it too.

“...Well, I don’t know what you’re afraid of people assuming, Fannie,” I told her, watching as the girl turned her back to the wall and tried to discreetly rub her sore bottom. “People here sure do a lot out in the open.”

“Which is why it’s very important to me to demonstrate quite the opposite,” she said with resolve. “Pardon me.” She rushed back down to the foot of the stairs to ask the girl if she was okay, and I watched the way Fannie approached so carefully—the way she had always been with me, when I had found myself in dark places—and I noticed, too, how the girl did not seem as disturbed as I would have expected her to be.

…As if what had just happened was commonplace, here—if not expected.

I waited for Fannie to come back, and then we walked together to the top of the stairs. The scene I had witnessed had given me some pause.

“...Hey,” I said gently, and she looked up at me. “Sorry for givin’ you a hard time. You know this place better than I do, and I want to make sure you feel okay, so—yeah, you can wait and show me your room when your family is there.”

Fannie smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Ben.”

“Will Pennie be there?” I asked. “I still haven’t met her— though, I’m not holdin’ out much hope she’ll like me any more than the rest of your family does.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear,” Fannie said. “I think Pennie will like you much more easily than the rest. I think she has always felt left out, in a similar way that you have. And she always was the sweetest one out of all of us.”

I stared at her curiously. “Sweeter than you?”

Fannie giggled. “I told you. I used to be, ah…spunky, when I was young. But…Pennie was always such an angel.” Her face lit up with fond memories of her younger sister…and then she looked up at the portrait of Pentarra, which was now directly above our heads, and looked even larger than ever—and her face grew ashen.

“I…I am not sure when you will be able to meet Pennie,” she said sadly. “She…does not often come home.”

And then she stopped, and corrected herself. 

“Well—she is always in this house, of course,” she murmured. “In fact, I can often sense her presence when I close my eyes. But…she rarely comes back home to us.” Her full lips twitched, and her shoulders sank.

My heart went out to her.

I dropped my bags immediately, and pulled her into me.

“I’m so sorry, Fan,” I whispered.

“Thank you, Ben,” she said, wrapping her arms around me tight, and burying her face in my chest.

“Of course,” I told her, rubbing my hand over her back. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

And as I held her, I looked up again at that massive portrait, holding surveillance over the entire hall with those piercing yellow eyes.

I had mentioned before that I could see Pentarra’s features reflected in his many offspring. But perhaps most chilling of all was that, now that I had seen him (or at least, a rendering of him)...I could see his face in Fannie’s. The round shapes of her jaw and her nose were his.

I wondered if that ever bothered her. To carry with her always, in every holo of herself and in every mirror she looked at, the reminder of from whom she had come.

I held Fannie closer to me, and cradled the back of her head in my hand.

I’m not a super Force-sensitive person, despite my family background—probably due to a lack of practice. But…even I could sense something in this place; something bad: a dark, ominous energy that pervaded the whole house like a dense, low fog.

I heard a snuffle coming from my chest region—I pulled Fannie up, alarmed.

“Hey, hey, hey,” I said softly.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “Sorry…”

“No, don’t say that—you don’t need to be sorry, sister,” I said. “But: I do want you to be brave.”

“That’s just it, Ben,” she said, her lashes damp. “I’m always having to be brave. It gets so tiring after a while.”

I gazed at her quietly, wiping the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs.

When I had first met her, she had always seemed so strong and so self-assured. And well, she was… but I knew now that her strength was something she was able to project in spite of her sadness, not in absence of it.

“...Well, how about this,” I said, holding her by the shoulders. “Be brave a little while longer. I’m here now. I’ll put my stuff away—and then, I’ll come back and find you.”

“I think I’ll be okay by then,” Fannie said with an apologetic laugh, wiping the heel of her hand against her eyes. “I just—need a minute or two.”

“Be brave for five minutes,” I said. “Then, I’ll come find you, and I’ll be brave for you for a while, and you can let it out, for a bit. Okay?”

She smiled, her wet eyes glistening. “Okay.”

“Atta girl.” I kissed her on the top of the head, and gave her one last squeeze.

And then I picked up my bags again, and turned, and entered the archway leading into the west wing, casting one last glance up at the enormous portrait as I left.

I knew it was facing away from me, as I departed down the hall.

But…somehow…I could still feel those gleaming yellow eyes on my back.

Chapter Text

The west wing was flooded with a full-bodied, musky, masculine scent that made me cough once I had ventured about ten feet in. I wasn’t sure whether the scent had been placed there with intention, or if it was simply a result of the fumes given off by so many men in close proximity. There was a hall lined with numbered doors, and then the hallway split off into two—I headed down the wrong path, at first, then had to backtrack and go the other way.

As I followed the map Fannie had drawn for me, I saw several other rooms in the west wing: lounge areas thick with heavy, fragrant smoke, a full-on bar staffed by male servants even though it was not yet four in the afternoon, a gambling room where men sat around a table and played sabacc—a library, which seemed odd amidst the other rooms, but was the one that interested me most.

I tried not to stare as I passed, lest I draw any more attention to myself. But I could hear the raucous laughter of Twi’lek men, most of them young, a few of them older—Pentarra’s sons—possibly other guests of his? It seemed like he entertained often, and that his daughters did, too.

Speaking of women, there were women in the west wing…but I could see why Fannie had not wanted to come with me. The women present seemed to be here for the sole purpose of entertaining and serving the men. I caught a glimpse of a Twi’lek woman dancing on a small elevated stage in one of the lounges while men huddled around her, captivated and hungry-looking—she caught my eye and winked, and I reddened and hurried past.

At last, I found my room, with the Ryl number that matched what Fannie had written down for me, and I unlocked the door and brought my stuff inside—

—and then I did a double take, and gawked, and breathed to no one in particular:

“Well! Okay then!”

I meant the exclamation positively. The room was bigger than my entire apartment on Naboo—or maybe it was about the same size; I wasn’t sure. It had an open floor plan, which made it look larger than it was. Only the refresher room was sectioned off. 

I looked for a light switch, and instead found a rough-hewn knob on the wall, as if mimicking the rockiness of the surrounding terrain. I turned the knob, and a flame ignited overhead—it was inside a chandelier-looking thing, and I found I could make the flame bigger and brighter or smaller and dimmer by turning the knob. The light flickered warmly and cozily around the room, reflecting off of the hard stone floors.

There was an armchair in the middle of the room, plush and mossy green, which I dropped my knapsack into, and I set my suitcase down by a tall set of wooden drawers. The wood was polished to a rich, glossy brown—I let my fingers glide over it, and it was cool to the touch.

There was a fireplace, too. I wondered if all the rooms had fireplaces, and if so, whether that then meant there were like a billion chimneys all along the entire house. But when I peeked my head up the fireplace, I saw there was a connected venting system—so I figured there was one main chimney somewhere that all the fireplaces connected to.

This theory was confirmed, as I was squatting there, when I realized I could hear sound carryover from a neighboring bedroom: the type of sounds that were familiar to me, having had amorous neighbors before in Theed…but sounds that I wasn’t all too interested in hearing.

Thankfully, there was a crank on the side of the fireplace. I used it to close the flue, and then I couldn’t hear the noises anymore.

The bed had a thick velvet canopy overhead, something I’d only seen before in holofilms, and the mattress was king-size. And I had a feeling that the extra bed-space was because a lot of Pentarra’s guests (such as my over-romantic neighbors, for example) usually ended up sharing it with someone…but all I could think about was how I’d be able to throw myself onto it and sprawl out like a dead rathtar, which I couldn’t do on the twin bed in my apartment, nor on the twin bed at my parents’ house.

I flopped down onto the magnificent bed, which immediately met me in a sumptuous, yet firm, embrace—and holy frick, was it amazing. The sheets were made of brushed silk, and the bedcovers of a soft, dense wool that wasn’t scratchy at all. The pillows were full of downy feathers, as well as something that exuded a gentle, herby, balmy scent as I laid on them.

I was so much in sensory heaven, I almost fell asleep right there.

“Geez,” I murmured to myself, laughing. “Did I score or what?”

I found myself wondering how much a place like this would cost, if it were in Theed. Definitely more than I could afford—I knew that much. It was so…so…nice.

And then I had to catch myself. Because…maybe the room was nice.

But…everything else here, I knew, wasn’t.

I thought about that poor servant girl at the bottom of the stairs. And the sound it had made, when the Pentarra boy had slapped her. That horrid, fleshy thwack… echoing down the halls. Echoing in my mind…

Suddenly, even though I had closed the flue, I heard a noise that sounded like a shriek. My eyes flew open, and I shot up and sat upright on the bed, and listened—

…There it was again.

And…it sounded like the same girl I had heard when I’d had my head up the fireplace.

I tried to assess whether it had been the good kind of scream, or the bad kind—not that I was the most qualified to make such an assessment. But my stomach started to turn, and I began to get a bad feeling.

I got up, slowly, and approached the hearth. I opened the flue, and stuck my head in the fireplace again—and then I could hear more clearly the cries of a young woman:

“No, no, please, no, Armad!”

And the growls of a man:

“Yes, yes, yes!”

And both of their words came in sharp-breathed staccato, as if accompanied by vigorous motion.

She cried again, and this time she spoke in Twi’leki, so that I could not understand—but her voice was pained, and desperate, and panicked. And then the man spoke in Twi’leki as well, rasping and grunting lustfully while she sobbed, and while I could not understand him, either, there was one word that I recognized—

Or rather, a name:

“Oh, oh —Pen’awen!”

Pen’awen.

Pennie?

Pennie Pentarra.

A hot sweat flooded through me.

Could it be? 

Fannie’s sister?

“Armad, no!” the girl screamed again—and then was muffled, as if Armad had put his hand over her mouth.

Well—I didn’t care who it was. I was scared outta my mind, but I was gonna go find her, apparently—because before I could even think, I found my legs rushing me to the door as my heartbeat thudded in my ears.

I stumbled out into the hall, and looked down the long row of doors, wondering how I would even know which room they were in. I ended up stopping in front of each one and putting my ear to the wall, like a total weirdo creeper. A couple of younger guys came walking down the hall, so I stood up straight and pretended to mind my own business until they had passed (they stared at me anyway, of course, since I was a stranger).

Finally, over a dozen rooms down, I put my ear to the door and heard again the sounds I had been hearing through the fireplace. I tried the door handle—and found it was locked. Well, of course it was.

I didn’t have a plan. I decided to start banging on the door with my fists until someone answered.

So…I did.

I don’t know which was pounding harder, my heart in my chest, or my fists on the door—but for about an entire minute I knocked as hard and as loud as I could, until the sides of my hands were raw—and then I stopped for a second to catch my breath, and heard that the two inside had grown hushed.

…And then I heard a pair of footsteps coming closer and closer.

I took a step back.

It was a Twi’lek man who opened the door—Armad. He looked a bit older than me, in his late twenties or early thirties, and seemed hastily-dressed. He also seemed afraid, at first. And then…confused, as if I were not who he had expected me to be.

Well—I wasn’t interested in wasting any time to figure that out. I barged past him as he protested fervently—first in Twi’leki, and then in Basic. His room was almost identical to mine—but I didn’t see anyone on the bed, although it did show signs of recent activity.

I tried to think of where Armad would have stowed the girl away. As I said before, the only part of the floorplan that was sectioned off was the refresher room. So I headed there, burst in, pulled back the shower curtain—and there I found a girl who I assumed to be his victim, cowering in the tub —also hastily-dressed, but I was glad to see she was dressed at all, because I hadn’t given any thought to what I would have done otherwise.

I also hadn’t put much thought into what I was going to do now.

So I grabbed the girl by the arm, and hoisted her up—she responded by screaming and yelling and trying to shake off my hand, but that was reasonable enough, given that she had no idea who I was or what I was trying to do.

I looked her right in the eyes.

“I’m Ben Solo, and I’m here to rescue you,” I said.

And then: “Get ready to run.”

I bolted past Armad and shoved him into the wall, and escaped into the hallway with the girl in tow. She was still shouting in Twi’leki as we went, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying—not that I would have understood.

I didn’t stop running until I had pulled her into my room, and shut the door behind us, and locked it so no one could follow us in.

All was quiet, but the sound of our heavy breathing.

I swallowed, and turned to her. Her eyes were huge.

“It’s okay,” I told her, letting go of her arm and stepping back slowly, holding my hands out to her with my palms up. “You’re safe.”

But…she must not have been very reassured.

Because immediately she scowled and stepped forward and slapped me hard across the face, and I stumbled back.

“Hey, hey, I’m not trying to hurt you!” I told her, rubbing my cheek. “I promise!”

“No—but I am trying to hurt you,” the girl growled, speaking to me in Basic. “Who are you? Are you mad?”

I stared at her, dumbfounded, not sure what to say.

I had to admit it wasn’t a great look for me right now. Even if I’d told her my name, I was a stranger to her—and I had manhandled her, dragged her down the hall, and locked her in my room with me. So I couldn’t blame her for how she was acting.

But…now that we were here, I could take a better look at her.

She was a young Twi’lek woman, with an olive-green complexion, and big brown eyes like Fannie’s—only, set in a narrow, angular face—and her lekku had the same unique, fish-like striping that Fashha had. She was taller than Fannie, but only by a little, and had a willowy, shapely frame that was currently covered only by a large shirt that did not seem to belong to her. And as she stared back at me, her eyes flashed, and her lip curled, in a way that called to mind the expression on the face of the portrait that presided over the main hall—

And I knew at once that this was Pennie Pentarra:

The missing sister.

“You’re Pennie, aren’t you?” I asked, trying to sound as gentle as possible, since I knew she was frightened, and—according to Fannie—had a shy and timid nature.

She widened her eyes, and wrinkled her nose.

“Pennie?” she echoed. “The only one who calls me by that name is…”

She looked me up and down—once, twice—before finally fixing me with a cold stare, as if I were odorous to her.

“...Yes,” she said finally. “I am she. And who are you?”

“I’m Ben Solo,” I repeated.

Pennie continued to look disgusted.

Again, I wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Um…well,” I said at last, clearing my throat, “I, uh, apologize for the circumstances of our introduction, Pennie, but um…it’s nice to meet you.” And then I crossed my right arm in front, and my left arm in back, and did the Rylothian bow Fannie had taught me.

I couldn’t be sure…but I thought I saw Pennie roll her eyes.

Huh! I thought, as I straightened up. So much for shy!

“Yes, yes,” Pennie said, sounding bored. “Ben Solo—Fa’nakhra’s lover. I have heard of you.”

“Y…yeah,” I said. “Um. Look. Pennie. Are you okay? I mean, um…if you don’t mind me asking…what…what was that guy doing?”

Pennie lifted her chin haughtily. “You must be as stupid as you are mad, Ben Solo. I think you know very well what he was doing. And, if I may add—he was good at it, too.”

I stared at her, shrinking away from her slightly, at a total loss for words.

“...You were screaming,” I said seriously. “Whatever was going on in that bedroom sounded very not okay.”

“Sometimes women scream, Ben Solo,” Pennie said patronizingly—like she was teaching a child. She folded her arms over her ill-fitting tunic. “Given my sister’s nature, I would not expect you to know.”

“Listen,” I insisted, frowning. “I don’t know if you’re in shock, or denial, or what— but I know what I heard. You were crying, and you kept on saying ‘no, no, no,’ over and over. It was really scary.”

“Sometimes women like to play pretend, too,” Pennie scoffed, lifting a dainty hand and turning her wrist so she could examine her fingernails. “Armad likes it when I struggle. It makes things more exciting for him.”

I stared at her, stunned.

“Am I…dismissed, now, Ben Solo?” Pennie asked rudely, when I hadn’t spoken. “Or do you yet have more to betray about how little you understand the affairs between men and women?” And she laughed at me with a delicate little simper.

“...You are not at all how Fannie described you,” I said at last, frowning at her. “She said that you were so sweet.”

“Oh, I’m sweet,” Pennie said, and smiled sweetly. “Ask Armad. Ask anyone.”

“But…what about Ruut Pentarra?” I asked. “You’re—betrothed to him, aren’t you? Does he know that you were…”

“No,” Pennie said curtly, and then squinted at me. “Do you intend to tell him?”

I hesitated.

And then I shook my head.

“Good,” Pennie said coldly. “It is not as if he would reward you for the information, you know. He has oft been known to shoot the messenger.”

She paused, and smiled. And the smile reminded me even more of the giant portrait in the entrance hall. “...Sometimes, literally.”

I was tongue-tied.

“...Well, Ben Solo, are you done staring at me like a brainless blurrg?” Pennie asked impatiently. “I have business to attend to. I do not have much more time with Armad—and I do not know, now, if he will still be in the mood.”

I stumbled backward, and sat down on the edge of the bed. “...You are nothing like what I thought you would be like,” I said again, dumbfounded.

Pennie’s smile grew even toothier.

“I am glad you have come to that conclusion so quickly,” she said…then scrutinized me again.

“...You know,” she said, “it is a funny thing, that Fa’nakhra would be so judgmental toward me for my decisions in love and lovemaking—when she insists on falling in love with humans. Her first man was a human, too, you know. She clearly has…” She smirked. “...a preference.”

I scowled.

At first I had given Pennie grace, because I knew how much Fannie loved her, and because I had thought she was in danger. But…now I was beginning to see that Pennie was…well, rotten! I was done being nice to her, that was for sure.

“Oh…I don’t know,” I retorted brusquely. “Maybe Fannie chose me because she wanted to be extra sure we didn’t share any of our DNA.”

Pennie’s eyes widened. And then she narrowed them again.

And then, she began to smirk—as if to say, “Fine, then; let us play.”

“At least,” she said smugly, “my offspring will not be a litter of abominable halflings.”

Now that stung. My mouth dropped open. Even if Fannie and I were years away from the possibility of having children together—if we ever were to have them, I sure as hell wouldn’t want anyone talking about them like that. 

I stood up from the bed, and slowly approached her. And although Pennie’s expression did not change, she shuffled two tiny steps backward.

I stopped about a foot away from her.

“...Could be worse,” I replied, sneering. “Your offspring might come out with twelve toes.”

Pennie bristled.

And then she closed the gap between us, stood tall—and spat at me.

So I guess you could say I made a great first impression!

I wiped my face with my sleeve, and we glared at each other, but neither one of us was willing to back down. I think we both knew that whoever walked away from this first would be forever seen as weak by the other party.

Pennie stared darkly up at me, her lips twitching. “I would not be so arrogant, if I were you, Ben Solo,” she said softly. “You and I are not so different.”

“Well, I can think of one big difference, lady,” I told her. “I haven’t kissed my dad since I was three.”

Pennie scoffed…but this time, she did not retaliate. A slow smile spread across her face.

“...I can see why my sister likes you,” she said, in a tone that almost suggested approval. “You certainly have a bite to you that she lacks.”

“Yeah, well—she’s definitely too nice to you,” I told her gruffly. “From the way she spoke about you, I never would’ve guessed you were such a total and complete—”

I managed to catch myself before I completed that train of thought. She was still Fannie’s sister, after all.

“...A total and complete what? ” asked Pennie with a saccharine lilt, daring me to continue. “Please. Do elaborate.”

“Sorry, sweetie,” I said, with my own generous helping of candied sarcasm. “My mother taught me better than to finish that sentence.”

And then I paused.

“...Too bad yours didn’t teach you not to date your dad,” I added.

Pennie smiled again—a serpent’s smile. I think she was past the point of offense, now.

She laughed, and sidled suggestively up to me—and my scowl melted away as I tried to figure out what the heck she was doing. I stared at her, bewildered, as she treated me to a sultry glance—and without breaking eye contact, scraped her bottom lip lightly with her front teeth.

“You know…” she purred, walking her fingertips up the left side of my chest flirtatiously, “she didn’t teach me to stay away from my sisters’ lovers, either.”

And my heart rate went up.

You know.

In the bad way.

This was a situation that I had definitely not been prepared for, nor that I had even seen coming—and now I didn’t know what to do. I stood there, paralyzed, a fathier in the headlights, as she violated me with her eyes.

The five-second timer elapsed. And with no response from Ben Solo, Pennie won the match. She grinned a gloating grin…and I realized that the only thing she’d wanted was to get a reaction out of me.

Worse yet—she’d succeeded.

Pennie’s smile immediately gave way to a sneer, and she stomped on my foot as hard as she could. And as I shouted and doubled over in pain, she strode through the door and stalked snootily off—presumably back into the arms of Armad—her hips swaying side to side as she went.

And that was how I discovered, whether or not she had ever been before, that Pennie was no longer the sweetest of Fannie’s sisters.

…And also that, as dainty as she’d first appeared—Pennie sure had one hell of a heavy foot.

Chapter Text

As I was nursing my poor toesies, I checked my holopod, which I’d left behind when I’d gone on my little “rescue mission.” I had a couple of missed messages from Fannie, asking where I was and if I was all right.

The whole thing with Pennie had delayed me by an extra thirty minutes. I sent Fannie an apology, and let her know that I was on my way out to meet her at the top of the stairs.

As I hurried back out of the men’s quarters and onto the landing, I found Fannie sitting with her back against the wall and working on a crochet pattern. As she saw me, she quickly shoved it back into her pockets as she stood. I was surprised she could fit all that in there—but then again, she had sewn all her robes herself, and Fan was a big fan of large pockets.

“Are you all right, love?” she asked as I stopped in front of her.

“Yeah, um—fine,” I said, then hesitated.

Fannie frowned, clearly recognizing that there was something I wasn’t telling her.

“Did…something happen, Ben?”

I didn’t know what to say. That I had finally gotten to meet her sweet little sister? That her sweet little sister had called our future kids “abominable halflings,” and had smashed my toes under her sweet little heels?

Fannie only looked more worried the longer I stayed silent.

“Uh…my stomach gets weird when I travel,” is what I ended up saying. And then I pressed my lips together, and looked at her to see if she’d buy it.

“Oh,” Fannie said, giggling apologetically. She patted my belly, said “poor Ben’s tummy,” and politely chose not to ask follow-up questions. “Hopefully you’ll be all right, dear, eating our food.”

“Hey, hey, I’ve had Rylothian food before,” I protested, relieved by the change of subject. “You used to make that curry thing all the time for me back on Naboo, remember?

“The parkuuhr?” Fannie asked, the word rolling off her tongue with a purr. “Well, yes, I did make that for you—but I made it with Nabooian ingredients. It wasn’t the same.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, shaking her by the shoulder.

“If you say so,” she laughed.

Fannie did seem to be feeling better than when I’d left her. She said that crocheting had helped her to clear her mind. But I asked her if she wanted to hang out for a bit anyway.

“Actually,” Fannie said, glancing at her holopod (and I marveled at how outdated her holopod was; it was shaped like a brick—but that’s Fannie for you), “we should start heading down to supper now, dear. It’s nearly six o’ clock.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised. “Sorry I took so long.”

“That’s quite all right,” Fannie assured me. “I hope your stomach feels better.”

For a second, I forgot what she was talking about. But then I remembered, and uttered my sheepish thanks.

Dinner, Fannie told me, was served promptly at six every evening, unless Pentarra had another event planned. Lunch, in contrast, was not served, but instead put out at noon for people to eat at their leisure and cleared away in time for dinner. After dinner, she told me, bowls of bread and fruit and dried meat were put out, and stayed out until lunch the next day.

Dang, I thought, free food? No groceries, or having to cook? This was the dream!

And then I remembered again everything that made this place feel like a prison to Fannie, even if she didn’t eat or sleep like a prisoner here. And I found myself sobered…though, not any less hungry.

Fannie and I descended down the stairs back into the main atrium, and entered through the wide archway into the dining hall amidst a throng of other Twi’leks. The dining hall was about as big as the entire hoopball court at the University of Naboo—but much more magnificent-looking, and filled with the overpowering aroma of rich, spicy food. Similar to my sleeping quarters, the hall was lit by flame—the torches along the walls flickered and cast a warm, inviting glow. The walls were stone, laid brick by brick, but the bricks were irregularly-shaped, rather than uniformly square.

There were wooden tables and benches laid out on either side of the hall, with a crimson-carpeted walking path down the middle, and I noticed immediately that all the men were sitting on the left side, and all the women on the right, as if to mirror the segregated sleeping quarters of upstairs. At the head of the room, there was a broad, but short set of steps leading up to an elevated platform, and up on the platform was a table with a high-backed chair that looked like a throne, as well as a few other chairs on either side of it.

And that was when I saw him, in the flesh, for the very first time:

Ruut Pentarra.

He was almost a hundred feet away from me, so I couldn’t observe him in detail. But even glimpsing him at a distance sent shivers down my spine. His robes were blood-red, and a servant girl was on his arm—no, two. From the way he acted towards them, I could see where his sons had learned their behavior.

In each of the two far corners of the hall, on either side of the head platform, was a curtained passageway. The curtain on the left was hung out of the way of the opening, and there were servants coming in and out, some with steaming platters of food and some with empty trays. The curtain on the right side, however, hung closed.

I was about to ask Fannie what was behind the right curtain when some Twi’lek guy came bolting down the aisle, right between me and Fan, and almost knocked the two of us down. He was tall and gangly, with cerulean-blue skin, and even though I yelled “Hey, watch it!” as he ran past, he didn’t bother to apologize nor even look our way. Laughing like an idiot and without coordination, he threw himself onto the back of another guy who was ahead of us, and nearly took him out, too.

The other guy threw him off, yelling, and chased him down the aisle. They ran around and around one of the middle tables on the men’s side, until they finally both sat down.

“Sorry about that,” Fannie apologized. “The Pentarra boys can be…rambunctious.”

“Clearly,” I said.

The men who sat at the furthest end of the hall, nearest to Pentarra’s table, wore more refined clothes than the ones who sat closer to the hall’s entrance (though, they certainly didn’t behave any more refined). And it was the same on the women’s side of the hall: the women seated closest to the head table were dressed splendidly (if sparsely), in rich colors and sumptuous fabrics that caught and reflected the torchlight.

Pentarra’s main wives probably sat at those tables, I guessed. And the daughters of his wives each sat with their mothers: some of them in their late teens and early twenties, like Fannie and her sisters, and some of them much younger (though, they certainly didn’t dress like they were younger).

I assumed Fannie would be taking me up there, to the head of the room. But instead, she took me to the very first table in the right-hand corner—the one on the women’s side that was furthest away from the head table. And there I saw Fashha and Ginnie, already seated, and then Connie flounced past us and sat down, too.

Fannie stopped at Fashha’s table, and kissed her mother on the cheek before sitting down. I waved and said hi, too, before sitting down next to her.

No one greeted me.

…Not that I expected them to, given my reception earlier.

I nudged Fannie. “Why are we sitting so far away from your father?” I asked, as Fannie’s mother passed her the wooden bowl of water that they had been washing their hands in as we arrived. “Not that you’d want to be closer to him. But…your mom was his first wife, right? All his other wives seem to be way up there towards the front.”

“We used to sit there,” Fannie answered, carefully folding back her long sleeves so that she wouldn’t get them in the water. “But…when Pennie began to sit with our father, she requested that my mother’s table be moved.”

“Makes sense, I guess. I wouldn’t want to make eye contact with my mom at dinner, either, if I was doing my dad.”

Connie made a snrk sound—the first positive reaction I’d gotten out of her since I’d arrived.

But Fannie sighed, exasperated. “Oh, Ben…would you stop it?”

“What?”

“Pennie is more than just—the sister making questionable choices,” Fannie said firmly.

Speak of the Devaronian! Pennie suddenly came rushing up the aisle, pulling up the straps of her top as she went.

“Oh! Pennie!” Fannie called—but Pennie did not listen. Nor did she stop running till she met Pentarra at his table, shooing the servant girls away from him like so many buzzbirds. I watched as Pentarra smiled to greet her and took hold of her chin with his fingers, pulled her in, and kissed her…but not in the usual way a father kisses his child.

I looked at Fannie, stunned. But her eyes did not hold the same shock that mine did. She had the look of one who could hardly be shocked anymore as she dried her hands, and passed the water bowl to me.

“Well…that was Pennie,” Fannie said quietly. “She has lost her way, perhaps. But that is not the defining trait of her character. If you met her, Ben, you’d see.”

Well…I had met her. And I hadn’t seen.

But…I didn’t feel like telling her that right now.

I washed my fingers in the bowl of water, the way I had watched Fannie do, and wiped my hands off on my napkin. And then a servant girl came, bringing food to our table (but I noticed that our table was the last in the hall to be served).

I started to reach for the food. But Fashha glared at me, and Fannie stayed my hand.

“My mother likes to give thanks before we eat,” she explained to me quietly.

That was faux pas number two, for Ben Solo. 

“Oh,” I said. “Give thanks to who?”

“To the goddess Tollah,” Fannie answered.

But…I noticed she said so reluctantly.

Fashha closed her eyes, bowed her head, and held her palms facing up on the table. Connie and Ginnie followed suit. I started to do it, too, because I thought I was supposed to—but then I observed that Fannie did not. She simply sat quietly with her eyes open, and waited for Fashha to finish.

I couldn’t decide whether I was supposed to copy Fashha, or copy Fannie. I started doing one thing, and then the other, and got all stressed out about it—and finally ended up doing something in-between, with my head only sort-of forward and my hands out but my palms down. I sat there, frozen and embarrassed, until Fashha was done—and was very relieved when everyone lifted their heads again, and began to reach for the plates.

A few words come to mind when I think of how best to describe Rylothian food. Hearty. Earthy. Rustic. Rice and bread are staple foods there, like on a lot of other planets. But un like on a lot of other planets, they don’t process the grains to remove the dark bits, so their rice isn’t white; it’s brown, or black, or even purple, and has more of a chew to it. The bread is the same, with little dark flecks, and a nutty brown color. And there’s often some kind of liquid for you to mop up with your rice or your bread—a gravy, perhaps, or a thick soup, or a stew. Meat is roasted or grilled or slow-cooked, not fried or boiled (unless the meat is part of a stew, and then it might be boiled in the stew).

Rylothians don’t use utensils to eat. They use their hands—even for rice. That’s part of why the starch is used as a method of transport to get soupier things to the mouth, though it’s also acceptable to lift your bowl to your mouth and sip. It is also customary  to reach into your bowl with your fingers, and take a piece of turnip or carrot or something from the stew, and put it in your mouth—which would seem rude in most cultures I’ve grown up in, but is commonplace there.

There are no knives for the meat, except for one big knife used to carve pieces off of the serving plate. At the women’s tables, the mother usually serves her children—but at the men’s tables, whoever is youngest at the table must serve his elders. Once the meat has been carved onto your plate, you are expected to hold the pieces in your hands, and tear off pieces of flesh with your teeth.

Most Twi’lek men file their teeth down to sharp points, which is as normal to them as having a beard is to human men, and aids them in this method of consumption. But Twi’lek women don’t sharpen their teeth, so it’s acceptable for women to borrow the carving knife and cut their portions of meat into pieces that are easier to eat—but most of the time, the way the meat is cooked makes it so tender that this unnecessary.

If you are a guy and you borrow the carving knife to cut your meat, you will look stupid, and people will laugh at you.

I’ll let you guess how I found that out.

There actually were some other boys, seated with their mothers, sitting on the women’s side of the dining hall. But it looked like it was only the really young boys who sat with their moms. I seemed to be the only guy on this side of the hall over the age of twelve.

Conversely, there were no women or girls seated on the men’s side. But there was one woman seated with Pentarra—and that was, of course, Pennie (who I watched cut Pentarra’s meat for him, but had to fight off several of the female servants in order to do so).

Over the course of the meal, I watched various serving women attend Pentarra—but they generally ignored Pennie, unless she spoke to them directly. At one point, there were no less than three servant girls surrounding Pentarra—one coyly putting food in his mouth and another rubbing his shoulders, while the last made stimulating conversation and suggestive movements with her hips.

I found myself wondering about these women’s motives. Did they actually like Pentarra? I doubted it. Were they trying to gain favor with him, and thereby some kind of power? Or perhaps they were trying to suck up to him, to avoid some negative consequence. Or maybe, they were just trying to do their job.

I observed Pennie, to see what her reaction was. Most of the time she wore the serene, doting, and somewhat cocky expression of a young queen—which was perhaps what she saw herself as, even though to be one of Pentarra’s many mates was nowhere near that level of distinction.

But when she thought no one was looking, I watched her facade slip away as a look of childlike pain came over her…and I remembered, then, that Pennie was as much Pentarra’s daughter as she was his current favorite toy.

I wondered about Armad, and the nature of Pennie’s relationship with him. Did she actually like him? Or did she only want something out of him? And if so, what? A sense of control, maybe? Reassurance that she was desirable? Probably not sex—it seemed like she got enough of that.

…Then again, the times she spent with her father were probably centered around his pleasure rather than her own.

I wondered how many “Armad”s she had. And I wondered if there were any of them that Pennie truly had feelings for…or if she was only trying to “keep up” with Pentarra, who apparently flirted with women as part of his mealtime routine.

I didn’t want to watch Pennie and her father. But it was hard not to. And I would have kept on watching—but then Pennie looked up, and caught my eye from a hundred feet away, and so I didn’t look at her anymore.

I snuck a glance at Pentarra’s other wives. Or at least, as much as I could manage to see of them, since all the tables on the ground floor were at the same height, and some of the women had their backs to us. But from what I could tell, none of them were jealous about Pentarra’s interactions with the servants.

…I supposed they couldn’t afford to be.

I wondered when was the last time Pentarra had slept with any of his main wives?

This, however, was a question I knew I could not ask.

I didn’t mind sitting on the women’s side. I was here to visit my girlfriend, after all, so I figured it made sense that I sat with her. But from where I was sitting, facing the rest of the hall, it did feel weird to be the only grown man on this side of the room.

I was also having a hard time eating without utensils. And I don’t mean that I was prissy about it, or nothing—I was totally fine getting messy—but well—have you ever tried to eat rice with your fingers?

If not…you should give it a try. I dare you. And you should film it, too, so I can see.

Watching the way everyone else ate, I could see that the rice stuck together in little clumps, so that you could pick up the clumps and carry them to your mouth. But I was not particularly dextrous, apparently, because I kept on crushing the clumps by accident, causing them to fall back onto my plate in little grains.

It was very frustrating. And I’m a guy of little patience to begin with.

At first, Fannie offered me her advice in vain. But after several more minutes of continued failure, she ceased, and instead politely pretended not to observe my suffering.

Connie and Ginnie, however, were incredibly amused by my difficulty. About as amused, I guess, as I’d be if I were watching someone who had no idea how to use a fork—but it pissed me off that the only time they wouldn’t ignore me was when they could mock me instead. They giggled to one another and whispered semi-hushed remarks in Twi’leki that made Fannie clear her throat and look at them sharply.

So—all very nice things they were saying about me, I assume.

In an effort to dissuade them from their mockery, Fannie kept on trying to strike up conversation, with enough determination as to be embarrassing…but eventually even she gave up, and we all ate in silence, save for Connie and Ginnie’s tittering.

Finally, Connie cleared her throat, and Fannie and Ginnie looked up at her—Fannie with wide, open eyes, Ginnie with her heavy-lidded glance of intrigue. Fashha, meanwhile, did not look up at all.

I looked at Connie, too—and dropped my rice again as I did.

“Fa’nakhra,” Connie said, addressing Fannie with impish sweetness, “Are you sure you want to be with this man? He does not seem to be…very good with his hands.”

And she laughed, while Ginnie smirked.

I flicked my eyes up to glare at her, my messy fingers hovering over my plate. She had clearly wanted me to hear and understand that remark—otherwise, she would not have said it in Basic.

“Don’t be silly. Why would that make any difference in whether I wanted to be with him?” Fannie demanded.

“His hands are large,” Connie continued. “But he is clumsy with them. He lacks a delicate touch. Do you see how roughly he fingers the rice?” And Ginnie snickered, and Connie caught my eye and smiled cheekily, taunting me.

I frowned at her. It seemed to me that Connie was not just talking about food.

Fannie looked at her sister innocently, and then at me. “Well…he’s never done this before,” she said firmly. “So…of course it will be a little difficult for him.”

“He certainly carries himself like someone who has never done it before,” murmured Ginnie, while Connie cackled.

I thought I maybe had an idea of what “it” was supposed to be. And now I was also beginning to understand what Ginnie and Connie found so funny.

“Well—he just needs some practice,” Fannie repeated staunchly, making up for her cluelessness with one hell of a persistence. “He usually uses a utensil, not his fingers.”

Connie and Ginnie, understandably, found that statement hilarious.

“Fan. Stop,” I muttered.

“You needn’t be embarrassed, Ben,” Fannie insisted. “Be patient. It may just take some time.”

“A lot of time,” Ginnie butted in. “If the poor fool can manage to do it at all.”

Connie laughed even louder. “Yes—let me see you lick your bowl, Ben Solo,” she jeered. “Are you as clumsy with your tongue as you are with your hands?”

“Oh, hush,” Fannie said, frowning, while I died inside. “Leave him alone. He can figure out how to eat.”

“How to eat food, perhaps, but I know not what else,” remarked Ginnie in that deadpan way of hers.

“What else would he need to eat besides food?” Fannie demanded.

“Stop talking, Fannie,” I begged. “Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking— please just stop talking.”

“Well, I don’t see what all this fuss is about,” Fannie said stubbornly. “It might just—take him a little bit longer to finish than the rest of us, that’s all.”

Oh, for frick’s sake.

Connie and Ginnie howled.

“ Oh , no—I’m sure he finishes very quickly!” Connie cackled. She and Ginnie were both nearly in tears by this point. “It’s his mate that I pity.”

“Okay—that’s it,” I snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore—this was too much. I stood up, glaring at Fannie’s nasty sisters, and briefly contemplated the short-and-long-term consequences of throwing rice in their faces…but managed to decide against it. I flung my napkin down instead and turned and strode out of the dining room, clutching the last shreds of my dignity, while Connie and Ginnie fell over themselves with laughter, and Fannie demanded to know what was going on.

Fashha, meanwhile, had remained quiet all this time.

It was clear she considered none of this her business.

Chapter Text

The air chilled and lost the warm fragrance of rice and spices as I exited through the wide double doors of the dining hall. I didn’t know where I was going—just knew that I had to get away.

“Ben!”

I turned, and saw Fannie hurrying behind me—her legs were so short, she had to take four times as many steps to catch up.

I decided to have mercy on her, and slowed my pace.

“Did you get enough to eat?” she asked first, breathlessly, and I couldn’t help but be amused.

“Oh, is that what you’re worried about?”

“Well—there was a lot left on your plate,” she said sheepishly. “I wanted to make sure.”

I looked down at my hands, and realized I had forgotten to use my napkin before leaving the table—my fingers were greasy. I wiped them off on my pants as best I could, and Fannie made a face that suggested she thought that was gross of me.

“Thanks, Fan. I’m fine,” I told her, lifting my hand to pat her on the shoulder.

“I’m glad to hear you’re all right,” Fannie said, flinching away from my recently-degreased hands. I grinned, and put them in my pockets instead. “But Ben…I’m sorry that my sisters were so impolite to you. Don’t worry about the food. We have different ways of eating here than you’re used to, and there’s nothing wrong with that—”

“Fan,” I interrupted. “You know they weren’t just talking about food, right?”

“What do you mean?” she asked innocently.

I gave her a brief explanation of what her sisters had been intending to imply about me, and her face colored.

“Oh,” she said, covering the lower part of her face with her hands. “Goodness. I…I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I muttered. “Hey—at least they spoke to me at all, I guess.”

We wrapped around the entrance hall, and walked down the east hallway on the bottom floor. I didn’t know where we were going, but Fannie seemed to have a destination in mind.

And then she turned, all of a sudden, and pulled me through a curtain into a little room—which I would have walked right past if she hadn’t directed my attention to it.

It was a library, I realized, as I registered my new surroundings. It wasn’t very big. But it had a stained glass skylight and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and smelled deliciously of old paper.

“Hello,” I said, looking around. “What’s this little place?”

“The east library,” she replied, and unearthed a cushion from against one of the shelves, fluffing it out. She went over to the very corner of the room and settled herself down on top of the pillow, tucking her feet in under her hips.

I suppressed a smile. She looked like a little tipyip, roosting for the night.

“This place is very dear to me,” she said, looking around the little room as she smoothed her skirts. “I would come here to hide, sometimes, when I was young.”

“Hide?” I asked, concerned. “From what?”

“From…whatever I needed to,” Fannie said with a melancholy smile, and I decided not to press any further.

“I would also come here to play pretend, and to imagine things,” she added. “Even now, I like to meditate here, sometimes. It’s a nice secluded little spot. It doesn’t see a lot of people…but it sees me, often. And I thought you might like to see it, too.” She looked at me kindly. “You don’t see a lot of paper libraries, do you?”

“No, I sure don’t,” I said, reaching for a clothbound hardcover on the shelf—I opened it. Listened to the way the spine crackled. Ran my fingers over the rough tooth of the page. Held it up, so I could see the way the printed ink stained the fibers. I lifted one of the pages—the light behind the paper caused the words to show up from the other side.

Oh, it was so wizard. I couldn’t help but grin.

“Dude—thanks for showing me, Fan. This is really cool.” I said, putting the book back in its place. “You know, that reminds me…I saw another library, up in the men’s quarters.”

Fannie blushed. “Oh—well—that’s—a different kind of library.”

I blinked.

“...Oh,” I said, and didn’t bring it up again.

No one was here but us, and the many shelves of books muffled the sound, so that everything felt quiet and still. It did feel like we were off in our own little part of the galaxy. I could see why Fannie had come here to daydream as a kid.

It made me feel sad—imagining her as a little girl, alone in this room, inventing a more pleasant world to inhabit in her mind.

“Seems like no one really comes here,” I said. “The Pentarras aren’t too big on reading, huh?”

She shook her head. “No. Most of them either don’t know how, or simply see no reason to do it for pleasure.”

“Did you learn how to read growing up?”

“No,” she said again. “Luke and the other students taught me.”

“Huh,” I said, cocking my head and considering her. “That’s crazy to me. Just another difference between the ways we grew up, I guess.”

She shrugged and smiled bashfully. “Well…I’m glad I finally did learn,” she said. “Otherwise…how else would I have been able to read all of your poetry?”

“Heh,” I said, feeling my face go hot. I had penned her many sorry works of verse over the past couple of months—an embarrassing symptom of being in love for the first time. “Maybe you would’ve been better off illiterate, after all.”

“Oh, stop that, Ben Solo,” she said, rising to her feet. She came over, and kissed me on the chin—I smiled, and patted her affectionately on the head.

I pulled another book from the shelf, leafed quickly through it, then closed it so I could look at the title. It was written in Ryl, so I didn't know what it said. I couldn’t even attempt to sound out the letters—Ryl is written in the Huttese alphabet, rather than in Aurebesh, since Ryloth was historically under control of the Hutts.

I handed the book to Fannie. “Hey, what does this say?” I asked.

She stared at it. “Well…I can’t read Ryl, actually.”

“You can’t?” I asked, surprised.

“No,” she admitted. “I only learned to read Basic, not Ryl. My mother can read it, though. She learned when she was growing up, before my father married her. Usually I ask her whenever I need to know what something says.”

“Fair enough,” I said, and put the book back on the shelf.

As I did, my eyes were drawn to a large tapestry on the wall. Similar to the bookshelves, it spanned from the ceiling all the way down to the floor.

“Whoa!” I said, and went over to it to get a better look. “What’s this thing?”

“Oh—that’s the Pentarra family tree,” Fannie said, joining me at the foot of it. “My mother wove this tapestry. She started it when she first became Pentarra’s wife, and she has worked on it ever since. Every time there is a new child in the clan, she adds them to the tree.”

The tapestry was huge…and dusty. I patted it down, and great clouds of dirt came flying up into the air. Fannie and I coughed, and laughed, and coughed some more.

Once the dust had cleared, I could see it a lot better. The tapestry featured a great big sprawling tree, with twisting branches and coiling offshoots. There were many names and symbols embroidered onto it—but again, I could not read the text.

“This tree is huge,” I said. “How far back does it go?”

“Far…back?” Fannie echoed.

“Yeah—like, how many generations is it?”

“Oh—this is just my father’s line,” Fannie explained. “That’s Ruut Pentarra, there, at the top, you see.” She pointed to the topmost, largest insignia: one unnerving, staring eye, embroidered in crimson red.

I stared at it. And then I realized—all the names beneath him were his children.

“Wait. Fan. Is this how many siblings you have?”

“Well…yes. I suppose so,” she said. “Half-siblings.”

I was stunned. Of course, I had already seen the entire clan in one place, in the dining hall at supper. But…somehow, I hadn’t registered that almost everyone in that hall had been fathered by one man.

“Are you close to any of them?” I asked. “Your half-siblings, I mean.”

“Not particularly,” she said. “Though I wish it were not so. I spent most of my childhood helping my mother take care of my sisters…and then I moved to Ossus when I was eight.”

I supposed that made sense. Fannie showed kindness to everyone she came across at home, of course, but I couldn’t blame her for not knowing her half-siblings as deeply as she did her own sisters. Not when she had left Ryloth so young…and definitely not when Pentarra had fathered such an incredible quantity of children.

“Where’s your name on here, Fan?” I asked, squinting at it.

“Right…here.” She had to stand on tiptoe to point it out, but she placed her finger beneath an embroidered flower in seafoam green—and as her hand came to rest, I saw that the color of the embroidery thread almost perfectly matched her skin tone. To the right of her sea-green flower, there were three other insignias: a deep blue gem, a yellow-green star, and an olive-green pearl.

Connie. Ginnie. And…Pennie.

“Pennie’s about to make this family tree a lot more awkward,” I mused.

Fannie grimaced, but chose not to respond.

“...Sorry,” I apologized. “I know you told me to…y’know, quit making that Pennie’s thing.”

“It’s all right, Ben,” she sighed sadly. “I suppose that it’s all I can think about, too, whenever I think of my poor sister.”

I patted her on the shoulder, and rubbed her back. Then I paused.

“Fan, um…I don’t mean to be rude, but uh…”

“Yes?”

“Listen…I know you’re close with your mom and your sisters,” I said. “But…I’m having a hard time understanding why.”

Her face fell, and I felt bad for saying it.

“I mean—I know they’re your family, obviously,” I said. “It’s just…they’re so different from you. They don’t seem very nice. Not even to you— well, I guess your mom’s okay to you, maybe. But Connie and Ginnie…not so much.”

“Well…I didn’t use to be very nice, either, before I found the Force,” said Fannie gently. “My mother and my sisters do not have the Force to guide them, Ben. They are lost. So for that reason I have pity on them.”

“With all due respect, Fan—I don’t think that people need the Force in order to be decent people,” I said. “Or maybe what I’m saying is—not having the Force isn’t an excuse for them to be jerks.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Fannie said slowly. “But…they’re my family, Ben. I still have to love them.”

“Yeah, I know. I just—worry about you, I guess. I don’t like feeling like you’re getting all stepped on.”

“Well…I appreciate it, Ben. Really.” She placed her hand on my arm. “But you know I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah…I do know that.” And then I poked her shoulder with my index finger. “But I’m lookin’ out for you, too, sister. And you know that.”

“I do,” she agreed, and gave me a peck on the cheek. “And I am grateful.”

I turned back to the tapestry, and inspected it again. I noticed that some of the symbols, such as those belonging to Fannie and her sisters, were enclosed in circles, while others were enclosed in squares. I guessed that the circles were for girls, and the squares were for guys.

I also noticed that there were far more squares than circles…which struck me as odd. There hadn’t seemed to be more men than women in the dining hall.

“Hey, are there more boys than girls in your family?” I asked. “Or…in the clan, I mean?”

“...Yes,” said Fannie.

“Huh,” I said. “Interesting.”

“Yes…it is interesting,” agreed Fannie quietly. “I hope it is merely a strange stroke of chance.”

It took me a moment before I understood what she was suggesting…but then, I did. The ratio of sons to daughters did seem too disproportionate to be the result of random odds. I wondered whether it was the result of things done before pregnancy, upon pregnancy, during pregnancy, or…after…?

The other thing I noticed, looking at the family tree, was that Fashha had borne far fewer children than Pentarra’s other wives. Four children sure seemed like a lot to me…but the other women had ten, fifteen, twenty children apiece. Each wife seemed to have had one child for every year she had been wed to Pentarra—all of them except for Fashha.

Fashha was also the only one who did not have any sons.

There was certainly a mystery here…but I didn’t want to ask Fannie any questions. I was too afraid I would uncover something sinister.

I changed the subject.

“...What are your brothers like, Fan? Are all of them, uh—how did you put it—rambunctious?”

“Well…most of them take after their father,” she replied. “He is the only man they have to emulate, after all. They would always terrorize my sisters and I when we were young. Because of that, I used to hold the belief that all men were bad. But then, of course, I met Master Luke, and became friends with the other Jedi students—and then I came to realize that men are not bad by nature. It was just that I had only known bad men.”

I put my arm around her, and held her close.

“What about now?” I asked. “Are they still mean to you, now that you’re grown up?”

“Yes,” Fannie said with a sigh. “But a lot of the time they simply ignore me, which I prefer. I suppose they think I’m odd.”

“Well, you’re definitely different from everyone else in your family,” I agreed.

Fannie smiled. “So are you, Ben. You’re nothing at all like the men I grew up with.”

“Hey—I’ll take it as a compliment,” I said with a laugh, and then I stepped back so I could observe the tapestry as a whole. “So…this is everyone, huh?”

“Well…not everyone,” Fannie said. “The tree only features those who are related to Ruut, by blood or by marriage. So yes, all of Pentarra’s children are here…but not all of their mothers.”

She was right. There were lines of children that, on the tapestry, came directly from Pentarra. As if he had managed to produce them all on his own, without any assistance.

“And of course, the servants are missing,” Fannie went on. “I know they are not part of the Pentarra clan. But…they are as much a part of this household as the family itself, even if no one else seems to think so.”

“Hm,” I said, looking over the extensive tree.

As I said before, the Pentarra house is almost like a miniature city.

There is Pentarra himself, lord of his estate.

There are his five wives: Fashha, Orpah, Athena, Merdicea, and Kuhrii, wed to him in that order.

There are the sons of his wives—none of them over the age of twenty-two, and none of them with the full maturity of men. The eldest is twenty-one; the youngest, six months old. Most of them are teenagers, and behave accordingly.

And then there are his wives’ daughters: afforded fewer rights than his sons, but prized for their beauty. Surprisingly, he has given none of his daughters in marriage—although there is one he is about to take in marriage.

There are Pentarra’s concubines, whose names I don’t know—whose names, perhaps, no one asks. Women who are not his wives, but not his servants. In limbo.

There are the concubines’ children, who are really seen as Pentarra’s children—their mothers forgotten and uncredited. These children do not have the same status as those born of Pentarra’s wives, but most of the time they manage to blend in.

And then there are the servants—both male and female. But the male servants are not as different from the females as one would expect, and I wonder if perhaps they have been modified against their will, to prevent them from becoming a threat to Pentarra’s line.

There are the female servants’ children. Some of them were purchased with their mothers, while others were born within the walls of this house.

Of the ones who were born here, many of them resemble Pentarra.

As I said before, there are very few droids in this household. Because anyone can own a droid.

Few can afford to own people.

Droids don’t require sleeping quarters. They don’t require food. For these reasons, they are less expensive than slaves. But Pentarra is not as interested in saving money as he is in flaunting it. And at the end of the day, even the most expensive droid in the galaxy is merely a machine made for a master. To be master over another being is something else entirely.

…Though one might argue that his servants are not the only members of his household he keeps in chains.

So: that is the Pentarra house, from top to bottom—from those with the highest status, to those with the least.

But…there is one Pentarra who treats everyone equally. One who asks every being his or her name. One who will get on her hands and knees to scrub floors with the servants, and stand tall to condemn the cruelty of her father’s sons.

This, of course, is Fa’nakhra: the eldest Pentarra child; the Jedi Knight.

My girlfriend.

…Maybe my future wife?

Definitely my best friend.

Fannie.

“Actually, Snoke—Fannie’s dad reminds me of you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the robes...maybe it’s the piercing eyes. Or you know—maybe it’s just the creepy old man vibes.”

“Hm…I suppose I can understand where you might see a comparison. But I assure you, Ben Solo…he and I are nothing alike. Ruut Pentarra is a man with little more ambition than to accumulate wealth and indulgence, and to enjoy them for as long as possible. A shortsighted and foolish aspiration. You see, Ben…it is not wealth I seek, but power.”

“Power, huh? I dunno…Pentarra seems pretty powerful, too. Maybe not manipulate-the-Force-to-allow-you-to-live-inside-a-guy’s-head-for-years powerful. But…powerful all the same.”

“Oh, he is powerful…for a mortal. But he merely uses his power as a means to protect his wealth, which he can only enjoy for as long as he is alive. A man like Ruut Pentarra fears death.”

“Huh. I guess I can see that. Well…to what end are you hoping to use your power, Snoke? Besides your weird desire to stay pen pals with me, I mean.”

“Now isn’t that a question! Wouldn’t you like to know. I could have told you, Ben Solo. Had you stayed with me, I could have told you.”

“Well, fine then. Keep your secrets. But...wait. Hold on a second. What did you mean, when you called Pentarra ‘mortal?’ Are you…not mortal? Don’t you fear death, too? Isn’t your power also something you can only enjoy for as long as you’re alive?”

“The Force is a pathway to many abilities, Ben Solo. Even ones some might consider to be…unnatural.”

Chapter Text

I ended up sleeping in the next morning, since I was tired from my travels. By the time I had showered and dressed and gotten my butt down to the dining hall, the servants were already clearing away breakfast and setting out lunch.

I snagged the last piece of fruit from one of the bowls left on the tables. It was a fruit I’d never seen before, and looked like an apple with the skin of a citrus. I spent a long time deciding whether to peel it before eating or not…but I chose wrong, and ended up with a mouthful of fibrous, bitter rind.

Fannie was busy for the first part of the day. She had taken some time off of work for my visit, but she hadn’t called out completely. I was relieved about that, though. It meant less available time for her to try and force her family to bond with me.

I did some writing in my room for a while. Around one o’clock, Fannie and I met up in the dining hall to eat lunch together. We sat at the same table we had eaten supper at, but luckily for me, Fashha, Connie, and Ginnie weren’t there. They had already eaten, since lunch had been out since noon.

When we got to the table, there were wooden platters there, laden with a mouthwatering array of bread, crackers, sliced meat, cheese, fruit, and nuts. I discovered an endless source of amusement by quickly popping pieces of food into Fannie’s mouth whenever she opened her lips to speak to me—an act she decried as “extremely obnoxious” (and yet, she accepted everything I fed her).

I liked mealtime a lot better when it was just Fannie and me. I didn't have to deal with the discomfort of being ignored by her mother and her sisters…or—you know—being actively bullied by them, like I was at dinner.

But I couldn’t escape them for long. After lunch, Fannie followed up on her promise to show me her room, where her mother and sisters were waiting.

Although the chambers in the Pentarra house were segregated by gender, it was permissible for me to enter the east wing as long as I did not make eye contact with any of the women and headed straight to my destination without lingering. It helped, too, that Fannie accompanied me down the hall.

The same young boys that had been sitting with their mothers in the dining hall were present in the women’s quarters—some of them with their mothers, and some of them running down the halls with each other. There were a few communal spaces in the women’s chambers, and I saw some women sitting and talking, nursing their children together. But these meeting spaces were sparse, with only a few mismatched cushions and tables, as if they had been placed there by the women themselves. The women’s gathering rooms were nothing like the bars and the smoking lounges on the men’s side of the mansion.

Fannie, her mother, and her sisters all shared one chamber. Their room was much larger than mine—almost the size of a small one-story house. Like my room, it was open, without any separation between each of the women’s spaces, save for a few standing silkscreen curtains. But I could tell right away which bed belonged to Fannie. It was made up with a quilt with squares of green and pink and blue, and ruffles sewn along the edges.

The chamber walls didn’t have ninety-degree angles, but instead curved up toward a high ceiling, and were finished with stucco that was rough to the touch. The color was a warm reddish-tan—similar to the rockfaces that, outside, were everywhere I looked.

In the center of the room was a low table, also rounded, and with cushions instead of chairs. Once again, I could easily guess which one belonged to Fannie. It had a ruffled, quilted cover, much like her bedspread, in green and pink and blue.

Fashha, Connie, and Ginnie were present (physically, if not socially). But Pennie, of course, was nowhere to be seen. One of the beds was made up, and dusty, and looked like it had not been touched in months. I wondered if it was hers.

Since Fashha didn’t speak Basic, I just tried to smile at her. But I did try to talk to Fannie’s sisters, even after how they had mocked me at dinner. I knew there was no way I was getting an apology from them—so I figured my next best bet was to grit my teeth, equate their jabs with the locker room jests I’d received from friends, and let it go.

I remembered having seen Connie in the garden with a Twi’lek guy before. “Hey, you have a boyfriend, don’t you?” I asked, in an attempt to start a conversation.

“I’ve got a few,” was Connie’s brusque reply.

“Oh,” I said, trying not to look surprised. I wasn’t sure whether she meant the boyfriends were aware of one another or not. “Um…what are their names?”

“Why do you care?” Connie scoffed. “They’re not your boyfriends.” And then she went back to gossiping with Ginnie in Twi’leki.

Mission failed.

I tried talking to Ginnie next.

“So, uh, what do you do, Ginnie? Do you have, like…a job?” I asked.

“No,” sniffed Ginnie, looking at me like I was crazy for asking.

Great talk.

I wanted to ask her follow-up questions. Did she want to work, and wasn’t allowed to? Or did she view work as something you only did if you were one of the servants? Did she at least have a primary occupation, even if it wasn’t necessarily a job?

But I couldn’t ask her any of these questions, because she immediately turned away from me and went back to telling her mother about something that—again—I had no way of understanding.

Fannie tried her best, may the Force be with her. Her family kept on speaking to one another in Twi’leki and ignoring me, and I sat there, wide-eyed, twiddling my thumbs and chewing on my lower lip. “Connie, Ginnie, please speak Basic so Ben can understand!” Fannie kept on saying, doing her best to keep the smile on her face. It was so embarrassing.

Eventually Fannie gave up and started translating everything everyone was saying, but pretending like she wasn’t. “Yes, Mamaa, I agree; that shade of blue does look lovely! Yes, Connie; I know you think I need new robes, but these ones have a bit of life left in them, I think.”

There were a few things that Fan refused to translate, however. For example, on the subject of Fannie’s robes, Connie seemed to suggest certain alterations to them, particularly in the chest area—and Fannie blushed, and changed the subject. (I was as curious as you are—but I knew better than to ask.)

As the women sat and gossiped, they were all engaged in various textile arts. Fannie was knitting (or crocheting—I can never remember which is which), the movements of her fingers calm and measured. Connie was sewing a blouse by hand, her stitches quick and just-so, but without too much calculation. Ginnie was embroidering something onto a hoop (I tried to look at the design, and she glared at me like I had attempted to steal her firstborn). Fashha was by the window, sitting at a huge loom—probably the one she had used to make the tapestry in the east library.

Have you ever seen someone work a loom before? I hadn’t.

There were these long loops of string, stretched taut on the machine, that formed the skeleton of the work. Fashha would pass more string through these loops by hand, arranging the colors with her fingers to create a design. Then she would pull the frame in toward herself, packing the layers of string down to make them part of the tapestry.

Fannie noticed me watching her mother weave, and pounced on opportunity. She went over to Fashha, bent over to speak to her, and gestured toward me encouragingly. Mamaa, you should show Ben what you’re making!

Fashha followed Fannie’s gesture to look at me, and said something back in a quiet voice. Why do I need to show him? He’s got eyes, hasn’t he? (I have no idea what she actually said.)

Fannie smiled patiently and insisted again. I’m sure he would love to see your work up close, and listen to you explain how you do it.

Fashha looked at Fannie pointedly. And then she gestured to me, and went back to weaving. You tell him, Fa’nakhra. He doesn’t understand Twi’leki. Besides, he’s weird and ugly and I don’t like his face. (I have no idea what she actually said.)

Fannie came back over to me sheepishly. “I asked my mother to tell you about her weaving,” she told me. “I offered to translate for her. But…she told me to tell you myself.”

I wasn’t surprised.

“That’s okay, Fan,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Fannie took my hand and brought me over to the loom where Fashha was sitting. Fashha glanced sideways at me, but otherwise paid me no mind.

“Your work is, um…very beautiful,” I offered with a tentative smile.

“Do you hear that, Mamaa?” Fannie prodded hopefully. “Ben said he likes your design.”

…No response.

Zero for three.

Fannie and I looked at each other. Fannie smiled apologetically, squeezing my hand tighter, and cleared her throat.

“...Mamaa came from the Tarawa’ki village, off the coast of Nuthiir,” Fannie told me. “The women there are talented weavers, and the men fish. Her people have blue skin—blue, like the water.”

“Huh,” I said. “So how’d she end up here?”

“When she was fourteen, Ruut Pentarra passed through her village,” Fannie said simply. “And…he took her with him when he left.”

“Oh. Has she ever been able to go back?”

Fannie shook her head. “No.”

“Have you ever been to Tarawa’ki?” I asked.

Fannie shook her head again. “No. But—I’ve always wanted to, someday. To see the place where Mamaa came from.”

She turned, and lovingly watched her mother weave…and I watched her as she watched her mom.

I put my arm around her.

“…I’ll take you, Fan,” I said. “Someday.”

Fannie smiled up at me, her eyes sparkling, and leaned into my arm.

I watched Fashha work the loom, her mind seemingly elsewhere. It was then I realized that the pattern on the developing tapestry looked something like ocean waves.

Fashha had borne Fannie young, and she looked too young to have an adult daughter. But…she also looked old, somehow…and she looked like she yearned for the sea.

I wanted to ask Fashha more. And believe me, I tried. But Fashha wouldn’t speak—not even to Fannie, when Fannie translated my questions into Twi’leki. After admitting defeat with Fashha I tried talking again to Connie and Ginnie, too, but was met only with irritated silence.

Finally, I had to accept that no one besides Fan was willing to speak to me. So I made my peace with being ignored, and settled for sitting and smiling and nodding over and over.

But a guy can only sit and smile and nod for so long. And after a while I noticed that, when they weren’t flat-out ignoring me, sometimes Fashha or Connie or Ginnie would glance at me with expressions that said, “Ugh. You’re still here?”

Eventually, I’d had enough. I tapped Fannie on the shoulder, and told her I was gonna go walk around outside for a bit.

She looked at me with big eyes, and bit her lip. And then she turned to her sisters.

“Connie, Ginnie, would you like to go walk outside with Ben and I?” she asked.

Connie and Ginnie looked at her blankly. And then at me, as if I was personally trying to drag them out by force.

I looked away and coughed and scratched the side of my nose.

Fannie turned to her mother.

“Mamaa?”

Fashha waved her hand and shook her head, and said something that I couldn’t translate to you, but that I understood regardless.

Fannie looked troubled. And I worried she was going to badger her family into eternity until they said yes.

“Fan…please, it’s okay,” I whispered.

“Well, don’t worry, Ben—I’ll come with you,” she said quickly.

I found myself feeling even more embarrassed by the offer. I enjoy her company, obviously. But…I guess I felt like she was only joining me out of pity.

“No, you don’t need to do that,” I told her. “Actually, um…I think I need some time by myself, if that’s okay.”

Her face fell. I thought about changing my mind, and telling her to come with me, but…I did want to be alone and clear my head.

I reached out and squeezed her hand. “Hey, I’ll catch up with you later, sweetheart. We’ll see each other at dinner. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said sadly. And that made me feel worse, but—I didn’t know what else I could do.

I kissed her on the forehead. And then I left her in her family’s chambers, and walked out by myself.

Chapter Text

I left the house and went outside to get some fresh air. It was my first time wandering around without Fannie, and it made me feel even more out of place. When she was with me I felt more secure, like she was my license to be there. Without her, I felt like a misplaced stranger—someone who didn’t have any business being around. And it did feel weird to be the only human in this place. Was this how nonhumans felt, when they were on human-dominated worlds?

Well…I wasn’t the only human. While most of the servants were Twi’lek, a small percentage of them were of other species—including a few humans.

But even the Rylothian humans were different from me, having lived their whole lives on a different planet. There was a human gardener I came across, an older guy with tan, wrinkled skin, who tried to speak to me…but he only spoke Twi’leki, not Basic.

“Um…sorry,” I told him. “I don’t understand you.” And I shrugged, and tried to smile, and walked away.

He wasn’t the only human I saw in the gardens. I saw a human servant girl that I had seen before at dinner, now engaged in an amorous tryst with one of the Pentarra boys. I didn’t see much, thankfully—the two of them gasped and laughed and disappeared into the bushes as I walked past. But I definitely saw more than I wanted to, and I immediately prioritized getting as far away from them as possible.

I wondered if Pentarra’s sons had as many opinions about interspecies romance as Fannie’s mother and sisters did. If they were as much like their father as Fannie had implied, they probably didn’t care so long as they could fulfill their lusts.

I ended up wandering all the way out to the front gates of the grounds, and sitting down on a bench under a tree. Looking out past the gate, I could see the boundary between the artificial climate control of Pentarra’s property, and the harsh landscape of the surrounding area. Although the clime-con dome was invisible, the contrast between the inside and outside was stark.

I wondered how often those who lived here left Pentarra’s little oasis. I got the impression that some of them could come and go as they pleased, while others were not afforded such freedom.

Or perhaps…had been trained out of desiring it.

And speaking of people who could come and go as they pleased—I was suddenly broken out of my thoughts by the distant thundering of galloping footfalls, and the sound of very boisterous, very male hooting and hollering.

I turned, and saw a bunch of Twi’lek guys riding beasts I had never seen before. They were heading for the gates. They slowed as they saw me, and I stood up, surprised.

As they came to a stop, I got a better look at the strange creatures they were riding. The beasts resembled predatory fish—only, with two stumpy legs instead of fins, and leathery gray skin instead of scales, and thick, meaty tails that swung idly back and forth.

The guys who were riding them looked first at me, and then at each other, whispering amongst themselves in Twi’leki, perhaps deciding whether to interact with me or not.

They were young, most of them teenagers, which unnerved me. I was too old to be one of them, but not old enough to hold them in disdain—the perfect age to feel ashamed in front of them for having been dull enough to let myself grow up.

“...Hello,” said one of the boys, finally, in a very teenage-boy sort of voice—halfway between a child and a man, his vocal cords stretched too tight. And then they all laughed, as if the word “hello” was funny to them, or something.

I have not been a teenage boy in five years. Five years is long enough to lose one’s ability to understand them.

“Uh…hi,” I said, admittedly intimidated by the horde.

“Hi,” they all echoed, giggling. “Hi.”

But they weren’t saying it back to me. They were copying me and volleying the word around amongst themselves, as if I had said something endlessly amusing.

I felt myself shrink back.

Then, one of the boys pushed past the others and came forward on his beast: a guy with deep blue-violet skin, and a tattoo running down the entire length of his right arm.

“You, human,” he said, addressing me in mildly-accented Basic. “Who are you?”

More laughing. More echoing. Who are you who are you who are you.

“I’m Ben Solo,” I said, deciding to toss his tone right back at him. “Who’re you?”  

Various oh-ing and ooh-ing from the swarm.

“I am Vataash Pentarra,” said the purple-skinned boy, puffing out his chest. “Eldest son of Ruut Pentarra.”

Fannie was the eldest of all of Pentarra’s children, so I knew Vataash had to be younger than her. He looked like he was about twenty years old. He was lean but not scrawny, with defined cheekbones and deep blue eyes, and his bare arms were strong and developed. As he turned his head to smirk at his companions, I noticed that his left lek was tattooed to match his right arm, and I wondered how painful it had been to tattoo such a sensitive part of his body—no doubt part of the tattoo’s appeal was to boast that he had been able to endure it. He carried himself confidently, and arrogantly—and I had a feeling that whatever Ginnie had seen in the way I carried myself did not apply to Vataash.

“Well…nice to meet you, Vataash,” I said, raising my voice, attempting to match his confidence and probably failing. “Sorry—I should’ve introduced myself more thoroughly. I’m Ben Solo—the eldest and only son of Princess Leia Organa.”

I tacked on the Rylothian bow for extra credit. As I was bowing, it occurred to me that I couldn’t be my mother’s eldest son if I was her only son—but luckily, no one else seemed to think that deeply about it. They were too preoccupied with the latter part of what I’d said.

Leia Organa? Leia Organa? Leia Organa? echoed the teenage hivemind.

“Organa!” said Vataash with recognition. “The Huttslayer!”

I nodded once, with solemn pride.

My mother is famous for many things. One of them is that she was responsible for the death of Jabba the Hutt, who briefly captured her when she and my uncle went to rescue my dad from Jabba’s palace (it’s a long story). Among the Twi’lek people, who suffered oppression under the Hutts for thousands of years, killing Jabba is what my mom is best known for.

The guys all whispered, and elbowed each other, and whispered some more. And for the first time since I’d landed on this planet…I actually felt kind of impressive.

“Yes…the Huttslayer,” Vataash repeated, and I smiled.

But then a cheeky grin spread across his face—and mine vanished.

“As well as the most beautiful human woman who has ever worn a metal bikini!” he roared, and all the boys laughed.

…Which told me, then, that among a certain subset of Twi’lek men, she is also best known for that.

I fought down the urge to punch him in the face for talking about my mom that way, and ended up clenching my jaw so hard it hurt.

“You’re…into humans?” I asked instead. I supposed that I now had the answer to my earlier question…though, I would have preferred not to have it answered through a bunch of guys calling my mom hot.

“Yes…and? You are into Twi’leks, no?” Vataash retorted with an amiable shrug. The boys all laughed, and my anger was replaced with awkwardness. “But of course, Ben Solo; it is obvious why you would be. Our women, simply-put, are better-looking than yours.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that.

…Not that I would have been able to, anyway. Because then more whispers began to ripple through the group.

“What is Vataash talking about?”

“This Ben Solo—he is one of our sisters’ mates.”

“But which of our sisters does he belong to?”

“Fa’nakhra, no?”

“Fa’nakhra? No!”

“Yes, this is Fa’nakhra’s—”

“He’s with Fa’nakhra—”

“He’s Fa’nakhra’s—”

The boys’ chorus bubbled and came to a rolling boil as they arrived at their consensus. Vataash looked at all of them, and then at me, cocking his head slowly and parting his lips in curious amusement. His pointed teeth flashed white against his violet skin as he looked down on me from his mount, like a prince from his throne.

“...You are Fa’nakhra’s…mate?” he asked, as if hesitant to believe it.

I pressed my lips together and glanced around. I didn’t know what the technical definition of a “mate” was, to them. She and I had definitely never mated—that was for sure.

“Well…I’m her boyfriend,” I said.

The guys buzzed louder, and Vataash only looked even more interested.

“How fascinating,” Vataash mused, “that out of all our sisters, you would choose Fa’nakhra. Interesting choice.”

“She is a Jedi,” one guy remarked. “Perhaps her powers have certain…uses.”

“Yes—like making her skirts impossible to remove,” replied another.

And they all laughed.

I fought down the urge to punch both of them in the face for talking about Fannie that way—and ended up clenching my jaw so hard, it almost locked up that time.

“But…why Fa’nakhra, Ben Solo?” Vataash asked curiously. “Surely you do not derive pleasure from frustration?”

“Look, pal,” I said gruffly. “Whatever Fannie chooses to do or not to do isn’t anyone’s business but her own.”

“Does it not drive you mad?” Vataash pressed, looking surprised. “I could not last a week if a woman continued to resist me.”

I stared at him. A week? He’d quit on a girl after one week if she wasn’t willing to sleep with him? What a weird dude.

…But then again, maybe I was the weird one. I didn’t know how other people worked. Maybe sex was that important to people.

“Perhaps this Ben Solo is a eunuch, like the servants,” suggested one of Vataash’s brothers, earning himself several snickers. And I supposed I now had a second answer to one of my earlier questions—though, I would have preferred not to have it answered via speculations about my own manhood.

My palms prickled up with sweat, and my heart started to race. And I began to feel younger and younger and younger until I felt about sixteen years old—and then for some reason what these other guys thought of me seemed to matter a lot , and I didn’t feel too keen on advertising that I was a twenty-three-year-old guy and a virgin.

Even though they were all dudes, the way that they glanced furtively at me and whispered to one another and laughed under their breath reminded me exactly of Fannie’s sisters—whom I had come here to escape in the first place.

I thought about my recent interactions with all three of Fannie’s sisters—Connie and Ginnie at dinner, and Pennie the previous afternoon. And then I was determined, more than anything, not to go down so easily this time.

“Well,” I said boldly, projecting cockiness, trying not to look embarrassed, “maybe…maybe I like a challenge.”

And I felt gross for saying it.

But…so what, though? It wasn’t like I was ever gonna have any depth of relationship with these guys. I could say whatever. It didn’t matter.

Besides—they found my remark really funny. They all went “ohhhhh!” in the way that guys do, and shook each other by the shoulders and laughed.

And everyone knows you’re not obligated to tell the truth when you’re a comedian.

“Ben Solo is a man of the hunt!” Vataash crowed to the others, then turned to me, grinning conspiratorially. “So tell us, then, Solo…have you yet made your conquest?”

I paused, not sure what to say. Even if I was projecting a persona that wasn’t exactly me, that didn’t mean I was about to claim that Fannie and I had…you know.

Fifty pairs of eyes were fixed on me, in a rare display of focused adolescent male attention.

I licked my lips nervously.

“...Well…that’s my little secret, Vataash,” I said at last.

But: I made sure to smile as I said it.

And all the boys whooped and cheered.

Misleading implications don’t really count as lies, do they?

“Speaking of hunting,” said Vataash, when the rest finally quieted down, “we were about to leave and pursue a different quarry. Perhaps you would like to join us, Ben Solo?”

…I thought about it.

I felt like I shouldn’t. It was clear to me that these guys weren’t really my type of crowd.

But…then I thought about sitting in Fannie’s family room, while everyone wove and ignored me and spoke to each other in a language I couldn’t understand. And then, I thought, well…at least these guys want me around.

“…Will we be back in time for dinner?” I asked hesitantly.

“But of course!” Vataash exclaimed. “After all, we will have worked up an appetite by the time we’re through.”

So I smiled.

“Well…then…maybe I could come,” I said.

And much to my surprise, the guys all cheered. Not only that— they cheered my name. “Solo! Solo! Solo!”

I felt a rush of delight. And I didn’t expect to feel it…but once I did, it made me realize that this was the first time since landing on Ryloth that anyone besides Fannie had been glad to have me around.

“Okay—sure, I guess,” I said, laughing. “Why not?”

“Excellent!” Vataash bellowed, and turned over his shoulder, and called out something to one of his brothers, a younger guy—maybe fifteen or so—and everyone laughed.

The younger guy didn’t laugh. But he came forward on his dino-fish-thingy, and gestured for me to hop on behind him.

The first thing I noticed about this kid was that his skin was bright red. Most of the Pentarras had cool-toned skin: green, or blue, or violet. The red-skinned boy must have been hiding somewhere within the crowd…but now that he had come forward, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

I stood up on the bench I had been sitting on, and climbed behind him onto the beast. It was wearing a saddle, with a railguard in both the front and the back—the Twi’lek boy scooted up as far as he could, and I wedged myself in behind him. Thankfully, he was a skinny little dude, so we both fit.

“Hey,” I said to him. “I’m Ben.”

The boy didn’t turn around to look at me. “Mikal,” he said, which I assumed to be his name.

I couldn’t remember seeing anyone else in his family with red skin. In fact, I’d never even seen it on any Twi’lek before—though I had heard of it.

“Whose son are you, Mikal?” I asked, unsure if that was a weird thing for me to ask.

“Pentarra’s,” he answered, in an odd, stiff sort of way, and still without turning around.

“Well…yeah, I gathered as much,” I said. “I mean—who’s your mom?”

“Oh,” he said. “Kuhrii.”

Hm. None of Pentarra’s wives had red skin. Was it a recessive trait?

I decided not to ask. Having grown up semi-famous, I knew how annoying it was to have to deflect nosy personal questions.

“Well…it’s nice to meet ya, Mikal,” I said.

“Likewise.”

“What were the other guys laughing about? When Vataash called you over, I mean.”

“Vataash was saying you should ride with me, because I am the smallest, and can offer the most room on the back of my blurrg,” Mikal said. “I suppose they thought that funny.”

His tone was neutral. I couldn’t tell whether that was because he didn’t care about their remark…or because he did, and was trying to pretend like he didn’t.

“Oh,” I said. “Does that…bother you?”

“Why should it bother me?” he asked. “I am the smallest.”

“Fair enough, I guess,” I replied.

The beast below us made a low grumbling sound, and I felt its body vibrate.

“This animal,” I said. “It’s called…a ‘blurrg?’”

“Yes,” said Mikal.

Mikal had an odd, short way of speaking. Whenever he spoke, it left me wondering if he was annoyed with me…but I began to suspect that it was just the way he talked. He wasn’t friendly, or warm, or welcoming—not in the way that Fannie was, at least. But neither was he actively hostile, like Connie or Pennie, nor did he ignore me the way Fashha and Ginnie had. Nor did I feel like I had to prove something to him, the way I felt with the other boys.

“Do you know Fannie?” I asked Mikal.

“Who?” he asked back, without turning around.

“Oh, um…I mean, Fa’nakhra,” I said, using Fannie’s full name.

“Oh,” said Mikal, still looking straight ahead. “Yes. Of course I know Fa’nakhra. She’s one of my sisters.”

“Are you close to her?”

“I don’t know where she is right now.”

“No, I mean—are you friends with her?”

“We’re not friends. We’re related.”

“No, I mean…” I sighed. “Do you talk to her?”

“Sometimes.”

“Well…do you like her?”

Mikal didn’t say anything. I wondered if maybe he hadn’t heard me, or if he had simply decided he was finished speaking to me.

But after a few seconds, he finally did respond.

“I like her as a person, but not as a mate,” he said, which was as strange an answer as any of the others he had supplied me with thus far.

“I don’t…really…see why you would need to clarify that, but…okay,” I said.

“You are her mate,” Mikal explained. “So I wanted to make it clear to you that I do not like her in the same way that you do.”

The explanation he gave seemed to make sense to him. But it still didn’t make sense to me.

“She’s your sister,” I said. “I wouldn’t have assumed you liked her that way.”

“I have no way of knowing what you would or wouldn’t assume,” said Mikal. “And I don’t want to assume what you would or wouldn’t assume. I don’t find assumptions helpful. So I do my best not to put others in a position to rely on them.”

Huh, I thought. Weird kid.

But…at the same time, I was beginning to like the guy.

…Even if I didn’t really get him.

“Besides,” Mikal added, “I’m sure you are aware of the situation between Ruut and Pen’awen.”

“...Right,” I said. And then I got curious. “Say…what do you think about that, by the way?”

“I don’t have any thoughts on it,” said Mikal simply. “My thinking about it wouldn’t change anything.”

“Well…I guess not,” I said.

I couldn’t think of anything more to say. So I turned my attention instead to the dino-fish-thing that I knew now was called a blurrg.

Blurrgs look so odd and clumsy, you wouldn’t believe how fast they can move. I’m not accustomed to riding animals—though I have ridden the mechanical dewback at the mall before—but this was a little different. I reached around Mikal and held tight to the sides of the front railguard, and tried to squeeze the saddle with my thighs so I wouldn’t jostle around so much.

“What’re we hunting?” I asked.

“Whatever we happen to find,” said Mikal. “Kortokks. Senshiils. Blurrgs.”

I didn’t know what the first two were, but I pretended like I did.

“Blurrgs? You hunt blurrgs even though you also ride them?”

“Yes. Blurrgs kill each other in the wild all the time.”

“But what do you do after you kill them? Eat them?”

“You could eat them,” said Mikal. “They have flesh. But most people would find it strange if you did.”

“Okay,” I said. “So…what do you do with them, then, after you’ve hunted them?”

“What is there to do with them, once they have been hunted?” Mikal asked.

…I didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Do you only kill them?” I asked instead. “Do you ever, like…tame them, and bring them home?”

“You could,” Mikal replied. “But there would not be much point. The ones on our property are tame from birth. They are born docile, and do not know anything different. It is much easier to raise a blurrg that was born tame, than to tame a wild blurrg.”

“Huh,” I said.

…I wondered if that also described certain members of the family themselves.

The guys were still whooping and hollering and laughing and shouting. Some of them had little-boy-voices, and some of them had awkward-cracking-in-between voices, and some of them already sounded like men, but with the minds of boys. They spoke in loud Twi’leki, and by this point I was very used to not being able to understand anyone—but there was one word I kept picking out over and over, and that word was “nerra”— or sometimes, they would just say “nerr.”

“What does ‘nerra’ mean?” I asked Mikal, since he didn’t seem to mind fielding my questions.

“It means ‘brother,’” Mikal said.

I wondered if it also meant “bro,” or “dude,” and not just “male sibling.” From the way the guys kept repeating it, I thought maybe it did.

The boy energy pulsing through the group was off the charts—you could practically smell the testosterone. Something mystical and strange happens whenever you get a whole bunch of guys in one place: they all feed off of each other and get drunk on male synergy and collectively become thirteen and dumb.

Well…I wasn’t drunk yet. But I was getting a little tipsy.

At first, the Pentarra boys had all struck me as irritating and overstimulating and obnoxious. But now…I found myself beginning to realize how much I had missed out on as a kid.

I hadn’t had friends to play with when I was growing up. I had never shouted and laughed and messed around with my buddies. When I was their age, I was huddled up by myself in my bedroom, lonely and lost and anxious.

…I began to feel sad just thinking about it.

Once we had traveled a certain distance away from the property, Vataash slowed his blurrg to a stop, and all the guys gathered around him—though they definitely didn’t quiet down. Vataash began to call for their attention in Twi’leki. But then a chorus of “Hey, we have a human!” and “Ben Solo is here!” and “Speak Basic!” rose up, and I felt weirdly touched that they had thought to consider me.

“You’re right, we have Ben Solo with us—Basic it is!” Vataash agreed. “As I was saying: shall we begin the hunt?”

More cheering. More hollering. I threw in a whoop for fun.

“Very well!” Vataash roared. “You know the rules: each kill must be proven by bringing back the head of the beast. Points are awarded by weight: one point per kilogram. And of course, it is forbidden to stuff the heads of your kortokks with stones, as Nabohri is known to do.”

The boys thundered with laughter and good-natured jeers, all directed at one tall, broad-shouldered guy with cerulean-blue skin. I recognized him as the guy who had almost trampled down me and Fannie in the dining hall the night before. I assumed, then, that he was Nabohri—but I also checked my assumption with Mikal, the assumption-hater, to make sure.

Yes, that was Nabohri. Nabohri grinned and shrugged at his brothers.

Vataash lent me a blaster, since I didn’t have one. And then, we all began to split off, each guy on his own—except for Mikal and I, who had to share a blurrg.

“You don’t think it’s unfair, if Mikal and I go as a team?” I asked Vataash.

“No, not at all,” Vataash replied. “You said yourself that you are a beginner, Ben Solo. Besides—to be paired with Mikal is something more of a dis advantage.”

And everyone laughed.

I could not see Mikal’s face, from where I sat behind him. But once again, he did not offer any reaction. He remained quiet, while the other boys rode swiftly away from us.

“You, uh…you’re not so good at hunting?” I asked Mikal, once everyone had gone, and we were headed our own way.

“No,” he said.

“What’s hard about it for you?” I asked.

“I don’t like killing,” he said.

“Yeah…I don’t really like seeing guts, either,” I said. “But blasters kill pretty clean, you know. You don’t have to see much.”

“I don’t like to see the life leave their eyes,” said Mikal—and then he did turn around to look at me. “Do you?”

I paused.

“I mean…I wouldn’t say I like it,” I said finally. “But…they’re just animals, so it’s fine. It’s not like they’re people.”

“There are some who would say that Twi’leks are just animals,” suggested Mikal. “I’m sure you could find someone who would say that about humans, too.”

“Well…you don’t have to hunt,” I told him. “No one’s making you. If you don’t want to do it, don’t.”

“I never said I did not want to hunt,” said Mikal. “I only said I did not enjoy it.”

“Well…why do something you don’t enjoy?” I asked.

“I don’t understand your question,” said Mikal.

And once again, I didn’t know how to respond.

So…I left it at that.

I didn’t have a lot of hunting experience. What I did have, however, was a lot of hologame experience. I’ll have you know that my ability to wield a blaster comes solely from my many hours dedicated to Defenders of the Republic 3.

Mikal, on the other hand, was a surprisingly skilled marksman for a kid of his age. I pointed out a shrub that was growing on a distant rockface and asked him to shoot it, and he hit his target exactly. I asked him to do the same thing three more times, and he did—every single time.

But…he was right that he was bad at killing. If I asked him to do the same to an animal, he would always hesitate, and hit his mark a second after the beast had already moved away.

“Have you ever brought back anything to be counted in the contest?” I asked.

“Once,” he said, “I brought back a senshiil’s head, and then I tried to bring the rest of it to the kitchen. I figured if one had to die, it might at least serve some use. But the cooks said they did not want it. Wild senshiils are lean and muscular from roaming the land to forage for food. They are not fat and well-fed, like the ones raised for slaughter.”

“I can understand why they wouldn’t want to serve it to your family,” I said. “But didn’t they want to eat it themselves?”

“Pentarra likes to keep his servants well-fed,” said Mikal. “They eat the same food as the rest of us. Just, not in the dining hall.”

“That’s awfully generous of him,” I said suspiciously. “Why does he do that?”

“If your senshiils are not fat, you must not be rich,” Mikal explained. “It is the same way with servants. Only the richest of men could afford to spoil his own servants.”

“Isn’t it a bit of a risk?” I asked. “Wouldn’t spoiling his servants cause them to…you know…want better things?”

“What better things could they want?” asked Mikal. “They are already given the best food. They sleep in the same kinds of rooms that we do. And all they must do in return is whatever Pentarra asks of them.”

Mikal sure had a talent for saying things I didn’t know how to respond to. I decided to let that go as well.

I did finally find out what kortokks and senshiils were. Kortokks are these small reptilian-looking ground birds. They run in zigzags and take cover under rocks, making them difficult to shoot. Senshiils are wild hogs, with two large tusks, and a coarse, bristly mane around their necks. They use their tusks to scrape at cracks in the rocks where plants manage to grow, and where insects and lizards attempt to hide—and also, to gore kortokks.

Mikal said that the boys used to collect tusks as part of the scoring system. But apparently, too many guys had lied about killing one-tusked senshiils in order to claim more points—so now the entire head needed to be brought instead.

Kortokks could run so quickly, I wondered why they were worth less than the senshiils, even if they were smaller. But I soon figured out it was because kortokks didn’t attempt to fight back against predators—while senshiils, on the other hand, would. And while a charging senshiil didn’t pose much threat to us, a defensive blurrg did— something I discovered when our blurrg practically launched me and Mikal into the sky, while swinging its tail and champing at a senshiil that got too close.

Blurrgs, being the largest quarry, would have earned us the most points. But unfortunately, we didn’t end up finding any—except for those belonging to the other guys, who we sometimes ran into by accident.

“Stay off my hunting ground, lekless one!” one of them jeered playfully.

“No, you stay off, nerfherder!” I called back, laughing.

Mikal stayed silent.

The longer we spent out there, the more comfortable I became. And the more comfortable I became, the more fun I began to have. Even though I was a human, and my teenage years were behind me, the guys were starting to treat me like I was one of them— not like an off-worlder, or like a boring adult. We traded banter and called each other names and dealt out trash-talk in a way that was distinctly masculine, and I was definitely having more fun than I would’ve if I were still in Fannie’s room, watching women weave and gossip in a language I couldn’t understand.

I wasn’t a great shot. But the more I practiced, the better I got—and I even grazed a kortokk as it ran past (but didn’t make the kill, because it ducked under a rock at the last second).

Still, that was the closest I got to getting anything at all. Mikal and I were sure we were going to come back to the grounds empty-handed—but we didn’t mind, because we were having fun (at least, I was).

And then…we hit the jackpot.

As we rounded the corner of a rockface, we spotted a herd of senshiils that had clearly been doing some hunting of their own. They had felled a herd of kortokks and were now devouring them, their furry snouts red with blood. Mikal and I traded astonished looks—and then I capitalized on our good fortune.

I sniped off all five of the distracted hogs in succession, while Mikal looked away—and then I dismounted, and walked over to inspect my little massacre. The senshiils had already eaten the carcasses of the kortokks—but luckily, they had left all of the heads. I counted the kortokk heads—twelve.

“Hey…you don’t think it’s cheating if we take the kortokk heads, too, do you?” I asked, as Mikal rode up to where I was standing. “The way I see it—the senshiils are definitely ours, so…whatever they’ve killed oughta be ours, too.”

“I suppose it counts, as long as you can get away with it,” Mikal said logically. “It is against the rules to stuff kortokk heads with rocks. It is against the rules to count senshiil tusks instead of heads. But no one said it is not allowed to bring back the heads of kortokks you did not kill. If it is not allowed, they will make a rule, and if they do not make a rule, it is allowed.”

I told Mikal I thought that was a fantastic way to look at it.

And then I had an equally fantastic time trying to behead five senshiils.

I had never beheaded anything before. Blasters kill pretty clean, yes—but there is no clean way to behead a senshiil. Except, maybe, with a lightsaber—but I didn’t happen to have one on hand.

Out of charity, I will spare you that little scene…but I will tell you that, to this day, the thought of ham kinda makes me sick.

When the sun was at a forty-five angle above the horizon, we reconvened at the blurrg stables on the Pentarra property. There was a scale normally used to portion animal feed that we used to weigh our trophies. Nabohri had stuffed his kortokk heads with rocks again—but not because he thought he could get away with it. Just because he was committed to the bit, I guess.

Much to my surprise, Mikal and I ended up winning the hunt, with our five senshiils and twelve kortokks—plus, one other senshiil I had managed to get. Mikal was the only one between the two of us who would’ve been able to shoot a kortokk, the way they zigzagged—but of course Mikal hadn’t shot anything…and it seemed like everyone else knew it, too.

“Incredible!” remarked one of the boys, as I set our trophies down in a row and attempted to wave away opportunistic flies. “Mikal never brings back anything!”

“He still didn’t,” said another. “I bet Ben Solo did it all.”

Yeah—Ben Solo plus his senshiil crew, I thought.

But I kept that to myself. I chuckled and gave a winning grin and a nod of acknowledgement.

“And you said you had not hunted before, Solo,” said Nabohri, crossing his arms good-naturedly. “How on Ryloth did you do so well?”

“Uh…beginner’s luck?” I proposed with a cheeky smile.

“No, not luck,” said Vataash, patting his blurrg as he secured it back in its stable. “One does not hit twelve kortokks by sheer accident. It must be skill.”

“Well—thank Defenders of the Republic 3, I guess,” I said with a laugh and a shrug. “So—do I get a prize?”

“But of course!” said Vataash, with a wide grin that displayed his sharpened teeth. “And the prize is: you must slurp down the brains of all your fallen kortokks, while we watch!”

I looked up at him abruptly, and gagged—but I covered my mouth with my hand and turned it into a cough.

I was pretty sure he was joking. And he was—I could see it in his eyes. But the gamey stench of blood had been stuck in my nostrils ever since Mikal and I had found our herd of hogs, and the mere proposal of brain-slurping was enough to make me lose composure—if not my lunch.

Vataash picked up on my split-second moment of alarm, and laughed. And all the other guys laughed too (except for Mikal).

“I jest—I jest!” Vataash said, slapping me hard on the back. “The real prize is that we invite you to join us again tomorrow, Ben Solo! Now, let’s go back to the house, so we can eat some real food.”

I wasn’t hungry. But everyone else was.

And I do mean everyone else. Before we left, we chucked the pile of animal heads into the stables—and despite the blurrgs’ goofy appearances, they began to tear into the offal voraciously.

I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

We headed back into the mansion, and up to the men’s quarters to bathe. And now that the adrenaline was simmering down, I realized that I absolutely stunk— of sweat and dirt and blood and victory.

I also realized I needed to figure out where Fannie was. But—definitely not until I had taken a bath. 

Some of the guys began stripping as we flooded down the hall, and I followed suit, pulling off my shirt—it was drenched in perspiration and stiffened with dried blood and finished off with a coating of dust, and I had to peel it off of my skin.

And then I knocked into someone, and did a double-take, and clutched my grody shirt to my chest.

For who had I bumped into, but Pennie Pentarra?

Well…not just me. All of us were stampeding down the hallway, and had nearly run her over.

Pennie swore in Twi’leki and yelled at her brothers, who merely laughed and pushed past her and smacked their dirty clothes in her face while she shielded herself against them and screamed.

I did feel a little bad for her, even if she hadn’t been very nice to me before. So I stopped. The throng of men trampled past, leaving the two of us alone in the hallway.

Pennie swiped at her face, coughing—and then she looked up, and noticed me, and immediately drew her face into a scowl.

“For Tollah’s sake,” she groaned. “Not you again.”

I chose to ignore that.

“Hey, are you okay?” I asked.

She sniffed. “Why must you always play the hero, Ben Solo? My business is none of your concern.”

I glared back at her. Well, fine. I was no Fannie Pentarra. If she was going to be that way, I saw no reason in continuing to be kind.

“Why are you always in the men’s quarters?” I asked, not-so-nicely. “What, visiting your boyfriend again? Armad, or what’s-his-face?”

Pennie waved her hand dismissively. “No. Armad was yesterday. I grew tired of him. And again: my business is none of your concern.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Let me ask you about someone else’s business, then: do you know where I might find Fannie, about half an hour from now?”

Pennie looked at me curiously, and then over her shoulder at the group of guys disappearing around the corner, who jumped on each other and swung their garments in the air and laughed raucously as they went.

“…What were you doing?” she asked suspiciously.

“My business is none of your concern,” I said, mimicking her in a nasally voice. “What were you doing? Your dad?”

Pennie smiled a hateful little smile. “You are quickly becoming one of my least favorite people, Ben Solo.”

“I’m a lot of people’s least favorite person, sister,” I informed her. “That doesn’t make you special.”

She chuckled. “I think I know what you were up to,” she said. “You went out hunting with my brothers, no?”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” I said. “Do you know where Fannie is?”

“Does she know where you are?” Pennie countered, folding her arms. “If you know my sister well enough for her to have taken you on as a mate, then you must know she does not approve of our brothers’ methods of recreation.”

“Well, from what I know of you, I hardly think you’d care,” I told her. “So look—do you know where she is, or not?”

“I do know,” Pennie said haughtily. “But I also know where you’ve been. And you are correct, Ben Solo—I do not care. You are a man. Of course you would want to go with the men and do as men do. But… Fa’nakhra may care. And you know very well already that I do not like you.”

She smiled.

“So, then…” she said daintily, and I felt my nose wrinkle as I heard the syrup in her tone, “would you like to give me a reason not to tell her what you’ve been up to?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Who said it was a secret?”

“Oh…you want it to be a secret, trust me,” Pennie said, placing a finger on my chest, and I took a step back. “If Fa’nakhra finds out you’ve found such good company in our brothers—the same brothers who were so cruel to us in our youth, and even now—she will not be happy with you.”

I realized she had a point.

Pennie saw the recognition in my face, and crossed her arms with a satisfied little smile.

“Well…” I said slowly, without breaking eye contact, searching for a response. “I …also happen to know something about you that you don’t want your father to know. By which I mean…whatever it was that I walked in on, between you and Armad, yesterday.”

Something flickered in Pennie’s eyes, for a moment. Was it…fear?

I thought it might be.

“Are you familiar with the concept of mutually-assured destruction, Pennie?” I asked softly.

Pennie hesitated.

And then…she smiled.

“You are bluffing, Ben Solo,” she said confidently. “I warned you yesterday that my father—” She caught herself. “Pentarra— does not deal kindly with the bearers of bad news.”

“Am I bluffing?” I asked coolly. “You don’t know if I am.”

“Fine,” she laughed. “Prove to me that you are not.” She pulled out a comlink from somewhere in her top, and spoke into it in Twi’leki. And then she held the comlink out to me with a pert little smile, as I tried to figure out what exactly she was doing.

The comlink rang, and then it crackled. And then—

“Pen’awen?” came a voice on the other end, low and slimy.

And I knew immediately that the voice belonged to Ruut Pentarra.

I stared at Pennie.

And she smiled back at me, and batted her eyelashes.

Well…she had called my bluff. I saw no reason to drag things out anymore. I reached out, and pressed the button to end the call.

“Ha,” Pennie said smugly. “I knew you were not serious. You are soft. And perhaps you think me soft. Well…I am not soft.”

She smiled, dangerously, and lowered her voice, stepping forward to close the space between us.

“I barely know you, Ben Solo,” she whispered. “But you have irritated me enough that I would certainly derive pleasure from turning my sister against you, and thoroughly ruining your life.”

Wow.

Okay.

“Geez,” I said, kinda pissed. “All those times Fannie talked about you, she made it seem like you were some poor, sweet little angel who’d gone and lost her way. Well, now that I’ve met you myself, sister, you’re—well—the opposite of an angel; that’s what you are. Does Fannie have any idea what a— not-cool person —you are?”

“Does she have any idea what sort of man you are?” Pennie returned coolly. “She always spoke so highly of you, Ben Solo. Naturally, I assumed that meant you were the same kind of person that she is. But now that I’ve met you, I know that you are not. You are simply a man, like other men: weak.”

I stared at her angrily. “Don’t call me weak.”

“Why not?” she asked, with mock concern. “Afraid that it’s true?”

I didn’t say anything. Just stood there and wished that, if I stared at her hard enough, I could make her head explode.

Pennie was unfazed.

And then, with a measured tone of consideration, she said: “You know…I feel rather generous today. I’ll tell you what, Ben Solo. I’ll keep your secret.” She paused. “For now.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“But” she added, “if I do, you will owe me a favor. I will scratch your back. You will need to scratch mine.”

Ah, of course —there it was.

“Oh, Daddy doesn’t do that for you, huh?” I jeered.

Pennie bristled, and tried to stomp on my foot like she had the last time—I moved my foot out to the side, and evaded the attack. I was about to laugh at her…but, well, taking a wider-than-normal stance in this scenario was a little strategically-shortsighted on my part.

Pennie saw the opening, and swiftly took advantage of it.

I crumpled to my knees.

“Kriff!” I yelled, fighting back tears. “For frick’s sake! Kind of a cheap shot, don’tcha think?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have called it easy,” Pennie sniffed, looking down at me in disdain. “There wasn’t much there for me to aim at.”

Which, to her credit, was a zinger even I would’ve been impressed by—had she not struck me somewhere sort of sensitive.

…And I’m not just talking about you-know-where.

“Oh…by the way,” Pennie said casually, as if she hadn’t tried to end my bloodline. “Remember when I said that some women like to play pretend? Most evenings, you will find my sister in the kitchen before supper. You see… she likes to pretend she’s one of the servants.”

“Thanks,” I groaned. “Appreciate it.”

And then I fell face down on the ground.

Chapter Text

Dressed in fresh clothes, wringing water out of my hair, and only mildly limping, I came down the main stairway in search of Fannie. I entered the dining hall, where the servants were beginning to clear away whatever was left of lunch. I followed them through the curtained doorway in the northwest corner, down a spiral staircase, and into the kitchen.

The kitchen had many, many rooms, each for a different phase or method of food preparation. Every time I thought, “Okay, this has got to be the end of the kitchen,” I was wrong, and I began to wonder if I might get lost. I got some odd looks from the kitchen staff, but no one asked me what I was doing, or told me to get out.

If anything, they looked afraid. As if they thought I might be there to check on them, or to point out something they were doing wrong.

Well, they weren’t doing anything wrong, as far as I was concerned. The entire kitchen smelled amazing. Now that I’d finally gotten rid of the blood smell, the idea of dinner sounded great…and much to my relief, there was not a kortokk or senshiil in sight.

I finally found Fannie in a prep room, peeling redfruits and talking with a servant girl.

Fannie’s face lit up as she saw me walk in. “Oh! Ben!” she said. For a second, the servant girl looked at me too—and then she quickly put her head down.

I tried to smile at the girl, but it was too late. She wasn’t looking, and she wouldn’t look.

Fannie was looking at me, though, and she asked me why I was limping. I didn’t want to have to explain to her that Pennie had kicked me where a fella shouldn’t be kicked.

“I, uh—walked into the wall on my way down,” I fibbed.

“My!” Fannie said, surprised. “Bad enough to hurt you?”

“Yeah, I—um, knocked the side of my thigh really hard,” I told her, then quickly changed the subject. “Hey—I’m sorry I bailed on you and your family earlier, Fan. I know you wanted us to get along.”

“No, Ben …I’m sorry,” Fannie insisted, putting down the redfruit and the paring knife she was holding, and wiping her juicy hands on a rag. “You know me. I always strive toward optimism—”

“You can say that again, sister—”

“—but perhaps it was naive of me to assume my mother and sisters would be quick to embrace you,” she finished.

She approached me, and reached out to smooth a damp lock of hair behind my ear.

“I’ll admit that, when you walked out on your own, I felt hurt,” she said. “But…I know you need time to be by yourself and think. And…that’s perfectly fine.” She smiled kindly. “I’m sorry I was so focused on my own feelings, dear.”

“Yeah…I could’ve been nicer about it, though,” I said apologetically. “I was just…super frustrated. I mean—I tried so hard to show interest in your family. Like …really hard. And…I just…y’know…wasn’t getting anything back.”

She patted me on the shoulder. “Yes…I know you tried, Ben. I did take notice…and I do greatly appreciate it.” She smiled at me again, then sighed. “I suppose that the manner in which my family chooses to respond to your efforts is, unfortunately, out of our control.”

And then she shook herself out like a tooka shaking off water, as if to rid herself of negativity—and I chuckled.

“So…what were you doing all day, love?” she asked sweetly. “Were you out walking all that time? You must have gotten a lot of good sunshine!”

I fell silent. I hadn’t thought about how I was going to tell her what I’d been up to all afternoon. In fact, when I had been deciding whether or not to go hunting with the guys, Fannie hadn’t crossed my mind at all.

“Believe me, you want this to be a secret,” Pennie had said. “If Fa’nakhra finds out what good company you’ve found in our brothers…”

Fannie was looking at me, waiting for a response. “...Ben?” she asked, sounding concerned.

I knew I had to say something.

“Well…I was walking around the gardens, yeah,” I said. “And then…I, uh, saw your brothers…”

And Fannie actually scoffed. A throaty, guttural sound of contempt, that sounded so odd from someone so characteristically sweet.

I stared at her, caught off guard.

It didn’t surprise me that she felt that way. I already knew that she had complicated relationships with the men of her family (though, certainly not as complicated as Pennie’s).

What surprised me was that she showed it. We had talked about her brothers the previous night…and although she hadn’t been happy about it, she hadn’t reacted like that.

I wondered if something new had happened since yesterday.

Her expression had turned sour. But when she saw me staring at her, the look on her face melted, and gave way to embarrassment.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “Please. Don’t mind me. Continue.”

Well! How was I supposed to continue now?

“Hey…what’s wrong, Fan?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing, I was just…”

Fannie looked down at the wooden bucket of redfruit skins, and began to busy herself with scraping it out into the compost. I grabbed her shoulder.

“Nice try, sister. You know you’re not getting away from me that easy.”

“Well—I was thinking about some of the things my brothers have said to me,” Fannie replied brusquely, without looking up. “Some of the remarks they’ve made to me over the years. Ones that I certainly know better than to dwell on, and are hardly worth repeating out loud to you.”

I thought about some of the things they had said about her today, when she hadn’t been present. Making fun of her for having certain standards. For refusing to grant her body to men.

“Like…what?” I asked. “Like, about you being…a prude, or whatever?”

She looked up, surprised. “Well—yes, that too. But…that doesn’t bother me. I am what people would call a prude, I suppose, and I can hardly be offended about being called something I am.”

“Okay…then…what else?”

Fannie threw me a cautious glance, then set down the bucket. She went over to the wooden bench she had been sitting at when I had first come in, and motioned for me to sit down with her. I looked around—the servant girl had already departed with the tray of peeled redfruits.

I sat down beside her.

Fannie was quiet for a long time, which I knew meant that whatever she was about to tell me held a large amount of significance for her.

I took hold of her hand.

“...My brothers often remark on my size,” Fannie told me in a quiet whisper.

At first, I didn’t understand what she meant.

“What, like—they make fun of you for being small?” I asked.

Fannie laughed bitterly. “Ben—I am not small.”

“What do you mean? ” I protested. “You’re tiny. You only come up to my chest.”

“It is not my height that my brothers like to discuss,” Fannie said.

“Oh,” I said.

And then felt incredibly stupid.

I looked at her, while also trying not to look like I was looking at her. I mean, yeah—I knew she wasn’t skinny. But I’d never given much thought toward what she looked like…beyond, of course, the fact that I thought she looked really good.

She was…huggable. That’s how I’d describe her.

I knew better than to tell her that, though.

“Oh, Ben—please stop looking at me,” she murmured, indicating that I had failed at being covert. So I stopped.

I wasn’t a woman, so I didn’t know what it was like for her. But I did know that my own mother, being in the public spotlight, had endured unnecessary commentary on her figure all her life.

My mom was almost fifty now. If she were ever again to don that metal bikini the Pentarra boys were so obsessed with, she definitely wouldn’t look the same in it as she did at twenty-three.

“Well…I think you’re beautiful, Fan,” I told her, and hoped it meant something.

“Of course you’d say that, Ben,” Fannie said grumpily. “You’re my boyfriend.”

“Fan, listen. I mean it. I think you’re pretty. And that means a lot, coming from someone like me. I have never been attracted to anyone before, ever— but I know I’m definitely attracted to you.”

“But that’s precisely it, you see,” Fannie retorted, with what sounded like anger, and I shrank back. “You only think I’m pretty because you love me, Ben. I know you don’t notice women’s bodies. But even you cannot have failed to observe that I look nothing like my sisters—”

And then she sighed, and shook her head, and planted her face in her hands.

“Oh, what am I saying?” she moaned. “I’m sorry, dear. I am being so terribly vain. This shouldn’t matter to me. This is not the way of the Force. We are made of the Force…not of this crude matter.”

“Hey,” I said, patting her on the back. “It’s okay to care how you look—to an extent, at least. I don’t think it’s…y’know…morally wrong to want to look good, and to have other people tell you that you do.”

“So: you don’t think that I look good after all,” Fannie moped with a smile, partially in jest—and partially, I suspected, not.

“C’mon, I did not say that,” I said, giving her a tiny swat. “I just mean…you’re not vain for thinking about how you look, and for feeling hurt when people—your brothers—say you look bad. Which you don’t, let me be clear.”

Fannie only exhaled a heavy breath.

“Listen,” I said. “I’ve seen you run lightsaber forms. I know you move well, and I know you’re strong. You’re just built different from your sisters. I’d sure like to see one of them face off against you in a saber duel. And if there ever was anything you wanted to change about how you look? You know I’d have your back. But you look pretty now, and you’d look pretty if you changed, and you’d look pretty if you stayed the same. So…don’t listen to your brothers, Fan. Respectfully? They’re all full of hot, steaming...”

Fannie gave me The Look.

“...crap,” I finished. “They’re full of crap.”

She giggled, and then tucked her hand back into mine again. “...Thank you, Ben. I’m sorry I lost my head for a moment.”

“Hey—don’t mention it,” I told her.

And then she wrapped her arms around me, and nestled her face in my chest, and I held her close and rocked her.

So…I think you can understand why, after all of that, I definitely couldn’t tell her who I had spent most of the afternoon with.

“...Anyway,” Fannie piped up, her voice slightly muffled by my shirt. “I’m sorry I interrupted you earlier, dear. You…you were saying that you saw my brothers in the garden?”

…Perfect timing.

“Oh, uh…right.” I kissed her on the top of her head, and patted her arm. “Yeah. Well—I—uh—”

Fannie drew back, and cocked her head, like a quizzical loth-cat.

“—saw your brothers, and then—y’know, funny thing—I ended up running into Pennie,” I blurted.

…Which was, at least, true.

Fannie blinked. “You spoke with Pennie?”

“Yeah…I guess you could say that,” I said, scratching my browbone. “Words were definitely exchanged. Among other pleasantries. But…she didn’t seem quite as sweet as you said she was.”

“How so?” Fannie asked, surprised—and I found myself at a loss for words.

Well. For one thing—my groin was still sore. But I wasn’t about to tell her that.

“She seems to have changed a lot from when you were all younger,” I said instead. “It seems like she’s fully detached herself from your family, and fully invested herself in Pentarra.”

Or…maybe not, I thought to myself, remembering Armad. I wondered who Pennie had been visiting in the west wing this time.

“Well…perhaps Pennie has lost her way,” Fannie agreed wistfully. “But…I cannot believe that she has committed herself to him fully. I can’t believe it. I…I have to trust that she will come to her senses.”

“You do realize she’s engaged to him, right?” I asked, raising a brow. “That seems pretty committed to me.”

“I know, but…” Fannie shook her head. “I must hold out hope, Ben—I must. Even in the darkness.”

“Well…you do you, I guess,” I said—and then I realized that that was not very nice of me.

“...Sorry,” I apologized. “I mean—good on you, Fan. I don’t really have hope for her. But…if anyone was going to still have hope for her, it would definitely be you.”

“Thank you, Ben,” she said. “I…I know she is perhaps not as kind or as joyful as she once was. But…that core essence of her being must be inside her somewhere. She is only suppressing it. I will always think of her as the innocent little girl she was when she was young.” She turned to look at me. “You feel that way about Rey, don’t you?”

“Well…yeah, I guess I do,” I admitted.

Still…I marveled that Fannie was so blind to the person Pennie had become. Even if Pennie did not speak to her sister anymore, Fannie could see her every day in the dining hall, if nowhere else.

I knew that Fannie saw the best in everyone. No way in Hoth she’d be anywhere near me if she didn’t. But… Pennie?

Fannie was usually so insightful. And a good judge of character. How could she not see what kind of person her sister was? The kind of person her sister had turned into?

“Does she know what kind of man you are, Ben Solo?” Pennie had said to me.

…Touché, I thought bitterly.

“Did Pennie seem to like you, Ben?” Fannie suddenly asked, and I stared at her.

“Did Pennie …what?”

“Did she seem to like you?”

“Are you kidding?” I asked incredulously. “What reason would Pennie have to like me?”

Fannie laughed, embarrassed. And then she began to wring her hands nervously.

“Well—she won’t speak to any of us,” she babbled. “She seems to be much more comfortable with men. She lacks the troubled history with you that she seems to have with the rest of us—and especially with me. I suppose I was wondering if, ah—if perhaps the Force intended to use you to reach her, Ben.”

And she bit her lip and looked at me hopefully, as I stared back at her, stunned.

…Well. There were multiple facets of this proposal that I found truly fascinating. If Pennie was more comfortable with men, it definitely wasn’t so she could talk about her feelings with them. If she were to share her feelings with anyone, I was almost positive I was the least likely candidate. And—as for a lack of troubled history? Surprisingly, I’d already managed to rack up an impressive amount of that , considering I had only been here for one day.

Fannie was looking at me anxiously, holding her breath.

“Well, uh…” I coughed, and played with my left earlobe. “I’m sure that…if I, um, spent more time with her…I mean…I guess I don’t see why we wouldn’t get along.”

Oh—yeah, sure! Like: maybe we could even get to a point where we could part ways without her causing me bodily damage!

I wasn’t sure why I’d told Fannie that. Maybe I felt it would have been too painful to let her down. Or maybe I didn’t expect her to hold me to the statement.

But Fannie beamed.

“Oh, goodness, that makes me so pleased,” she said—and I smiled back at her. I was pretty sure I had fed her a total lie…but it definitely wasn’t the first lie I’d fed her, and seeing her look so happy made it all okay, I think.

I helped Fannie wipe down the prep counters, and then we headed back up to the dining hall for supper. We followed the servants, who were now carrying up trays of food, and went back up the stairs—

And then I broke out in a cold sweat, because as we emerged, we found ourselves in the northwest corner of the dining hall—right where all the Pentarra boys were sitting. The nearest three tables of boys all saw me at once, and began to chant my name.

“Solo! Solo!” they cheered, and Fannie looked at me in surprise.

Even though the guys had all bathed (though, I suspected some of them had not bathed as thoroughly as they could have), they carried about them a potent aura of blood and glory. I hoped that mine had washed off.

“They seem so excited to see you,” Fannie murmured.

“Well, I told you, I ran into them in the garden,” I said quickly. “They were just, uh, you know—super curious about me ‘cause I’m an off-worlder.” I waved back at the boys, embarrassed—and then I immediately made it my goal to get me and Fannie away from them as fast as possible. “C’mon, Fan, let’s go sit down. I’m hungry.”

Fannie and I made our way to the opposite end of the hall, where Fashha was already sitting. When we arrived, Fashha motioned Fannie over and took hold of her hands, which were stained red with fruit juice. And then she looked at Fannie sharply, and (presumably) asked her where the stains had come from.

“I was helping out in the kitchen,” Fannie said sheepishly.

Fashha did not seem to like that answer. She gave Fannie an indignant stare, one that I had seen before in my own mother’s eyes, and spoke to her harshly.

“I know, Mamaa,” Fannie replied. “But I have been over this with you, too. I do not do these things because I have to, but rather, just the opposite.”

Fashha protested, and I saw a hint of frustration flicker in Fannie’s eyes.

Huh, I thought, with mild amusement. So…not even the Jedi Knight Fannie Pentarra was immune to getting annoyed with her mom.

I smiled into the handwashing bowl.

Then Ginnie sashayed over and sat down, and Connie soon came flouncing in. They sat down on either side of me, and Fannie sat across from me, next to her mother. I finished rinsing my hands, and passed the water bowl to Ginnie—who immediately flicked water into my face, and pretended like she hadn’t.

My temper flared up. I seized the bowl from her with both hands, as if to launch its contents at her—

But then I made eye contact with Fannie, who was staring hard at me from across the table, and I slowly lowered the bowl back down.

However, that was all the attention Fannie had for me. She immediately turned back to her mother.

“Mamaa, the servants are people, like us,” Fannie insisted. “I do not believe there is any distinction between beings that renders anyone of higher status than another.”

And then Fashha interrupted her to argue, and Fannie argued back—only, this time, Fannie lapsed into Twi’leki, and then I couldn’t understand her anymore.

I sighed, and looked across the hall to where the guys were sitting. Now that I had calmed down, I found it flattering that they had cheered for me as soon as I had come out of the curtain.

Connie stepped on my foot, all of a sudden. I yelped. And then Fannie looked at me, and so did Fashha and Ginnie, and Connie looked at me, too. And I think Connie was testing me, to see whether I’d make a big deal out of it or not.

…I didn’t.

“Bug bit me,” I muttered.

Connie smiled to herself.

“A very nasty bug,” I added.

I gazed longingly at the other side of the hall, where I could see Vataash and Nabohri and the other guys all laughing and messing around. And now, much more than I had the evening previous, I was beginning to wish I could sit with them at dinner instead.

But no. Here I was, sandwiched between two of my girlfriend’s sisters, as they delighted in surreptitiously provoking me.

I set my jaw, and tried to at least enjoy my food.

That night’s supper featured flatbread instead of rice, alongside a gooey mixture of greens and sour yogurt. (It was supposed to be sour—Connie and Ginnie laughed at me when I asked.) But by far the most interesting feature of the meal was the snorlii: large, palm-sized mollusks, each served steamed in its own spiral shell.

I think I could have enjoyed the snorlii, if only they’d been cooked all the way. But that was the thing—they were soft inside. Wet. Juicy.

Apparently, this was the preferred way to eat them. Even Fannie turned against me when I suggested they could have been cooked a little more. She stared at me in disbelief, and protested that well-done snorlii would have been basically inedible.

So…I sucked it up (literally), and tried to finish my dinner like a good little boy.

All of a sudden, there was an uproar on the guys’ side of the room, drawing my attention away from my medium-rare mollusks. I looked up, and saw a volley of snorlii shells flying through the air—Nabohri was standing up on the bench, making himself even taller, and machine-gunning an armful of shells across the tables. Some of the boys caught them and threw them back at him, and Nabohri ducked and dodged, laughing.

Fannie was watching, too, and she rolled her eyes. So did Connie, who turned abruptly to her sisters and began complaining in Twi’leki. Ginnie and Fashha said nothing…but they did not seem amused.

I recognized that the guys were being immature. But…I couldn’t help but think that they were having a lot more fun over there.

I leaned to the side and looked up front, to see what Ruut Pentarra’s reaction was to all of this. He watched the guys with reserved amusement, but did not intervene. In general, he did not seem interested in stopping his sons from doing whatever they wanted to.

And then, it happened:

While attempting to nail one of the guys at the frontmost table, Nabohri overshot his mark. His snorlii shell arced magnificently through the air, bounced off of the head table—

—and hit Ruut Pentarra in the shoulder.

The entire hall fell to a hush, and I felt my eyes get huge.

It didn’t hit Pentarra hard.

But…it did hit him.

Pentarra reacted but barely. Pennie was beside him, and her gaze flitted nervously from side to side.

Nabohri’s face dropped, and the boys went silent. Fashha and Fannie hadn’t seen what happened—but they heard everyone go quiet, and turned around to look.

I watched from a hundred feet away as Pentarra slowly drew himself up.

And then…strode calmly around the head table, his hands folded in front of him.

Quietly, he descended the steps. Expressionless, he glided down the middle of the crimson-carpeted aisle. Everyone shrank away from him as he came near, and the hall was deathly still—so much so that I could hear the crackling of the torches, which the dining hall had never been quiet enough for me to hear before.

And then Pentarra stopped…right in front of Nabohri, who stepped sheepishly down from the bench.

Nabohri’s table was halfway down the hall, equidistant from both ends. I was glad we were at the table furthest away.

For several moments, Pentarra simply stood before his son, as if to intimidate him through his presence alone. He said not a word…but Nabohri took on a sickly pallor.

Then Pentarra reached out, violently seizing the boy by the lek, and yanked it—hard. Several people gasped, including me—I didn’t have to be a Twi’lek to know that their lekku were extremely sensitive. Nabohri dropped to his knees with a cry.

And then I thought Pentarra was going to start cursing him, or hitting him, or kicking him, or something.

But…instead, Pentarra only bent at the waist, put his lips to Nabohri’s ear…and whispered.

Whatever he said to Nabohri, none of us knew. But Nabohri nodded his head vigorously—whimpering, and trembling, and clearly in pain.

Pentarra nodded back.

And then he pulled Nabohri down again by the lek, causing his skull to thud smack against the floor—the sound reverberated nauseatingly off the walls.

And Pentarra strode calmly back to the head table with measured, even steps, and we all watched. And then he sat back down again in his chair, and resumed eating.

…Almost as if nothing had even happened.

I glanced at Connie beside me—she was smirking. Ginnie did not smirk with her mouth, but I thought perhaps she smirked with her eyes. Fashha looked like her mind was far away…but by purposeful intention rather than a lack of attention.

I craned my neck to look again toward the front of the hall. Pennie had cuddled up to her father again…but even she looked uneasy.

And then Fannie leapt from her seat, and sprinted over to Nabohri. She knelt down beside him as he struggled to his knees, and held out her hand to him—but he slapped it away, and pushed her roughly to the floor.

I was not okay with that. I stood up immediately and ran over to her as Vataash was coming over from the front end of the hall. Quickly, I helped Fannie back up again—she seemed okay, just stunned.

Vataash bent over and offered Nabohri his arm, which Nabohri accepted. But I noticed that Vataash laughed at him and mocked him as he helped him up.

Nabohri did not retaliate. He looked like he was in too much pain.

I tried to guide Fannie back to our table, but she shook me off. With that familiar persistent kindness, she went over to Nabohri again and placed her hand on his arm and tried to ask him if he was okay—but he only snapped at her, and stormed furiously out of the hall.

Fannie stood still. I came slowly up to her, and put my hand on her shoulder.

“Hey. You okay?” I asked.

“Me?” she asked with a mirthless laugh, sounding upset. “Why—of course I’m okay; I hardly know why you’re asking about me—”

“Okay…fair enough,” I said. “Is Nabohri gonna be okay?”

“Well, I’m sure Nabohri—” Fannie began to say, and then stopped short, and looked at me. “...Wait. How did you know his name?”

I stared at her.

“I…well…I told you, Fan,” I stammered. “I met a bunch of your brothers in the garden, remember?”

“Oh,” she said. “Right.”

I began to herd her back towards our table again, and this time, she submitted—although she stayed standing, even as I sat back down.

“Yes…Nabohri will be all right, I think,” she said. “But…I only wish I had stepped in sooner.” She shook her head. “Goodness…I don’t know what came over me. It was like I was frozen. I just sat there and watched…as if I were under a trance.”

“Hey, don’t feel bad,” I told her quietly. “I think we all kinda felt that way.”

“Nabohri was asking for it,” Connie weighed in. “Sow a fool’s seeds, reap a fool’s harvest.”

“No act of foolishness grants another the right to harm him,” Fannie replied staunchly.

“Look at it this way: maybe he did deserve it,” I suggested. “Karma or whatever. I mean, you keep on telling me how mean your brothers have always been to you. Maybe he had it coming.”

“That may be so, Ben,” said Fannie softly, “but whether it was his deserved judgment is not for me to decide. My duty is to wish good upon others, not vengeance. The Force alone shall balance the scale.”

Connie scoffed and rolled her eyes.

Fannie could be pretty corny sometimes…but part of me also admired the philosophies she carried through life. She didn’t say things like that just to say ‘em. She genuinely believed her own words.

Fannie sighed. “Oh, dear…I’m afraid I’m no longer hungry.”

“Good,” remarked Ginnie under her breath. “Tollah knows you needn’t eat more.”

I didn’t even have time to think.

I slammed my fists down on the table, and all four women turned to me in shock.

Because…sure, I could take Fannie’s sisters giving me crap. But I wasn’t gonna let them get away with being cruel to her.

Not right in front of my face.

“Listen, Ginnie,” I growled, whipping my head around to address her. “You can shut the hell up and keep your nasty thoughts to yourself. Just because you’re such a twig I could snap in you half—”

But Fashha stood up. “Do. Not. Speak to her,” she commanded me darkly, in thickly-accented Basic—the first Basic words I had ever heard from her—and I found myself speechless.

Ginnie blinked at me slowly. Not threatened. Not interested in the least.

Fannie looked straight at me from where she stood. “Ben,” she said sternly. “I do not need this from you.”

I looked at all four of them—from Fannie, to Ginnie, to Fashha, to Connie (who was wearing her signature smirk). And then I sighed angrily, and stood up from my seat.

“Well—now I’m not hungry anymore, either,” I grumbled. “For Force’s sake. Am I ever gonna finish my dinner here, like, once?”

“You were never going to finish it to begin with,” said Ginnie calmly, and I turned to glare at her. “I saw you eating your snorlii. You looked like you were about two bites away from covering the table in spalaak.”

I did not need a translation.

“C’mon, Fan,” I muttered. “Let’s get outta here.”

I threw Ginnie one last glare as Fannie and I left the dining hall.

Chapter Text

“Okay, I gotta admit: it freaked me out when all the guys shouted my name right in front of Fannie. I thought I was cooked.”

“You’re lucky the girl trusts you so much. If I can be quite frank…she seems rather undiscerning.”

“No—she’s very discerning, actually. She just…doesn’t think I would ever lie to her.”

“Hm. I must say, Solo…I am as interested in your endgame as you are in mine. Do you really intend to continue misleading her into perpetuity?”

“Please. Don’t tell me that you, of all people, want to guilt-trip me into telling the truth.”

“Oh, of course not. I told you, Ben: I have no interest in swaying any decision of yours one way or another. You are an adult now. A man. You and I are simply friends…nothing more.”

“‘Friends?’ Yeah, right. I don’t know what we are, Snoke ol’ buddy, but ‘friends’ sure ain’t it. Anyway…no, I’m not gonna lie to her forever. I’ll quit eventually. You know…once I stop having things I can’t tell her about.”

“So in other words…you are indeed going to continue to deceive her for as long as you can successfully manage to. Now…that is fascinating.”

“Okay—who do you think you are, exactly? My conscience? A relationship counselor? You’re not one to judge—you definitely seem pretty in favor of me hiding from my parents the fact that you and I still talk.”

“Calm yourself. I am nothing more than a captivated observer. And as I said before, Ben Solo: I am not in favor of you doing any particular thing—except, of course, everything that you desire and choose to do.”

I had a hard time sleeping, the night that Nabohri hit his father with the snorlii shell. After supper Fannie and I had retreated to the east library to process what we had witnessed, and that had been helpful. But now that I was in bed alone, my mind kept running through a bunch of memories like a nonsensical holoreel.

Pentarra leaning down to whisper as Nabohri trembled on his knees.

Connie and Ginnie antagonizing me at the table.

Fashha criticizing Fannie for helping the servants in the kitchen.

Pennie screaming as the boys ran down the hallway and smacked their soiled garments in her face.

Vataash leading the afternoon’s hunt with arrogance borrowed from his father.

Mikal sitting stone-faced while his brothers all laughed.

And whenever I closed my eyes, I kept on seeing my own hands out in front of me, a twitching senshiil between my feet…watching myself fumble with the knife that was always either slippery or sticky with blood, wiping the wet handle on the rag over and over…digging my fingers into warm flesh to pry skull away from vertebrae…lining up severed kortokk heads, one by one, as if for some dark ritual…

…choking down undercooked snorlii at supper.

Oh, Force.

I sat up in bed, my stomach turning. My heart was pounding and my palms were clammy and my chest felt tight in that nasty, uncomfortable way.

I gingerly got up, and began to pace the floor in an attempt to expend my nervous energy—but the more I paced, the more claustrophobic I felt. I briefly went out on my little balcony for some fresh air…but quickly returned, because taking place a few balconies down was an adventurous display of romantic passion that I did not want to observe.

So I threw on a shirt and left my bedroom and wandered the halls for a bit, and finally ended up in one of the men’s lounges. Smoke no longer hung in the air, but its remnants lingered in the cushions—a sort of sweet-foul pungency. I caught a whiff as I sat down on the sofa, and felt nauseous again.

Then I heard a rustling next to me, and I jerked back in alarm. It was hard to see in the dark, but I realized there was someone else on the couch with me.

And who do you think it was?

…Correct.

“Pennie,” I said, and she drew herself up and away from me—I was glad I had thrown on the shirt. “Geez. Do you ever hang out anywhere besides the west wing?”

“I was trying to sleep,” she said grumpily.

“In the men’s smoking lounge?”

“I got tired of sharing my bed.”

“With your dad?”

“No,” Pennie sniffed. “With Suhbi, Ta’kosh, and Hassacha.”

“Who’re they? More friends of yours?”

“No. Friends of Pentarra’s,” Pennie scoffed bitterly. “Hmph. At least I bother to keep my playmates a secret. He makes me share our bed with them.”

…Ah. I thought I understood, now.

“You would rather that he cheated on you in secret?” I asked.

“Yes, of course,” huffed Pennie. “I would much rather him lie, as normal men do—as you do, Ben Solo. You hid from my sister that you joined the men’s hunt, because you knew she would not like it—because you cared what she thought. Because you wished to spare her feelings.” She sighed, leaning back against the cushions. “...I only wish that Ruut cared enough about me to lie.”

Well. That was certainly one way to look at things.

I tried to determine whether or not I agreed with her. Pennie’s perspective almost did make me feel better about how I’d been handling my own relationship…but I also knew that, deep down, the way that Pennie saw things wasn’t right.

I only wanted it to be.

But I also decided that three in the morning was not the best time to process this, so I shelved it away for later.

“Well…I don’t know what to tell you, Pennie,” I said. “I think you knew what kind of guy Pentarra was when you signed up for all of this. You grew up in this house. You’ve watched him make his way through women like so many bottles of wine. You know you’re only next up in the rotation until he decides he’s done with you.”

“You are wrong,” Pennie argued hotly. “Can’t you see? I am not like any of his other women. No—the love he has for me is different. His love for me is so strong—his desire for me so unquenchable—that he has crossed the taboo that I am his offspring in order to have me for his mate. Don’t you understand? He loves me so deeply, he would defy nature itself to have me.”

Well! That was also a very creative way to look at things. I was so stunned, it took me a second or two to reply…but eventually, I did.

“You just said you feel like he doesn’t care about you,” I pointed out. “So…which is it? Do you think he cares for you? Or do you think he doesn’t?”

Pennie blinked. She looked stuck. And then she looked angry that I had caught her in a contradiction. Her face twitched, and her lips worked. And I couldn’t tell whether she was trying to keep herself from crying, or from attacking me.

Finally, she cleared her throat, and sat up very straight and very prim, in a way that reminded me of her eldest sister.

“...Ruut Pentarra craves me,” she said at last. “And when no one cares about you, Ben Solo…to at least be craved is certainly better than nothing.”

She delivered this statement solemnly, without a hint of self-pity.

As if stating a mere fact.

“Huh,” I said.

And then, “I’m sorry,” after a long pause.

Pennie turned her head sharply toward me.

“No, you aren’t,” she said stiffly. “I appreciate your falsehood, Ben Solo, but I see right through it. You think to yourself: she is stupid, and deserves whatever consequences she has wrought. No?”

Well, I did feel sorry for her.

But at the same time…yeah, she kinda had me.

“...Maybe I did think something like that,” I admitted.

“Of course you did,” Pennie said bitterly. “You are easy to read, Ben Solo. In fact…I suspect that the only reason you have so succeeded in deluding my sister is because she also wishes to delude herself.”

I was quiet. I had to admit that the same thought had occasionally crossed my mind.

…Not that I was going to admit that to Pennie, though.

Well. I was thinking it was about time to conclude my little late night chat with Pennie, as fun (and as strange) as it had been. But before I could announce my departure, Pennie spoke.

…Commanded, really.

“Walk into dinner with me tomorrow evening, Ben Solo,” she said.

I frowned, and looked at her.

“What? Why?”

“To make Ruut jealous,” she said simply.

I stared.

“...You want to get me killed,” I said seriously.

“Oh, he won’t kill you,” Pennie said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “After all, why would I want you dead, when you make my sister so happy?”

“I hardly think you care about Fannie’s happiness,” I said suspiciously.

“Don’t I?” she replied. “I suppose that someone has to please her. She will certainly never be pleased with me.”

“You hardly seem to care what she thinks of you, either.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Pennie said coolly. “Because not caring what she thinks of me is the only way to escape being crushed by her judgment, Ben Solo. You see, ever since she left to become a Jedi, she has always thought herself better than the rest of us. Worse yet, she has the gall to think she understands us. Understands me. But she will never understand.”

“With all due respect, Pennie,” I said (which wasn’t a lot), “that’s not the impression of your sister I get at all. She’s a principled person, sure. She has things she cares about, and will stand up for. But I don’t think it’s because she’s judgmental. She just wants a better life for you than what you have chosen for yourself.”

“That is exactly the kind of arrogance I am alluding to, Ben Solo,” Pennie said stiffly, and by the tone of her voice I could tell that she was not open to being swayed. “How dare she think she knows what is best for me, when she does not know me at all, and does not know the world I live in?”

“Well—how is she supposed to know you, when you’ve done your best to shut her out?” I countered. “Fannie loves you, Pen. I don’t know why, but she does. If you gave her a chance, maybe you’d see your sister the way I see her. The way she’s shown herself to me. Listen, I’m not dating her because I think she’s hot—”

“Clearly,” muttered Pennie (an interjection I chose to ignore).

“—but because she’s my best friend,” I said. “She’s helped me through some of my darkest moments. She’s stuck it through with me during some of my lowest points.”

“Likely only because she finds you handsome—an assessment, by the way, that speaks ill of her eyesight,” Pennie said nastily. “And because you are not her younger sister: someone she thinks she ought to be able to control.”

There was so much raw emotion in her last statement, I found myself unable to respond.

“...Perhaps if you were her sister, Ben Solo,” said Pennie softly, “you’d see her the way I see her. Fa’nakhra has little tolerance for those who are not like her, and who have not chosen the path she has chosen. In fact…it is rather a great surprise to me that you are not a Jedi like she is. I did not think that she would select a mate who did not follow her own narrow-minded views.”

I was even more speechless.

I thought about my uncle. And how he had warned Fannie not to choose me, because I was not on the same path as she was. And how Fannie had seemed so ready and willing to go along with his suggestion…until, of course, I had lied, and turned her against him.

…Pennie had no idea how close she was to the truth.

Not that I was planning to tell her that, either.

“...You have nothing to say,” Pennie observed. “Have you lied to her about this, too, Solo? Does my sister believe you to be a Jedi Knight?”

“Well, no,” I said. “Fannie knows I’m not a Jedi—I mean, it’d be pretty hard to fake that—but—see—” 

And then I wondered why I was trying to explain myself to Pennie.

“—it’s none of your damn business,” I finished.

Pennie smiled.

“Fair enough, Ben Solo,” she said. “Unlike my sister, I feel no need to meddle in others’ affairs. So then: let us return to our own.” She turned her entire body toward me, crossing her arms. “Tomorrow, you will walk into dinner with me, so that Pentarra sees. That is all I require of you—that is all you must do for me. The rest, I will take care of.”

“Now hold on a sec,” I snapped. “What’s all this ‘you will’ business? What makes you think you can order me around like I’m one of your servants?”

“Because,” Pennie said sweetly, “otherwise Fa’nakhra may somehow learn that you went hunting with our brothers today.”

I fell silent.

Part of me began to think that this had gone on long enough. That there were too many things I had hidden from Fannie, now, and that it was all beginning to get way out of hand.

But then the other part of me thought: well. It was still easier to go forward than back, at this point.

I ran my tongue over my dry lips, and Pennie smiled at me.

“...I would accept if I were you, Ben Solo,” she said softly. “You seem to have your hands full with a great deal of secrets. If even one of them should slip…my sister’s faith in you might soon follow.”

Unfortunately, she was right.

“...Okay,” I said. “But what am I supposed to tell Fannie? She and I have gone into dinner together the past couple nights, and she’ll be expecting me to do the same tomorrow.”

“Tell her I asked you to spend the afternoon with me,” Pennie said. “I’m sure she will love that.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Pennie looked at me as though I were stupid.

“I am no fool,” she said. “I know my sister’s mind. She likely thinks you will be able to change me, in some way that she cannot.”

And I thought back to the way Fannie had looked at me in the kitchen, with hope bordering on desperation.

“Yeah…she would love that, huh,” I muttered.

“Not to mention,” Pennie lilted temptingly, “if you tell Fa’nakhra you’ve made plans with me… you will be able to spend the afternoon in any manner you please. I know my sisters do not make pleasant company.”

She said these last words bitterly. I found some small comfort in the realization that Pennie also felt that Connie and Ginnie did not really like her.

“And I will tell Ruut that I am going to spend the afternoon with you, too,” Pennie continued smugly. “Ha! Let him wonder if I am growing bored of him.”

“Why me, though?” I asked. “You clearly have no shortage of boy toys.”

“Because you are an off-worlder, and a human, and you will have the most success in getting his attention,” Pennie replied. “Though, rest assured—he will not harm you, as I said.”

“Really?” I asked suspiciously. “‘Cause you promised he’d hurt me if I ever told him about you and Armad sleeping together.”

“Oh, he certainly might,” Pennie said lightly. “But I’m not asking you to sleep with me, Ben Solo.” She smiled cheekily. “...Not unless you want to, of course.”

I made a face.

“Thanks. I’ll pass.”

“I didn’t think so. See? All you have to do is walk into dinner with me, and say we’ve spent the day together.”

“Fine. But you have to promise this isn’t gonna get me killed,” I told her seriously. “I saw how he reacted when Nabohri hit him with that shell.”

“You have my word,” Pennie said.

But I thought I saw a smile cross her lips in the dark—as if she were imagining how delicious it would be if Pentarra’s jealousy was roused enough to cause me harm.

Still. What choice did I have? Pennie had dirt on me—and I would have rather faced Pentarra’s anger than Fannie’s disappointment a thousand times over.

Besides. A free ticket out of hanging around Fannie’s family? That was worth it on its own.

“Have we a deal, Ben Solo?” Pennie asked.

“...I guess we do,” I said at last.

Rylothians do not shake hands to greet one another. But they do shake hands to seal deals. Pennie held her hand out to me, and we shook.

And then I got myself back to bed—but…now I had even more to think about.

When I finally did fall asleep, it was practically sunrise. As a result, I slept through breakfast again. I got up just in time to meet Fannie in the dining hall for lunch.

Pennie was right: when I told Fannie that her sister had asked me to spend the day with her, she was ecstatic.

“Oh, Ben, that’s wonderful,” Fannie said, smiling so big she looked like she could cry. She threw her arms around me, and gave me three kisses on my right cheek. “I knew it. I knew the Force had a special way to use you.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. I thought that Pennie was probably the one using me.

But…I smiled, and kept that to myself.

Chapter Text

Dudes love setting things on fire.

It’s a primal, manly urge. One that transcends planets, cultures, and species.

And it was exactly how the Pentarra boys and I decided to spend our afternoon.

We had taken the blurrgs out to a flat area, a long distance west of Pentarra’s property. As we rode, the rocky outcroppings became smaller and smaller, and sparser and sparser—until we were out in the middle of a desert clearing that featured dry brush and some cactuses, but not much else. If you faced west, you could see the unobstructed horizon: a long, flat line that stretched out forever.

We made a big heap of brush, added some wood we’d brought, and put rocks all around as a barrier. Then we lit the brush and fanned the flames till our bonfire came to life, and then we cheered and chased each other in circles and generally behaved like idiots.

It felt so freaking good. Only a week ago I’d been holed up in my cubicle writing article after soulless article, and now I was running around with a bunch of fellas screaming half-naked in the sun.

It was November, then, so it wasn’t the best season for me to go shirtless. I looked kind of white and pasty. The Pentarra boys with their deep-hued skin all teased me and gave me flak for it—all except for Mikal, that is. But I took it good-naturedly, and laughed about it, too.

When we got tired of running around, we unrolled some blankets and lay down around the fire and looked at the sky. There wasn’t a single cloud, so when you looked up, all you could see was a huge expanse of blue that almost made you dizzy. It would have been a great setup for stargazing, had it not been the middle of the afternoon.

Despite it being the middle of the afternoon, one of the guys had brought a couple of jugs of whiskey, which he produced amidst a great deal of cheers. They passed the jugs around, and drank straight out of the bottles—and even though most of them were teenagers, they sure could put away a lot.

It made me feel weird. Part of me felt like I was supposed to be setting an example for them, or something—not taking peer pressure from guys who were two-thirds my age.

Still, I ignored their goading, and took only what I approximated to be a normal-sized shot.

“I’m not in college anymore,” I said, as my excuse. (As if I had even been a heavy drinker in college to begin with.)

“College?” asked Vataash. “You went to university?”

Multiple guys looked at me with curiosity, and I looked back at them. Apparently my having been to college was something odd to them.

“...Yeah,” I said. “Is that…weird?”

“We’ve never been to school at all,” Mikal said.

“Oh,” I said. “Do you guys…know how to do math? And write? And stuff?”

“Enough,” said Mikal. And everyone laughed.

“Is college like in the holofilms?” asked Nabohri (who, after last night’s events, seemed quieter than usual—but certainly not by much).

“Well…I guess it depends if you want it to be,” I said with a shrug.

My own college experience had been pretty tame. I’d gone to a few parties with Treeso, but mostly only to be his chaperone, his wingman, or his ride home. I had spent most of my time in college either studying or putting off studying…but that wasn’t gonna win me any points with the boys.

“Did you meet a lot of women?” Vataash asked me, and I tried not to roll my eyes.

“Oh, yeah—lots of ‘em,” I said.

I was telling the truth. UNaboo has a pretty equal gender enrollment ratio. I’d met a lot of girls at school.

I had also done everything in my power to fend them off. In fact, I had often invented fake girlfriends when I was at parties with Treeso…not because I was ashamed of being single, but because I wanted to stay that way. Pretending I had a girlfriend was a quick and easy way to shut down most romantic advances.

“How many women have you slept with?” asked another of the boys—a short guy with green-brown skin, who’d obviously had enough to drink. Even so, I found myself shocked by the audacity of the question.

“Well—how many have you?” I retorted, because I didn’t know what else to say.

“Ten,” he boasted.

Ten! Bro looked ten. Ten years old, I mean.

I figured he was at least fourteen or fifteen. But he had a noticeable baby face…which was maybe why he felt the need to project so much machismo.

“He lies,” said another guy. “He has not slept with anyone!”

“Ten,” the kid said again.

“Well—I’ve slept with five times as many women as you have, then,” I said to him.

And once again, I was telling the truth. Because I was pretty confident that this kid’s brothers were also telling the truth—and as you know, five times zero is zero.

I don’t think everyone would have known that, though.

“What is five times ten?” someone asked, revealing the consequences of never having gone to school.

“Five hundred,” I said with a straight face, to see if I could get away with it—and much to my surprise, I could. The group of guys all gasped and cheered and got worked up—either everyone was that dumb, that drunk, or both. Only Mikal raised a brow.

“Five hundred!” Nabohri crowed. “Then tell us, Ben Solo: who was the best of these five hundred?”

I laughed, embarrassed. Like I said, I’d made up dozens of fake girlfriends before. But I had never tried to fabricate a sexual encounter—and I knew better than to try now, when I had so little research to go off of.

“Come now,” I said, trying to play off my unease as modesty, “surely you don’t expect me to remember all their names!”

This response was witty enough to make everyone laugh—and luckily, fail to notice what I thought was a pretty obvious evasion.

“Fair enough,” chuckled Vataash, his chin in his hand. “Then at least tell us, Solo: where does Fa’nakhra rank in your many experiences?”

I stared at him for a moment to see if this was a joke. Fannie was his sister, after all. Was he actually expecting a response?

I looked around at all the guys. They all seemed exceedingly interested.

“...Why is this something you’d want to know?” I asked warily, the whiskey suddenly not sitting well. “She’s…y’know…your sister.”

“Our half -sister,” someone corrected.

“Why wouldn’t we want to know?” asked Nabohri loudly. “We will certainly never find out otherwise.”

“...What do you mean?” I asked, eyeing him cautiously. “You don’t see your sisters that way…do you?”

“Relax, Solo—we are not interested in our sisters,” someone else called out, which made me feel better—but only for about the span of a second. “But even if we were…we’d certainly choose one of the prettier ones.”

A shudder ran through me as everyone laughed. This was all very messed up.

“Hey, hey!” Vataash chastised, and I turned to look at him. “Don’t speak ill of Fa’nakhra. That is Ben Solo’s woman you’re talking about.”

“Well, he can have her,” said the other guy, and everyone laughed.

And I began to think something that, perhaps, I should have been thinking a long time ago:

…That I probably shouldn’t be hanging out with these guys.

I looked around at all of them, the throng of drunken teenagers and young twenty-somethings. And then I looked at my hands, and my body, and saw myself with them, and saw myself as one of them…and began to perceive the first signs of a panic attack. My fingertips started to tingle, and everything sounded like it was underwater. The scents of smoke and alcohol slowly began to choke me, and a scream simmered in my stomach. I began to feel sick inside.

…I decided that I wasn’t drunk enough. So I grabbed the whiskey jug as it was being passed, and set out to remedy the problem.

“Stop stalling and answer the question, Ben Solo!” Vataash called to me as I took a swig. “How does Fa’nakhra compare to your other mates?”

I thought for a second as I passed off the jug again—and then I knew how to respond.

I stood to my feet, and watched everyone snap to attention.

“With your forgiveness, good sirs, I decline to answer,” I said loudly, mimicking the way men speak on Ryloth: with one’s voice deep in the chest, and each word separated out from its neighbors. “I find this question incredibly disrespectful to Fa’nakhra. She is very important to me. I love her—really, I do. I don’t wish to humiliate her.”

I paused, scanning my audience, who looked disappointed.

…And then I allowed myself a slight smirk.

“Because, if I were to tell the truth, it would humiliate her,” I finished, and sat back down again—and everyone burst into raucous laughter.

Okay. Now I was drunk enough.

And I knew I shouldn’t have said that—but I was sleep-deprived and dehydrated and intoxicated with Rylothian whiskey and male approval. My critical thinking skills were quickly slipping away.

Boy, did it feel good to be funny! Everyone was laughing and laughing and laughing.

…Everyone, that is, but my little buddy Mr. Ten Girls.

“I think he is lying,” the boy said with measured suspicion. “I doubt he has been with any women at all.”

“Oh, you’re more than welcome to believe me a liar,” I retorted brazenly. My mouth felt like it was full of cotton, and I was losing the ability to judge how loud my voice was. “I won’t argue my five hundred, the way you feel the need to argue your ten. See—Ben Solo has no need to argue. Because Ben Solo does not lie.”

This, of course, was another funny thing for me to say.

But I was the only one who knew why.

Mr. Ten turned red in the face, and let himself fade into the background.

“Oh, pay Hakiiro no mind, Ben Solo—he is only jealous of you,” said Vataash, waving his flask. He had filled it from the last remaining whiskey jug, which was now being passed around on the other side of the bonfire. “Were you in a, what is it called—a fraternity?”

I wasn’t in a fraternity, but…that didn’t mean I had to say I wasn’t.

“Oh, yeah, totally,” I said, really getting into it now. “In fact, I was the sole human in a Gungan fraternity. Non-Gungans are not usually accepted, but they asked me to join—”

I paused, trying to make it sound like I was pausing for dramatic effect…but really, it was because I had no idea what I was about to say next.

“—because I am the only human ever to eat five Nabooian slug-beetles in the span of a minute,” I finished, pushing pride into my voice.

The actual event I was referencing was certainly less than my moment of triumph…but they didn’t need to know that.

“Gungans?” asked Vataash. “Are they not the clumsy, ugly ones, with the hideous snouts and stupid manner of speaking?”

I bristled at first. I didn’t like him talking about my friend’s species like that. For a second, I was about to climb onto a soapbox.

But: then I thought of something really funny to say instead.

“No, no,” I corrected loudly. “You are thinking of Nabohri.” I gestured to Nabohri, who was nursing the empty whiskey jug, sticking his tongue into the neck and trying to lick off whatever was left. The timing literally couldn’t have been any better.

Everyone roared with laughter (even Nabohri, who seemed to enjoy the attention), and I sat back, satisfied. Another zinger from Ben Solo—this one was my best yet, and it took almost three minutes for all the guys to calm down.

“No—Gungans are mighty warriors!” I exclaimed, once the hubbub had settled down. “Haven’t you heard of the Battle of Naboo?”

They hadn’t.

“Have you heard of the Clone Wars?”

They had kind of heard of the Clone Wars.

I frowned.

“...Have you heard of the Galactic Civil War?”

“That…is just another name for the Clone Wars, no?” asked Mikal.

I blinked. Mikal seemed like the smartest one out of all of them, and yet even he didn’t seem to have a basic knowledge of history.

True, none of them had been alive during the Galactic Civil War. But if none of them were even aware that it had happened…

“...Have you heard of the Death Star?” I asked, looking around at them. “It was kind of a big deal. It was a military space station with the ability to destroy entire planets.”

“Was?” Vataash cut in, rising to his feet. “Pentarra said that the star-killer had not been built yet. How do you know about it?”

I stared at him, not sure what to make of this bizarre outburst.

“...What does Pentarra have to do with the Death Star?” I asked.

Vataash began to look odd.

“...Nothing,” he said shiftily, sinking back down into place. “Forget I spoke.”

I scrutinized him. Had Pentarra…helped to finance the Death Star, or something?

“Ben Solo!” someone else called, drawing my attention away from Vataash. “Please! If we wanted to learn history, we would have gone to school ourselves. Tell us of the slug-beetles!”

Well, I’m never one to turn down a storytelling opportunity. So…I told them.

Perhaps you’ve heard my slug-beetle story: the time I ate five blue slug-beetles in my junior year of college, in the hopes of impressing the other guests at my first-ever house party. But I guarantee that you have never heard this version. Because in this version, slug-beetles were toxic to humans (they’re not), I was frantically rushed to the medcenter (I wasn’t), and I nearly died before getting my stomach pumped (this did happen to me once, but on a much different occasion).

Everyone was thoroughly amazed.

Everyone except Mr. Ten Girls, that is.

“He’s a liar,” said Mr. Ten (whose real name, apparently, was Hakiiro). “I watched Ben Solo eat at dinner last night. He made a face at his snorlii, and did not eat. How then could he have eaten five beetles, if he could barely stomach one snorlii?”

Wow. I really didn’t like this kid.

Everyone turned to me to see how I’d respond, like children watching an after-school fight.

Okay, first of all—I had eaten the snorlii. I hadn’t liked it, but I’d eaten it. I hadn’t finished it, but I’d eaten it.

But an argument on that point, I knew, was not the best I had in my arsenal.

“Well—you , buddy, are not a liar,” I returned, rising to my feet and swaggering over to him. Now that we were face-to-face, I could see he was a full head shorter than me. “Because although you claim to lie with women—I am pretty sure you’ve never lain with any at all.”

A chorus of ohhhhhhhh! rose up from the boys. If you have ever spent any extended time around young men, you know exactly what that sounds like.

“Oh, you got him, nerra!” cried Nabohri (who didn’t seem to remember that I’d “gotten” him, too, only half an hour earlier).

…Wait.

Nerra?

“Nerra?” I echoed, looking at Nabohri. “Me? I’m—nerra?”

“Oh, you are one-hundred-percent nerra—my nerra,” answered Nabohri, laughing. And even though I knew ol’ Nabohri couldn’t do math, I figured that one-hundred-percent had to be pretty good.

I grinned.

And I thought about what Pennie had said the night before…that when no one cares about you, the next best thing is to be craved.

…Well.

When you know no one would like you for who you really are, the next best thing is to be liked for who they’d want you to be.

Once it was getting close to dinnertime (and once we had run out of alcohol), we doused the fire and started packing up so we could head back home. Hakiiro got ill from drinking too much, so Mikal volunteered to stay behind with him for a few minutes. I got to ride my own blurrg this time, so I raced Vataash and Nabohri back to the grounds.

Vataash won—but I did manage to beat Nabohri, who cursed me with a laugh and a twinkle in his eye.

When we returned, Pennie was waiting for me at the gates with a sour look on her face.

“What’s up, Pen?” I asked, dismounting my blurrg while the other guys rode past us and toward the stables. “You look…worse than normal.”

“Pentarra requests your presence at his table,” she said rigidly.

I stared at her, my blood running cold.

“Pennie,” I said. “You promised you weren’t gonna get me killed.”

“If only he did wish to kill you,” Pennie sniffed. “No. He wants to dine with you, Ben Solo. When I told him that I find you interesting, he only laughed and told me that he finds you interesting, too. He sent me to inform you that you are to be his guest tonight at supper.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised.

I hadn’t thought I would meet Ruut Pentarra on this trip. In fact, I hadn’t been sure he even knew I existed. He was my girlfriend’s father…but it wasn’t like he was her dad. (Actually, I suspected that Pentarra’s lack of parental interaction with his children was why Pennie was so willing to have a romantic relationship with him.)

“‘Oh?’ Is that all you have to say?” Pennie snapped. “Pentarra does not often invite people to his table, Ben Solo. It is a great honor.”

“So…I’m gonna sit up there with you?”

“Not with me,” Pennie said, her voice clipped. “In my place .”

“Really?” I asked, surprised. “Why wouldn’t he want you there?”

“ I don’t know,” Pennie huffed. “He did not tell me .”

“Well…okay,” I said.

Pennie waved her hand in front of her nose, and made a face. “You should wash,” she scoffed. “You reek of smoke and liquor.”

“What?” I teased, leaning in so she could smell me better. “You don’t think it’s sexy?”

Pennie bristled—which was exactly the reaction I’d hoped to get out of her.

“Not on you,” she spat.

I laughed, and pulled myself back up onto my blurrg so I could ride it back to the stables.

Chapter Text

A half hour later, Pennie and I walked into the dining hall and approached the table where Fashha and Fannie were already sitting. Connie and Ginnie came in behind us.

“Ben! Pennie!” Fannie said warmly, and gave each of us a hug. Pennie received hers stiffly, as if she were a protocol droid, and made a face when I kissed the top of Fan’s head.

I gave her a glare that said oh please, like I didn’t practically walk in on you having sex.

Pennie got the message. She smirked and looked away.

Fannie wrinkled her nose as she stepped back from me. “Ooh—Ben, you smell of smoke!”

Whoops. Although I had scrubbed my skin and changed my clothes and even brushed my teeth so I wouldn’t smell like whiskey, I realized I hadn’t washed my hair.

“I don’t smell anything,” Pennie said calmly.

“I…um…don’t smell anything either,” I echoed, grateful Pennie had covered for me.

“Really?” Fannie replied incredulously. “I…I really thought I smelled smoke.”

Yeah, probably from all the gaslighting me and Pennie were doing!

When Pennie and I didn’t respond, Fannie cleared her throat and smiled. “Well…did the two of you have a pleasant afternoon?”

Pennie turned to me and raised her eyebrows. It was clear I had exhausted her current capacity for generosity.

“Oh, um—yeah,” I said. “Yeah, we—walked around the house. She gave me a tour.”

Fannie beamed. “Oh, that sounds lovely. You can tell me all about it over dinner.”

Pennie broke away from me and plopped down on the bench next to her mother, muttering something in Twi’leki. Fannie overheard, and looked surprised.

“You’re sitting with us, Pennie?” Fannie asked.

“Apparently, Pentarra requested that I sit at his table tonight instead of her,” I said sheepishly, and Fannie turned to me in confusion and furrowed her brow.

“Well…I suppose there’s no reason to refuse him,” she said slowly. “Knowing Pentarra, he’s likely curious about you, and wishes to consider you as an oddity. There’s probably no harm in it…but do be careful, Ben; he’s not a good man.”

“Neither am I,” I joked.

Fannie rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop it.”

Then she came closer, and looked at me solemnly.

“I’ll be paying attention,” she said. “If you happen to need help, look to me and reach out.”

“Reach…out?” I asked. “Like—with the Force? Fan, you know I can’t really…”

“If you need to, you will be able to,” Fannie said confidently. “But I hope you will not need to.”

She gave me a firm hug, and I hugged her back. Then I looked toward the front of the room, where Pentarra sat.

“Wait,” Pennie said suddenly, rising from her seat. “Allow me to escort you.” She ran her hands down the curves of her body with a sly smile, and I realized that she was still chasing Pentarra’s attention, even now.

“Fine,” I said—and Pennie came and took my arm in a way that should’ve made Fannie uncomfortable, were she not convinced that Pennie was an angel void of malicious intent. And together we walked down the length of the great hall, approaching the head table where Ruut Pentarra sat.

Walking down the aisle with Pennie on my arm made me feel like I was at some kind of weird wedding. I wondered if I’d ever walk down the aisle with Fannie someday.

If I did, it would make the chilling man in front of me my father-in-law.

I thought about what had happened to Nabohri the night before. I would be extra careful not to hit Pentarra with any stray snorlii shells.

Pennie and I stopped at the bottom of the steps that led up to the raised platform. As we did, Pentarra rose from his seat.

“Ah…Ben Solo,” he said, addressing me and ignoring Pennie. “What a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last.” He had a throaty Rylothian accent—more than his children did. Unlike Fannie’s mother, he spoke fluent Basic.

“It would seem you have found favor with many of my children, Solo,” Pentarra continued. “Vataash has spoken of your prowess as a hunter. You have found favor with Fa’nakhra, the most particular of my daughters. As well as with my betrothed, Pen’awen, with whom I hear you spent the day with.”

Pennie clung coquettishly to my arm. I shook her off. Pentarra noticed.

Of course he did. I got the sense that little escaped his observation. A smile teased at the corner of his mouth.

“I expect to take a liking to you, too,” Pentarra told me, “and I do not say so lightly. As I said: it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Ruut Pentarra of Ryloth.”

He performed the Rylothian bow to me, though he didn’t bend over as far as Fannie had taught me to do. Probably because he considered me lower in status than him.

Ruut Pentarra was not a large man, probably just under six feet tall, and not particularly impressive in terms of physical strength. It was hard to tell what his frame looked like, since his robes were structured in the shoulders to make him look broader and more intimidating—but given his life of leisure, I doubted he could really be that built. His face, as I said before, was short and round, like Fannie’s—but while her features evoked a sense of warmth and tenderness, the same on him only gave testament to his indulgence and decadence.

Still, he had a charismatic presence that more than made up for his average stature. His skin was dusty sage green and his eyes a piercing yellow. His wine-red robes were heavy velvet, with large, billowing sleeves, and a pendant was fastened in the center of his breast. He seemed like someone you needed to watch your back around…but also like someone who would make you forget to.

I squinted at the pendant on his chest. It was gold, studded with rubies, and in the shape of an eye. I recognized the symbol from the tapestry in the library.

I bowed back. “Uh—hi. I’m Ben. Nice to meet you.” I hesitated, feeling like I could use some more flourish. “Um—Ben Organa Solo. Of Naboo.”

“Naboo,” Pentarra echoed thoughtfully. “A beautiful world. Do you own land there?”

I stared at him, not sure whether this was a joke. It was certainly a joke to me . Me, a twenty-three-year-old college grad, owning property ? I didn’t even own the apartment I lived in.

“You are the son of the Alderaanian princess, are you not?” Pentarra asked, when I did not reply. “I assume you are a man of high birth.”

“...Yes, my mom is the last Alderaanian princess,” I said finally, because I could say that.

“Yes,” said Pentarra thoughtfully. “And your mother’s brother is Luke Skywalker, the famed Jedi Knight. Many years ago, I had the chance to meet him. He was not as impressive as the stories made him seem.”

“Well, I agree with that,” I said bitterly. I was thinking of how he’d told Fannie not to date me.

Pentarra chuckled. “Please. Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair beside him, where Pennie usually sat, and took his own seat again.

I glanced at Pennie, who still stood beside me, batting her eyelashes and demanding acknowledgement. I didn’t feel comfortable taking her seat when she was right there.

Pentarra followed my gaze, and chuckled with what sounded like fondness…tempered with a hint of derision.

“You are dismissed, Pen’awen,” Pentarra told her.

Pennie’s face fell.

And then…she smiled. Hugely. Fakely. She turned on her heels and departed down the middle of the banquet hall, her lekku bouncing jauntily.

I watched her go. And then I went up the steps, and took Pennie’s seat.

As I did, the entire hall felt different. We were sitting on the elevated platform, raised above everyone else, and from where we sat the men’s and women’s sides were flip-flopped. Looking straight ahead, I could see the large, round metal chronometer that hung over the hall’s main entrance—the kind with hands that move, and a pendulum below that swung, instead of the kind with a holodisplay.

Pentarra’s table had already been served, as he was always the first to eat at every meal. I took a bread roll from the basket, and put it on my plate.

“Luke Skywalker…” Pentarra mused. “I had expected him to be a ruthless warrior. A skilled magician. But…he was neither. Simply a quiet man. And quiet men are weak.”

I nodded quietly.

Then quickly blurted, “Uh—yeah—for sure.”

“I gave him Fa’nakhra to be trained in his magic, many years ago,” Pentarra said, without looking up from his bread. “I did not think much of it at the time. It was an easy way to rid myself of her. But it turned out to be fortuitous. He tamed her, you see.”

I looked over to the farthest table where Fannie was, and observed her gentle movements as she took bread from a servant girl and distributed it among her mother and sisters. Pennie arrived at the table, and Fannie offered her a roll—I watched Pennie slap it away and send it tumbling across the stone floor.

I was curious what Pentarra had to say about Fannie becoming a Jedi. Fannie had told me her own version of events: that she had been angry and spiteful until the Force transformed her, giving her peace and an inner anchor. She always spoke fondly of this change.

It was evident Pentarra saw it positively, too…but in a very different way.

“Tamed her?” I echoed, watching Fannie patiently chase after the runaway bread.

“Oh, yes,” Pentarra affirmed. “You may not be able to tell. But Fa’nakhra used to be wild, defiant—headstrong. I do like that in a woman, sometimes—but…not in a daughter.” He ripped his bread in half with both hands, so that the fluffy inside part was exposed, then tore into it with his sharp-filed teeth.

His manner of eating was strangely graphic. I’d never seen someone eviscerate a piece of bread before.

“Thankfully,” Pentarra went on, “Skywalker’s magic altered her, and whatever training she endured subdued her. And now Fa’nakhra is mild, gentle—quiet. As any woman should be.” He discarded the empty husk of his bread roll, and reached for another.

I wondered if Pentarra really hated bread crusts that much, or if wasting food was a symbol of wealth to him.

All I knew was—it hurt to see those bread crusts just sitting there.

I like bread crusts.

“You met my daughter at Skywalker’s academy, no?” Pentarra asked, his mouth full of bread. He didn’t bother to cover his mouth when he spoke. It was gross…but I tried to pretend I didn’t notice. I knew I was in no position to comment on his manners—even if I only used my face.

“Uh…yeah, yeah, I did.”

“So you are also a Jedi, then.”

Geez. Everyone expected me to be a Jedi—even my girlfriend’s sleemo father.

“Well…no,” I said.

“Then you must be a diplomat, like your mother.”

“Also no.”

“Hm,” said Pentarra. “Ben Solo. Solo… Who is your father?”

“Han Solo, the Rebellion general—”

“—the smuggler!” Pentarra exclaimed, impressed. “Yes, of course…I have heard of Han Solo. And I have heard many tales of his exploits—though, not recently.”

“Yeah, he, uh…settled down,” I explained sheepishly.

“I can understand that,” Pentarra said breezily. “Yes…even for a man of his reputation, there is indeed no comfort like that of women.”

“Y…yeah,” I said, forcing a bite of bread down my dry throat.

“So,” Pentarra said, considering me thoughtfully, as if I were some puzzle he was working out. “You are not a Jedi. Nor are you a diplomat, nor do you seem like a smuggler. What are you then?”

“I’m, um…a writer,” I said.

“A writer?” Pentarra mused, raising an eyebrow in interest—though I suspected he thought my profession odd rather than admirable. “What does a writer do?”

“Well—write.”

Pentarra laughed uproariously. “My mistake,” he said, wiping an eye with one ringed finger. He was wearing a lot of rings, with many different colors of gemstones. “I should not have asked.”

I laughed, too. “I write a lot of different stuff,” I explained. “Poetry. Stories. I went to college to study journalism, and now I write for a news publication on Naboo.”

“So…you are a newsman,” Pentarra said with satisfaction, as if he had solved his puzzle. “I do not trust newsmen. Newsmen are all liars.”

“You’ve no idea,” I muttered.

“I do not trust newsmen—but I do like them,” Pentarra said cheerfully. “I like the way they spin things. I do not like the way they write about me, of course. But—that is why I pay them not to.” He flashed a conspiratorial smile.

“What kinds of things would they have to say about you that you don’t like?” I asked curiously.

“Well,” said Pentarra with an amiable sigh, “they say I have killed many men. They say I have stolen much wealth. They say I have ravaged many women.”

“So…you’ve done none of these things?” I asked cautiously.

“I have not killed. I have not stolen. I have not ravaged,” said Pentarra coolly. “What I have done is this: I have prevailed. I have amassed. I have seduced. Do you see the difference?”

“...Sure,” I said.

And then I paused, remembering the odd exchange I’d had with Vataash at the bonfire.

“...Would there be any newsmen who might claim you contributed toward the construction of the Death Star?” I asked.

“The Death Star?” Pentarra repeated nonchalantly.

“Yeah. The Death Star,” I repeated. “You know. The primary weapon of the Empire during the Galactic Civil War.”

Pentarra didn’t say anything. He took another bite of meat.

“I assume that you know what I’m talking about,” I said, feeling bold. “Your sons don’t seem very educated, but I trust that you are.”

Pentarra looked at me slowly, and swallowed—a nasty, throaty gulp that I could hear even through the din of the great hall.

“My…you are full of questions, Ben Solo,” he said softly, his tone suddenly lilting and dangerous. He fixed me with his piercing yellow eyes, and I began to wonder if a man like him had people in this very room who would kill me if he gave the word.

He cleared his throat, wiping his ringed fingers slowly and deliberately with his napkin. “And…where did you get this lead, newsman?”

He placed the napkin down on the table again, and leaned in close.

Too close.

I found myself eyeing the carving knife, slightly askew on the platter with the roast meat—my closest weapon, should I need it—

“An…anonymous tip,” I said cautiously.

Pentarra’s lip curled dangerously, and my heart began to race.

“—named Vataash,” I added hurriedly.

Pentarra’s eyes flickered. He took a measured breath.

…And then he sat back.

I dared to breathe again.

“Vataash…!” echoed Pentarra thoughtfully. He redirected his gaze to the nearest men’s table, where Vataash sat with his brothers. “Well! Well, well, well. Pay him no mind, Ben Solo. Vataash is only a foolish boy. I assure you…I was merely a boy myself at the time of the Galactic Civil War. Though…I am honored you would have assumed me to be so influential, at such an early age. Yes—I will choose to interpret your question that way, and overlook the possible implication that you may think my youth has escaped me.”

As untrustworthy as Pentarra was, he did seem to be telling the truth. He didn’t look much older than my own parents. If anything, he looked even younger—in his early-to-mid forties, maybe.

And then Pentarra laughed, and I could smell the ale on his breath. And I could tell he was in a good mood again—which was more than fine with me.

“Questions, questions, questions,” he crowed. “You are a newsman! Are you planning to write about me, Ben Solo?”

“Well—I might be,” I said. “But…not to give to the news.”

“I trust you will not write about me unfavorably, then,” Pentarra said pleasantly. “I like you. Yes: I like you. And I know my daughter likes you, too.”

“You mean…Pen’awen?” I asked. “Or Fa’nakhra?”

“Oh, Fa’nakhra, of course,” Pentarra answered. “I am no fool. I know Pen’awen does not like you any more than she can think to use you to her own ends. She is cunning…like her father. But Fa’nakhra does like you, and as I said, she has always been the most particular of my children. So tell me, Ben Solo: what is it that you like about her?”

His question took me by surprise. I looked at him, trying to read the situation. It almost felt like that cliché where the girl’s dad asks the boyfriend what his intentions with his daughter are…and then, like, cocks his blaster rifle or something.

But…I knew Ruut Pentarra was not that kind of father.

Pentarra seemed largely focused on his food. Still, he looked at me and raised his brow, prompting me to speak.

“Well, um…” I put my bread back down on my plate and rubbed my fingers on my napkin, because I couldn’t talk and eat at the same time. “I like that she’s—well, she’s—a very…accomplished…Jedi, and…a noble person, and…we’re good friends, me and her. We’ve supported each other through a lot. She’s…really…nice—”

“She is the least beautiful out of all my daughters,” Pentarra interrupted bluntly—and if I had been eating anything at that moment, it would’ve wound up in my windpipe, right about then.

“...What?” I croaked.

“Do you not think so?” he asked.

I was at a loss for words. I knew Pentarra wasn’t a good dad—far from it. But hearing him call his daughter ugly—to me, the one dating her—hadn’t been on my list of expectations for the evening.

“I think she’s…fine,” I said awkwardly.

“Well, perhaps she is fine ,” Pentarra said. “But considering my own good looks, as well as that of her mother’s—when her mother was younger, at least—it is a disappointment she did not come out more beautiful.” He chuckled, and knocked back his tankard.

And I laughed back, fakely. I didn’t want to, but I did. Because when Ruut Pentarra is less than a foot away from you, you do as he does.

I began to sweat beneath my tunic.

“Yes—she is too short,” Pentarra commented, seeming to have taken my laughter as approval. “And…how shall I put it… heavy—and I have always thought her lekku were too big.”

A servant girl came to the table to refill our glasses. Pentarra gazed lecherously at her, and shifted in his seat to observe her from another angle. The girl made eye contact with me to avoid looking at him—there was fear in her eyes.

She hurried away as soon as she had filled our cups.

“That was Hassacha,” Pentarra said idly, pointing at the girl as she left.

Hassacha… Pennie had listed her as one of Pentarra’s bedmates last night. Judging by Hassacha’s body language, it did not seem to be her choice.

“Hassacha is a beautiful creature,” Pentarra said. “She has fine lekku: supple, but not fat. Then again…some men enjoy fat lekku. I am not one to judge.” He casually turned back to me with his now-full tankard, as if we were discussing speeder models. “Is that the case for you, Ben Solo? Do you like large lekku?”

Oh, this was awful. I was very uncomfortable now.

“Well, I, um…don’t really think it matters…what Fannie…Fa’nakhra…looks like,” I said at last.

“I suppose not,” Pentarra said lightly. “If a woman does her job well, it doesn’t matter how pretty she is. Still, Fa’nakhra has always been rather…rigid.” He paused, then turned to me. “Though…perhaps you have found a way past her coldness?”

He looked at me curiously, much in the way his sons had looked when they had asked. This was a man who was way too interested in his daughters, in a way that was very, very weird.

“Well, she doesn’t want to do anything like that until she’s married,” I said lamely, desperately wishing for a change of subject.

“What does it matter what she wants?” Pentarra asked coolly. “She may be a Jedi, but she is a woman, Ben Solo. You should not let her rule over you.”

“...Well, I, uh…I don’t mind. I’m…more attracted to her personality, anyway,” I said—and cringed, because it was a cringey thing to say, but it was the best I could come up with on the spot.

“Hm,” said Pentarra, dipping his bread into his stew. “That is probably Fa’nakhra’s only asset: her mildness. Though…as you have mentioned, she does retain an irritating tendency to hold to restrictive and narrow-minded ideas.”

“…You mean she disapproves of your relationship with Pen’awen,” I said.

Pentarra smiled wryly into his bowl. “Perhaps that is what I meant, yes.”

“...How long have you been interested in Pennie?” I asked—not sure if I wanted to know—but morbidly curious nonetheless. “As her father, I imagine you have known her her entire life.”

“Oh, I have always noticed she was beautiful, ever since she was young,” Pentarra said casually.

“How young?” I asked, before I could think—and then kind of wished I hadn’t.

Pentarra smiled toothily.

“There, there. I know your New Republic has laws about such things,” he said lithely. “Ryloth is not part of the New Republic—but I will assure your conscience anyway. Pen’awen is an adult now, according to your laws.”

Yeah—emphasis on “now,” I thought.

I wondered what laws Ryloth did have. Just because it wasn’t part of the New Republic didn’t mean it didn’t have its own government and legislation. But…I also had a feeling it didn’t matter what laws Ryloth had. Pentarra was a lawless man.

Well…now I had even more questions. But they were questions I was too afraid to ask.

“Whether she is an adult or not,” I said carefully, “where I come from, it’s generally looked down on for family members to relate as you and Pen’awen do.”

“I’m aware,” said Pentarra, unmoved. “And where I come from, Ben Solo, it is generally looked down on for species to mix, as you and Fa’nakhra do.”

He watched me for a reaction. When I said nothing, Pentarra smiled.

“...Of course, I harbor no judgment against you, Solo,” he said amiably. “You’ll find I am a very open-minded man. I do not think there ought to be any rules in love.”

I thought there ought to be some. Consent, at least. Equal power dynamics. Mutual respect.

But…I kept that to myself.

“Fashha was the prettiest of my women, before she grew old,” Pentarra continued. “Out of all her four daughters, Pen’awen resembles her beauty most closely. Ginevrah is thin, but too thin. Coneeyla has curves, but too many. Fa’nakhra—well, I need not mention her at all. But Pen’awen… Pen’awen is perfect. And although Pen’awen has more of my coloring, more of my spirit—she is yet the perfect image of her mother, all those years ago.”

I couldn’t believe it…but for the first time, I felt kind of bad for Ginnie and Connie. Yeah, it pissed me off that they were always criticizing Fannie’s appearance…but maybe Fannie wasn’t the only one whose body was being constantly judged.

I felt bad for Fashha, too. The way Pentarra talked about her, you’d think she was ninety years old. She wasn’t even forty. And she had a twenty-two-year-old daughter.

I cleared my throat.

“You know, Ruut…” I challenged slowly, knowing I was taking a risk. “You’re as many years older now as Fashha is. Do you think that you’ve stayed as good-looking as you once were, twenty years ago?”

Pentarra smiled a sharp-toothed smile. I hadn’t known if he and I were really on a first name basis…but I had a feeling that a certain amount of controlled cheekiness would actually increase one’s favor with him.

I also had a feeling that it was a steep, steep dropoff. And that if I got a little too cheeky, well—I just might die tonight. I knew I had to toe the line with him.

But boy, would I toe it.

“Well, Ruut?” I asked again. “Do you?”

“‘ Stayed as good-looking?’” Pentarra echoed. “No, not at all, Ben Solo.” He paused for effect. “I think I’ve improved.”

It was a joke meant to earn my laughter—and I did humor him, to be safe. But I could also tell he fully believed it.

I wonder what would happen if this guy was locked in a room with my mom, I thought to myself. Maybe she’d take him out the way she took out Jabba.

“Twi’lekslayer” would have sounded kind of bad for PR, though.

Pentarra hefted a sigh, and took another heavy swig of ale. “You know…it is a shame that Fashha did not bear any sons before she stopped conceiving.”

Stopped conceiving. I remembered what I’d observed from the family tree, and what I could observe even now—that Fashha had had fewer children than Pentarra’s other wives.

“What do you mean, ‘stopped conceiving?’” I asked. “Like…she developed a health condition?”

Pentarra smiled dryly. “Ben Solo…has anyone ever suggested to you that you are…what’s the word …nosy?”

“I prefer to say I’ve got an investigative spirit,” I said.

“So you do,” Pentarra chuckled…but did not answer my question. “In any case…Pena’wen was Fashha’s last. Luckily, I have been blessed with many other children, including many sons.”

“You seem to have more sons than daughters, in fact,” I said. “Fa’nakhra showed me your family tree.”

If I hadn’t seen the family tree, I’m not sure I would have noticed. The ratio of men to women in the hall was about equal—and most of the women were young, the right age to be his children. But while all of the men present were his sons (with the exception of a few guests), the majority of the women here were not his daughters, but his mates.

And then there was Pennie, of course. Who was both.

I glanced back at the far table, where Pennie and Fannie were gripped in conversation.

Huh. That could either be really, really good, or really, really bad.

I made a mental note of it.

“Yes, I do have many sons,” Pentarra agreed with a smile. “And I am lucky to have it so.”

“How is it possible?” I asked. “With so many children, one would expect a fairly equal distribution of girls and boys.”

Pentarra squinted at me. “What do you mean to imply?”

I shrugged. “Hey, just a question. Newsman. You know.”

“Well, I have not interfered with nature,” Pentarra said with an indignant sniff. “And why would I? It would be such a waste. Daughters are useful, after all. Daughters can be issued as gifts. Daughters can be given away to Jedi. Daughters can replace their aging mothers.”

The surface of my stew was beginning to congeal.

“But of course,” Pentarra said slowly, “I do not know what my women have done. It is possible some of them have chosen not to keep their daughters, thinking it more honorable to have sons instead.”

Or perhaps, to spare their daughters the fate of being yours, I thought darkly.

“Yes…I think there must be some women who choose only to bear sons,” Pentarra mused. “But these women are silly. Tell me, Ben Solo: you are well-traveled, no?”

“Decently well-traveled, I guess.”

Pentarra nodded. “Then tell me: in your travels across the galaxy, how many Twi’lek women have you seen? And how many Twi’lek men?”

“Definitely more women than men.”

“Then you understand,” Pentarra said. “On Ryloth, it is our sons who are valued. But off Ryloth, it is our daughters who are most sought after. They are prized as mates—whether lifelong, or for a night.” He swirled his tankard around. “Even the less pretty ones, like Fa’nakhra, can price themselves well.”

Now there was a thought I did not want to entertain. I wondered what would have become of Fannie, had Luke never found her.

I tapped the surface of my stew with a piece of bread—it wrinkled, but did not break.

“You have had the privilege of associating with my sons, have you not?” Pentarra asked.

“Uh, yeah—we went hunting together,” I said. “And we hung out again today.” (How ironic, that I was now being more honest with Ruut Pentarra than I was with Fannie.) “Your sons are…definitely a lively bunch.”

“Yes. Sometimes too lively,” Pentarra remarked. “I’m sure you observed how I had to discipline Nabohri last night.”

“Oh, we all did,” I assured him, poking at my cold stew.

Pentarra paused.

“...I sense your judgment,” he said, in a sober tone.

I looked up at him awkwardly. I hadn’t meant to reveal anything. But clearly, Pentarra had seen some thing.

Maybe I was as easy to read as Pennie claimed I was.

“Do you judge me, Ben Solo?” Pentarra asked darkly. “I will remind you that I have spared you my judgment. I do not think it fair that you reserve yours.”

“Well…I don’t think it’s great to hit your kids,” I admitted. “And…Nabohri’s a grown man. Even if he doesn’t act like one.”

I genuinely expected Pentarra to be angry with me for contradicting him. Instead, he seemed impressed that I was bold enough to. He raised his brow, sipped his ale, and settled back into his chair.

“Hm,” he said thoughtfully, as if we were merely discussing an interesting cultural disparity. “Children in your New Republic must be so unruly. Yes, Nabohri is grown—but that makes it all the more shameful he still needs to be taught. In any case…I think my lesson was well-received. Look at Nabohri. See how much calmer he is tonight.”

He gestured toward the right side of the room, where the men sat in front of us. I looked, too, and found the table where Nabohri was sitting, in the middle of the hall.

He was right. Nabohri was definitely quieter. But…I wouldn’t have said he looked calm. Sure, he had been more relaxed at the bonfire, when it was only the guys and we’d all been drinking—but now, back in the dining hall and back in his father’s presence, Nabohri looked…

…well, traumatized.

Nabohri wasn’t the only quiet one tonight. I also noticed Mikal, who was sitting stone-still at a table further away, while his brothers laughed and shouted and stuck their hands in each other’s stew.

“You know, Mikal seems a bit different from the rest of your sons,” I remarked, without taking my eyes off the kid. “He doesn’t seem to fit in.”

“Ah…Mikal,” said Pentarra slowly. “Yes. Mikal was born different.”

“Born different? How so?”

“Well, you can see it with your eyes, Ben Solo. He is Lethan .” The word rolled off Pentarra’s tongue with a harsh rasp.

“He’s…what?”

“His skin. It is red as blood.” Pentarra gestured again, and I realized how easy it was to pick Mikal out from the rest of the guys—and how easy it was to pick him out from the entire room. He was the only red-skinned Twi’lek in the hall…and, I suspect, in the house.

“Where is Mikal’s mom?” I asked.

“Kuhrii is over there,” said Pentarra, waving his hand now toward the left side of the room. “At the fourth table.”

Kuhrii was sitting with her daughters, including one very young girl that she was bouncing on her knee. She had her back to me, but I could see that she had lavender-colored skin.

“Why does Mikal have red skin?” I asked. “He doesn’t look like you or his mother.”

“No one knows why some Twi’leks are Lethan,” Pentarra answered, gutting his sixth or seventh bread roll (I had lost count). “It is a rare lot to be cast.”

So…it was a genetic anomaly. Humans sometimes have a genetic condition where they don’t produce melanin, so that their skin and hair are nearly white. I wondered if Mikal’s condition was similar.

“Is it considered …good to be Lethan?” I asked, failing to replicate the Twi’leki rasp in the word. “Or bad? Or…neither?”

“It can be good or bad,” answered Pentarra. “In fact, it is either good or bad—never neutral.”

“What do you mean?”

“So many questions!” Pentarra chuckled. “Well…it can be a good thing in a Twi’lek woman. Her red skin usually corresponds to passion…cunning…a fiery spirit. But it can also be bad—she may be selfish, and loyal only to herself. As for men…a Lethan male may be a ruthless warrior, hungry for blood as red as his skin. But one needs only to look at Mikal to see he is no warrior, Ben Solo. He is small. Quiet . Weak. For him? I fear the red skin is a bad omen. Bad luck.”

“He’s still just a kid,” I said, defensive for Mikal’s sake. “He’s not done growing yet.” And you’re not so big a guy, either, I thought—but I certainly didn’t dare say that aloud.

“Vataash was twice his size at his age,” Pentarra said simply.

Yeah, well—Vataash and Mikal also had different moms. I couldn’t remember who Vataash’s mom was, if that was something I had even learned—but looking at Kuhrii, I could see she was a smaller-than-average woman. She was both as short as Fannie and as slender as Ginnie.

“Well…I don’t know how much I buy it,” I said slowly. “The idea that Lethan Twi’leks all have certain traits determined by the color of their skin. I don’t believe in biological determinism.”

“Biological…determinism?” Pentarra echoed haltingly, repeating my words with amusement. “My, Ben Solo, you truly are a university scholar. On Ryloth, we simply say ‘fate’.”

“I don’t believe in fate, either.”

“Do you believe in the Force?” Pentarra asked. “As Fa’nakhra does?”

I scratched the side of my face. I hadn’t expected to have to field this question from him.

“I…I don’t know,” I said. “I guess it’s pretty clear it exists. I just…don’t really know what that means.”

“I believe in the Force,” Pentarra said, and I looked at him in surprise. “Yes…I do. The Force’s presence has been with me indeed, that I should have gained all that I have.” He raised his arms grandly to the entire hall: to the high-vaulted ceiling, to the food before us, to his many servants, children, and mates. “And the goddess Tollah has blessed me richly.”

Somehow, I wasn’t convinced it had been given to him by the Force. Or by any spiritual power, for that matter.

The Force…

As if on cue, I felt something pull my attention to the back of the hall, where Fannie’s family sat. Something felt wrong, all of a sudden.

And right as I looked, I saw Pennie shove Fannie—off the bench, and to the ground.

I immediately stood, and Pentarra turned to me curiously.

“Sorry,” I said, sidling out from my place at the table. “I, uh, gotta go.”

“Wait, Ben Solo,” said Pentarra, and even though I didn’t want to wait, because I wasn’t sure if I could afford to—I waited, because Pentarra is not someone you disobey.

I froze where I stood.

“Please,” he said cordially. “Join me at my table for a special banquet tomorrow night—men only. Here, in the dining hall, at seven o’ clock.”

My gaze flickered to the back of the hall, then to Pentarra. “Men…only?” I asked.

“Oh, don’t worry, there will be women,” Pentarra assured me. “But…they will be the entertainment. Not the guests.”

I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that.

“Can I, uh…get back to you on that?” I asked, glancing back at Fannie’s table. Fashha had stood, and appeared to be scolding Pennie.

Pentarra smiled…but not in a way that put me at ease.

“Perhaps you are not aware what an honor I am extending to you, Ben Solo,” he said warmly—but it was a dangerous warmth. “Only a select list of guests are invited to the gentlemen’s banquet, which I host every moon in celebration of the goddess Tollah and her best gifts to men. Even fewer are invited to personally dine here, at my table, as you have so done tonight. Not even my eldest sons sit at this table.”

I stared at him, lost for words.

“I insist, Ben Solo,” Pentarra said darkly, sounding insulted. “And I do not like to have my generosity refused.”

Well. What was I supposed to say?

“Okay—okay—sure,” I said hurriedly. “I’ll see ya then.”

And I sprinted to the other side of the dining hall.

Fashha was still scolding Pennie when I got there—though Connie and Ginnie were markedly silent, smirking at each other and pretending only to pay attention to their plates. Pennie was talking over her mother in furious Twi’leki, her voice high-pitched and abrasive, while Fannie sat on the ground in shock.

I dropped to the ground beside her.

“Fan. Fan,” I said, clapping my hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Yes,” she murmured. “Fine.”

I looked at Pennie and Fashha, who were still arguing, and then at Connie and Ginnie, who were looking at me, now, as if disinterestedly watching a holodrama that had just come on.

I took Fannie’s hand with a firm grasp, and pulled her to her feet. “C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get outta here,” I told her quietly, and towed her out of the dining hall. “Geez. We are never gonna have a night where we finish our dinner like normal people, are we?”

Fannie managed a weak laugh, and gripped my hand as I pulled her along. “Well—to be fair, Ben: I never had any trouble finishing my dinner, until you came to visit.”

“Figures,” I said. “I have a tendency to bring drama wherever I go.”

I cast a glance behind me as we went.

Pentarra was still observing me from where he sat, stroking his chin.

Chapter Text

Fannie had said earlier that she hadn’t wanted the two of us in her chambers alone, but she said nothing when I took her up to the east wing and brought her to her family’s quarters. She was probably too shaken up to think it was important at the moment.

I propped the door open with a vase and put some extra distance between us, just to be safe. I made her sit down on her bed, and took a seat on one of the cushions at the low table. It felt silly, having a conversation with her from ten feet away…but she didn’t say anything about that, either.

“Tell me what happened,” I said, once we were settled. “Why did Pennie push you?”

“Well…” Fannie rubbed her hands together anxiously. “Perhaps I spoke too boldly to her. I know that I feel it very strongly, whenever I believe something to be true, but—perhaps my words need not always be so strong. Oh, Ben, you have to understand—Pennie speaks to me so rarely nowadays—I felt like, since she was there at our table, it might be my only chance to get through to her…”

“Fan,” I said gently. “Start from the beginning. I’m listening. You know I think you’re a good person. You don’t need to worry about what I think.”

Fannie looked at me, then nodded.

“Well…all right. Let me back up, then. I asked her how she enjoyed her afternoon with you, first.”

“And…what did she say?” I asked, feeling nervous.

“Not much,” Fannie said, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief. “So then I asked her how she was doing. She said she was fine. And I asked her if she meant it, and she asked me why she would have said it, if she hadn’t meant it.”

“Kinda sounds like she didn’t really wanna talk to you.”

“Well…I suppose not,” said Fannie. “But…she hadn’t said so out loud. If she had told me that she did not wish to speak to me, of course I would have honored that. But I wasn’t about to stop speaking with her simply because she was being a bit unfriendly. After all, Ben—the only way to maintain the very last bit of relationship I have with her is to show her that I love her—whether she treats me kindly or not.”

I could see where Fan was coming from…but I could also relate to Pennie in a way. My mom always worried about me, and even though I knew it came from a place of love, it did make me feel kind of smothered.

“Okay,” I said. “So…then what?”

“I…asked her if our father was treating her well,” Fannie said. “And she said—‘Pentarra is not my father, he is my mate.’ And, oh, Ben—that angered me so much, that he has so deluded her. So I said to her…‘But he is your father. You are his daughter. We are all his daughters.’ And then, when Pennie did not say anything…I suppose that is when I became a little too bold.”

“What did you do?”

“I looked her in the eyes,” Fannie said, her voice swelling powerfully in her chest. “And I said to her: ‘Pen’awen. Our father cast our mother aside for other women. He has cast his other wives aside for you. He does not love you any more than he can devour you in his greed, and cast you away when he considers you spent. Do you not think your turn will one day come?’”

Her words echoed off of the high ceiling. And I myself began to feel intimidated.

“...Wow,” I said.

“And that was when she pushed me off the bench.”

“No kidding.”

Fannie looked at me. “Ben…do you think it was wrong of me to say that to her?”

I shrugged and scratched my neck.

“Well…I don’t think it was wrong, Fan. I agree with everything you said to her. But I think sometimes people have their minds made up, and there’s nothing we can say or do to change them. When someone’s in a spot like that, reaching out will only make ‘em close off even more. I’ve been there before—you know I have.”

Fannie sighed, and fiddled with her skirts in her lap.

“Pennie’s gonna do whatever Pennie wants to do,” I told her solemnly. “And whatever she does, you can’t hold yourself responsible for your sister’s choices, Fan. It sucks. I know. But you’re gonna have to be able to accept that, if you don’t want it to eat you up.”

“No…I can’t believe that,” Fannie insisted, shaking her head. “I can’t believe that there is nothing I can do.”

I felt bad for her. Maybe my weakness was being too ready to accept a galaxy where some things are wrong and have always been wrong and will always be wrong, no matter what you do. But Fannie’s weakness was that she couldn’t accept it at all.

“Well…maybe you’re right, Fan,” I said gently. “Maybe there isn’t nothing you can do. But…there’s definitely nothing you can do right now. Pennie’s not gonna want to talk to you for a while, after what you said. And maybe, not even because you were wrong. Maybe because, deep down, she knows you were right.”

Fannie’s head snapped up all of a sudden.

“You have to tell me how your afternoon with her went,” she demanded. “Were you able to learn anything from her? Did she open up to you at all?”

I blinked. Fannie sure had a lot of expectations about this hangout with Pennie that I hadn’t even had. Luckily, I did happen to have learned a lot about Pennie, thanks to our night in the lounge.

At the same time…it didn’t feel right to unpack all of that with Fan. Not when Pennie had such a complicated relationship with her. Not when she thought Fannie only wanted to judge and control her.

“Actually…Pennie did open up,” I said—and I wasn’t really lying, because although Pennie hadn’t spent the afternoon with me, she had opened up to me. “Yeah…she shared with me quite a bit. I don’t know how much I can tell you, though. If there’s anything she wants you to know, she should probably tell you herself. But…yeah, I learned a lot about her.”

“Stars, I’m so glad,” Fannie said—and then she clasped her hands together. “Oh, Ben…she really seems to like you. Much more than she seems to like me. I mean…goodness! I can’t believe she spent all afternoon with you, showing you around the house and telling you about herself. And, the way she wanted to escort you to the front of the dining hall—she really does seem to have a connection with you. Do you…think that you could get through to her? Perhaps? With a little more time?”

I was silent.

“...I, um…I don’t know, Fan,” I said quietly. “Let’s…just…take a little break from thinking about it for now.”

Fannie’s large eyes grew sad.

But she nodded.

“...Okay,” she sighed.

I stood and held out my hand, and she got up and joined me, and we went out on the balcony together. The sun was still setting over the rocky outcroppings, even though it was past seven o’clock. I marveled that on Ryloth, November was still summer.

“It’ll be okay, Fan,” I told her. And I wasn’t sure what I meant by that—I wasn’t sure what, exactly, I was claiming would be okay—but…I did mean it, whatever I meant.

“My family is nothing at all like yours, is it?” Fannie asked ruefully.

“No,” I said, putting my arm around her shoulders. “Nothing like them at all.”

I turned to look at her, the last of the sun’s rays glowing warm against her skin, and I reached out with my free hand to run my knuckles against her cheek. She closed her eyes, leaning into my touch.

“Yo,” I said. “Fan. I know it’s been rough for you, ever since you started living here full-time again. But…I think you’re doing all right. I think it’s amazing that you’ve turned out to be such a…good person, having come from a place like this.”

“Hm.” Fannie smiled down at the railing, then pulled me closer to her. “I told you, Ben. I’m not a good person. I am merely a person. Any goodness you see in me is what the light side of the Force has wrought in me, and managed to keep alive.”

“Well, however you wanna say it— I think you’re a good person,” I told her, and laid a kiss on the top of the head.

She giggled softly, and took my hand to kiss it back.

I grinned. She was absolutely adorable, her father’s and brothers’ opinions be damned.

As the sun slowly disappeared behind the mountains, the blushing pinks and reds and oranges gave way to dusky, sleepy blues. One by one, the stars began to wake—bright, winking pinpricks in the sky, like pearls in a tapestry.

And then Fannie turned to me.

“...Do you think you’re a good person, Ben?” she asked.

My smile faded.

I drew away from her in silence, and a gust of wind blew between us, low and forlorn.

Well. Wasn’t that a great question.

A herd of kortokks screeched faintly in the distance.

“...No,” I told her, looking out at the rocky mountainsides, watching them become dark silhouettes against the deep blue sky. “I…I don’t think I am. Sure—I’m capable of doing good things, sometimes. Occasionally. But…I’m not a good person. I’m just …a person.”

I realized, strangely, that I had said almost the exact same words that she’d said.

“I am merely a person. Any goodness within me is what the light has wrought and kept alive.”

“Sure, I’m capable of doing good things, sometimes. But I’m not a good person.”

And yet, somehow…she and I were saying two completely different things.

I began to wonder what the two of us were even doing together.

Someone like her…

…and someone like me.

I felt her tuck her hand back into mine, and I looked at her.

“...For what it’s worth, love,” Fannie said quietly, “I think there’s a lot more goodness within you than you fully realize or are willing to see.”

“Well…I appreciate that,” I told her, even if I wasn’t sure I believed her.

Because…I knew there was a whole lot of bad in me, too, that maybe she didn’t realize, or wasn’t willing to see.

…That I wasn’t going to let her see.

“But how was dinner with my father, dear?” Fannie asked, changing the subject. “I suppose he was charming as always.”

“Oh, he was charming, all right,” I said, half sarcastic, and half not.

Fannie picked up on the hint of sincerity. “Ben, I was joking,” she said. “Surely you don’t think so?”

“Well…he is charming,” I said. “He’s not a good guy . But he’s definitely interesting.”

“‘Interesting?’” Fannie echoed.

“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t like him, you know. But I am fascinated by him.”

Fannie frowned, but said nothing. I could tell she was getting upset.

“Look. Sorry,” I apologized. “Maybe I’m not speaking clearly. I can’t emphasize enough how much I do not like him—”

“Oh, don’t you?” she asked bitterly, pulling her hand away.

Her tone took me by surprise. I began to feel angry, too, that she wouldn’t hear me out and was determined to read ill intentions into my words.

“No!” I protested. “Not at all—look, I never said I liked him or approved of him or anything. But you can’t deny he’s an intriguing character—”

“He’s a horrible person,” Fannie said firmly, and I fell silent. “It’s well enough to be interesting if you’re a character in a book. But he’s a real person, Ben. And real people should be good, not interesting.”

I paused, and thought about it.

I supposed I could see what she meant.

“...You’re right,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t respond.

“...I’m sorry,” I repeated. “Yeah, you’re right—he’s not just some guy. He’s your father, and you have a specific relationship and history with him. I should’ve kept that in mind before I started running my mouth.”

She stayed quiet. In the quickly-fading light, it was difficult to see her face.

“Aw, Fan…don’t do this,” I begged. “You know I hate when you just stop talking. Please. Don’t shut down. It freaks me the hell out.”

“Language.”

“Oh, good. You’re still here. You know, maybe I should just start cussin’ whenever—”

She swatted me, which I deserved.

“...Sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

“...I love you, Fan.”

“I love you, too, Ben.”

I reached for her hand again, and squeezed.

She squeezed back.

And I knew, then, that we were gonna be okay.

I decided to be patient, and give her some time to collect her thoughts. I did need her to talk to me…but I guessed it didn’t have to be right away. I patted her on the shoulder to show her I cared about her, then rubbed my fingertips against the back of her neck in that way she likes.

See? Sometimes I can be kind of okay at the boyfriend stuff.

After a couple of minutes, Fannie spoke again.

“...I shouldn’t have called my father a horrible person,” she said at last, and I was surprised that that was the first thing she wanted to say. “It wasn’t very Jedi-like of me.”

“Hey,” I said. “I never said your father wasn’t a horrible person. He is. Yeah, I said he was interesting—but only for how awful he is. That was what I meant. And, uh…sorry I raised my voice. I know that freaks you out, as much as it freaks me out when you get quiet.”

“Thank you, Ben…and I’m sorry I got upset, too,” she said. “I suppose you’re right. I can see why one might be fascinated by him…especially a writer like you. I only wish I had a less-interesting father.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I wish your father was a little less interesting, too.”

The sun was gone, now. Fannie shivered in the breeze, and I shuffled behind her and wrapped my arms around her.

“Are we good now, Fan?”

“Yes, dear, we’re good.”

“Good.” I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, and she giggled and reached up to pat the side of my face.

“Oh…yes,” she said suddenly. “Speaking of my father—that reminds me. We will have to eat dinner somewhere else tomorrow, love, as there’s not going to be supper in the hall.”

“There’s not?” I asked.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Pentarra has…well…a personal event. He hosts it once a month.”

The gentlemen’s banquet, I remembered. I was about to tell her Pentarra had invited me—

But then, for some reason, I found myself not wanting to mention it.

“What …kind of personal event?” I asked.

Fannie shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”

“Well…I can guess,” I said. “It’s, like…a stripshow, right?”

Fannie smiled miserably. “I suppose that’s one way to describe it.”

“Have you ever…seen it?”

“No. Women are not allowed. None except for the performers and the servants. Not that I would ever wish to attend, given the opportunity.”

“Has your mother ever been there?”

“Pentarra does not have his own women perform,” she said. “He is much too jealous for that. He hires dancers for his guests to enjoy…though the dancers do more for them than simply dance.” Her face darkened—and then she turned around to face me.

“In any case, Ben,” she said, “there is nothing at the gentlemen’s banquet that would interest a man like you. You would feel out of place—and quite bored. I am sure of it.”

She said this part hurriedly, as if to dissuade my curiosity. And although I knew it was not meant as an insult…somehow it did not exactly feel like a compliment.

But before I could think much more of it, Fannie turned again and laughed bitterly.

“...Why’d you laugh like that?” I asked.

“I was thinking,” she said. “Is it not incredibly ironic? That my own father…the man who sired me, and brought me into the world…should show far more interest in you, Ben Solo, during a single meal and having just met you, than he has shown in me my entire life.”

She stared hard at the dark horizon, her full lips set in a tight line.

She was right.

It was ironic.

“...To be fair,” I said quietly, “you probably wouldn’t have wanted the kind of attention your father has to give. Not if it’s anything like the attention he gives your sister.”

“Well…no…I suppose not, but…” She sighed and shook her head. “I was thinking about this when we were with your family, too, Ben. When I was washing the dishes with your dad, and he asked me what it was like at the Jedi school and what I do now. Your father also showed more interest in me in one single moment, than my own father ever has.”

I rested my chin on the top of her head, and rubbed my hands over her shoulders. We looked out at the sky together.

“Ruut Pentarra may have begotten me,” Fannie said softly. “His blood runs through my veins. And yet…he was never a father to me. Luke was the closest thing I had to a father. But now…”

Then she turned around to face me. “Ben…are we doing the right thing?” she asked, and the pleading in her voice just about did me in.

I didn’t know what to say.

“Well…we’re doing what we want to do,” I said quietly. “Isn’t that enough?”

The look in her eyes told me that, for her, it might not be.

That scared me. I was afraid of what would happen if she decided it wasn’t right for us to be together.

Of course…I also had my doubts about whether she and I were right for each other. But maybe there was something within me almost a little like Ruut Pentarra, and his apparent willingness to defy nature for the woman he wanted. Because I didn’t care if Fannie and I were “supposed to be together” or not. We were just going to be. Like I told Pentarra—I didn’t believe in fate. We’d forge our own fate, damn it. As long as Fannie was willing to follow me down that road, that’s where we were headed—if I had anything to say about it, at least.

And I did come up with something to say. To Fannie, I mean.

“Listen, Fan…” I began (and everything I was about to say to her, I genuinely believed). “I don’t think it’s always easy to say what’s right and wrong. Sure—maybe with some things. It’s wrong to kill people. It’s right to help people. But…who can say whether it’s right or wrong for you and me to be together? Uncle Luke thinks it’s a bad idea—well: I don’t. Why should what he thinks be more true than what I think? Because he’s older? Because he’s a Jedi? I don’t think so.”

Fannie didn’t reply, only listened. I could tell this was going to be another point on which she and I didn’t fully agree. I kept talking anyway.

“Some things are definitely right, and some things are definitely wrong,” I said. “But everything that’s in-between, everything that’s in the gray—that’s where I think people make up good and evil to get others to do what they want them to do, and be how they want them to be. I don’t think it’s our job to figure out whether every little thing is right or wrong. We all see things differently. We all deserve the freedom to decide. You know?”

Fannie was quiet. I knew she was thinking pretty hard. And I knew she was probably about to argue with me.

“…I’m not sure I agree,” she said at last. “It seems clear to me that good and evil are laws written into the universe. Like the pull of gravity. Maybe there are scenarios where it’s more difficult to determine right from wrong, but…I think things usually are one or the other. If you cannot say something is fully right, then by definition it must be wrong. There are few things, I think, that are truly neutral—and even then, a neutral action can be colored by right or wrong intentions.”

“Then who gets to decide what’s right or wrong?” I challenged. “I’ll follow your premise. But if there’s a hard line somewhere, we can’t all be right about where it is—and you’re never gonna get everyone in the galaxy to agree. That’s why we have planetside conflicts—that’s why we have star wars. People fighting about who gets to decide. So: who gets to?”

“Well…I don’t think anyone gets to decide what’s right and wrong, Ben. I think we determine what’s right and wrong.”

“Okay. Semantics. So who gets to determine what’s right and wrong?”

Fannie thought for a moment. “It’s not who gets to determine morality, as if it were a power to wield,” she said. “We all bear the equal responsibility of searching out what is true and right. We all have the obligation to make the best choices we can, according to our consciences.”

“But people’s consciences tell them different things,” I pointed out. “I mean—look at us. You and I like each other a lot, but even we can’t get on the same page. Anyway, if right and wrong are concrete ‘laws,’ like you said—then where did those laws come from?”

“But where did anything come from?” Fannie challenged. “Gravity? Light? The galaxy itself?”

“Okay…now we’re getting a bit into the weeds, I think,” I said, chuckling. “That is a whole other question I’m not prepared to contemplate right now.”

She giggled, too.

And then she paused thoughtfully.

“…I don’t know where the laws of right and wrong come from,” she said at last. “Perhaps they come from the Force. Perhaps from something outside of it. But I am convinced that they exist.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” I asked with a good-natured smirk. “I thought you Jedi had an explanation for everything.”

“The Jedi are merely stewards of the galaxy, not its creators,” Fannie said. “There is much about our universe that even the Jedi do not know. I do not know where good comes from…but I know that it is real. I know that it is true. And I know it is the only thing worth striving for when all is said and done. It just seems to feel that way.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” I asked. “That you don’t have a logical explanation? It would bother me.”

“No,” she said, with a calm sense of conviction. “I feel it so strongly, I have never felt the need to justify it with proof or study.” She looked to the sky. “It is like the moons,” she said. “I know now they are great balls of rock, circling Ryloth from afar and reflecting the light of our sun. But…even when I was a child, and thought they were tiny orbs of magic that came to dance during the night…I knew they were the moons. One need not have a complete understanding of something to know it is real. And beautiful. And important.”

Well. That’s Fannie for you.

I wasn’t entirely convinced. But…I did get her.

“I guess I see what you’re saying,” I said.

We looked up at the moons together—all five of them.

Naboo has three moons.

Hosnian Prime, where my parents live, has one.

Ryloth has five, each of them with their own nightly dance through the sky.

“...I think it is right for you and I to be together,” Fannie said finally, and I tilted my head down to look at her. “…Yes. There is a lot of good in our relationship. We may not see everything in quite the same light, Ben…but you give me help in many different ways, and you teach me many things. Without a doubt, my life is better with you in it.”

“Well. So’s mine,” I murmured.

I held her close as we gazed at the moons.

“They are beautiful,” I said. Then I came up with a real slice of cheese. “Not as beautiful as you, though.”

Fannie smiled and swatted me and I laughed.

Now that I knew I deserved.

“What are the moons called?” I asked. “Do they have names?”

“Well…they are called by different names, depending on the region,” she said. “Here, they are named according to the Tcha’buli mythology. The large one is called Tollah, after the goddess of this place, and the rest are named after her priestess attendants. But when my sisters and I were young, we gave them our own names.”

“What’d you name ‘em?”

She pointed to the largest one, and then to each of them in order from biggest to smallest. “Fashha, Fa’nakhra, Coneeyla, Ginevrah, and Pen’awen.”

“Oh,” I chuckled. “You mean you literally gave them your own names.”

It was fitting. Just as each moon traveled its own orbit, each woman in Fannie’s family had chosen her own path. Sometimes their paths crossed, like starships in the night. Sometimes their paths took them to opposite ends of the sky.

“…Well,” I said. “I think Fa’nakhra is my personal favorite.”

“Is that so?” Fannie giggled. “How come?”

“Oh…she just seems to shine a little brighter than the rest, I think,” I said, nudging her. “Or…maybe it’s a trick of the eyes.”

“Hm.” Fannie smiled modestly. “Whatever she shines is merely the sun’s light reflected on her surface.”

“Well, then,” I answered. “Perhaps Fa’nakhra reflects the sun’s light a bit more than the rest of us.”

Fannie tilted her head back so she could look up at me, her large eyes shining like stars.

“There’s light in you too, Ben Solo,” she murmured.

I gazed at her for a moment.

“...Thanks,” I said.

She looked up at the sky again, her eyes lingering wistfully on the smallest moon. By some strange coincidence, the moon she called Pen’awen held itself a distance away from the others that night.

“...It means a lot to me, you know,” Fannie said quietly, her face clouded with sadness. “You spending time with Pennie. Especially since my efforts to reach her always return to me fruitless.”

“...Yeah, of course,” I said. “Don’t mention it.”

“Do you…think she would want to spend time with you again tomorrow?” Fannie asked hopefully.

I laughed, embarrassed.

“Well, I…I don’t know about that,” I said. “But um…” I cleared my throat. “Actually…I think the two of us oughta spend more time together while I’m here. Whaddaya say, Fan? Want to do something tomorrow? Just you and me?”

Fannie smiled. “Oh…I don’t know,” she said coyly, breaking free from my clasp. “I am hesitant to spend extended time in your presence unchaperoned, Mr. Solo.”

I frowned, confused at first…but I caught on pretty quick.

“Goodness knows it’s certainly bad enough,” she continued in a low voice, “that this evening should find us in my chambers alone.” She looked over her shoulder at me, sporting a sly little look I had never seen on her before.

Whoa.

Holy moly.

My heart began to pound, and I felt like how I had earlier when I’d downed the whiskey. The dim light made her beautifully mysterious: that smile I didn’t recognize, on the person I knew so well.

“Geez Louise, Fan,” I told her. “Don’t tease me like that.”

Her eyes widened, and she dropped the act. “Oh…! I’m sorry, Ben. I didn’t mean to make fun of you—”

“No,” I whispered, coming closer. “I mean…don’t…” I brushed up against her, and ran my fingers up her shoulders. “...tease me…” I leaned down to whisper in her ear. “...like that.”

She shuddered breathlessly. “Ben…”

But I didn’t let her say anything more, because I pulled her into me, and planted a kiss right behind her ear. And then I buried my nose in her neck and kissed her there too, while her face turned warm against my cheek and she tried not to laugh.

“You’re only proving my point,” she breathed. “We shouldn’t be left alone.”

“Hey…we’re not alone,” I told her, holding her at the waist and sliding my hands down around her hips. “The moons are watching. Right?”

She giggled and threaded her fingers through my hair right at the nape of my neck, so that my scalp tingled like crazy—and then there was more hugging and more kissing and, you know, just a general exchange of cooties.

…But you don’t want to hear about all that.

We didn’t carry on long, anyway. Since she had talked about the moons representing her family, the idea of them watching us made things sort of…awkward.

Eventually we wound down. And then I coughed, and lowered my hands to my sides.

“Sorry. I’m, uh…not really into it anymore. Not with the moons watching.”

Fannie laughed, and politely withdrew from me. “I was beginning to feel the same way. Perhaps you should retire to the west wing for the night, love. We’ll spend time together tomorrow—in the light of the sun.”

“Yeah,” I chuckled, scratching the inside of my ear. “That sounds good.”

“You and I can have dinner together, too,” Fannie said, smiling playfully. “We can find a nice little place: somewhere that offers forks, and doesn’t serve snorlii.”

“That also sounds good,” I laughed, and gave her a big hug, squeezing her as tight as I could.

I pulled back so I could look at her again. Her face was flushed, and she was smiling so wide it must’ve hurt.

Geez, she was somethin’.

“Um…Ben?” she said.

“Yeah?”

She stepped back, and I watched as she clasped both my hands in hers.

“I…I would love to be married to you,” she stammered, her eyes sparkling, and she bit her lip and smiled up at me.

I was glad it was dark. I could feel my ears turning red.

“Yeah, could be fun,” I said, with a quiet laugh. “Maybe in a few years.”

We looked at each other, standing there, holding each other’s hands. And I found myself imagining what it would be like if we stood like this in front of our friends and family one day…

And then I cleared my throat, and took a step or two back.

“Geez—look at us saps—I better go,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck, and I was grateful that she knew me too well to be offended. She merely smiled and folded her hands together in her lap. “But um…you’re okay, Fan?”

“Yes, Ben, I’m wonderful,” she smiled.

“You look wonderful,” I told her.

She beamed.

And when she smiled, she did shine like the moon.

We began to head back in from the balcony. But Fannie stopped, and turned over her shoulder.

“Goodnight, Fashha,” she said to the sky, and blew a kiss to each of the moons. “Goodnight, Fa’nakhra. Goodnight, Coneeyla. Goodnight, Ginevrah. Goodnight, Pen’awen.” And then she added, quietly: “May the Force be with you, Pen’awen. May the Force be with you.”

I put my hand on her shoulder as we went back inside. I could feel the immense weight of her compassion for her sister, even if she didn’t always know what to do, or the best way to do it. And…I wished I was doing something to help, like Fannie thought I was.

I gave Fannie a kiss on the cheek goodnight. And then I walked out the door and into the hall.

Fashha and Ginnie were on their way back to the room as I was heading out. I suppressed the urge to scurry past them, and forced myself to smile—I figured it was okay to make eye contact with them, since they knew who I was.

Or…maybe not. They didn’t reciprocate the gesture—though Ginnie deigned to offer me a look of suspicion, while Fashha walked right past me.

“Fannie and I weren’t…doing anything,” I told Ginnie quickly, in case that was the reason she had looked at me like that.

“I wouldn’t have assumed you were,” she said, in a way that was probably not meant to be flattering.

“Where’s Connie?”

“With one of her many boyfriends,” Ginnie replied. “Where else?”

There was just enough bite in her tone to make me wonder if Ginnie was jealous. I hadn’t seen Ginnie with anyone before…which would have made her the only one of her sisters to be single. Even Fannie was in a relationship—and with as much disdain as Ginnie seemed to have for her, that had to feel like a bit of a blow.

“Well…” I replied, “I pity whichever boyfriend Connie is with.”

And I think I coaxed something like a smile from Ginnie. But it vanished immediately—like a reflected glint of starlight.

I walked out to the landing where that giant portrait of Pentarra watched over the atrium, then entered the west wing. On the way to my room, I passed by one of the men’s lounges where Nabohri and some other guys were hanging out.

“Nerra!” Nabohri called. It took me a second to recognize that I was the nerra in question. I turned.

“Yes, you, Ben Solo!” Nabohri laughed—and I laughed too, and walked into the lounge to meet him. It was interesting, the way people on Ryloth pronounced my name by mashing it all together: Bens’olo.

Nabohri raised his fist to me, and I knocked mine against it. Thank the Force that the bro code was universal.

“I wanted to tell you, Solo,” Nabohri said. “We hunt again at noon tomorrow. Will you join?”

The guys all whooped and bounced around me and clapped me on the back, and I felt a rush of pleasure to be included again. But I knew I couldn’t—not this time.

“Sorry,” I said. “I have a date with Fa’nakhra tomorrow.”

This was met with general booing, which I shrugged off good-naturedly.

“Aww,” said Nabohri, flopping his butt down on the armrest of the lounge sofa. “Please. You must join! We want to see how you fare on your own, Ben Solo, and not bogged down with Mikal.”

Mikal was, in fact, present to hear the remark. As before, his brothers seemed quite comfortable putting him down in front of his face.

I tried to throw him an apologetic look (which he saw, but did not react to). I turned back to Nabohri.

“Sorry, Nabohri,” I said. “But I can’t.”

“Fine,” said Nabohri. “We can come up with a solution. How about this? Hunt in the morning, before your time with Fa’nakhra. You may take one of the blurrgs. When you are done, leave your kills at the stables, and we will count them in the contest. I will even promise not to throw your trophies to the blurrgs when no one is looking.” He gave a goofy grin, and everyone laughed.

Nabohri may never have been to school, but he sure was a class clown.

I chuckled. “I mean…sure, yeah, I guess that could work.”

It wasn’t such a bad idea. I also wondered how I’d stack up against the rest of them on my own.

Then I looked around. It seemed odd that Nabohri was the one organizing and making plans for the group.

“Hey,” I said. “Where’s Vataash?”

“I don’t know,” said Nabohri. “Pentarra held him after dinner.”

“Held him after dinner?” I repeated. “Why?”

“I don’t know that, either,” said Nabohri. But…he smirked. And I think it was because he was imagining Vataash getting his lekku yanked instead of him. The ruthless smile of Ruut Pentarra, that I’d seen on Pennie’s lips, now found a home on Nabohri—jester as he was.

I didn’t know what to say.

I gave an awkward wave goodbye, confirmed I’d submit an early entry for the contest, and made my way back to my room.

Chapter Text

Once in my bedroom, I changed into sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, which felt really good after wearing my tunic and my vest and my starchy pants at dinner. It felt good to be alone, too, after a long day. I decided to do some writing by the fire before I went to bed.

However, I ran into a bit of a problem because I forgot I’d closed the flue the night before. (Sound carryover from my neighbors was an issue most nights.) As I sat at the table and wrote, the room became an unintentional smokehouse, and I, a mere gizka in boiling water.

I was halfway through a successful carbon monoxide poisoning before my idiot self realized what was wrong. I cursed and coughed and rushed to open the flue—then threw open the heavy velvet curtains in front of the balcony, and shuddered and hacked as the cool air swept in all at once. I then proceeded to wrestle off my shirt and run around like a headless tipyip, choking and fanning smoke out the balcony, before finally dropping to my knees in the night air. I sweated and coughed and wiped my forearm across my damp brow, then mopped my face with my shirt. Ugh—it was all smoky.

Huh, I thought to myself as I retched, swallowing over and over to moisten my dry throat. If I ever need another bonfire alibi for Fannie—well, here’s a real good one.

And for a second, I felt pretty clever.

But…then I just felt really guilty.

My eyes were already watering from the smoke. But I don’t know if that was the only reason.

I lifted my head and looked at the stars, blurred through a veil of tears, and picked out each moon that hung in the heavens. I found Fannie’s moon, and thought of how I’d stood with her only an hour ago. Thought about how brilliantly she had smiled at me, and how it had felt to crush her against me and laugh.

My chest ached as I considered all that I had to lose.

…Maybe Snoke was right. Maybe going on like this forever would kill me. Maybe I was lighting a fire in a sealed room, only to find myself choking once it was too late.

I sighed and drew myself to my feet, swiping my shirt over my runny nose one last time. I shuffled inside, plopped down in the armchair, and flung my smoky, snotty shirt across the room—it draped lopsidedly over the table where I had been writing. I stared into the fireplace, rubbing my fingers together anxiously.

What if I lost her?

A slow feeling of doom began to settle in, like a low-hanging fog.

And…what if I didn’t lose her?

…Surprisingly, that thought made me feel even worse.

Of course she would make me really happy. There was no doubt about that.

But…I questioned how happy I could really make her. There were a hundred ways in which I wasn’t sure if I was good enough for her. I thought about Pennie, and how she’d described her sister as impossible to please.

Well, Fan wasn’t picky—or else she wouldn’t have picked me. But I had some of the same fears as Pennie. Could I succeed long-term in pleasing Fannie’s sense of morality?

Her sense of duty?

Her desire?

I would love to be married to you, she’d told me, pink as a posy.

Well, I knew what she’d meant by it, both the obvious and the implied. Fannie always told me that she loved me. She often shared dreams of our future together. But she never got flustered about any of that. No…she had meant something else, out on the balcony.

What Fannie had told me was basically her way of saying that she wanted to take me to bed.

Which…was so amusing, coming from her, that I had to chuckle.

…Even as crappy as I currently felt.

Fannie had never made me feel bad for not being interested in sex. If anything, she seemed to appreciate that trait of mine—in the current phase of our relationship, at least. She never had to worry I would take things too far with her. She knew I didn’t face the same temptations other guys did. So…it worked out well for us, in a strange sort of way.

But it wasn’t like I was just such a gentleman, or some model of noble self-restraint. It was just…how I was.

And while it served as a positive for now…

I gazed at the bed that was mine for the week—the bed built big enough for two. Out on the balcony, I had dreamed of our wedding…but wedding days give way to wedding nights. I began to imagine a horrific scene in which I lay huddled on the floor in shame, and she stared at the ceiling and cried. I’m sorry, I’d tell her on my knees, I’m sorry I couldn’t do it, and she’d say, it’s all right, love, because of course she would—but no, it wouldn’t be all right—I had seen the look on her face when I’d joked about having a sexless marriage.

Yes, it would be years before we ever slept together, because she wanted to wait till marriage—yes, that gave me a lot more time to sort through it all. But didn’t it also mean she would look forward to it so much more? That she’d be all the more disappointed when I failed to meet her expectations? I was used to disappointing people. Disappointing people was practically my speciality. But so far, every time I’d disappointed someone, I’d at least had a pair of pants on—

A knock on the door made me nearly jump out of my skin. I gasped for breath—and forgot my throat was all scratchy, and accidentally launched myself into a coughing relapse.

After hacking up both my lungs, I finally got up and went to the door. I figured it was Nabohri, here to provide additional instructions for tomorrow—or I don’t know, just to say hi. I opened the door a crack—

But…it wasn’t Nabohri at all.

…It was Pennie.

Because of course.

“Not you again,” I said. I glanced behind me—my shirt still hung over the table on the other side of the room. “What do you want now?”

“You,” Pennie said in a low tone.

…Uh-oh.

I took a closer look at her. She was wearing nothing but a thin nightgown that draped pertly over the topography of her body. And she seemed…drunk.

I had a bad feeling about this.

But I thought of Fannie, and how much she loved her little sister—and Pennie didn’t seem to be doing too hot right now.

Stupidly, I decided to humor her a little.

“Uh…what do you mean?” I asked. “Do you…need some help, or something?”

I was holding the door most of the way closed, because I was wearing only my sweatpants and nothing else. To my alarm, Pennie began to squeeze herself through the crack. What was I supposed to do, slam the door on her?

I stumbled backward and watched, helpless, as she slid into the room like a snake wearing a dress. She smiled as she looked over me.

…All the way over me.

“Do you need anything, Solo?” she asked, and leaned against the door to shut us in.

I did not like the way she’d said that.

Nor did I like the way she slid the lock closed with one delicate finger.

“Um…I’m okay,” I faltered. “Listen…if you don’t need anything, I was kinda hoping to spend the rest of the night by myself, so—”

“Oh…are you all alone tonight, Ben Solo?” she asked me pitifully, her lips pursed. “Well: so am I. You still owe me a favor, you know.”

She sauntered closer, and I backed away. With the firelight flickering behind her, I could see the silhouette of her body through the fabric, which was a lot more than I wanted to see. I stepped behind the armchair and stood there. “Sorry, sister. I don’t do those kinds of favors.”

She tried to come around to me. I shuffled around the armchair to keep it between us. 

“Very well,” Pennie said. “What if I did you a favor, instead? And this one, you will not even owe me for.” She stalked me in a circle around the armchair. “Come now…you are a man. I know you would not refuse.”

If only she knew!

“You know full well that I’ve someone already,” I told her—but even if I didn’t, that wouldn’t have changed how I felt. “So quit it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Pennie drawled. “Surely Fa’nakhra bores you.” She lunged over the back of the armchair, and I caught a strong scent of wine. “I do things she would never even dream of.”

“I’m sure you do,” I said, leaning away from her. “Here, I’ve got something you can do for me: get the hell out of my room.”

She didn’t budge.

Only smiled.

She did, however, reach out suddenly and grab me. And I was so shocked, my body froze up—her long nails poked into my bare arms—

And I found myself flying back through time—

Ben Solo lay back on his bed, tense and afraid.

“Hold still,” Snoke whispered. “You must let me in. The more you struggle, the more it will hurt. Relax. You must let me into your mind. We must walk through your thoughts together, and remove whatever does not serve you.”

And Ben nodded, and whimpered, and allowed Snoke’s cold fingers to wrap around his skull…

The memory vanished as quickly as it had come upon me.

And I thought to myself:

No.

Absolutely not.

Nobody lays a hand on me if I don’t want ‘em to—whether it’s a weird old man or a little drunk girl—I’m not taking that from anyone.

I came to my senses again, wresting myself away from her and bolting to the table. I grabbed my smoky, snotty shirt and pulled it on over my head. Then I stalked over, grabbed Pennie by the wrist, and dragged her yelping to the door.

I unlocked it. I opened it. And I pushed her out into the hallway. She stumbled, but caught herself and stood up.

“It’s time for you to go, Pennie,” I told her. “Seriously.”

She looked stunned. I think she was not used to being rejected by men—except Pentarra, maybe.

She opened her mouth slightly, perhaps trying to think of another line she could use on me. Another pose she could strike.

I didn’t give her the chance.

“Listen. I don’t know how else to tell you this,” I said, shoving my fingers backward through my hair. “I’m not like your dad, Pennie. Maybe he’d accept the advances of any girl who showed up at his door like that—but I have zero interest in you, Pen’awen. I love Fa’nakhra. She’s the only one I want.”

I expected her to get mad at me, like all the other times. Instead…my words seemed to strike her in a vulnerable place.

Her smile melted away. Her eyes swelled open, becoming all glassy and wet. And slowly, she dropped to her knees outside my door, and her shoulders began to shake.

At first, she was silent.

Then, she began to whine.

And then, she began to whimper.

And finally, she began to wail.

These utterances started small, and gradually became very big, until she was sobbing—very sloppily, very drunkenly—and folded over in half on the ground with her face to the floor.

I stood there, bewildered, not sure what to do.

“Yo. Pen,” I said gruffly—then sighed and softened my tone. “Pennie.”

She didn’t respond.

I knelt and took her by the arm, then I pulled her to her knees—and then I cursed and drew her all the way up and dragged her back into my room. I pushed her into the armchair and grabbed a towel from the washroom and held it out to her.

She didn’t take it. I swabbed all over her face without precision and tossed the snotty rag into her lap.

I squatted down to her eye level. “Look, kid. What’re you doing here?” I asked. Not nicely, mind you.

But…I tried not to sound mean.

It took a while, but I was finally able to decipher her broken, sobbing stutters. “Ruut is unhappy with me,” she said. “He dismissed me from his quarters.”

“Again?”

“No,” she huffed. “Yesterday, I left of my own volition. Tonight, he forced me to leave.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I said stiffly. “But I still don’t know why you thought you could come here and treat me like you did.”

Pennie twisted the rag tightly in her hands, her eyes like a wild animal’s. Her cheeks flushed darkly, and her ribcage heaved as her breathing grew rough and shallow. Her lips contorted in pain and passion and fury.

“I hate my sister!” she screamed suddenly. “I hate Fa’nakhra—I hate her!”

And then she took a deep breath, and screamed. No words. Just volume. It was bloodcurdling; it made my ears do that weird squeaky thing that sounds like a faulty radio signal trying to adjust—she exhausted her breath with that scream, then she filled her lungs once more and screamed again .

I swore and clapped my hand over her mouth to get her to stop. She shrieked and strained and struggled against me before finally surrendering. She began to cry again, and my hand got all sobbed on and snotted on and slobbered on.

I thought I understood. She was still angry about what Fannie had said at dinner—and more than that, angry that Fannie had been proven right by Pentarra sending her away. And so she had decided to get revenge on her sister by…coming after me.

…Okay.

I didn’t like this girl. But the more I looked at her…the more she began to resemble a teenage boy I once knew.

“Leader, why have you abandoned me?” Ben Solo screamed at the sky in a field on Chandrila, his hair shorn off in chunks, the last of his body’s hydration leaving him through his eyes and his nose. “Leader! Please come back! Please! I promise I’ll never disobey you again!”

I shuddered, shaking the memory off of me. The girl before me was equally pathetic.

Pennie usually slept in Pentarra’s chambers, so she didn’t have anywhere else to go…unless I wanted to drop her off in the men’s lounge again. But that didn’t feel right.

I didn’t think I should take her to Fannie, either. Sure, Fannie was my girlfriend—and I definitely wasn’t pro -Pennie-dating-her-dad. But I knew how painful it was to have a family member who thought your choices were wrong, and somehow it seemed cruel to force Pennie to face that now.

“Pennie—you can sleep here tonight,” I told her all of a sudden.

I blinked, surprised. I hadn’t said it, so much as I heard myself say it, if you know what I mean.

“Wh…what?” Pennie asked. She sniffled, and wiped her nose with the rag I had tossed at her.

“I said…you can sleep here tonight,” I repeated.

She choked as she looked up at me, her eyes becoming all big. And then she collapsed forward, and clung to me.

I didn’t really want her touching me. So I patted her shoulder awkwardly, and peeled myself away.

“Don’t get me wrong,” I told her. “I won’t be sticking around. I feel bad for you—really. But I don’t trust you not to do anything weird, so…I’ll be spending the night somewhere else.”

She stared at me with big, wet eyes that looked exactly like her sister’s as I grabbed some extra blankets from the foot of the bed and headed for the door.

“Wait,” she choked out, turning around in the armchair as I stopped in the doorway.

I hesitated, and turned back.

“What?” I asked impatiently.

“I…I don’t want you to think Pentarra does not love me,” she said in a hiccupy sort of voice.

I glanced out the door, and then back at her.

“Um…okay?”

“You must understand, Ben Solo, that…that the only reason Pentarra has not been more devoted to me is because I am not yet his wife,” she stated—panicked, but firm, her large eyes glistening in the firelight. “Once we are married…I promise you he will no longer cast me aside like this.”

I didn’t know what to say in the face of such desperate coping.

“...Is that what he told you?” I asked her.

“It is what I tell myself,” Pennie said. “I have to believe it.” Her voice broke. “I have to.”

My heart ached.

She was certainly a complicated little monster, this one.

I shifted my weight, and hefted the blankets further up my shoulder. Then I cleared my throat and looked her square in the face.

“I know you want to believe that, Pennie, but…I’m with your sister on this one,” I told her. “I really wouldn’t recommend that you marry him. Even if he wasn’t your dad.”

The look in her eyes became less intense, and more despairing.

“I don’t think you’ll find the happiness you’re looking for on this road,” I continued quietly. “I hate to tell you what to do. I hate when people tell me what to do. So I’m not going to tell you what to do. But…my opinion, as someone who’s not your bossy older Jedi sister—as someone who hardly even knows you, and is just telling you what he sees—my opinion is that you’re making a huge mistake. A mistake you’ll regret for a very long time, even after you get out of it. If you’re as stubborn as I think you are, I don’t know that anyone can convince you not to go through with it—but I really hope you find your way out someday. And I mean that.”

She didn’t respond. Only stared at me, her full lips quivering.

“...I’m sorry,” I concluded, after a pause.

And this time…I did feel sorry for her.

We looked at each other for a second. Then I turned away, and let the door close behind me.

I ended up spending the night in the east library downstairs. I laid a blanket on the cold stone floor, used Fannie’s sitting cushion for my head, and laid another blanket on top of me. The room’s silent stillness, so peaceful in the daytime, was chillingly eerie at night…and once again, it was difficult to fall asleep.

I kept on thinking about Pennie’s great big eyes, so like her sister’s, streaming rivers of tears as I’d left.

“It’s scary. Pennie’s relationship with her dad is just like how I used to be with you.”

“‘Used to be?’ Hm…how curious you should say such a thing. It would seem you are still here, are you not?”

“I’m still—? Listen, freak, you’re the one who keeps on coming after me, not the other way around.”

“I would beg to differ. I have only ever come to you in your times of desperation, Ben. Oh, yes…I can sense it. How fearful you are of being caught in all your lies, and losing everything. I am only here because you have allowed me to be here.”

“Yeah—like hell I have.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t sound so sure of myself if I were you. Your uncle taught you how to shut me out. Do you remember? Not that he needed to, of course, because I would never dream of intruding unwanted—but…it seems you have not been practicing, Ben Solo. Yes…I am only here because you want me to be. You have wound up once again in that place where no one truly knows you, because of all you have kept to yourself…all that you have hidden, and still hide from those you love. And now, for as long as you live in secrecy, you can never be quite sure if they truly love you back. For how can they truly love someone they do not truly know?”

“...Shut up.”

“Yes…you have continued to come to me, Ben Solo. You have continued to seek me out. Because you know I am the only one who truly sees you for who you are…and I am indeed the only one who will not be driven away by what I see.”

“Shut up!”

Chapter Text

In the morning, I woke to the sound of sweeping. I rolled over and made direct eye contact with a servant girl, her broom still in hand. I recognized her as the one Fannie had been peeling redfruits with.

The girl stopped mid-sweep. She must not have been too surprised to find me sleeping there, or else she would not have started cleaning around me. She only seemed to be startled by my waking up.

I supposed she had probably stumbled across stranger morning surprises, in a house like this.

I lifted the corner of my mouth and waved at her. She waved back shyly, and scurried away.

Much to my relief, Pennie was gone when I returned to my chambers—but I checked and rechecked the room several times before changing out of my pajamas and into daytime clothes. I didn’t take my morning shower, though, because I’d need it a lot more once I came back from my hunt. I grabbed some breakfast from the dining hall before I headed out.

The air was cool on my skin as I made my way to the stables. I chose my blurrg, saddled and mounted it, and left the grounds.

“Let the hunt begin,” I murmured to myself.

Although it was certainly more peaceful, it wasn’t as fun hunting without the guys. I missed the buzz of competition in the air, and the chance encounters where we’d compare our kills (or lie about them). I missed Mikal, too, even though the whole point of this morning was to see how I’d do without him.

Contrary to the Pentarra boys’ jeering, I was at a disadvantage without Mikal. He had helped scout, and even if he hadn’t been much use at shooting he knew all the places where animals tended to gather. I couldn’t seem to find any signs of life—not even the tiny lizards that skittered across the rock for kortokks to peck. I wondered if the time of day was working against me: it was early in the morning instead of afternoon, and perhaps a lot of animals were still asleep.

Whatever animals I did find, I did not succeed in killing. I tried to nab a couple of kortokks as they zigzagged from one stony cleft to another, but only hit rock. I snuck up on a senshiil, but missed my aim.

Things weren’t looking good. By the time I had to start heading back, I still didn’t have a single kill.

But luck found me at last. On my way back to the grounds, I spotted a wild blurrg all alone in the middle of a rocky clearing. It was grazing on brush with its back to me, groaning contentedly and swinging its massive tail.

I took in a sharp breath, and quietly dismounted. The first time I’d hunted, Mikal and I hadn’t even seen a blurrg—and no one had brought home any evidence of one (although many claimed to have shot ones that escaped).

A blurrg would more than make up for my lack of other quarry. I’d be able to keep my victory streak—and my reputation with the guys. I gripped my blaster tightly, excitement rising in my chest.

But…I wasn’t the only one getting excited. My blurrg uttered a low, rumbling noise, and I turned to look at him.

“What’s up, buddy?” I asked—then happened to look a little southward, and saw what, indeed, was up.

…Oh.

And then I looked back at the wild blurrg. Which was how I figured out that she was, well…

…Probably a girl.

“Aw, geez,” I muttered. “C’mon, buddy. Focus, will ya?”

But ol’ blurrgy boy was pretty focused already—and his focus, frankly speaking, was quite large.

He groaned again, and strained against the reins. It reminded me of college, when I used to tag along to frat parties with my buddy Treeso. Sometimes accompanying him had felt like barely restraining a love-stricken blurrg.

I had to admit I was interested to see how this would play out. I wasn’t sure I wanted to kill a female blurrg, anyway (not that the Pentarra boys would have cared). I figured it couldn’t hurt to withhold my shot, and let the guy shoot his. So I let go of the reins and gave ol’ blurrgy boy a brother’s salute, and he advanced toward the target of his affections with a grumbling roar.

I had half a mind to look away. But since I had never seen sex before, between sentients or animals or anything, I was curious. Especially about the logistics: blurrgs have big, long, meaty tails, and I wondered how they weren’t going to end up getting in the way.

So…I watched.

You know. For scientific reasons.

The female blurrg noticed Blurrgy Boy as soon as he approached, but did her best not to make things easy for him. As he circled around her, she turned away from him again and again (reminding me of my dance with Pennie around the armchair the night before).

But ol’ Blurggy Boy was undeterred. If anything, her disinterest only served to bolster his resolve. After stalking around her a couple of times, he suddenly rammed into her with his entire body, causing her to squeal.

“Oh, shoot,” I murmured.

He butted into her a couple more times, and finally knocked her to the ground and pushed her so she lay on her side. Then he stood perpendicular to her, and was able to access what he needed to that way.

So…there was a mystery solved.

Once Mr. Blurrg had officially begun the proceedings, Miss Blurrg stopped struggling. She lay there, motionless, as Mr. Blurrg did his thing—but she was breathing, and her tail flopped a couple of times, so she was clearly conscious. I began to feel uneasy, even if they were only animals. Had she resigned herself to her fate? Or had she only been playing coy, to ensure her mate was worthy? I hoped she was okay.

Well, the actual sex part turned out not to be as interesting as I thought it would be—nor did it take long. My blurrg finished his business in under a minute, withdrew, and stumbled backward in a daze. I yawned, distracted by thoughts of what I hoped to have for lunch—

And that was when it happened.

Suddenly, Miss Bluurg shifted all her weight up, and rolled herself upright. Then she bared her jaws so that her sharp teeth came into view, aimed for Blurrgy Boy’s tail—and chomped.

Blood.

Mr. Blurrg screeched.

My mouth fell open.

She sunk her teeth deep into his flesh, and swung him around. Now he was on the ground, belly-up, and in a vulnerable position for a guy—I suddenly got a very bad feeling about this—

She chomped hard again.

I’ll let you guess where.

Blurrgy Boy wailed.

I slammed my knees shut.

And she tore it right off.

She chewed. She gulped. And then she went to work on the rest of Mr. Blurrg, recently un-mistered, ravenously tearing huge chunks of flesh off of him like he was a rotisserie tipyip from the grocery store. She quite literally had my blurrg for breakfast.

As for me—well, I got the hell outta there on foot.

The other boys were getting ready to head out when I burst into the stables, wild-eyed, blurrgless, and looking how someone who’d witnessed the absolute worst way to go would. They gathered around me with curious amusement as I collapsed to my knees and hunched over, trying to catch my breath.

“You’re back—but where are your trophies, Ben Solo?” Hakiiro asked, sounding smug that I had returned empty-handed.

“Never mind that,” interrupted Nabohri, hopping down from his mount. “Where is your blurrg?”

I didn’t know how to answer him.

“I-it’s gone,” I stammered.

“Gone?” repeated Mikal. “You lost your blurrg?”

“I lost him all right,” I said, wiping my nose on my sleeve and flopping clumsily down on a bale of straw. “And he’s not just gone. He’s a goner.”

“Killed?” Nabohri asked, surprised.

“Oh, yeah.”

“By a gutkurr?”

I didn’t know what a gutkurr was, but I shook my head. “No—by another blurrg!”

There was silence for a moment.

And then…everyone started snickering. I looked around, confused.

“Ah…I see what happened here,” Nabohri said, with a knowing look toward the entire group, and the snickers turned to laughter. “Ben Solo wanted to watch!”

“Well, yeah—I couldn’t really look away,” I stammered. “There was just so much blood. I mean, sure, I cut open half a dozen senshiils the other day, but that was after they were already dead—kriff, it was horrible—the poor guy just kept on screaming—”

“No, not that,” Nabohri grinned. “You wanted to watch them mate, Ben Solo.”

I blinked.

I had forgotten about that.

“...Oh. Uh. Yeah,” I said awkwardly, wiping sweat from my brow. “That…may have been a thing that happened.”

The guys laughed even harder, and I glanced around sheepishly.

“Feeling hot, are you, Ben Solo?”

“Do you need a moment to yourself, Solo? Shall we leave you alone?”

“There are better things to watch, nerra! Things that will not cost you your blurrg.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said, rolling my eyes, trying to ignore my burning face. “Sorry about the blurrg.”

“It’s not your fault, Ben Solo,” said Mikal, coming to my rescue. “You are unfamiliar with our beasts. After blurrgs mate, the female always eats the male. It is the way of things. The female does not wish the male to father any other offspring but her own.”

“Jealous creatures, they are,” Nabohri remarked, unsheathing his pocket knife and wiping it with a rag.

“...Oh,” I said. “So…it’s normal. They…always do that?”

“In the wild, yes,” said Mikal. “We do not allow domesticated blurrgs to mate the normal way. We would lose too many blurrgs.”

“Okay. Another question, then,” I coughed. “Do the female blurrgs always, uh—bite it off? Or…did I just stumble upon a particularly egregious man-eater?”

Everyone snickered again, and Nabohri grinned. “Have you not heard of a ‘blurrg’s kiss,’ Ben Solo?” he asked.

“No…” I said slowly, not sure if I wanted him to elaborate.

“A ‘blurrg’s kiss,’” Nabohri replied with a wicked kind of smile, “is what you call it when a woman is not mindful of her teeth.”

I understood. I winced as the boys laughed raucously.

“Well, I’m sure glad I’m not a blurrg,” I muttered, rising to my feet and putting away my borrowed blaster.

“Yes,” Nabohri agreed. “Male blurrgs are weak, and let their females destroy them. Twi’lek men are not so.” He resheathed his knife, and mounted his blurrg again in one fluid motion—he had to lift his long legs pretty high to clear the creature’s back. “Ah, well. It is a shame you didn’t bring anything back, Ben Solo—but we will forgive you for it due to the circumstance. I will, at least. I cannot speak for the others.”

He turned to the group. “What do you say, nerras?”

The other guys all clapped me on the back and teased me jokingly—all except for Hakiiro, who hung back and glowered with his skinny arms crossed. I ignored him.

“It isa pity, too, that we will miss your company on our own hunt,” Nabohri went on. “But—Pentarra is hosting the gentlemen’s banquet tonight. You will be there, Ben Solo?” He smirked mischievously. “It is certainly a better way to blow off steam than watching blurrgs mate.”

I flushed.

“Does he have an invitation?” Hakiiro asked irritably. “Pentarra will not let him in, if he has not invited him.”

“Never mind if Pentarra has invited him,” said Nabohri, waggling his head in a self-important way. “I am inviting him.”

“You can’t invite him,” Hakiiro protested. “Pentarra needs to invite him.”

“Hakiiro is right,” Mikal agreed, but without Hakiiro’s nastiness. “Pentarra must invite him.”

Fascinating, I thought. Hakiiro and Mikal shared the same affinity for following rules…but only one of them seemed to do so out of malice.

I did wonder, though, that Nabohri seemed so ready to assume equal authority with his father. Had he already forgotten about the snorlii shell incident? Maybe filling in for Vataash had filled Nabohri’s head with pride.

…Wait. Where was Vataash? I knew he’d been held after dinner last night, but that didn’t explain why he was still missing from the group this morning.

“Vataash isn’t going to hunt with you?” I asked, interrupting Nabohri’s and Hakiiro’s bickering. Mikal had resumed his usual silence.

“Vataash, unfortunately, has fallen ill,” said Nabohri, sounding a little too pleased about it. “So I am in charge of the hunt today, Ben Solo. And I am inviting you to Pentarra’s banquet tonight.” He threw Hakiiro a haughty little look.

Sure, I could’ve told Nabohri that his father had already invited me. But given how proud of himself Nabohri looked in that moment, I didn’t think that was such a good idea. As for Vataash…I had a hard time believing he was simply sick.

All the same, I wasn’t interested in trying to solve that mystery right now. I had to go rinse off so I could meet Fannie at eleven.

“Well, Fa’nakhra and I are planning to spend the entire day together,” I told Nabohri, “so…I don’t think I’m gonna make it to the banquet. Sorry. Appreciate it, though.”

This response was met with jeers in the following vein:

“He is whipped!”

“He is like a blurrg—his female keeps him all to herself.”

“She has bitten him off!” (This was the most heinous comment of them all—and of course it was Hakiiro who uttered it.)

I was sure these remarks were made mostly in jest (except, perhaps, Hakiiro’s). But they stung and mingled with the other doubts and insecurities that swirled in the deep unspoken part of my mind.

I shrugged and laughed and waved at the guys as I left the stables—

—but my smile only lasted for as long as I was in their presence.

I scowled and kicked at the dirt as I walked away.

Chapter Text

I washed and dressed, and met Fannie in the center atrium around eleven. She wanted to take me to one of the nearby villages to explore, so we holorequested a taxi speeder.

Fannie and I held hands and chatted as we waited for our speeder outside the main gates. The taxi arrived just as I was giving Fan a passionate recap of the third season of Hutts in Love, while she nodded and smiled and pretended to care.

The taxi speeder was an older model—and so was its driver. He was a wiry, orange-skinned Twi’lek with wrinkles near his eyes from squinting at the sun. He rolled down the window and greeted us in Twi’leki at first, but switched to Basic when he saw me.

Fannie and I let go of each other’s hands to climb into the back seat of the speeder, but not before the driver took notice…and interest. Taxis on Hosnian Prime are piloted by droids in the business of dropping you off as soon as possible to pick up the next paying passenger. Taxis on Ryloth are piloted by inquisitive Rylothians in the business of sticking their nose in yours.

“You have a human mate,” the taxi driver remarked to Fannie.

Fannie looked at me, and laughed. She nodded, embarrassed.

“Does everything…work the same?” he asked next.

Fannie reddened, but by now I was used to the way Rylothian men spoke—that direct, brash bluntness that meant no harm, but definitely wanted to see what one could get away with.

Well, I was no Rylothian. But I had been here a while, and two could play at that game.

“Why wouldn’t it work the same?” I asked, just as boldly. “After all, the only differences between humans and Twi’leks can be seen above the neck.”

“Ben…!” Fannie murmured.

The driver seemed amused. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “But surely you have heard that our women are more difficult to please than yours.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Maybe I’d ask Fannie later.

Or…maybe not. I glanced at Fannie—she looked uncomfortable. I took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly as I turned back to the driver.

“Are they more complicated?” I retorted. “I hadn’t noticed any such thing. Perhaps your assessment is simply a reflection of your own skill, nerra.”

Fannie turned to me sharply, her eyes wide, but the driver guffawed. He seemed much more impressed by my audacity than offended by it.

“Hey, don’t give me that look,” I whispered to Fan. “He thought it was funny.”

“Well…I suppose so,” Fannie whispered back. “But…Ben, did you just say nerra?”

“Yeah. What? Am I…not supposed to say it, or something?”

“I—just didn’t know you knew that word.”

The man wiped a tear from his eye, and looked at me in the rearview mirror. “I had misjudged you, young human! You have the spirit of a Rylothian. What is your name?”

“Ben Solo. Yours?”

“I am Rol’meneth Jheer. Rol, for short.”

“Nice to meet you, Rol.”

I felt proud of how easily I could talk to him. All the time I’d spent bantering with Fannie’s brothers had certainly helped. Fannie looked on in quiet bewilderment…and perhaps, a bit of suspicion.

If she had had any questions for me, she kept them to herself.

“Ben Solo—you are a guest of Ruut Pentarra’s, are you not?” Rol asked. “I hear his famous banquet is tonight. The one he always holds at Tollah’s full moon.” He caught my eye inquisitively in the mirror, fishing for more information from me.

Fannie’s eyes were lowered to her lap, and she seemed to have no inclination to reply. I got the sense she did not think it appropriate for her to converse with Rol. Whether that conviction came from her culture or simply from her own sensibility, I could not tell.

“...I’ve heard of Pentarra’s banquet,” I said, and nothing more.

“Surely as his guest, you have received an invitation, no?” Rol said, unsatisfied with my response. “I would give my left arm to peek inside.”

Well. Not only had I been invited, I’d been invited to sit at Pentarra’s very own table. I was basically double-invited. (Triple-invited, if Nabohri’s invitation counted—but I didn’t think it did.)

Still, since I hadn’t mentioned my invitation to Fannie yesterday, I didn’t see how I could be honest about it now. It was easier not to get into it—and it wasn’t as if I was even planning to attend.

“Uh…no, I didn’t get an invite,” I lied.

Luckily Rol shrugged, accepted I had nothing more to say, and gave up the subject entirely. For the rest of the ride, he monologued in shocking detail about his three ex-wives: one he had left, one who’d left him, and one who’d tried to sneak out on him the same night he’d tried to sneak out on her. The drive went by quickly with such a captivating host—though at the same time, it couldn’t have been over fast enough.

Rol dropped us off at the edge of the village, where a scattering of rectangular, adobe buildings gradually condensed and became a tightly packed main street. “I wish you both many children, and a union happier than any of my own!” Rol said as he waved us off.

Fannie smiled and inclined her head, and I bowed and waved back at him. As soon as Rol had sped away, we took one look at each other and began to laugh.

“Goodness! I don’t know that I have ever been so glad for a taxi ride to end,” Fannie said, giggling.

“I know, right?” I chuckled. “We basically gave him free therapy, lettin’ him trauma-dump like that. He should lower his rates.”

“Or increase them!” Fannie exclaimed. “He is an entertainer as well as a driver…though I was entertained enough to be quite exhausted now. Nothing against Rol, of course—may the Force be with him.”

“No, of course not,” I agreed. “He was nice…if a little weird. He wished us ‘many children.’ Is that a normal thing people say here?”

“Fairly normal,” Fannie said, sounding surprised, as if she’d never thought about it before. “Yes…I suppose it is. On Ryloth, wishing someone fertility is nearly the same as wishing someone prosperity. But I suppose you’re right—it is a little presumptuous.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Only a little presumptuous?”

Fannie smiled good-naturedly. “It’s just a blessing, Ben. Don’t pay it much mind.”

“Well, as long as his blessing doesn't come to pass too soon,” I said, bumping into her on purpose, and she scrunched her face at me—I laughed and pulled her into my side. “And as for you, Fan—I hope you never try to put sandbat venom in your husband’s tea, like Rol’s first wife did.”

“Of course not,” Fannie teased. “I’ll only poison myself and tell my mother you did it—like his third.”

We laughed, and walked into town.

The village was called Bulii’kana. It was the closest settlement to the Pentarra estate, and Fashha had often taken her children here when they were young. Now that they were grown, Fannie, Connie, and Ginnie sometimes visited together.

“Do you ever come out here by yourself?” I asked.

“No,” Fannie said. “I don’t know that it would be wise to travel by myself.”

“You’ve got your lightsaber, haven’t you? I bet you could take someone out, easy.”

“Well—yes. But I would rather not have to do so.”

I could understand why she didn’t want to visit alone. As we entered the main square, people filled every inch of the walkway and pressed in on all sides, and I think I almost got pickpocketed a few times—‘cause I know it wasn’t Fannie who tried to reach into my back pants pocket.

Bulii’kana felt different from Pentarra’s estate: poorer, but freer. Drier, but brighter. Noisier, but realer. Wilder, but more alive. There were men who seemed kinder than the men in Pentarra’s house, fathers and neighbors and honest-looking merchants, and there were men who seemed to pose a much larger threat than Pentarra’s troublemaking sons—shifty-eyed scoundrels and rough-looking vagabonds with unsheathed weapons. Even then, the two were not so easy to tell apart. It was the short, friendly, smiling gentleman who asked me to flex my biceps and grabbed my wallet while my arms were in the air, and the ugly rogue with the eyepatch who chased him down and brought my wallet back to me.

The women seemed different, too. They were not dignified like Pentarra’s wives and daughters, nor were they quiet like his servants. They laughed and gossiped in the streets with lively abandon, but they seemed to have been bonded by shared suffering. There were tired young women with babies on their hips and fiery old women shouting in the selling stalls and old women with young eyes who offered to reveal your mate for life and young women with old eyes who offered to be your mate for an hour. These women had their freedom, but freedom didn’t necessarily mean money—and perhaps some of them would have preferred to feed their families instead.

The marketplace bustled with Twi’leks, animals, droids, and a few humans. A green-skinned woman called out in raspy Twi’leki over the chittering of her pen of kortokks—these ones were fat, and had weights secured to their ankles so they could not run. A customer made his purchase, and the woman’s son, who looked no older than ten, grabbed one of the kortokks and swiftly beheaded it—Fannie covered my eyes, not knowing I had seen worse while hunting with her brothers.

Prostitutes hung in the doorways, hoping to catch men’s eyes, and especially the eyes of men who looked like they had money. Some of them dressed how I expected them to dress—which is to say, not in much. Others covered their bodies completely, as if to leverage the mystery of what they looked like underneath. No matter what she wore, each one sported a crimson sash as a sign of her profession, tied loosely around her hips or draped elegantly over her shoulders or wound tight around her entire body…along with an inviting smile. I smiled back at one of them by mistake—not because I was interested, but because I foolishly thought it would be polite. The woman took my friendliness for a buyer’s interest, and began to descend seductively down the steps—my face fell, and I grabbed Fannie’s hand and ran.

We listened to a street storyteller, and Fannie translated for me (though these stories were much tamer than Rol’s). Fan made me try at least ten different Rylothian sweets—some flavored only with dried fruit, and others drenched in enough honey to make me gag. We almost trampled a couple of kids with tan skin and short lekku as they ran away laughing from their human father and Twi’lek mother—Fannie and I smiled and exchanged sheepish glances. We danced in the village square to some street music, and she taught me a dance that was much more complicated than the Alderaanian waltz I had shown her back on Naboo.

We also came across a magnificent building made of adobe like the rest of the town—but instead of a flat roof, it had tall pillars that climbed to the sky, and gold-covered domes that glinted in the sunlight. There was a sign in front of it, but it was written in Ryl.

“Do you know what this building is?” I asked Fannie.

“Yes—it is the shrine to Tollah,” Fannie said. “Let’s keep walking.”

“Wait,” I said—and when I didn’t move, she accidentally yanked against my arm as she tried to walk. “Can we go in? I’m curious.”

“You can go in, if you wish to,” she said. “I would prefer to stay outside.”

“Suit yourself,” I told her. “I’ll be back in a sec—I just wanna see.”

So I ducked under the curtain at the entrance, and went inside.

I had to blink for a few seconds to let my eyes adjust. The inside of the temple was dimly-lit, and stuffy, too. The air was warm, thick, and spicy—not so much food-spicy as perfume-spicy. Curtained booths lined each wall of the large, open room, and one large, red curtain hung from the ceiling all the way in the back.

In front of the curtain was a great golden statue, twelve feet tall, of a Twi’lek woman with four lekku instead of two—one pair on top of her head in the usual place, and one pair at the base of her skull. Her body was bare, and she was endowed with large breasts, large hips, and a large belly—as if she were pregnant.

That was the image of the goddess Tollah.

Women young and old knelt before the statue, each wearing a veil. Every veil looked different—as if it was cut and sewn by its owner. A woman came in behind me and knelt down among the others, pulling a large square piece of muslin from her satchel and draping it over her head. Hers had lace sewn around the edges…but one of the corners was coming undone.

I watched as the women placed offerings at the statue’s feet, bowed their heads, and whispered—much like Fashha always did before meals. Some of them stayed for a long time, while others stayed only a moment. When they were finished, they inclined their heads to the statue, removed their veils, and departed.

I looked to see what items they were placing down. There were offerings of coins, produce, and even plated meals.

A male Twi’lek in white linen robes presided near the statue. Every so often, he would gingerly lift some of the offerings to make room for others. I watched as he brought them behind the large curtain in the back of the temple, and wondered where he took them.

…Well, I had a guess as to where some of them went. Because after taking a plate of rolls behind the curtain, he reemerged with crumbs on his mouth.

He unceremoniously lifted the edge of his sleeve to wipe his lips, and as he raised his head he caught me staring.

I turned away and pretended that I hadn’t seen.

There were female attendants in the temple, too, dressed in strange, loose garments. Their dresses looked like big white bedsheets, with holes in the middle to put their heads through. I observed as a male Twi’lek approached one of these priestesses, placed money in her hand, and disappeared behind her into one of the curtained booths.

I frowned, perplexed. I did have one immediate assumption as to what that was all about…but it confused me. The explanation that had come to mind didn’t seem fitting for a place of worship.

“Ben!”

I turned, and saw Fannie behind me. She had only whisper-shouted, but it was disruptive enough that a few of the temple-goers turned their heads.

“Oh, hey,” I whispered back. “I thought you were going to stay outside.”

“I was,” she said. “But…I didn’t want to leave you in here alone. I was afraid that what you found inside would shock you.”

I glanced back at the full-figured statue of the naked goddess. “What…you mean that?”

A series of passionate male grunts issued from behind the curtain closest to us, and Fannie and I blushed and looked at each other.

“Or…that,” she said.

“Yeah, let’s not stick around,” I agreed.

It was only as we brushed aside the heavy curtain and exited the temple that I realized how heavily the interior had smelled of incense. I coughed and blinked in the sunlight.

“Well. That was interesting,” I remarked, wiping my runny nose on the backside of my wrist. Fannie stopped me, and thrust a handkerchief into my hand.

“Was your curiosity satisfied?” she asked as I blew my nose.

“Oh, over-satisfied,” I assured her, returning her hankie in less-than-fresh condition. “But…what was that all about? Was that a temple, or a brothel?”

Fannie folded the handkerchief into a wet little square and tucked it back into her pocket. “That is an excellent question, Ben. I have often wondered the same.”

“Were they…supposed to be doing that?”

“It is part of the normal temple activity, if that’s what you’re asking,” she answered, taking my hand as we continued down the busy street. “The priestesses are regarded as conduits of Tollah herself. Men go in to them in order to make love to Tollah, and win her favor. The priestesses wear those dresses—the tol’shanah—so that nothing of their bodies can be seen. Once behind the curtain, they reverse their garments so that all can be seen but their heads, and then it is as if the men are making love to Tollah herself.”

“Oh. So…it’s like some sort of…divine ritual.”

“Yes. Tollah is the goddess of ba’otolah—which essentially means fruitfulness in all areas of life: in harvest, in money, in children. If one causes Tollah to become pregnant, she is believed to birth good fortune for her impregnator. The more pleasure one gives to Tollah, the better luck he is supposed to have.”

“Well…I don’t know how much luck that one guy is gonna get,” I remarked. “‘Cause I only heard one person moaning back there—and it sure wasn’t the girl.”

“Ah…yes,” Fannie replied, with some embarrassment. “I have come to believe that the ritual is more for the benefit of the men than it is for Tollah, orthe priestesses.”

“I think so, too.”

“You know…before Luke took me to Ossus, I dreamed of becoming a priestess for Tollah.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Obviously, that was before I was old enough to understand.”

I was glad that had never happened. I knew Fannie would have been miserable in that kind of life. I wondered, too, how many of the priestesses had illnesses and infections beyond their control—after all, they could not choose the men that placed money in their hands.

We descended into a section of the street designated for food vendors, and the mouth-watering scents of baked grain, roast vegetables, and smoked meat filled the air. The sellers called boisterously over the sounds of searing and sizzling, and hungry customers swarmed through the haze of savory-smelling smoke.

“Oh, yeah,” I said, suddenly reminded by the sight of food. “I saw the priest guy eating one of the offerings when no one was looking. I don’t think I was supposed to see.”

Fannie laughed, but without any pleasure in it. “I had long suspected as much,” she said. “The priests burn the offerings so that the smoke ascends to Tollah’s moon. They are supposed to, anyway. The sky above the temple has often seemed much too clear for that to be the case.”

A young woman bumped into us as she hurried by. She cradled several paper-wrapped buns in one arm, and clutched her veil in her other hand. She didn’t apologize or even look at us as she rushed back up the street and toward the temple from which we’d come.

Fannie giggled, and I looked at her.

“Sorry,” she explained. “That girl reminded me of Connie. Connie would always forget her offering, and have to purchase one in town. Ginnie never forgot…and Pennie and I would always make our offering together. Poupriiseed buns. I taught Pennie how to make them.”

Fannie had left Ryloth when she was seven, so these memories must have been from very early on in her life. “Did you, uh…realize what was going on in the temple when you were that young?” I asked.

“Not in detail,” she said. “But for as long as I can remember, my mother would take us there, so I suppose that everything we heard and saw was normal to us. Countless times, the five of us knelt together in front of Tollah’s statue. Pennie would kneel between my knees and hold the poupriiseed buns, and I’d have to keep her from picking off all the seeds because I took so long to pray. The priests always got impatient with me, too. I think they could not wait to get their hands on my buns.”

“They wouldn’t have been the only ones, had you ended up a temple priestess,” I quipped.

And got slapped for it, which I deserved.

“Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t pretend, you silly thing. I know you aren’t sorry one bit.”

“Fine, ya got me. I thought that one was pretty good.”

“It was…clever. Inappropriate…but clever.”

Her mouth twitched. Someone who didn’t know her very well might think she was upset…but I knew she was desperately trying not to laugh, lest she encourage my bad behavior.

I grinned. It was a win in my book.

“...You know,” I said, “I get the impression that you don’t really believe in Tollah anymore. You’d never talked about her before I came here.”

Fannie sobered again. “No,” she said, her voice sounding heavy. “No…I do not believe in her anymore.”

“How come? Because you’re a Jedi?”

“Well…I suppose that is part of the reason,” she said. “But…I actually held my belief in Tollah for quite some time, even after becoming a Jedi. It was part of my culture—what I had been taught since birth. I kept my belief in Tollah for years into my training…until that belief became increasingly incompatible with the other beliefs I knew I was sure of. At last, I came to a point where I had to let my belief go.”

It was strange to hear Fannie talk about a time when she was not sure what she believed in. I thought she had always been as sure of her beliefs as she was now—or at least, after becoming a Jedi.

“That must’ve been hard, Fan. To not be able to believe anymore in something you learned when you were a kid.”

“It…is an odd sort of feeling, to no longer believe in the same thing my entire family does,” she said with thoughtful sadness. “My sisters still believe in Tollah. They are not devoted to her…but they believe. My mother, of course, remains devout. You have observed how she thanks Tollah before each meal, and every week, she offers a piece of her weaving at the temple.”

“Really?” I asked, incredulous. “Her weaving takes so much work—I can’t believe she just…takes it to be burned.”

“Oh, I’m sure her labor is not in vain,” said Fannie with a salty wryness. “No doubt the priests find comfort beneath her blankets each night. But…I know what you mean.”

“I guess it just shows how dedicated your mom is to her beliefs, huh?”

“Yes,” Fannie agreed. “And I don’t doubt that my mother’s belief has meant a great deal to her. That it has given her a sense of someone she can turn to. Someone she can appeal to for better things. Someone to be her constant, now that she will never see her home or family of origin again.”

“Kinda like you and the Force. Right?”

Fannie looked surprised. “Well…I do admire elements of my mother’s devotion, Ben,” she said. “But…I cannot admire the thing she devotes herself to. Eventually, I came to see Tollah for what she truly was: an invention of mortals. Not like the Force. The Force was here before us. It was not born from mortal minds. Rather, we were born from it.”

“Hold on a second. What makes you so sure that Tollah isn’treal, and the Force is?” I asked. “How do you know the Force isn’t…also…an invention of mortals?”

I asked the questions before considering whether or not I should. I didn’t mean anything by it—and I certainly wasn’t trying to be disrespectful. It was just that I had never felt as sure of anything as Fannie seemed to feel, and I had often wondered where her sureness came from.

But Fannie stared at me, her brow knit with concern.

“Ben…of course you believe in the Force, don’t you?” she asked.

“Well, yeah—of course I do,” I said hurriedly. “I was just…asking hypothetically. You know. Like—what would you say, if someone asked you that?”

Surprisingly, this deflection worked. Fannie thought about it for a moment.

“...I’d say the fact that Tollah caters to the basest instincts of man proves she was created by them,” she said at last. “Tollah does not inspire her followers to become more kind, more loving, or more just. She is called the goddess of fertility, of prosperity, of good fortune. It sounds nice. It sounds good. But…if you look at those who follow her, who seek the things she claims to offer—they are driven only by hunger, selfishness, lust, and greed. I do not wish to follow that.”

“Okay, but…that seems a little harsh,” I countered. “What about your mom? Surely you wouldn’t call her greedy, just for wanting her life to be a little better when it sucks so bad.”

Fannie paused. “...No,” she agreed. “I wouldn’t call her greedy. Nor would I call anyof Tollah’s followers greedy who seek her out of desperation. But, I ask you this, Ben: who has ever made the purpose of his life wealth and comfort and success and fine things, and found himself satisfied through them? Certainly not my father—and he possesses more than you and I will ever dream of having. For those people, there is never such a thing as enough.”

“Well…I think there is,” I said. “Yeah, I want money—but I don’t need to be Ruut Pentarra-level-rich. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’d be cool if I was—but with my line of work, it’s a spice dream. Anyway—all I want is to be able to eat, pay my bills, and buy you nice stuff sometimes. I don’t think that’s so wrong.”

“Oh, of course not, Ben,” she assured me. “But—did you just hear yourself? You said you wished to use your money merely to support a simple life, and to give gifts to the one you love. That is a much nobler pursuit than that of my father, or Tollah’s crumb-mouthed priests.”

“…I guess so.”

“As a Jedi, I do not think our primary concern should be improving our own lot in life. A Jedi learns to forget herself, and to instead serve the greater good. The light side of the Force asks me to reverse my nature, not to follow it. It asks me to pursue and create goodness for all in the galaxy, not only for myself. And so, I no longer pray to Tollah and ask her to make my circumstances better—I meditate on the Force, on the light, and choose continually to become better, as a person, no matter the hardships I face.”

A tingle of admiration for her ran down my spine.

As well as…I don’t know. A bit of sadness.

Because I knew, deep down, that I would never be like her.

But I smiled, and I nodded. “Makes sense,” I said. “Thanks for explaining. Well—that’s more than enough philosophy for now, I think. I’m gettin’ hungry.”

“Oh, yes—me too!” she said, clapping her hands together and forgetting all about the previous conversation, much to my relief.

For lunch, we bought skewers from one of the street vendors—an elderly Twi’lek man who spoke no Basic, and hardly spoke at all, really. We got to choose what we wanted from his trays of ingredients, and then he skewered and grilled them right in front of us. There were a lot of ingredients on his cart that looked unfamiliar to me—but I knew what snorlii looked like, so I avoided that. There weren’t any forks…but hey, a stick was good enough for me. There wasn’t any seating, either. Instead, there were several standing tables constructed shabbily-but-functionally out of wood.

Fannie and I stood at a table and leisurely enjoyed our lunch. We were discussing the differences between Rylothian and Nabooian food when Fannie received a communication on her holopod, and gasped.

“...What?” I asked, and she looked up at me, pale.

“From Pennie,” Fannie choked out. “I…I can’t believe she reached out to me. What do you think she could want?”

“Maybe it was a butt dial,” I suggested.

“Pardon me, dear—I hope you don’t mind if I listen to it.”

“No, of course not—play it.”

She did. We heard the following message in Pennie’s voice:

“Fa’nakhra…I am so sorry about yesterday. I know I have not been kind to you. I spent a lot of time thinking last night, and…I have come to see that you may be right after all. I desperately need your help, dear sister. I do not know what to do next. I could not find you at home, so I assume you are away with Ben Solo. Please…eat supper with me tonight, so we can talk. If you are not too angry with me, I will meet you at six o’clock in the kitchen. Help me, Fa’nakhra—you are my only hope. Pen’awen.”

I blinked. Fannie stared at me, her eyes huge. Then she played the message again. As we listened to it a second time, she began to tear up. I quickly passed her an extra napkin.

“My cries to the Force have been answered,” Fannie murmured. “This is everything I have hoped and longed for. Pennie’s eyes have finally been opened—she is going to find her way out of my father's grasp at last.”

“Yeah,” I agreed solemnly. “This is huge.”

Provided, of course, that she’s telling the truth, I thought. I wiped off my fingers and put my hand on Fannie’s shoulder.

“Hey. Are you sure she’s sincere?” I asked. “I mean—I want to believe that she is. Obviously I do. But…she sure was pretty mad at you yesterday. It seems like a drastic shift.”

“It does,” Fannie agreed. “And yet…that does not make such a thing impossible. Miracles can happen.” She looked up, searching my eyes. “What do you think, Ben? You have spent more time with her than I have, as of late. Please. I need your insight as much as my own. Do you think she is sincere?”

I was quiet. I was hesitant to take Pennie at her word. She hadn’t exactly presented herself to me as someone I could trust.

But then again…maybe something about last night had changed her mind.

I remembered the way Pennie had looked at me as I had closed the door on her last night—her great big eyes, bleeding rivers of sorrow, that looked just like Fannie’s when they weren’t set in that arrogant squint.

“Wait, Ben Solo. You…you must not think he doesn’t love me. Once we are married…Pentarra will no longer cast me aside like this.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“It is what I tell myself. I have to believe it. I have to.”

And the night before that one—

“I only wish Pentarra cared about me enough to lie, as normal men do.”

“You would rather he cheated on you behind your back?”

“Yes, of course. It might show he cared what I thought.”

And I remembered when I had first met Pennie to begin with, and observed her in the dining hall as her father flirted with the servants. I remembered the private look of anguish she had thought nobody else would notice, because Pentarra certainly didn’t—but I had noticed.

And then I thought of what Fannie had said, when she had described how she stopped believing in Tollah. That, in the face of so much mounting evidence, she was finally forced to let go of the last bit of belief she had clung to for so long.

Maybe Pennie had finally broken down enough to lose her last bit of her belief in Pentarra’s love for her.

Maybe Pennie was finally finding herself in the same place that I once had, all those years ago in a field on Chandrila.

I looked at Fannie, and firmly took her hand.

“...You know, Fan,” I said in a low voice, “I think Pennie just might be for real.”

We locked eyes, and nodded at the exact same time.

“Then I know what I have to do,” said Fannie resolutely—before her expression turned apologetic. “Oh, Ben—I’m so sorry. I know you and I were planning to spend the day together and have supper together, too, but…”

“No—we need to get you home to talk to your sister,” I told her seriously. “You and I already got to do a whole bunch today, and I had a real good time. Let’s start heading back. That’ll give you a couple of hours to prepare. So you can…y’know, meditate on the Force, or…whatever you need to do.”

“Oh, thank you so much, Ben,” she said, coming around the table to give me a hug. “You’re so good—truly you are. You won’t be lonely while I’m away with her?”

“Hey, don’t you worry about me, sister,” I said, patting her on the back. “This is way more important. Do you have any idea how long she might want to talk?”

“No,” said Fannie. “But…I have a feeling it could end up being a long conversation.”

“Yeah—me too. How about you send me a message when you’re done, then?”

“Yes—that will work.” Fannie quickly started gathering the skewer sticks to dispose of them, and used her handkerchief to sweep crumbs off the table. “Remember, dear: there is no supper today, so you will need to collect your supper from the kitchen. There is a separate passage down to the kitchen in the lower west hallway, so you won’t have to enter the gentlemen’s banquet. Perhaps Pennie and I will even run into you. In any case—however long the conversation ends up taking, let’s plan to see each other tonight before we go to bed. That way, I can tell you all about it.”

“Solid. I’m looking forward to it,” I told her, and wrapped my arms around her and planted a kiss hard on her forehead.

We headed back home. Wouldn’t you know it—it was Rol who drove us back to the estate. ‘Ol Rol was as animated as ever…but we couldn’t really pay attention to him this time.

Our minds were too full.

Chapter Text

Fannie and I gave each other one last hug beneath Pentarra’s portrait at the top of the stairs. “Hey,” I said, rubbing my thumb against the corner of her mouth. “I’ll be thinking of you.”

She smiled. “Thank you, love.”

I watched her walk away, into the east wing, then turned and headed into the west.

It wasn’t even five o’clock yet, but some of the guys were already drinking in the lounge—pregaming for the gentlemen’s banquet, maybe. They saw me as I passed down the hall and cheered, shouting my name.

The bartender looked up briefly, and then back down. It reminded me of how the servant girl had looked at me when I’d come to see Fannie in the kitchen.

“Ben Solo!” Nabohri called, and waved me down. “Nerra! Guess who won the hunting contest?”

“Well, I know it wasn’t me—that’s for sure.” I came over to where he and the other guys were sitting (it was the same couch Pennie had been sleeping on, two nights before). “Who won? Mikal?”

Everyone laughed, and I regretted saying it. I’d been thinking only of Mikal’s marksmanship and scouting skills, and had forgotten about his soft spot for animals. Of course suggesting Mikal’s victory had only created an opportunity for his brothers to mock him.

I looked around for Mikal. He wasn’t there.

“Mikal only came to see us off, and did not wish to participate in the hunt,” Nabohri said. “I think he was tired of losing.”

Once again, I felt protective of Mikal. “Hey, I’m sure you lose just as often as he does,” I countered playfully. “Mr. Stuffs-Kortokks’-Heads-With-Stones.”

“See—that’s the thing, Ben Solo!” Nabohri crowed triumphantly, flinging his arms wide—one of his brothers caught a face full of liquor as Nabohri’s cup spilled. “I won the hunt—and without any kortokk-head-stuffing.”

“Oh!” I said, surprised, as the guys all cheered and clapped Nabohri on the back (with the exception of the dude who was soaking wet now, and only sulked). “Uh—congrats! Have you won before?”

“No, never,” Nabohri said, “but since Vataash did not join us this time, I finally had the opportunity—”

He stopped and caught himself, realizing he’d made himself look worse by saying that.

“...Of course, I would still have won, had I faced Vataash,” he boasted, correcting himself. “Vataash always claims falsely that I have manipulated the weights of my kills. But in his absence I won at last, because he was not here to accuse me.”

“You mean because I was not there to catch you,” came a voice from behind. We all turned.

It was Vataash.

The boys fell under a hush. Some of them looked worried, and began to inch away from Nabohri, while others had an impish, expectant look, like high-schoolers hoping for a fight.

Nabohri had reported Vataash ill. Well, Vataash looked just fine…except that his face and neck were all bruised—mottled black against his deep-violet skin—and one of his eyes was swollen shut.

I sucked in a breath.

We all stared at him. I had only just met the guy, but I didn’t need to have known him long to know that he was proud, arrogant, and self-important. Given his current appearance, I could understand why he had hidden himself away for most of the day. To see him in such a state was…unsettling.

I was about to move toward him and ask if he was okay. But I didn’t have time to.

Before anyone else could decide what to do, Nabohri pointed at Vataash with his arm straight out, and laughed.

And laughed.

And kept laughing.

Vataash scowled.

I stared at Nabohri, surprised. The other boys looked back and forth between Nabohri and Vataash, perhaps trying to see whether Vataash was going to retaliate before they declared a particular allegiance. But Vataash didn’t move a muscle—only seethed.

When Vataash did not fight back, the other boys all looked at each other. One by one, they began to join Nabohri in laughter.

All the guys, except me. I could only look on in shock. I couldn’t imagine this scene playing out two days ago, when I’d first met the Pentarra boys. Vataash had seemed like their unquestioned leader then, and Nabohri nothing more than a harmless goofball. Now the roles had reversed, and everyone who wasn’t Vataash or Nabohri had reversed alongside them.

Was this what the guys’ daily lives were like, without school or work or meaningful pursuits to ground them? Just a never-ending game of king of the hill?

Well, I couldn’t take it anymore—I had to stop this.

“Vataash,” I said sternly, stepping forward and projecting my voice so that it cut through the other guys’ derision, and Vataash turned sharply, glaring at me through his swollen eye. I extended my hand to him. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

Vataash looked distrustfully down at my hand, but did not take it.

“Ben Solo,” said Nabohri behind me, in a warning tone that was so unlike his usual joviality. “Step away from him.”

I turned, and made eye contact with Nabohri. Nabohri was tall—taller than me—and for the first time, it occurred to me that he struck an imposing figure, lanky as he was.

I didn’t move, my hand still held out toward Vataash.

“If you do not step back, Solo,” Nabohri threatened quietly, “I will retract the invitation I gave you to Pentarra’s banquet tonight.”

He glared intensely at me. And I began to realize that, as friendly as Nabohri had been toward me lately, it was not my camaraderie he wanted. It was my loyalty.

Well. Unfortunately for him, that was not something available for him to have.

I gave him a defiant look before striding forth and grabbing Vataash by the arm. My intent was to take Vataash back to my room, so I could get him away from the other guys and ask him why he was all bruised up. But to my surprise, Vataash wrested himself away from me in disgust and spat in my face.

“Don’t touch me, human scum,” he snarled, wiping his lips on his bare arm.

I stared at Vataash. And then I looked back at Nabohri. I smeared Vataash’s spit from my cheek with the side of my hand.

Vataash shoved me aside to approach Nabohri, his sharp teeth bared. “You know, nerra,” he growled, “I enjoyed watching Pentarra slam your vacant skull into the ground…and I could almost have pity on you because of it. Surely this delusion you have come to possess, this…idea that you command the loyalty of our brothers, is merely a product of the damage to your head.”

The boys all muttered and murmured.

Nabohri scoffed. “Funny that you should speak of damage to one’s head, nerra,” he shot back, “when your own is so disgustingly disfigured. Do you still mean to go to the banquet tonight, with such a rancor’s face as yours? Ha! No woman would sleep with you.”

More muttering. More murmuring. A little louder this time.

“I wager your mother would,” Vataash hissed. “Because your mother is a whore.” The mutters and murmurs all came to a head, and several of the guys rose up and objected (probably because they had the same mother as Nabohri).

“No, your mother is a whore!” Nabohri retorted—and although this counterattack was far from original, several more brothers rose up and objected (probably because they had the same mother as Vataash).

I found it ironic that they each accused the other’s mother of whorishness, when they shared the same father, who was the biggest whore I’d ever seen.

Vataash and Nabohri snarled at each other like wild kath hounds.

“Nabohri,” I said, coming over and putting a hand on Nabohri’s shoulder. Even though he had attempted to wield his self-assigned authority over me, he wasn’t the one who had spit in my face. “Chill out. Vataash only wants to get under your skin. It’s not worth it.”

But Nabohri slapped my arm away.

“Stay out of our affairs, Ben Solo,” he growled, void of the jollity he had shown me before. “You do not belong here—you never did. You are not one of us. You are an outsider. Eat your snorlii without vomiting, before you try to come in and tell me how to behave!”

Well! So much for nerra!

My face went hot, the blood rushing in my ears. My arm throbbed where he had struck me.

I turned to Vataash. “Vataash—”

“Now that is one thing on which my brother and I can agree,” Vataash hissed. “You, Solo, are only here because you have bedded the ugliest of our sisters. You are no great hunter—I heard you brought back nothing today. I doubt you have had as many women as you claim—for if you had, you would not have chosen Fa’nakhra. You may have dined with our father last night, and perhaps you were even so drunk with conceit that you thought he might favor you over his sons—perhaps you even seized the opportunity to kindle my father’s anger against me. But do not presume he has bestowed honor upon you, Ben Solo. You are merely as a creature in a zoo to him. You may be Fa’nakhra’s guest, but you are not ours—nor are you our father’s, as you seem to think you are.”

I stared at Vataash, my cheeks red, my heart pounding in my throat. I didn’t know if I was surprised by this shift, necessarily—I knew the Pentarra boys weren’t any more reasonable or trustworthy than their father—but damn it, I had just tried to stick up for both of them! (Though perhaps it was my attempt to play both sides that had turned them against me.)

In any case, both of them hated me now. And I knew that, without either Vataash’s or Nabohri’s favor, the other guys would turn on me just as quickly as they had turned on Vataash—unless I thought fast, and made a move.

Luckily, I had a comeback.

I cleared my throat, and shifted my weight.

“Well, uh…that was quite the speech, there, Vataash,” I said slowly. “But if that’s the case, then, um…” I scratched the side of my face, and put my hands in my pockets. “Then how come your father specifically requested my company tonight, at his banquet, at his table?”

I pressed my lips together and raised my eyebrows, scanning the group.

Everyone stared at me. Most of all Vataash and Nabohri, who turned to look at each other in perfect unison and exchanged glances like in a cartoon. I could’ve laughed, if I weren’t so angry.

Hakiiro broke the silence. “He lies,” he said. (What else?)

For once, I wasn’t lying.

At last, Nabohri spoke.

“I was the one who invited you to the banquet, Ben Solo,” he said sternly. “I have since retracted my invitation.”

“Well—you weren’t the first to invite me, I’m afraid,” I admitted. “Sorry, ol’ chap, I didn’t want to tell you before. Thought it might—I don’t know—hurt your feelings, or something.”

Several seconds passed in silence. Vataash and Nabohri looked at each other again. I think they both knew there was no way to recover, now, except to follow Hakiiro’s lead and call my bluff—but then, how foolish would they look if it turned out I wasn’t bluffing?

Which…I wasn’t.

They both stood frozen, unwilling to take the chance. The other boys shuffled awkwardly, not sure what to do without a cue from either captain.

Slowly, I began to smile. I’d won.

“Well…see ya tonight, fellas!” I said in a syrupy sing-song voice, backing out of the room with an over-the-top Rylothian bow. Encouraged by their stunned expressions, my inner thespian came out. I gave a cheerful wave and a hammy salute as I jaunted off into the hall.

I held myself together until I reached my bedroom. And then I shut the door, leaned my back against it, threw my arms around myself, and laughed.

And then…my face fell, and I sank into a squat at the bottom of the door. My boasting only packed a punch if I delivered on it. Which meant…I was either gonna have to make an appearance at the banquet, or look like a total fool.

…Kriff.

Well. Fannie was having dinner with Pennie at six. The gentlemen’s banquet began at seven. Provided that Fannie and Pennie were occupied for at least an hour, I could show up at the banquet long enough to make good on my flex, then bow out and meet up with Fannie later.

Seven o’clock was still two hours away. I messaged Fannie.

Hey! Thinking of you. Do you have any idea what time you and I should meet up tonight?

I waited for her to respond, but no response came. So I flopped back onto the bed and stared up at the velvet canopy, folding my hands over my stomach.

I began to wonder if it would really be so bad if I did attend the banquet. Who knew? It might be interesting…as interesting as everything else I’d seen on Ryloth so far. It wasn’t like I wanted to do anything there—I just wanted to watch.

“There is nothing at the gentlemen’s banquet that would interest a man like you,” Fannie had said. “You would feel out of place—and quite bored. I am sure of it.”

It still sort of bothered me, the way she’d said that…though I wasn’t sure why.

Well…she was right. I didn’t want to watch the women. I wanted to watch everybody, and see everything. Even Rol the taxi driver had heard of the gentlemen’s banquet, and said he’d give his left arm to attend. Maybe it was time for Ben Solo to conduct some good old-fashioned investigative journalism.

I already knew whatever went on at the gentlemen’s banquet wasn’t going to be good. But I had a feeling it was going to be pretty darn interesting.

“Real people should be good, not interesting,” Fannie had said. Well—I knew what she meant. But the banquet was going to happen, whether I was in attendance or not—it wasn’t as if me going or not somehow made things better or worse.

I rolled over on my side, and scrolled on my holopod for a while. Looked at loth-cat videos. Skimmed hate reviews of the Defenders of the Republic holofilm adaptation. Sifted through fan predictions for Hutts in Love Season Four. When my eyes got tired, I went over to the armchair and draped myself over the back of it, like Pennie had the previous night, and exhaled deeply to loosen my spine.

It was six o’clock. That meant Fannie and Pennie were meeting in the kitchen now. Seven o’clock was still one hour away.

I shuffled across the room and plopped down at the desk. I tried to do some writing, but found I couldn’t focus long enough to get anything done.

My mind drifted back to the temple in Bulii’kana. If a holy shrine had been so sordid, how much more would an orgiastic revelry hosted by the wealthiest man in the Tcha’buli region be?

I shuddered…but I also felt very, very curious.

Seven o’clock was half an hour away. My holopod buzzed, and I read the following from Fannie:

Sorry Ben, I just saw this! Pennie and I are eating in the garden now. You should get your supper too, if you haven’t already. Please keep us in your thoughts. Pennie wants to break off the engagement (!!!) and I cannot tell you how relieved I am. There is so much to discuss. Can I meet you around nine tonight?

So Pennie really was going to leave the relationship with her father!

I leaned against my chair and quickly wrote a reply:

Fan, that’s CRAZY! And that IS good news. You know I’ve got your back. Let’s meet in the east library at nine—can’t wait. See you soon. Love ya.

I sent it to her, then tossed my holopod onto the table and crossed my arms behind my head.

Wow. So Pennie really was gonna cut it off. Good for her.

I wondered how Pentarra would react. Would he be angry? Surely he would find her rejection insulting…though I could also imagine him not being affected at all. Perhaps, after all the agony Pennie would have to endure to remove herself from him, Pentarra’s revenge would be to simply not care.

I imagined how much that would hurt Pennie’s feelings. Leaving someone who had held that kind of power over you could be…complicated. Sometimes, even after you left, you ended up carrying a piece of that person with you wherever you went.

…I knew that from personal experience.

I wondered again what had triggered Pennie’s change of heart. Maybe it had been his rejection last night. Or maybe it had been the reminder of tonight’s banquet—the banquet where Pentarra, despite being betrothed to her as well as five-times married, put women on display for his own entertainment and that of his guests.

The banquet that no women besides the performers were allowed to attend.

The banquet that I could safely pop in and out of before meeting Fannie at nine, with a buffer of two whole hours.

…Huh.

Seven o’clock was fifteen minutes away. Guests began to arrive downstairs, and I heard the hubbub coming from the bottom floor. I peeked out the curtain on my balcony, and saw people—men—streaming leisurely in, dressed in their finest (but perhaps not intending to stay dressed for long).

Well…I had to go downstairs to collect my dinner anyway, right? Even if I wasn’t going to attend the gentleman’s banquet, this gentleman still had to eat.

Seven o’clock was ten minutes away. I changed into nicer clothes and left my bedroom, following the stream of other guys as they exited the west wing out to the landing in the atrium. I’ll just go down to the kitchen, I told myself—though that didn’t explain why I’d changed my clothes.

Seven o’clock was five minutes away. I followed the other men down the stairs and toward the double doors of the dining hall, marveling that there was not a woman in sight. I’ll just take a peek before I go to the kitchen, I thought—but the peek was more than a peek, and something more like a linger. The hall was decorated differently, I noticed, and it felt different, too—the air buzzed with laughter, carousing, and extravagance. A sweeping flood of intrigue washed over me and drew me in with almost a magnetic force—I barely managed to hang back.

Seven o’clock came. The great chronometer chimed. A wave of men sailed in behind me, pushing me forward—and this time I did not resist, allowing myself to be carried along by the crowd. I’ll just walk to the other end of the hall and get to the kitchen through the northwest door, I thought to myself dazedly…but at that point, I think I knew I did not honestly mean my own words.

My ears were met with a swell of cacophony as I found myself immersed in the delirium of the dining hall. But I heard something else through the din, too.

A voice.

“Yet another secret, Ben Solo? Very well. You know it will be safe with me.”

I ignored it.

And I walked the rest of the way in.

Chapter Text

The dining hall had been reorganized. Pentarra’s table was in the same place, on the elevated platform at the head of the room, but the other tables now lined the walls to create an arena theater. Wooden platforms formed a stage in the center, and velvet curtains draped the walls in deep, sultry red. The entire room hummed with the deep voices of men, and half the guests who were here tonight I had never seen before.

“Ben Solo,” said a quiet voice behind me. I turned—it was Mikal.

“Mikal!” I exclaimed. “Geez, you scared me. Wait—you’re here?”

“Yes, I am here in front of you,” said Mikal, confused. “You are speaking to me. Sorry I scared you.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s just that—well, I was under the impression that this event was kind of—um…what I mean is, are you old enough to be here?”

“I am now,” said Mikal. “I turned fifteen years old at the end of last month, which is the age one must be in order to attend. This is my very first gentlemen’s banquet.”

“Hey, congrats,” I said, then felt super weird about it. “Um…on turning fifteen, I mean.”

“Thanks.”

“Well…I may be a lot older than you, but it’s my first one, too. Where are you sitting?”

“As is tradition, I will be sitting at my father’s table to celebrate that I have become a man.”

“Oh!” I said. “I’m sitting at his table, too. Wanna…sit together?”

Mikal smiled—something he didn’t do often.

“Yes,” he said. “I would like to sit with you.”

Normally, the serving women wore neutral colors, as if to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. Tonight, they dressed very brightly…and in very little. It was shocking, unnerving, and a little bit exciting—but what I felt was more the thrill of the forbidden than any kind of physical attraction, if that makes sense.

Still, the servant girls’ outfits were nothing compared to the shimmering fabrics and striking silhouettes worn by the performers, who walked around to mingle with guests before the show. One of the dancers was wearing a fishnet top, the loose strings at its ends adorned with beads—but either it had a lining that perfectly matched her skin tone, or she was naked underneath. I spent way too long trying to figure out which it was, and got caught looking.

The dancer smiled, and sauntered up to me. “Naughty, naughty,” she teased. “It’s not polite to stare.”

Now that she was up close, she looked about seventeen years old, which made me feel pretty gross and weird. “Uh—sorry,” I choked, but she only laughed.

“Oh, don’t be sorry,” she said, leaning in and lowering her voice. “We’re not here to be polite, after all.” She flicked her index finger under my chin, and turned on her heel and flounced away.

I looked at Mikal, mortified…but Mikal showed no emotion on his face.

Mikal and I made our way around the raised stage, past the other tables, and toward the head of the room. A golden silk tablecloth covered Pentarra’s table, and crimson brocade placemats stood out against the gold. On these mats we found thick paper place cards with our names written on them—but Mikal and I had not been placed together.

With a little passionate case-making, I convinced Mikal that it was okay for us to switch the place cards around. We ended up sitting on the left side of the table, with me on the end and him to my right.

There was already bread waiting for us, along with small clay bowls full of oil, garlic, and some tiny olive-looking things. I took a piece of bread, and dipped it in the oil.

“Wine?” A servant girl with her chest barely held in with satin and string came to offer us drinks. “Honeyfruit, from Hetzal Prime. Twenty-two ABY.”

I stared at her. She was the same girl who had been peeling redfruits with Fannie a couple of nights ago, and who had found me the morning I woke up in the east library. She recognized me, too, and looked askance.

“Uh—sure,” I said quickly, pushing my goblet forward and looking down at the table.

Mikal seemed to be included in the invitation despite his age, and the girl filled his goblet as well as mine. After she had moved on to the next table, I turned to Mikal.

“You drink?” I asked. “Alcohol, I mean.”

“Yes. Did you not see me drink at the bonfire yesterday?”

“Oh, yeah. I guess I did.”

I had forgotten. The bonfire was a bit of a blur…for totally non-alcohol-related reasons, obviously.

“Do you like alcohol, Mikal?”

“No.”

“Do you like how it feels?”

“No.”

“Then why do you drink it?”

“Because it has been put in my glass,” Mikal said simply.

I felt sorry for him. I took his goblet, and poured it into mine. Then I worried he might think the action was patronizing…but he looked at me with an expression that seemed to thank me, maybe.

I wasn’t sure. Mikal doesn’t emote much.

“Do you like alcohol, Ben?” he asked.

“Uh…yeah, I like it,” I said. “It took me a while to get used to the taste. And it kinda depends on the type of alcohol. But yeah—I like it now.”

“When did you first drink?”

“When I turned twenty-one. That’s how old you have to be to drink, where I come from.”

“When did you first have sexual intercourse?”

I spit my wine back into the goblet.

“Wha-huh?”

“When did you first have sexual intercourse?” Mikal repeated, in the exact same tone and wording. He seemed to think I just hadn’t heard him the first time.

Geez Louise. I didn’t know if I’d ever heard the words “sexual intercourse” before in a non-academic setting. It was so awkward, I almost would have preferred Fannie’s “making love.”

I hesitated, wiping my mouth with my napkin. Yeah, I had lied about my nonexistent sex life to all the guys at the bonfire—including Mikal. But…now that I was with him alone, I didn’t feel like continuing the charade.

“...Why do you ask?” I questioned instead.

“Because I am going to have it for the first time tonight,” Mikal said solemnly. “Since I am now a man.”

I looked at him, astonished. From what I’d heard, it wasn’t unusual to have one’s first sexual experience so young…but I didn’t get the sense it was because he wanted to.

“...Do you want to have it?” I asked.

“I don’t see what difference that would make,” Mikal said. “I am going to. It is what men do.”

Well—not all of ‘em, I thought.

“You know,” I said, “Nabohri told me you weren’t at the hunt this morning.”

“No,” Mikal confirmed. “I wasn’t.”

I waited for him to say more. He didn’t. I really needed to remember to ask my follow-up questions out loud, when it came to Mikal.

“Why weren’t you at the hunt, Mikal?” I probed.

He paused, seeming to choose his words.

“Because I thought about what you said,” he told me. “And I decided there is not a rule that says I must go hunting. So…I did not go.”

“But is there a rule that says you have to come to the gentlemen’s banquet when you turn fifteen?” I asked. “And a rule that says you have to drink wine even if you don’t like it? And a rule that you have to have sex tonight, just ‘cause it’s what other guys do?”

Mikal frowned, and looked distressed—the most emotion I’d ever seen on him. “It’s…hard to tell what is a rule and what isn’t, sometimes,” he said. “Usually I just try to do what other people do.”

“Mikal, buddy…I think there are a lot fewer rules in the galaxy than you think there are,” I told him gently. “You decided you didn’t have to go on the hunt. You can also decide not to be here if you don’t want to be.”

Mikal looked like he was thinking about it.

“But…you’re here, Ben Solo,” he said finally. “Do you want to be here? Because, if you want to be here…then I’ll stay here with you. I trust you, Ben.”

I opened my mouth…but I didn’t know what to say.

In the end, I didn’t get to say anything. The sound of a horn from the middle of the room captured our attention, and we looked to see Ruut Pentarra in the center of the stage. Having silenced the entire hall, he handed the horn back to the servant girl standing next to him, and she bowed and removed herself from the stage.

Pentarra was dressed in glittering golden robes, and a matching gold headpiece that sat on the crown of his head and coiled around each base of his lekku. He wore the same rings he always did, but the rainbow array of gemstones seemed to sparkle even brighter now that the rest of him was drowning in gold.

“Welcome, sons of Pentarra, and all my distinguished guests!” he shouted, his voice booming, and cheers rose up around the room. “I am honored you all have come to partake in this night of revelry.”

I looked around. Pentarra’s sons were all here—all of them that did not sit with their mothers at supper. I was able to pick out both Vataash and Nabohri, who were seated on opposite sides of the room from one another. I targeted Vataash first, and then Nabohri, with a smug smile and a cheeky little wave—like the kind my mother had had to do as a young Alderaanian princess.

Both of them saw me, and pretended not to.

Vataash was wearing a bacta patch over his swollen eye. Perhaps he had taken Nabohri’s insult to heart, and was hoping his face would heal in time for him to charm one of the dancers.

There were no female guests at the tables, nor were there any children (even if Mikal still seemed like a kid to me). But the room remained as full as it had been the previous evenings. Of the men I hadn’t seen before, most of them were Twi’leks, but there were others, too: humans and Neimoidians and Rodians and Togrutas. Some men were young and some men were old; some looked charming and suave and handsome and others looked slimy and sleazy and greasy.

All of them, however, looked disgustingly wealthy.

“As many of you know, I host the gentlemen’s banquet every cycle, when Tollah’s moon is full,” Pentarra said. “The purpose of this night is to celebrate and enjoy the best of Tollah’s pleasures. It is always a special occasion...but tonight is even more so. I am proud to announce that my son, Mikal Pentarra, has come of age and become a man.”

The crowd began to clap. Pentarra turned toward us, and raised his voice: “Mikal! Rise!”

Mikal rose to his feet obediently, but did not smile—though I think he would have, had Pentarra told him to. The applause came to a peak and slowly dissipated.

“Mikal is Lethan,” Pentarra boasted proudly—which I found odd. From what Pentarra had told me, he did not seem to think it was something for Mikal to be proud of. “He is the only one of my offspring to bear this great mark of luck. Please, Mikal: step forward.”

“How many steps?” Mikal asked seriously, and several men chuckled.

Pentarra’s lips curved dryly. I wondered if he thought Mikal meant to mock him. If he had known Mikal at all, he would have known this wasn’t the case—but I had little faith that Pentarra really knew his children.

“Join me on the stage, Mikal,” said Pentarra, a little less grandly, and Mikal complied, with no sign of embarrassment at having originally misunderstood.

“Good,” Pentarra said, as Mikal stopped beside him. “Now: turn, so everyone can see you.”

Mikal turned. He turned to face one side of the room, and then the other, and then the last, shifting mechanically on his feet at perfect ninety-degree angles. The whole thing felt very weird and uncomfortable to me, though I couldn’t explain why.

The guests murmured with intrigue, and then I knew why it felt so odd—Pentarra was, for the moment, a ringmaster hosting a freak show.

“Would that your son had been born a daughter!” someone called out. “He has a dancer’s build.” Several of the men whooped and laughed at this. I frowned and searched indignantly for the source of the remark, but couldn’t tell who’d said it.

“I like being a man,” said Mikal, expressionless. “I would not be at the gentlemen’s banquet, were I not.”

The men laughed again, but Mikal seemed unbothered.

Pentarra smiled that faint, unnerving smile again. “Go back to your seat, Mikal,” he commanded, and Mikal did—but he stood beside me, and did not sit down.

I leaned over. “Mikal,” I whispered. “You can sit.”

But Mikal shook his head, his eyes fixed on Pentarra. “It is important that I follow my father’s commands exactly,” he told me calmly. “You saw what he did to Nabohri.” And Vataash, I thought to myself. “But sometimes my father does not say exactly what he wants me to do.”

I felt sorry for Mikal. And I was even more sorry that he didn’t see a problem with Pentarra’s behavior. To Mikal, his father’s mistreatment was just another set of rules he had to make sure to follow.

“Well…you can sit down, Mikal,” I told him. “When he said ‘go back to your seat,’ he meant ‘sit down.’”

“Oh,” said Mikal. And he sat—if reluctantly.

“Mikal was born of my fifth wife, Kuhrii, fifteen years ago,” Pentarra was saying. “It has been many years since I took my last wife—though, of course, I have since collected many women.” The audience of men chuckled amiably.

“But besides this being Mikal’s first banquet,” Pentarra continued, his voice booming, “tonight is a special celebration for another reason, which is this: I am pleased to announce that I will soon have a new bride, whom I now display before you.”

I frowned. Display?

“Allow me to present my most recent betrothed—Pen’awen!” Pentarra bellowed, gesturing grandly toward the curtain in the northwest corner, and a chill ran down my spine.

A roomful of heads turned to look.

…No one came.

I chewed on my lower lip, trying not to show my concern. I hadn’t known Pennie was supposed to be here. At this very moment, Pennie was currently with Fannie in the garden, discussing how to become Pentarra’s most recent unbetrothed.

I knew that Pennie wasn’t here. But Pentarra must not have known that Pennie wasn’t here. Had he not bothered to check for her before the event had begun? Had Pennie failed to plan an excuse for her absence?

The crowd began to murmur.

I played with my fingers nervously, wondering what would happen next—and what consequence would befall Pennie for having embarrassed her father in front of all his guests.

But…I didn’t have to wonder.

Because suddenly, out flew Pennie Pentarra from behind the curtain, her head adorned with jewels and decorative cuffs around her lekku. She wore a periwinkle bikini top with great wings of gauzy fabric that trailed below her outspread arms, and a short, wrapped skirt under a bustle of large plumed feathers that made her look like some flamboyant bird. Her stomach and legs were bare, and she wore no shoes. Gold bangles encircled her wrists and ankles, and they jingled as she held her lithe arms up to the high ceiling—the gauzy wings fluttered up into the air and floated down slowly.

And then she flashed the crowd a winning smile, her lips rosy pink, her teeth blinding white.

For a second, I was stunned.

Then I pulled out my holopod and checked for a message from Fannie, but there was nothing.

Everyone else was whistling and hooting over Pennie, but I was mentally floundering, trying to make sense of things. What time had it been when Fannie messaged me to say they were eating dinner in the garden? Six-thirty? And what time was it now—seven? No, seven-forty-five.

Had she and Pennie parted ways early, then? Well, they must have—because here was Pennie, right in front of me. I squinted as Pennie made her way to the center stage, trying to see as a last resort whether it was Pennie at all—I deliriously imagined some kind of soap opera conspiracy where Pennie had hired one of the servants to dress up and take her place at the banquet, so that she could run away in the night with her sister—

But no. The woman onstage was definitely Pennie Pentarra. I had seen enough of her dry, cunning smile to recognize her beyond a shadow of a doubt.

So then…where was Fannie? And why hadn’t she messaged me?

I opened our conversation history again in desperation.

Nothing.

Pennie drew herself gracefully up to the center stage and cleared her throat, and I looked up.

“Thank you, gentlemen: my brothers, and my guests,” she said sweetly, in a voice I’d never heard from her before—a little higher, a little more syrupy.

Oh yeah, I thought. Most of these guys are Pennie’s brothers. Well, half-brothers. I had nearly forgotten, the way they whistled at her.

“It is my honor to be your hostess,” Pennie went on, curtsying in each direction of her applause, “and of course, Ruut Pentarra’s newest bride. My husband-to-be wishes to recognize a few of his guests in particular.” 

Newest bride?

Husband-to-be?

I had a bad feeling about this.

“Firstly,” Pennie said, gesturing toward our table, “Markos Nikoulo of Coruscant, businessman. Owner of the Nikoulo hotels found galaxywide.”

The Rodian gentleman who had been sitting on the other side of Pentarra’s chair rose and bowed to the rest of the room. I’d never heard of him, but the Nikoulo hotel chain was ubiquitous.

“Secondly: Borh Free Taa, nephew of the late Senator Orn Free Taa,” Pennie continued, and the large Twi’lek man who had been sitting next to Markos Nikoulo stood and bowed.

Orn Free Taa had been Ryloth’s representative in the Galactic Senate, under both the Republic and the Empire. Due to his corruption and greed, he had never been popular with his people. I didn’t know what this nephew of his was like. Maybe he had a more favorable image. Or…maybe he didn’t.

“And thirdly, Ben Solo—son of Leia Organa, the Huttslayer!”

And Pennie gestured toward me, and a hundred heads swiveled.

Oh. So I was getting a special shout-out, too.

I supposed I should have expected as much, seeing as I was the last one at Pentarra’s table who had not been mentioned. I wasn’t sure what to do. I had wanted the Pentarra boys to see me here, but I didn’t know if I wanted everyone in the room to look at me at once.

I stood up reluctantly, bowed my Rylothian bow, and received the same polite applause that the other two guys had. And I guess it did feel pretty good to scout out Vataash and Nabohri again, and see how ashen their faces looked—I buried a private smile.

“These are all of the special guests that Pentarra wishes to acknowledge,” Pennie said as I sat back down. “Rest assured he is beyond pleased to have each and every one of you in attendance—as am I.” She turned over her shoulder and smiled, seeming to look specifically toward me as she said it.

Pennie had obviously known I would be here. She had introduced me and everything, and she’d clearly practiced beforehand.

Only an hour ago, Fannie had said Pennie wanted to break off her engagement to her father. So…either Pennie was currently lying about being honored to be Pentarra’s newest bride…or she had lied to Fannie about wanting to break the engagement.

…I had a hunch about which lie she was more likely to have told.

Oh, boy. Fannie wasn’t gonna be happy about this.

But where was Fannie?

She wasn’t with her sister. That was for sure.

I had to leave and go find her…but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself in the middle of Pennie’s speech. I decided to wait until the speech was done, and then I’d sneak out and look for Fannie.

“Eighteen beautiful dancers shall perform tonight,” Pennie was saying. “Some of you have already had the pleasure of meeting them. As is tradition of the gentlemen’s banquet, these women will be available to you for further familiarity after dinner. But there are only eighteen of them, and many more of you—so you must secure your chance quickly.”

I was only half-listening, because I was trying to figure out what I’d do once I found Fan. I had to tell her about Pennie: that I had seen her hosting the banquet, and that she was no longer interested in breaking off the engagement with Pentarra…if she had ever been at all.

But how was I going to tell her that without revealing I had also been at the gentlemen’s banquet?

“Since there are so few women,” one man called out, “can we share them amongst ourselves?”

Well, that got my attention again. It was as if he was talking about, like, a sandwich or something.

“That would be an arrangement between you and whoever you intend to share with,” answered Pennie. “I see no reason why not. But good luck—most men do not like to share.” She smirked. “Then again…there are some who do.”

Everyone laughed.

“Do the dancers expect to be paid?” another man called out.

“As is Pentarra’s custom,” answered Pennie, “the dancers have already been graciously paid for by your host. Both for their dancing…as well as anything else.”

“Very well then,” the guy said, “do they expect to receive a tip?”

“Indeed, no, sir,” replied Pennie slyly. “They expect to receive the whole thing!” She bent at the hips and rose up again with a crude pelvic motion, causing the men to roar with laughter while I sipped my wine and tried not to go red in the face.

I had to admit, though: Pennie had inherited her father’s charisma and stage presence.

“At the end of each dancer’s performance,” Pennie went on, “the first gentleman to come to the stage will win her company for the night. He will then come to me, and collect a key to one of the sleeping chambers, which you will find through the northeast curtain.” She brandished a ring of keys in the air, and gestured toward the corner to my left.

So that was what the northeast corner of the dining hall led to: sex rooms.

I’d have to try not to think about that while I was eating my dinner in the hall from now on.

“Dinner will be served first, before the dances,” Pennie said next. “This way, you will have some time to digest—as the luckiest of you will soon be engaged in rigorous activity. You will find the menu beneath your plate.”

I lifted up my plate. There was indeed a menu there, made of the same thick paper as the place cards, and written in Basic instead of Ryl.

“Best of luck to you all,” Pennie said, sashaying around in a wide circle to blow kisses around the room. “May you all find pleasure tonight—and may Tollah smile upon our merrymaking!” She leapt gracefully down from the stage, and headed for our table.

With the introductions concluded, servants began to enter from the northwest corner with platters of food. I stopped Pennie as she was making her way past us to her seat.

“Pennie,” I said. She turned, and met me with a charming smile.

“Ben Solo,” she said, savoring my name. “I am so pleased that you are here.”

“Where’s Fannie?” I demanded. “I thought you were eating dinner with her in the garden.”

“Which, of course, is why you decided to come here behind her back, no?” Pennie smirked.

“Look, I don’t have time for this,” I snapped. “Where is she?”

“Why are you always asking me where Fa’nakhra is? Am I my sister’s keeper?”

“You were just with her, weren’t you? You sent her a message earlier. You asked her to have supper with you. She told me you were in the garden only an hour ago. She also told me some other things…but now I see they weren’t true.”

Pennie smiled as if reliving a pleasant memory. “Oh, yes; Fa’nakhra and I had supper,” she said sweetly. “We also had a lovely conversation. I so enjoyed pretending, even for a moment, that my sister did not utterly despise me for the choices I have made. The choices that she cannot understand, because she refuses to understand me.”

“So you lied to her,” I said sharply. “Why? You know her. She’s gonna be heartbroken when she finds out you weren’t serious.”

Pennie smiled even wider, and nastier, and gave me a cruel little wink.

“Which is precisely why I did it,” she crooned.

I stared at her in disbelief.

“Besides, Ben Solo,” Pennie said in a low voice, “it is not as if you have never lied to her. You are still sneaking around behind her back and spending your time however you please. Look at where you are at this very moment. You speak of my sister’s heartbreak? She will be heartbroken if she learns that you were here. Don’t you dare speak to me as if you were above me.”

“Pennie, just tell me. Where is she?”

Pennie’s smile vanished.

“She is in her quarters, if you must know,” she sniffed. “We finished with our supper around six-thirty. She said something about needing to meet you later, and retired to her chamber to take a nap.”

“A nap? At six in the evening?”

“I don’t know,” scoffed Pennie. “She said something like: ‘oh, goodness, I am so exhausted—but rather in a good way, I think. I believe I shall lie down a moment and rest my eyes before I meet Ben at nine.’”

Pennie’s impression was so convincing, it did sound like something Fannie would say.

I relaxed my shoulders a little.

“You’re meeting her at nine?” Pennie said calmly, and glanced at the large chronometer above the entrance of the dining hall. “Then you have plenty of time at your disposal.” She leaned over to pull the menu from under my plate, and handed it to me. “Please. You must be hungry. I implore you, Ben Solo: enjoy the finest of Tollah’s bounty.”

She smiled and patted me on the head, and I watched her as she sidled past Mikal to take her seat.

Well…I was hungry. And women holding platters of food were now coming to our table.

…Fine. I’d stay to eat some food. And then I’d get the hell out of here.

I looked over the menu, and scanned it for snorlii—to my relief, there was none.

The menu was as follows:

TO START
fresh-baked bread,
served with garlic confit and pickled lothii buds
honeyfruit wine

FIRST COURSE
in honor of Mel’aatola, divine attendant of good fortune
a cold salad of lakeweed and spring chives,
drizzled with shal’sholla seed oil and topped with stuurgfish roe
lothii blossom tea

SECOND COURSE
in honor of Shaak’tola, divine attendant of harvest
wild rice pilaf with roasted barley, pine nuts, and young rivercress,
served with a side of charred baby greenspears
Outer Rim Flight (Twin Suns Haze, Mantellian fungolager, Ryll imperial stout)

THIRD COURSE
in honor of Tollah, divine goddess of all abundance
spit-roasted senshiil, glazed with zuukshi honey,
stuffed with sweet onion, q’reshnuts, kernmeal, and fresh herbs
Cantonica Pinot Noir

FOURTH COURSE
in honor of Vikh’tola, divine attendant of wealth
oyster chowder with heavy cream and wild chantrello mushrooms,
topped with sliced violet truffles and served with toast points and foie gras
Daruvvian champagne

FIFTH COURSE
in honor of Zhul’iitola, divine attendant of pleasure
egg custard tart with clotted cream,
garnished with Briika cherry preserves and gold leaf
sweet goldberry wine

Whoa. Fancy-schmancy. I’d spent the last three years eating instant glowblue noodles—I was fresh out of college, for goodness’ sake.

Normally, I’m a sardine-and-tomato sandwich kind of guy. But, hey: I can appreciate nice things.

Especially when they don’t cost anything. Save, perhaps, for a smidgen of moral compromise…but that, I figured, I could stand to afford.

“Wizard,” I murmured as the bowl of lakeweed salad was placed in front of me, the bright orange sturrgfish roe glistening like gems.

Since there were a lot of off-worlders here tonight, one of the servants came around to offer forks and spoons. Which was great—because I could enjoy dinner a lot more when I didn’t have to worry about fumbling food with my fingers and looking dumb.

Dinner that night was the fanciest meal I have ever had in my life. Does something that’s going straight in your mouth need to have gold leaf on it? Hell no—but also, why the hell not?

Each course had a different drink to pair with it—with the exception of the second course, which featured three. The only drink Mikal liked was the sweet wine that was served with dessert. Even then, he only sipped it, and did not finish the rest.

I helped Mikal finish his drinks…which seemed like an okay idea at first. But while I was helping Mikal finish his Daruvvian champagne, it all hit me at once—or maybe I just hadn’t paid attention up until that point. I squinted at the ceiling and felt my head spin like the water in a fishbowl when you move it around, and thought to myself: “oh, kriff, I’ve done it now.”

By the time dessert had concluded, I found myself, shall we say…considerably relaxed. Not only that, I had forgotten to keep track of time. Since there had been so many courses, dinner had proceeded at a leisurely pace, and it was already nine o’clock when the servants began to clear the last of the dishes.

“Geez, I should get going,” I muttered. I tried to stand up…and got so dizzy, I immediately had to sit back down.

Oh, yeah. I’d really done it now. I was gonna have to sit still for a bit and give my body a chance to metabolize.

I checked my holopod again (embarrassingly, it took me a second to remember my passcode this time). Still nothing from Fannie.

Maybe she was still asleep. Maybe she’d forgotten to set an alarm.

I fumbled my fingers over the touchpad:

Hey! Are we still meeting up?

Part of me hoped she wouldn’t wake up. Maybe she’d sleep till morning, and then I could just tell her everything tomorrow. I didn’t think I’d be able to give her my full attention now, anyway…nor had I thought of a way to explain how I’d discovered Pennie’s dishonesty without incriminating myself.

It became nine-fifteen, and then nine-thirty. The plates disappeared. The men grew restless.

Still nothing from Fannie.

I’m sure she’s fine, I thought to myself hazily. I was beginning to feel weirdly comfortable as I sank into my seat—as if I were having a dream, or an out-of-body experience. If she messages me before the end of the night, I’ll come find her.

“Do you plan to claim one of the dancers, Ben?” Mikal asked, breaking my trance.

“Um—what? Sorry?”

“Do you plan to claim one of the dancers?”

“Uh…no.”

“...Okay,” Mikal said. “Then…neither will I. I suppose there’s no rule saying I have to.”

I patted him on the back affectionately. Maybe it was a good thing I was here, after all.

“Ben Solo!”

I looked to see who had called my name, and saw Pennie coming up the steps. She leaned forward against the table from the other side, all smiles.

“Did you enjoy dinner?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I admitted with a self-conscious laugh. “A lot. Maybe a little too much.”

“Nonsense. There’s no such thing,” she chirped, before switching to a look of concern, her full lips rounding into a pout. “But…aren’t you late to meet my sister?”

“Well, she never messaged me back,” I said. “She’s probably still asleep.”

“Oh…I see,” said Pennie—and if I had been a little more sober, I might’ve picked up on the tooth in her grin. “Then why don’t you stay for the show? The girls have worked so hard on their performances. Of course, I know you wouldn’t dream of taking home anyone other than your dear Fa’nakhra…but, you know, it’s not a crime to look.”

She smirked, and strode off toward the stage before I could reply.

…Well.

Why not, indeed?

Pennie was right that I had no interest in the women. But so far, tonight had proved very interesting, and if I wasn’t meeting Fannie in the library anymore, it wasn’t like I had anything better to do.

And besides. It was a good thing I was here. For Mikal.

Once onstage, Pennie raised her arms and called for the hall’s attention. She gestured toward the northwest corner and introduced the first dancer: the girl with the fishnet top who had caught me staring at her. The girl came flying barefoot from the curtain in the corner, slender and shapely and scantily-clad, and twirled and glided across the stage. She held sticks with ribbons on the ends that trailed flitteringly behind her, tracing her every movement.

The men sat hypnotized, whistling as they watched. I didn’t whistle, but I did watch—and I did finally figure out whether she was naked underneath the fishnet or not…but I will leave that to your imagination.

Although the servants had cleared the plates, they were still serving drinks. I swallowed, realized how parched I was, and asked one of the servants for water. She only laughed and poured me more wine.

I stared at it for a second.

Then went ah, what the hell—and drank it.

“She is a very good dancer,” Mikal remarked to me as we watched the girl float around the stage.

“She is,” I said back. “She must practice a lot.”

And then I had to laugh, because the things Mikal and I had to say were so unlike what the rest of the men had to say—which I will also leave to your imagination.

As soon as the girl finished her dance, a bunch of guys stood and raced toward the stage. The first one to get there swept her off the ground and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of flour, then came to where Pennie stood in front of our table. She congratulated him and handed him a key, and off he went, carrying his prize through the curtain at my left.

 It all happened so fast. I tried to see the woman’s face as he carried her off—but her face was hidden, and there was nothing to see. And then Pennie announced the second dancer, who also came flying out of the northwest curtain, and the whole thing began again.

She danced. They catcalled. She bowed. They descended on her. She disappeared through the northeast curtain, never to be seen again. Pennie introduced the third dancer.

The evening went on. I lost count of the dancers. Everyone got drunker and drunker. I nursed my wine—I had given up trying to get water. I wanted to leave, but didn’t feel like I could. Everything blurred together—the sights, the sounds, the sensations—the drinks kept pouring and the men kept laughing and the women kept dancing, and I felt the electricity in the room all around me—a potent cocktail of revelry and exuberance and naughtiness and lust—I felt like I was somehow shut outside of it and trapped inside of it all at the same time—and more and more I could sense how different I was from everyone else here, everyone except Mikal—but even then, Mikal seemed to be taking it all in—Mikal, who, like his family’s domesticated blurrgs, had never known anything other than the world in which he was raised—

I began to feel like I was falling sideways in my chair. I put out my hands and gripped the edges of my seat to stabilize myself. The dream-feeling, the floating feeling, the out-of-body feeling—it began to feel not-so-good.

Dancer after dancer finished her performance, and was immediately carried off into the sleeping chambers (which were most definitely not used primarily for sleep). Every time, several men would rush the stage at once, pushing and shoving each other to get there. They seemed just as driven by carnal desire as my blurrg friend from earlier. I couldn’t imagine what that felt like, or why anyone would behave like that. And I began to replay over and over in my head—well, everything—

—when Fannie and I were in my old room, and I’d made her stop kissing me, and she asked what Snoke had done—

—when Connie and Ginnie had made fun of me during my first dinner here—

—when I had lied to the guys at the bonfire about all the sex I hadn’t had—

—when Pennie had tried to seduce me: “You are a man, aren’t you?”—

—and now, here I was, in the very lap of lust and lechery, and I felt—

…I felt…

…nothing.

Well—I did feel pretty damn drunk. But that was about it.

Even the initial excitement I’d experienced over seeing so many upper halves of breasts and lower halves of buttocks, more because I knew I wasn’t supposed to than because I had a genuine interest—even that thrill was gone too. At this point, I’d seen so much that I was bored of it.

Yet…no one else seemed bored but me. It was like being the only sober person at a house party. (Not that I was anything close to sober anymore, at this point.)

And stupidly, I thought to myself—hey, you know what would make me feel a little less bad about this?

…More wine.

The night wound down. A few of the servants began to clean up spilled drinks and shattered glass. Some of the men, having given up on their chances with the performers, disappeared with the servant girls instead. Others drank themselves into oblivion and lay passed out over their tables and benches. There were only a couple of dancers left.

Ruut Pentarra ended up claiming the seventeenth dancer. When he rose from his seat, his competitors immediately sat back down and allowed him to make his way to the stage uninterrupted. I noticed a flicker of jealousy cross Pennie’s face…but she quickly recovered, and handed him a key with a hostess’s flourish.

I had been glancing at Vataash and Nabohri over the course of the night, wondering if either of them planned to claim one of the dancers. Strangely, they had both seemed nervous to, and neither one had made any move all this time. Maybe it was because they had felt the need to defer to Pentarra’s guests?

…Or, I realized, to Pentarra himself.

That hypothesis seemed a lot more likely as I watched the intense way both brothers watched their father disappear through the northeast curtain. Unlike the other men, Pentarra did not carry the girl away in his arms, or run as he went. He simply strode away in that calm, controlled manner of his, and the girl followed obediently behind like a senshiil to slaughter.

I saw her face as she went. It reminded me of how Hassacha had looked at me the night before.

“She looks terrified,” I murmured aloud, and Pennie heard me.

“He likes it when they are,” she said stiffly into her glass of wine. “Perhaps it is because I no longer fear his fantasies that he has grown bored of me. What cruel irony it is, that a woman’s devotion means nothing to a man who craves only sport.”

I turned to look at her, caught off guard by her lucidity. She met my gaze and looked surprised as well, her nose in her glass.

Then she turned away and pretended she hadn’t spoken. She put down her glass and smoothed her skirt and announced the eighteenth dancer to the crowd. The last dancer threw the northwest curtain aside, and posed seductively in the doorway.

As she ascended to the stage and began her routine, I idly imagined myself going up to her, and taking her into one of the sleeping chambers, and…well…I didn’t know what I’d do with her then. Tell her I didn’t know how to do anything, that I’d never done any of it before, and ask her to show me how. Or maybe I’d just set some tea to boil and interview her, and ask her what her story was, and how she’d ended up in this place.

I was sitting across from her in my head, asking her what she would most like to do with unlimited credits and the ability to travel to any planet she wanted—when I snapped out of it and blinked a couple of times. I glanced furtively around, embarrassed, as if anyone would have been able to see inside my head.

Even in my own fantasies I couldn’t have sex.

For the past several minutes, Vataash and Nabohri had been watching each other almost as intently as they watched the stage. When the eighteenth dancer finished her performance, ending in the splits with her arms extended gracefully, both boys leapt out of their seats at once and came flying down to the center of the room. They descended upon her at the same time and each tried to wrest her away from the other, like two hounds fighting for the last scrap of meat.

Neither of them would let go. And I realized it wasn’t just about the girl. It was about power. Dominance. Control.

At first, the dancer played along, pretending as if she were flattered to be in such high demand. But the more roughly Vataash and Nabohri fought, shouting at each other and yanking her back and forth till I feared for her arm sockets, the more her facade wore away. She began to look concerned, then frightened, then pained.

Vataash and Nabohri cursed one another in Twi’leki at the top of their lungs—if their father had still been in the room perhaps they would have kept themselves in check, but now no holds were barred. The girl began to shout, too, and I didn’t know what she was saying either—but it was extremely clear to me she did not enjoy what was happening.

I turned to Pennie, who watched the proceedings with a placid expression and her wine glass to her lips.

“Pennie,” I urged. “You’ve got to stop them. They’re gonna rip that poor girl’s arms out!”

Pennie looked at me coolly. “This is our tradition, Ben Solo.”

“Pen, listen to me,” I begged. “That girl up there? She’s a kid just like you!”

“Kid?” Pennie sniffed indifferently. “That is a woman. She knows the hazards of her trade. And she is nothing like me. I’m not onstage.”

I stared at her, shocked by her callousness.

“...Kartakk erai de numa,” I uttered, and Pennie looked at me sharply…before settling into an amused smile.

“Did my sister teach you that?” she chuckled. “I do not abide by that rule, Ben Solo. I am not bound by some code of loyalty to anyone, simply because we are of the same sex.”

“Fair enough. Forget that she’s a girl,” I said. “But she’s a person, and nobody deserves to be treated like that!”

“The fact that she is a person makes no difference to me, either,” Pennie said loftily. “There are a great many people in this world I do not care about, Ben Solo—and I am sure there are also a great many you do not care for. Again, I would appreciate if you did not pretend as though you were better than me.”

I didn’t have time to ponder her retort—I knew I had to do something. So I jumped and stood on top of my chair, almost toppling as I did, and shouted at the top of my lungs the very first thing I thought of to say:

“Vataash challenges Nabohri to a fight to the death!”

The two boys stopped where they were on the stage, and stared at me.

For a second, Vataash gave me a very “what the kriff” kind of look. But…I knew he was too proud to deny what I’d said, lest he look like a coward.

“A glorious battle of strength and might!” I shouted, tacking on some extra drama to buy time. “Whoever defeats the other will win the girl!”

Silence.

I looked around the hall desperately. And then I waved my arms and cheered, until the rest of the men caught on and roared their drunken approval. They had not expected this, but it was a welcome addition to the night’s entertainment.

Having successfully riled everyone up, I plopped back down in my seat, my heart racing. I didn’t have any hope of rescuing her from either one of the boys—but I figured I could at least try to save her from being handled by both at once.

Vataash and Nabohri both withdrew from the woman, and looked at each other awkwardly. I wasn’t sure how prepared they were for hand-to-hand combat under normal circumstances—let alone inebriated and before a crowd.

But I was right. Vataash was much too proud to retract the duel…and Nabohri was too envious of his eldest half-brother to back down from a challenge. The woman stepped dazedly off the stage, and Vataash and Nabohri circled around on top of it, trying to look menacing…but I think they just didn’t know what to do. Part of me hoped that both guys might be too scared to fight, and simply walk away.

But that was a foolish thing to hope for, I guess.

It was Nabohri who made the first move. He threw himself at his brother with a warrior’s cry, and the entire hall cried with him. Vataash took the cue, and ran toward Nabohri also—they crashed into each other in the center of the stage, locked together, and tumbled to the floor in a flurry of limbs, each pummeling the other without technique or coordination.

I found myself holding my breath. Nabohri had more height, but Vataash had more muscle. I wasn’t sure who had the better odds—but some of the men seemed to think they did, because some of them started to wager and place bets.

I glanced over at Pennie, who seemed greatly entertained. And then at the dancer, who was sitting on the ground a few feet away and probably disassociating.

I wondered if I had done the right thing. My little tournament basically ensured she’d end up with whichever brother was more violent.

…Then again, perhaps that had always been the case. At least I had spared her from having to be in the middle of it. I hoped that whoever ended up winning would also end up too tired to exert himself much tonight.

“This was a brilliant idea, Ben Solo,” Pennie murmured. “I could certainly use one less brother.”

“Yeah…don’t mention it,” I muttered back.

For a long time, neither guy seemed to be winning. But at last Nabohri gained the upper hand, his long limbs allowing him to drape himself over Vataash—who struggled, but could not get enough leverage to push Nabohri away. And then, despite having already straddled him and pinned him down, Nabohri took hold of Vataash’s lekku—both of them—and pulled, causing Vataash to scream and the crowd to gasp—only, I think this poor display of sportsmanship was met with delight rather than consternation.

“How do you like it, brother?” Nabohri bellowed in Basic. He must have wanted everyone in the room to hear him and understand him, not just Vataash. “You have always thought yourself so high above the rest of us, just because you were born first—and you have always thought me little more than a jester. Well—I am tired of playing the clown. I am tired of being laughed at. Do I make you laugh now, you filthy son of a seed-swallower? Look at yourself, and how low I have brought you. Feast upon the dust of the earth, you skarth-eating maggot!”

He yanked once more, and Vataash cried in agony.

But Nabohri was so caught up in his monologue, he forgot to stay on guard. Both his hands were occupied as he gripped Vataash’s lekku. Incensed by Nabohri’s taunting, Vataash suddenly roared like a crazed beast and went clawing at his brother’s face—it happened so fast, I barely saw it. And then, all at once, Vataash had tumbled forward and knocked Nabohri onto his back, and was sitting on top of him, now, and pummeling him, sending fist after fist into his brother’s face and screaming such obscenities in both Twi’leki and Basic that it would be inappropriate to record them here.

At first, it was shock that kept Nabohri from retaliating…then after that, incapacitation. Although Nabohri struggled, Vataash used his legs to pin Nabohri’s arms to his sides so he could not block the onslaught. Nabohri’s screams became gargled, and my skin prickled as I saw red drops of blood begin to fly into the air with Vataash’s fists as he struck blow after blow.

“That’s enough—we gotta end this,” I said to Pennie—then questioned why I’d said it to her.

“You started it in the first place,” Pennie said without turning around. “They are men. They must settle it amongst themselves. And besides, Ben Solo…you said it was a fight to the death.”

Kriff. I had said that, hadn’t I?

“Nabohri concedes!” I heard someone shout to my right, and I saw that Mikal had stood up beside me, and I knew he was the one who had said it.

I figured that was fair. Nabohri did not seem conscious enough to object. I stood up, too.

“Vataash, stop!” I shouted. “Nabohri surrenders!”

But I don’t think Vataash could hear us—though not by any deficiency of his ears. He was being carried along solely by rage.

“Vataash, you win!” I yelled. “You’ve already beaten him! Stop—you are going to kill Nabohri!” And I considered getting up onstage to restrain him—but I had a feeling if I did he might kill me, too. “I was being dramatic!” I shouted again. “A fight to the death—like actually to the death—is not a good idea!”

This time, though, he did hear.

“I disagree—I thought it was a wonderful idea!” Vataash screamed back. “You do not know, Ben Solo, how much I would like to bury this buffoonish, ignorant beast, for even daring to think he might elevate himself above me!”

And then I had an idea.

I took a huge breath, and yelled as loud as I possibly could—louder than anything else I had shouted in the last fifteen minutes:

“Vataash, you will face the wrath of Ruut Pentarra if you murder his son!”

It worked.

Vataash stopped, his fists wet with blood, his face flecked with it—the drops contrasting deep red against the white of his eyepatch—and looked at me.

And I collapsed, exhausted, back into my seat.

I didn’t know how Pentarra would react, if one of his sons killed the other. From what I knew of him, I wondered if he wouldn’t find it incredibly amusing. He might see it as a survival-of-the-fittest situation, and say that the weaker had deserved to perish.

But from the look on Vataash’s face, it seemed like he didn’t know how Pentarra would react, either.

He stumbled to his feet and away from Nabohri, and a couple of the servants rushed forward and dragged the unconscious boy away.

I strained to see. Nabohri’s chest was rising and falling. Thankfully, he was alive…but his face was a mess. He was so bloodied, I could barely make out his features.

I will spare you any description more detailed than that.

Vataash, breathing heavily, soiled with his brother’s blood—which was beginning to crust and oxidize—stumbled over to where Pennie stood at my left. She dropped the key in his hand, and the eighteenth dancer quickly stood and followed him.

Vataash wobbled and collapsed before reaching the curtain—he scrambled to stand up again, casting a self-conscious glance about himself as he did.

The dancer did not react. She followed him quietly through the curtain, like how the dancer before her had followed Pentarra. Hopefully my wish came true, and Vataash was too tired now to concern himself with pleasure.

“That was too much,” I mumbled. I wiped my forehead on my sleeve, realizing how sweaty I had become. I looked toward the stage again—some of the servants were now mopping up Nabohri’s blood.

Then I looked at the chronometer above the hall entrance. It took me extra long to decipher it, since I was starting to get double vision from adrenaline and alcohol—but it was nearly midnight already. I checked my holopod for what felt like the billionth time that evening.

Still nothing from Fannie.

…Well. Whether I’d heard from her or not, I’d had enough of this. It was time for me to go.

It had been, for a while now.

I rose to my feet. Pennie turned.

“Leaving so soon?” she asked, sounding surprised.

“Not soon enough,” I told her. “Anyway—yeah, I’m done. Sorry Nabohri lived.” I began to sidle out from my chair, but she interrupted.

“Please,” she said, smiling. “Stay for just a moment more. I have a surprise I think you will be very interested in.”

“What’re you talking about?” I said impatiently. “I thought everything was over.”

“On the contrary, Ben Solo,” Pennie smirked. “It’s only just beginning.” She put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me into my seat. Too tired to fight, I let her.

Pennie returned to the stage. “Gentlemen!” she said, holding up her hand to get everyone’s attention. Her gauzy wing floated up into the air and then back down. “It has been our pleasure to host you tonight. I hope you enjoyed that little extra excitement—we have Ben Solo to thank for that. Let us drink to Ben Solo!”

The men all cheered and raised their glasses to me—whichever of the men were still conscious, that is. I waved halfheartedly, but didn’t drink, despite the inch or two left in my glass. I kind of thought I might be sick if I did.

“But the night is not over, for there is yet one more dancer to behold,” Pennie said mysteriously. “If you have found no one else to suit your fancy tonight—or, if you have simply not been quick enough—then perhaps you may find a bedfellow in our last performer.” With a flourish, she strode offstage, and disappeared behind the curtain in the corner.

The other men murmured with intrigue, but I groaned. I was exhausted and drunk and getting a headache and I’d sat through eighteen dances already and had to save Nabohri’s life, and I wasn’t interested in sticking around for one more girl I had zero interest in spending the night with. All I wanted was to get to bed—I was already thinking about the horrible hangover I was gonna have, and how I was gonna have to try and hide that from Fannie in the morning, along with the five thousand other things I was hiding from her at this point. I slowly rose to my feet, now that Pennie couldn’t stop me, and prepared to leave—

But then Pennie re-emerged from the curtain arm-in-arm with the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen—and I stopped where I stood, and sucked in a breath.

She was veiled. Her head was, at least. The rest of her was on near-full display. And while I had become bored of seeing skin hours and hours ago—this girl was different from the rest. She wasn’t tall and leggy like the others had been: she was short and thick-set, with soft thighs, soft arms, and a pillowy shape to her. She had lovely seafoam-green skin, and she carried herself not with the confidence of the other dancers, but with a delicate, dazed timidity that immediately endeared me to her.

The other men began to jeer and heckle—but she had me spellbound. My heart pounded, my nerves blazed, my veins pulsed—I was stunned by the strength of my own feelings, and shocked to be experiencing them at all. Was it the alcohol? Was it the energy that pervaded the room? I had never felt this way about women, only about one woman in particular—and even then I had only been able to feel that way after knowing her for years. So why now did I feel as drawn to this woman as if she were part of my soul?

…Wait.

Oh no.

OH NO.

I sat down again sharply, my stomach churning, suddenly feeling very very very sick for totally non-alcohol-related reasons.

Pennie dragged the woman up to the center of the stage. The girl tripped on the steps and dropped to her knees, but Pennie pulled her up till she stood shivering and wobbling on her feet. This was bad—very bad—I was living in a nightmare. I was screaming at myself to move, to do something, but I didn’t know what to do—

Then the music came on. And Pennie came flying toward us. She threw herself up the steps and vaulted over Pentarra’s table and stood on her father’s chair and screamed:

“DANCE, daughter of Tollah!”

The girl didn’t dance. She didn’t look capable of doing hardly anything. She stumbled and fell to the ground as the men laughed and began to throw things at her—shoes, belts, empty tankards, not-so-empty tankards—she flinched against the projectiles, but did not have the responsiveness to defend. I turned desperately to Pennie—who was smiling a subdued, but very cruel, very malicious smile.

And she was filming all of this on a thumbrecorder.

That sleemo of a sister!

I shot to my feet again, and braced myself against the table as my head throbbed. Ugh, I wished I hadn’t drunk so much! The hall warped and elongated as the men’s laughter echoed in my head and the air felt very, very warm. I began to very much regret that I had participated in any of this—even as a so-called investigative study.

My vision swam in front of me. I had to get to her. I had to get to her. I had to get to her, I had to get to her, I had to get to her. I stood up and tripped over my chair; I got caught on the tablecloth and heard my wine glass shatter on the floor.

“Ben, what are you doing?” Mikal asked, but I couldn’t answer. I finally succeeded in getting out of my chair. But then I stopped, horrified, as Pennie bounded off of the table, leapt up to the stage, and yanked the veil away from the other girl’s face—

—and there was an uproar of hilarity as the Pentarra boys all recognized their eldest sister, her eyes droopy and bloodshot, her lips trembling.

“It’s Fa’nakhra!”

“Fa’nakhra?!”

“Fa’nakhra!”

“I don’t believe it!”

And Pennie laughed, circling around where her sister lay in the center of the stage. Fannie struggled to lift her head, the wine that had been thrown at her shining wet on her arms and legs—Pennie stooped and roughly took hold of her sister’s chin.

“Fa’nakhra: the high and mighty!” Pennie crooned. “All that you have refused to show, now on display for all to see. Yes—I know the words you have not spoken, sister, though you have never dared to say them to my face. You think me a whore. You think me a slut. Don’t you? Oh, not like you—you in all your ignorant privilege; you in all your self-admiring pride. Well—pride comes before a fall, Fa’nakhra, and on the night of Tollah’s full moon, Tollah herself avenges me!” Pennie slapped her sister in the face and let her head fall to the ground as I yelled—

—but then I saw movement in my peripheral vision. I snapped towards it—and saw that it was Borh Free Taa. He, too, was getting up from his seat. He was very drunk, and moved slowly—but he was heading for the stage. Pennie also saw him, her eyes gleaming—and with a gracious gesture and a demonic smile, she stepped away from her sister.

No.

Absolutely not.

I finally found my ability to move and took off immediately, bolting around the long table and racing toward the middle of the room. Ugh, I wished I hadn’t eaten so much! I tripped as I bounded up the raised stage, and grabbed Fannie.

She smelled like wine.

I hoisted her up and tossed her onto my shoulder, similar to how some of the guys had done to the previous dancers—and the men all whooped and cheered, like this was some kind of conquest for me.

Well, it wasn’t: this was a rescue mission.

I stumbled off the stage, and made a beeline for Pennie. I lunged at her in an attempt to seize the thumbrecorder from her hand, but lost my balance under Fannie’s extra weight. Pennie yanked her hand away.

“That tape,” I growled, panting. “Give it to me.”

“Sorry, Ben Solo,” Pennie said haughtily. “I know you are jealous over your mate…but unfortunately, this is my property. Besides, haven’t I done you enough favors? Especially this one. You’d think you’d be a little more grateful for your surprise.”

“My surprise? Yeah, right—don’t pretend you did this for me, you disgusting piece of—”

Pennie smiled. “No…you’re right, of course I didn’t do it for you. Still… that doesn’t mean you need not also benefit.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, you see—I’m afraid this little tape belongs to me,” she said, tucking the thumbrecorder into her bikini top, “but I can give you this. As a consolation prize.” She winked, and dangled the last chamber key in the air. “Fa’nakhra has likely frustrated you over many nights, Ben Solo. I imagine there are many pleasures she has repeatedly denied you. Tonight is your chance to finally enjoy her however you please.”

I stared at her, hardly hearing her words, the blood rushing past my ears. I had to get that footage and destroy it. I didn’t know what Pennie planned to do with it—but I knew it wasn’t good.

C’mon, Ben, think, think, think—

And then I came up with this stroke of genius:

“Pennie,” I said gravely. “Give me the thumbrecorder. Now. In return, tomorrow morning I will give you a recording of—of whatever I choose to do to Fannie tonight.”

And then I gagged mentally. I couldn’t believe I’d just said that.

But…I definitely succeeded in getting Pennie’s attention.

Her eyes went wide.

“Now…that would fascinate me, Ben Solo,” she said through pursed lips, before narrowing her eyes again. “But why would you want to trade your recording for mine? Surely yours would be a lot more…interesting.”

That was a great question. If only I had a believable answer.

“Because—because Fa’nakhra is mine, and I refuse to let anyone else see her like this,” I floundered furiously, trying to sound like I wasn’t making it all up on the spot.

Pennie raised a brow. “Yet you would allow me to have footage of her fully unclothed, as you make love to her?” she asked suspiciously.

…Damn it.

“Well—exactly!” I exclaimed angrily, trying to think fast. “Do what you will, Pen’awen. I know you have a score to settle. But I want everyone to know that Fa’nakhra is mine, and belongs to me.”

It was the best I could come up with.

Pennie cocked her head, as if trying to decide whether to believe me. She squinted at me for what felt like forever.

“...You drive a tempting deal,” she said finally. “If you are indeed a man of your word, then what you have to offer me will be worth far more than this silly tape.”

I was too afraid to breathe.

“...Fine,” she mused. “I will hold onto my recording for the night. You will meet me in the east garden courtyard tomorrow morning at ten. You will bring your recording. And then, we will trade.”

Well, that wasn’t gonna work for me. I couldn’t let Pennie go home with her tape tonight, because I needed to make sure she couldn’t make a backup copy. And anyway, I wasn’t gonna have a recording to show her tomorrow.

“No deal,” I said, forcing more confidence than I felt. “You’ve got to give it to me now, or there won’t be a recording for you at all.”

“Nice try,” she said smoothly, “but if I give it to you now, how can I be sure you will bring me what you promised?”

That was a good question. I paused, feeling my scalp prickle up with sweat.

“Well, I…I suppose you can’t,” I said at last, trying to mirror the haughty arrogance in her tone. “But—I can promise you one thing: that if you don’t give me your recording now, I can give you nothing.”

“And why not?” Pennie challenged. “My recording will be waiting for you tomorrow. Surely you could have some patience.” Her eyes flickered lower on me than I felt comfortable with. “At least, when it comes to this little drive.”

“Sorry, but I need to know you won’t make copies,” I told her sternly. “I don’t want anyone else seeing that tape.”

“Hm.” She scrutinized me, rubbing the thumbrecorder between her fingers, then tipped her finger up underneath my chin. “All right, Ben Solo: I will give you my tape now. You will take Fa’nakhra to the sleeping chambers. In the morning, you will bring me your tape, and complete your end of the deal.” She placed the thumbrecorder in my breast pocket, and pressed the palm of her hand firmly and tenderly against my chest, in a way that I didn’t really like—but I ignored that. I was shocked. She was actually willing to trust me.

However, the reason why became clear in a second.

“I know you won’t double-cross me,” she said sweetly. “After all…I happen to possess a wealth of information that you do not want Fa’nakhra to know.”

And she smiled the smile that was so much like her father’s.

My face fell.

So that was why she was willing to trust me. Because it wasn’t me she was putting her faith in—but my desire to save my own ass.

Kriff.

Still…I knew I didn’t have a choice. Protecting Fan’s honor was far more important than losing mine. I’d have to figure out what to do later…but I knew what I had to do right now.

“It’s a deal,” I said firmly.

“Excellent,” Pennie purred. “Enjoy yourself, Ben Solo. I think you will find Fa’nakhra to be in a most…receptive state.”

“What did you give her?” I demanded. “You didn’t poison her, did you?”

“Of course not,” Pennie scoffed. “Do you really think I’d kill my own sister?”

“Well, I never would have thought you’d do this,” I said. “So you’re clearly capable of a lot more than I thought.”

“I’m so glad to have risen in your estimation of my capabilities, Ben Solo,” Pennie said sarcastically. “But…no. I don’t want my sister dead, you see. I want her miserable.” She laughed—a delicate little titter that made my nerves itch. “Don’t worry. She will not suffer any lasting harm. She is merely very, very intoxicated. My sister has never let wine touch her lips before—did you know? Well—until now, at least. She did remark that the tea tasted odd…but I told her it was licorice root, and she believed me.”

She smiled nastily. And once again I wondered if, by staring at her hard enough, I could make her head explode.

“You should thank me, Ben Solo!” Pennie sang. “She will not remember anything that happens tonight. Therefore, I encourage you—indulge yourself in every fantasy that you have never dared to speak aloud.”

I felt absolutely furious—but…I couldn’t say anything, not having convinced her to hand over the thumbrecorder that was now in my pocket.

So…I snatched the chamber key from Pennie’s hand, and hefted Fannie higher up on my shoulder.

Pennie beamed, and stepped back onstage to address the rest of the hall. “Ben Solo has claimed Fa’nakhra Pentarra for the night!” she announced, inciting a roar of intoxicated cheers.

I ignored them.

As I headed toward the northeast corner of the room, toward the hall of sleeping chambers, I locked eyes with Mikal, who was still sitting at Pentarra’s table. He looked concerned—perhaps even frightened.

I stopped in front of him.

“Mikal,” I said seriously. “Listen to me: Leave. Now. This is not a good party. These are not good people.”

He nodded.

Then he stood up, and left.

I watched him head for the main doors before I turned away and took Fannie through the northeast curtain.

Chapter Text

Fannie seemed only semi-conscious as I carried her down the dimly-lit hall. I tried to speak to her to make sure she was still awake—she mumbled back incoherently.

The phys-key Pennie had given me had a number engraved on the flat part, and all the sleeping chambers each had a number on the door. They were written in Ryl, so I didn’t know what numbers they were—but I managed to find the door with the Rylothian character that matched my key, and I fumbled with the lock and got us inside the chamber.

I could hear noises coming from the neighboring rooms—the kinds of noises that I usually heard through my fireplace at night. I did my best to ignore them.

There was a large cushion seat in the corner of the room, so I dumped Fannie there and sat her up. I knelt down in front of her. Her pupils were all dilated, and her eyes were unfocused. “Fan. Fannie. Can you hear me?” I asked. The strap of her top had slipped off her shoulder—I reached out, and gently put it back.

“Ben…?” she murmured. Her voice sounded dry and scratchy.

“Yeah, it’s me: Ben.” I nodded, and brushed something away from the corner of her mouth with my fingers—drool, maybe. I wiped my wet hand on my pants.

She wasn’t conscious enough to react to me being gross, this time. Strangely, that made me feel even more worried than I was before.

I squeezed her hand. “Fannie, what happened?”

She made a squeaky noise, tried to look around, and collapsed backwards. “I…I don’t know. It’s hard to move…or talk. Ben, where are we…?”

“It’s…hard to explain,” I said. “Listen. Fan. Do you remember when you had dinner with your sister?”

“With…Pennie?”

“Yeah. With Pennie. Earlier today. Do you remember?”

“Well…yes…I think so…perhaps…”

“What did she give you?”

“Give…me?”

“Yes. What did you eat? Or drink?”

“Well, we had our supper…from the kitchen…and…hot tea. The tea tasted…really…sweet, I remember. And…a little peculiar.”

“How much of it did you have?”

“I…I don’t know…Pennie kept on pouring it, and pouring it…and…I was…so thirsty. My food was very salty for some reason. Yes. I remember that now.”

“Fannie. You’re drunk. She got you drunk,” I said. “She put wine in your tea—or maybe even something stronger. She probably salted your food on purpose to get you to drink more.”

“But…I can’t be drunk! I don’t drink…!” poor Fannie hiccuped. Were the current circumstances not horrible beyond comprehension, this would have been so adorably funny of her.

“Shh, shh, I know,” I said, stroking my fingers across her forehead with my free hand. “She tricked you, Fannie. I’m sorry. Listen: you’re with me, now, all right? I’ll take care of you. You’re gonna be okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Oh, Ben, I don’t feel well,” she mumbled.

“Can you be more specific?” I asked anxiously, rubbing my thumb against the back of her hand. “What’re you feeling?”

But I had my answer pretty quickly. She groaned, whimpered, and began to retch.

I shot out and grabbed her, pulling her forward so she wouldn’t choke on her own vomit. It ended up getting all over the front of my shirt instead, but I didn’t mind—it was a lot better than her choking. I looked, and saw there was a washroom in the bedchamber, so I pulled her up and dragged her over so she could finish. We left a nasty little trail as we went—but I did get her where she needed to be, in the end.

I should have been so totally grossed out by this. But somehow…I wasn’t. It reminded me of when I’d first learned how nasty childbirth was. Did it gross you out when I was born? I had asked my mom. Of course not, she’d said. It sure wasn’t pretty—I’ll tell you that. But I knew it was my job to bring you into the galaxy, so that’s what I did.

Which was just how I felt. It was my job to make sure Fannie was okay. So…that was what I was gonna do.

I drew her lekku out of the way as we knelt in front of the refresher together, and kept my hand on her back while she continued to throw up. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, whenever she wasn’t un-eating and un-drinking her spiked tea and oversalinated supper. “Oh, goodness—this is awful—how embarrassing—I’m so sorry you have to see this.”

“Hey, don’t be,” I told her gently. “Get it out.”

I patted her on the shoulder as it was winding down. And then I took off my waistcoat and scraped everything off of it with a towel, and tried to wash the garment off in the sink as much as I could. Then I got another towel, and I went back into the room and mopped up our little trail. When I was done I didn’t know where to put the dirty towels, so I folded them both up with the gross sides on the insides and left them on the washroom counter. I figured I wasn’t the first guy to leave behind bunched-up towels containing biohazards, in a room like this.

Well, I thought, once it looked like she didn’t have any more in her. Hopefully she’s gotten it all out of her system now.

I made her rinse out her mouth and drink some water, and then I took a new little towel and I mopped her up, too: wiping off the broad, flat part of her chest, her soft stomach, and the tops of her thighs. I also tried to wipe off the bikini thing she was wearing, with mixed results—I could get the substance off, but not the stains.

Now that I was up close, I could see how uncomfortably tight her outfit was. It was tied onto her with strings that dug into her flesh. I wished I had something else to give her.

“Oh my goodness,” she said, crying as I wiped her down. “I’m naked.”

“Shhh. You’re not naked,” I said. “Well—you’re a little naked. It’s the most I’ve ever seen of you, I guess. But…at least you’re clean, now. Clean enough, anyway.” And I took one of the robes that was hanging in the washroom, and helped her into it. “There. Better?”

“The…the strings hurt me,” she said, with difficulty, like she couldn’t think clearly enough to express herself further—but I knew what she meant. I turned her around so her back was to me. With some careful maneuvering, I was able to crouch down, slide my hands up her robe, and get everything untied without touching her too much.

“I’m not looking. I promise,” I said, sliding off the pieces of the stupid little outfit she’d been wearing and tossing them unceremoniously onto the counter with the barf towels. “Feel better?”

“Y-yes,” she snuffled. I took her by the hand and brought her over to the bed, then helped her onto it.

“Sit down,” I told her. And I brought her some more water.

“Ben…what happened?” Fannie choked out. “Why are we here? Why was I wearing that?” She swayed, and fell backward again onto the mattress. I pulled her knees up onto the bed, and dragged her body around and hefted her up so she could sit against the pillows.

“The situation isn't great,” I said quietly. “Like I said, Pennie tricked you. And then she put you in that getup, and brought you to the…” I paused. “...to the gentlemen’s banquet.”

“What?” Fannie gasped. “No…no, Pennie didn’t do this. She couldn’t have. I…I don’t remember what happened, but Pennie…she…she apologized to me for everything. She said she realized I was right. She asked me to help her find a way out of the betrothal. We talked through a plan for how to get her out…”

“You don’t remember being onstage?”

“Onstage? All I remember is having supper with my sister…and then I can’t seem to remember anything.”

“Fan…Pennie lied to you,” I said quietly. “She wanted to get revenge on you for not agreeing with her choices. She only told you all those things so she could get you in a vulnerable position and do…all of this.”

“No…no, there must be some other explanation,” Fannie stammered. “It couldn’t have been Pennie; she wouldn’t have done this…wait—the gentlemen’s banquet?” She sat up again suddenly and looked at me, her bleary eyes wide. “Oh, no. Oh, no. Ben—what happened? What did I do? What did they do to me?”

“Don’t worry—nothing happened to you,” I told her quickly. “No one did anything to you.”

“Nobody touched me?”

“Nobody touched you except me,” I said.

She grew pale and stared at me, trembling.

“I didn’t touch you anywhere I wouldn’t normally touch you,” I assured her solemnly. “Well—that’s not true. I had to carry you here on my back, and I helped you out of that bikini thing. But…I didn’t touch you with any ill intent. I promise.”

She looked at me for a moment, then relaxed. She lay back down again on the pillows.

“...No, no, of course not,” she murmured, seeming to think herself silly for entertaining the thought. “Of course not. Of course you wouldn’t.” And then she closed her eyes, and made a whining noise in her throat. “Oh, Ben…I feel so awful. My head hurts, everything feels heavy—I can barely move my lips to speak…oh, I want it all to stop.”

“I’m sorry,” I told her. “Please, try to rest.”

“Wait.” Fannie opened her eyes again, now full of tears. “I…I’m starting to remember it now. Yes. On the stage. It was like a dream, a blur of lights and sound, and everything made me dizzy, but…yes…that…that was my sister’s voice.”

She choked, her face contorting, and let out a sob. “Pennie…!”

Then her eyes swelled open—as wide as they could be, in her current state. She became pale (well, paler), and started to shudder uncontrollably.

“...She…she was going to let me be taken away by one of the men,” Fannie murmured incredulously.

My heart dropped like a stone, and my guts boiled.

She was right. I hadn’t had time to sit and think about it, in the midst of everything going on and trying to get Fan out of there—

But yes: Pennie had fully intended to put Fannie in a situation to be raped.

“My own sister…” Fannie whispered.

My hands started to shake. I imagined a disturbing fantasy about bashing Pennie’s skull in—but I took a couple of breaths, and let it go. I knew my anger wasn’t helpful.

“...I’m glad you’re safe,” I said hoarsely.

It felt like a stupid thing to say. A meaningless thing to say, in the wake of all…this. But…it was the only thing I could say, really.

We both fell quiet. In the silence, we could hear the sounds from the surrounding rooms. Fannie grimaced, and looked like she might be sick again. I quickly put my hands over her ears.

I leaned in so she could hear my voice, even with her ears covered. “Listen to me, Fannie,” I said, speaking slowly and firmly, so she would believe me. “Listen to me. I took you away from that place, before anything could happen to you. I’m here now. I’m going to protect you. I’m not leaving your side until everything’s okay. I will make sure nothing happens to you—I won’t let anything happen to you. That’s a promise. Do you understand?”

She nodded, and placed her hands over mine, where they were on each side of her head. I bent over, and gently kissed her forehead.

“Thank goodness you were there to save me, Ben,” she said, closing her eyes and causing tears to streak down. “Thank goodness…”

And then she caught her breath suddenly, and opened her eyes.

“...Wait,” she said. “Why were you there?”

My heart began to race.

I knew I was going to have to tell her the truth, sometime. But…I couldn’t do it now. Not now. She was in a vulnerable state. If I admitted to her now that I had gone to the gentlemen’s banquet, for such stupid reasons as idle curiosity and a desire for clout, and confessed that I had stuck around to eat the food and stayed even longer to watch the dancers—she might not believe me that I hadn’t done anything to her.

I didn’t want her to question that. Not just because I didn’t want her to think poorly of me—though perhaps that was a small part of it—but because I never wanted her to have to worry about whether someone had physically violated her. Least of all someone she had trusted and been so close with for so long.

I had to protect her.

I had to make sure she felt safe.

It’s hard to say whether I had the right motives or not in that moment. Maybe some of my motives were right, and maybe some were wrong. I’ll let you be the judge.

In any case…I lied to her again, that night.

“…I went looking for you,” I told her. “Once it was past nine o’clock and I still hadn’t heard from you, I looked around the garden but couldn’t find you or Pennie anywhere. When I came back in and heard music coming from the dining hall, I peeked inside to check. And then I saw Pennie there when she should have been with you, so I snuck in to figure out what was going on—just in time to see Pennie bringing you out in front of everyone. And then I ran over and took you away as fast as I could, and I brought you here.”

I finished my false account and waited for her response.

“...Oh,” said Fannie, after a pause. “Goodness…what an incredibly fortunate coincidence. The Force was with you, Ben—there is no other way to explain it. The Force brought you to my aid.”

Success. She had believed me.

But…this time I didn’t feel relief, so much as gut-wrenching guilt.

I swallowed, and gently stroked the top of her head. “...Yeah, I’m glad I got to you, too,” I said, softly—and that part was definitely not a lie.

“I am so fortunate to have you, Ben,” she murmured. “I am so thankful for you. You’re so good.”

I didn’t say anything. I felt like I was maybe not as good as she thought I was.

She mustered up a smile, and even when she was ill she was beautiful to me. Then her eyelids fluttered shut, and her head tilted slowly off to the side.

“Are you going to sleep now, Fannie?” I asked quietly.

She nodded, and muttered something which I took in the affirmative. So I laid the bedcovers over her, kissed her on the forehead, and sat down in an armchair that was off to the side.

I definitely wouldn’t be trusting Pennie’s word for most things anymore. But I did trust she wasn’t trying to kill her sister—if only to make her suffer.

I checked my holopod, which was beginning to run low on battery. It was a little past one in the morning. I decided I’d stay here with Fannie till sunrise, and watch over her all night. If anything started to seem really wrong, I’d take her to her mom. In the morning, when she was more awake, I’d see how she was doing and ask what she wanted to do next.

I didn’t mind staying up to watch her. I didn’t really feel like sleeping, anyway.

Now that my attention was not immediately focused on Fannie, I observed the room we were in and tried not to think too hard about the activities usually conducted within. Everything here fell into shades of luscious, velvety red or rich, earthy brown, and there was a heavy scent about the place, too: a rosy, smoky musk—artificial and overpowering, as if meant to mask other kinds of scents. A glittering chandelier cast a sensual yet haunting glow about the room, and the bed wasn’t a typical rectangle shape, instead resembling a very large oval. Probably big enough for three or four people, I thought to myself—absentmindedly at first, and then coughed as I realized the implications of that thought. There were nightstands on either side of the bed, carved from fine wood. I opened the drawers out of curiosity, and found some items I will not describe.

But by far the most jarring thing about the room was that it was covered in mirrors—in a way that was a little creepy, and almost maddening. There was a pair of windows to the right of the armchair, but mirrors everywhere else. There were mirrors where you might expect them to be, of course: in front of the washbasin, and near the door. But then there were also mirrors above the headboard of the bed, and mirrors across from the bed, and mirrors left and right of the bed—wide, panoramic glasses in ornately-carved frames that put you on display no matter where you looked. Even if you looked at the ceiling, there was a mirror there, too—right above the bed.

I wondered if it had ever fallen down and crushed anybody.

I found it strange that this configuration would appeal to anyone. It would have made me self-conscious enough to curl up in a ball and die. But the immediately relevant effect of this kinkily narcissistic setup was that I couldn’t sit anywhere in the room without the company of at least five or six reflections of myself:

All of them staring back at me, and all of them lost, scared, guilty, and pathetic.

I began to get that weird out-of-body feeling again that I’d had at dinner. I didn’t feel so drunk anymore—not with all the excitement of the last hour—but I definitely didn’t feel right. I felt strange. Uncomfortable. Like everything was wrong.

I glanced at Fannie, who was sleeping peacefully. Then I shifted my gaze above her to see myself in the mirror across the room. The back of my head was reflected in the mirror behind me, and reflected again in the mirror in front of me, along with the reflection of my face—and each reflection reflected the other in an endless cycle, creating an impossible corridor of Bens… I got dizzy, and turned to the mirror on the wall in front of where I sat in the armchair.

The more I stared at myself…the more I began to feel like I wasn’t really myself at all. I studied the man I saw reflected back to me in the glass:

He was in his early twenties, but somehow retained that gangly teenage look despite having filled out his frame. Whenever he sat in most chairs his knees came up higher than his hips. He had an intense stare and an odd way of pressing and rubbing his lips together, and his every feature was long and angular and weird. His dark hair served to cover the large ears he had never quite grown into—and you got the impression he had never quite grown into himself, either. His deep brown eyes were set under a strong brow. Sometimes they looked soft and sometimes they looked hard, but right now they looked…wet.

That was Ben Organa Solo.

…Me.

“What’re you looking at?” I muttered to the several Ben Solos staring back at me. I wished I didn’t have to look at them. Even when I closed my eyes, I felt the multitudinous presence of my splintered self, and all the new versions of me I had created with my many lies…both during this trip to Ryloth, and before.

I had lied to Fannie because I wanted her to like me.

I had lied to her brothers, because I wanted them to like me, too.

…But most of all, I had lied because I wanted to like myself.

This revelation hit me like a punch to the gut. And, like a light coming on in a dark room, I began to understand.

Somewhere deep down, I had always hated myself. I felt worthless and like a disappointment and like nothing I did was ever good enough…so I had begun to use others’ opinions of me to prove I was worth something. I needed other people to see something they liked in me, before I could like who I was—

But since the “me” that I showed them was catered to whoever I wanted to like me at any given time…I didn’t even know who I was.

So now I was showing everyone only what I wanted them to see, and doing whatever I thought would make me happy or make me look good whether or not it was the right thing to do. I hid things I didn’t like about myself in front of the people I didn’t want to know about them, and made up things about myself that weren’t true in order to win people’s acceptance or approval or affection—and then doing everything in my power not to lose these precious prizes of mine, once I had won them.

I looked at Fannie’s sleeping form again, and ran a mental list of all the lies I’d told her and all the secrets I’d kept. Snoke was right. I couldn’t really know that she liked me, could I? I could only know that she liked the “me” I put on in front of her. And sure, a lot of that really was me: the me who had encouraged her not to listen to the things her brothers had to say about her; the me who’d cleaned her barf off the floor out of love. With my whole heart, I had meant every single thing I had ever said and done out of my affection for her.

But…how would she be able to tell the difference between the parts of me that were real, and the parts that were made-up?

…Did I even know the difference?

The weight of that thought came crashing down on me like a falling star, and I began to cry.

It started slowly, just a couple of stinging tears, as I released the pent-up anxiety of the past few hours. And then I began to weep with guilt as I thought about Fannie, and what had happened to her—how Pennie had taken advantage of her trust and tried to victimize her in such a horrible way—all while I was eating fancy food and drinking too much wine and watching women dance nearly-naked onstage, even if I wasn’t attracted to them.

Maybe Fannie was right that the Force had worked things out so I’d be in a position to rescue her from her sister. But…I had a feeling that one good thing coming out of all this mess, while I could be thankful for it, didn’t excuse all the bad choices I’d made up till now. I had possibly been the only man in that room, besides Mikal, who wouldn’t have done something awful to Fannie. Taken advantage of her. Used her for pleasure.

But…I certainly had other ways of being awful to her and taking advantage of her and using her to make me happy. I didn’t need to take her clothes off to do that.

She thought I was so, so good to her. And I’d been good to her, sometimes.

I’d also been playing her for weeks.

I began to feel worse and worse, and my breath began to catch, and my chest began to heave. And before I knew it, I was sobbing quietly as I stared up at the ceiling. I fell out of the armchair and collapsed to the ground, then shuffled on my knees toward the mirror that was right in front of me and looked at myself there, this guy with big wet dark eyes and a pouty lower lip, and hated how weak he looked, and how weak I knew he was.

“…I don’t really like you,” I whispered into the glass.

“Fannie always spoke so highly of you. I assumed you were the same kind of person that she is. But now I know that you are simply a man, like other men: weak,” Pennie had told me, and maybe she’d been right.

“Any man who is quiet is weak,” Ruut Pentarra had said—and maybe he had been right, too—not in the way that he had meant to be, but right nonetheless. I had remained silent whenever I’d had the opportunity to tell Fannie the truth about something I hadn’t wanted her to know, in order to keep her locked away in some little place in my heart as the last scrap of evidence that proved to me I was worth anything.

I had never thought of myself as someone who would objectify women. I had never seen women like that—I didn’t think of them like that.

It had never occurred to me that there might be other ways to objectify them that did not even involve sex at all.

“I really don’t like you,” I told Ben Solo.

It had seemed at first like lying and making up my own version of the truth offered me some control over a galaxy where I’d always felt like a loser…but now, I was losing control. No matter how many lies I told, no matter how many new versions of myself I came up with, no matter how many revisions I made to the account of my life in order to nudge it closer to the things I wanted out of it—I was still me, pitiable and pathetic. I despised the guy in the glass—despised all of them—

And I began to sob not-so-quietly.

I felt such deep…sorrow. Grief, which was different from depression. Remorse, which was different from self-pity. I’d felt anger; I’d felt fear; I’d felt hatred. But I had not felt this kind of sadness, this grief, this remorse in years.

It was like I was letting go of all of it, now—like Fannie, purging her body of poison. It was deeply uncomfortable and profoundly painful, and yet…somehow, it had to happen.

I really did not like myself in that moment. But then…the feeling shifted. And it became less that I didn’t like myself, and more that I didn’t like who I’d been choosing to be.

I had spent so much effort shaping Ben Solo into the man I wanted other people to see him as at any given moment: both in the virtues I felt I couldn’t live up to, and in the vices I had never dared to commit. And at the end of it all, no matter who managed to trick into admiring me, I wasn’t any more admirable for it.

Maybe I could just…be the man I wanted Ben Solo to be. Not pretend to be him—really be him. And not who I wanted him to be in order to impress other people, especially not those who were not worth impressing…

…but someone I actually wanted to be.

Someone I could be proud of.

Someone whose actions I wouldn’t have to lie about or cover up.

And then I began to glimpse a light at the end of the tunnel.

I could fix it. I could turn this all around. I could come clean about everything, start telling the truth again, and then I wouldn’t have any more lies to hide. Fannie could love me for who I was instead of who I pretended to be. I wouldn’t have to live with the pressure and anxiety of maintaining a facade, of keeping all my stories straight, I could finally be free—

And then I thought—wait, no, that’s stupid.

My current life was built upon all the lies I’d told. If I pulled out the rug from underneath, everything would all come tumbling down. I would basically be taking a thermal detonator to life as I knew it.

My brain started replaying all my favorite moments with Fannie, ever since I’d fallen in love with her—and even though I’m not a sappy guy, my mind went full-on cheese-fest. I thought about the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at me, and her beautiful, glowing smile. I thought about when she had sat on top of me back on my bed on Hosnian Prime, her lekku hanging down, and when we had slow-danced in the kitchen and all the times we had laughed and made dinner together. All of the times we had held each other while one of us cried—all of the dreams we’d shared about maybe getting married someday—

…And then the reel ended, replaced only with me alone on my knees.

Fannie was one in a million. Before I’d chosen to fall in love with her, I had never desired this kind of relationship with anyone…and I felt almost certain I’d never want to again.

Telling the truth now would mean facing the rest of my life alone.

…Alone. Just as I had always felt every night of my childhood.

My breathing became heavy, and my toes and fingertips began to feel numb. The back of my neck began to prickle with sweat.

And then it all came upon me at once, like a beast creeping up and pouncing from behind. My heart pounded faster and faster, and my thoughts blurred like a holo taken from a moving train—it was like a never-ending scream inside my head. It was over—it was all over. I was going to lose Fannie, and because Fannie was the only thing that proved I was worth anything, I might as well die right here. I crumpled forward, my elbows aching against the cold stone floor as I fought to catch my breath. I thought my heart might explode, but I hoped it would—after all, there was nothing left in my future, anymore, was there? I threaded my fingers into my hair and pulled, feeling my chest collapse inward and my guts devour me from the inside, wishing desperately that everything would end or that I could wake up from the nightmare—

But I couldn’t wake up—the nightmare was real, and I was living in it. I slammed my forehead against the ground, feeling my brain rattle—I brought my head down again, and again—I wanted to send bone fragments and cranial matter skidding across the floor—make it end, make it end! I sobbed, unable to discern whether the words made their way past the red-raw tissue of my larynx or if the screams stayed only in my head—

Then before I could make contact with the ground a sixth time, I was suddenly frozen stiff by some power outside of me. I felt myself being held; restricted—suspended by an invisible force—

…the Force.

And then I was released, and my body dropped forward, and I caught myself with my hands before I fell—the impact sent a violent shock through my wrists.

I gasped for breath and opened my eyes again, my heart thudding. Slowly, I raised my head.

And raised it.

…And raised it.

Until I was looking into two clear pale blue eyes, like icy glacial water.

I knew those eyes.

“...It’s you,” I croaked.

His thin lips curved into a crooked smile.

I stumbled to my feet, and clumsily threw myself between my late night visitor and the bed where Fannie was. I held out my arms to each side as if to defend her…but Snoke only chuckled.

“No need,” he said calmly, his bony hands like gnarled tree roots folded placidly in front of him. “I’m not here for anyone but you.”

His flowing silver robes looked like liquid moonlight—light and loose, not rich and heavy like Pentarra’s robes. He wore a single ring on his left index finger: a gold band set with a tall black stone. For as long as I had known him, he had always worn that ring, but I had never felt brave enough to ask about its significance.

He was tall—like, seven feet tall—and pale, and old. I didn’t know how old he was, and I had never felt brave enough to ask that, either. But his face was lined with wrinkles, and the right side of his face and part of his throat looked like they had somehow collapsed…and there was a third mystery I had not dared to investigate.

“You are looking for a way out,” Snoke said—his voice soft, and low, and rich with some resonant tonal quality that drew me in despite myself. If I didn’t know better, I could have almost called it sympathy. “An…escape.”

I didn’t speak. My nerves were on fire, my hands trembling, my head spinning.

Snoke came closer. I watched as he approached me, and remembered that strange way in which he always walked—with a limp that contorted him at the spine, as if every step caused him pain.

He stopped when he was just near enough to touch me. He extended one long arm toward me, his sleeve trailing behind, and placed his fingers on my shoulder—

—and then, suddenly, I could breathe again.

I gasped, and coughed—and then I felt…

…Normal.

I stared at him for a second.

Then I turned and rushed over to the bed. I tried to shake Fannie awake—but she wouldn’t wake up. Frantically, I took her wrist, and tried to check her pulse—but to my absolute horror, I couldn’t feel anything—though I also wasn’t confident in my ability to check a pulse correctly. I plunged my head down against her breast, hoping desperately to hear her heartbeat—

And Snoke laughed, again.

“The girl is fine, Ben,” he said. “You and I are simply in a different realm. Time has left us.”

He gestured to the wall, and I looked. The chronometer had stopped.

I exhaled, quietly, and bent down to kiss Fannie on the cheek.

“How sweet,” Snoke crooned as he watched. “I know how dearly you loved her. What a sorrow, then, that it has all come to such a bitter conclusion. But…we knew it would end this way, Ben Solo, didn’t we? You knew you could not continue on forever as you have done.”

“...Why have you come here?” I demanded hoarsely. “Just to taunt me in my darkest hour?”

“Not to taunt you,” corrected Snoke. “To help you. You know as well as I do that there is no way out of this pit you’ve dug yourself into. I have watched you bury yourself deeper and deeper over these many weeks…and now your grave is closing over you, Ben Solo.”

His brow furrowed with pity—or perhaps, only the semblance of it. “What will happen in the morning?” he asked softly. “Either Pen’awen Pentarra will expose you, or you must do it yourself. After that, you will lose Fannie. And that is to say nothing of all the lies you have told your family: how you have kept our little conversations a secret from them all these months. Shall we play the same game with them, Ben Solo? Are you prepared to face their anger and disappointment on top of hers?”

I grimaced, refusing to meet his gaze.

“...Speechless, are we?” Snoke murmured, his eyes darkening. He slowly raised his arm, and I flinched—I thought he was going to, I don’t know, hit me with Force lightning or something—but instead he only held out his fist with his palm facing up. One by one, he slowly unfurled his fingers—

—and I doubled over, gasping, as my fear returned to me like a tidal wave hitting the shore. Whimpering, I fell to the ground and buried my face in my hands, rocking back and forth on my knees and toes—

Then he closed his fist again and took it all back, leaving me on the floor as I drew ragged breaths and wept into my fingers.

“You have nowhere to run, Ben,” Snoke said, soft and warningly. “Continue on this path, and there is nothing left for you. When those you love discover all you have hidden, they will want nothing to do with you. Where will you go? What will you do?”

I stared at the ground, my palms sweating through my pants as I forced myself to sit upright.

“Can you do it?” Snoke murmured. “Can you face her, after all you’ve done? Can you bear to watch her slip through your fingers and out of your life forever?”

My heart wrenched as I thought of how much Fannie meant to me and how much I loved her, and my eyes filled again with tears.

Then all of a sudden I felt myself lifted up, drawn first to my feet and then even higher so that my toes dragged above the floor, and Snoke had forced me to face Fannie as she slept frozen on the bed.

“Are you ready to break her heart?” he whispered harshly. “Are you ready to spend every day for the rest of your life experiencing the pain of what you’ve lost?”

I looked deeply into the face of the person I loved. Her soft skin, her delicate eyelashes, her round nose, her full lips that I would never know what it felt like to kiss.

“...I would rather disappear,” I murmured.

And then Snoke whipped me around again to face him.

“That is precisely what I am offering you, Ben,” he told me. “I can take you away from all of this. I can make you disappear. You will not have to face the mess you have created. You will not have to watch as it all crumbles down. We both know that your life here is over—or at the very least, forever altered. Poisoned. We will go away. We will start over. And we will vanish forever from the lives of those whose good graces you have lost—from those whose good graces it is only a matter of time before you do lose.”

He released me, and I dropped to the floor before him.

“Start over with me,” he whispered. “I have seen all that you have ever done. I have foreseen all that you will ever do. There are no secrets you can hide from me, Ben. I know everything about you. I am the only one who knows you. And, even knowing everything about you, I will stay by your side…always.”

I looked up, and gazed into his pale blue eyes, transfixed.

…How sweet it sounded, to simply disappear and leave behind all the mistakes I’d made. To vanish, and escape the punishment I’d rightfully earned.

I slowly drew myself up to my feet, and took one step closer to him.

And then another.

And then a third.

And then I stopped.

And I found myself thinking about Pennie Pentarra, her face ashen as she leaned on Ruut Pentarra’s arm. She had thought no one could see her. She had thought no one cared enough to see her. Well, I had seen her. And I knew she had only ended up in that place because she had believed there was nothing better in her future.

I knew that wasn’t true for her.

Maybe it was the same for me.

“...No,” I said finally—but it was as if I was hearing myself say it. I exhaled abruptly, surprised at myself.

Snoke’s lip curled nastily.

“No,” I repeated again. “I…I only wound up here because I kept trying to avoid things that were difficult. Because I kept running away from hard conversations. Because I was too afraid to face loss.”

I stopped to drag my sleeve across my nose, and the gentleness in Snoke’s face became cruel and hard. He stiffened and set me with a stony glare.

“...I’m gonna do things the hard way, for once,” I told him, my voice weak. “I mean…arguably I’ve been doing things the hard way this entire time. But…I’m…I’m not gonna run anymore.”

Snoke didn’t speak. He was beginning to look dangerous now, his blue eyes flashing. I had a strong feeling I was finally making the right decision.

“Oh…and one other thing,” I said.

I took a final step forward—out of defiance, now, rather than submission.

“...This is the last time you and I are gonna talk,” I told him quietly. “I am going to tell my family about you. And I’m going to go back to shutting you out. So…I don’t want to ever see or hear from you again. Not in my dreams, and not in my mind.”

“Hm,” Snoke said coolly. “Very well. You are grown now, and I respect your decisions. But…surely you realize your mother will not be any more pleased with your confessions than your girlfriend will be. Things are about to become very, very difficult for you, Ben Solo.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, looking right at him. “I’m about to go through hell, and I know I am.” I lifted my shoulders with a grim finality. “And if I’m gonna go through hell…so be it.”

Snoke smiled. A dry sort of smile, with something else mixed into it that I couldn’t decipher.

“So be it, indeed,” he murmured. “Goodbye, Ben Solo—until you call for me again.” And he turned away from me, his silver robes swishing—

—and then, he was gone.

I felt a split second of relief—maybe even euphoria.

But as soon as he vanished, my panic attack came back.

I hit the floor, curling up into a ball—and as sure as I had been about my choices only a moment prior, I began to beg again for death. I couldn’t breathe, and I grasped at my throat, and my chest, and all I could feel was the darkness closing in on me, and I didn’t know how I was ever going to do it, how I was ever going to make it through alive—

“Ben!”

My eyes shot open. Not another voice! I was getting sick of hearing voices.

But…this one wasn’t Snoke.

“Ben…the Force is never far from you. Reach out.”

“I…I can’t,” I whispered weakly back to it. “I haven’t trained. I’m not a Jedi. I’m not strong in the Force, like Fannie is. I don’t think I even believe in it half the time.”

“Do not focus on your strength in the Force,” said the voice. “Focus instead on the strength of the Force.”

“Well, that’s super cool and all, but what the hell does it mean?” I asked the air impatiently.

But even as I spoke the words…I thought I began to understand. I thought about what Fannie had said to me before I went to dine with her father: “Reach out with the Force, if you need to. If you need to, you will be able to.”

She had asked me to reach out to her through the Force. But…now I was reaching out to the Force itself.

I took a deep breath.

And…let go.

And then I fell—through the air, through the darkness, through the stars. I fell and I fell and I fell, and I began to feel worse and worse and worse instead of better—and the horrifying loss of control I felt made me wish I had never opened myself up—I was free-falling with no idea how far down the ground was, or what awaited me below—and then, just when I was so utterly terrified I thought I might scream—something caught me, like a net…and I knew I was safe.

I floated there, in the darkness, and the air felt soft, and thick, and warm—like the womb. And I remembered what Fannie had said to me in the streets of Bulii’kana: “The Force was not born from mortal minds. Rather, we were born from it.”

Really? All of us? Even those of us who struggled as much as I always seemed to?

If it’s true…prove it to me, I thought. Prove to me I’m not just a worthless cosmic mistake. Prove to me I was ever meant to be here at all.

The voice didn’t speak. But I felt myself sort of…melting, almost. And I got the strangest sense that I was not merely a hulking biological mass of cells and water and protein with a bit of electricity to move me around, but…something else.

…Something more.

I couldn’t explain what I was experiencing. But at the same time, I wasn’t sure that I needed to. “One need not fully understand something to know that it is true…and beautiful,” Fannie had said, smiling up at Ryloth’s five moons.

Well. I was never going to be Fannie Pentarra. That was certain.

But…I was going to be Ben Solo. Really be him. And that was certain, too.

I remembered the day I’d woken up in the medcenter at age seventeen—after everything that had happened with Snoke the first time. How I had almost died…and how waking up on Chandrila was like a second birth.

…I hadn’t been in physical danger, this time, at age twenty-three. But I had come quite near losing myself again.

“Please…how many times does a guy have to start over?” I asked the darkness urgently. “How many times is he allowed to start over?”

“As many times as he needs to, Ben. As many times as he needs to.”

I choked back a sob.

“Ben…?”

I opened my eyes, cool air rushing into my lungs, and found that I was lying on the floor on my back, with my limbs spread out. I turned my head toward the bed, toward the source of the noise, and saw that Fannie was awake again, but barely. Her eyelids looked heavy, like she was struggling to keep them up.

I quickly swiped my sleeve over my snotty, tearstained face, and got up and came over to the bedside.

“Yes, Fan, I’m here. You okay?”

“Oh, Ben, you’re crying,” she said weakly, sympathetic and sweet even when she was ill. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I told her, managing to smile.

“Okay,” she said, and closed her eyes again without another word. I think if she’d been more alert, she would have pressed further. But…I didn’t mind.

…Yeah. I was okay.

Maybe even…a little better than okay, somehow.

Since she had woken up, I made her drink more water before letting her go back to sleep. Then I went to the washroom and splashed my face with water, rubbed it dry with a towel, and took a deep breath.

I noticed my waistcoat where I had hung it after I’d rinsed it off. Pennie’s thumbrecorder was still in the breast pocket. I had nearly forgotten—the last hour or so had been kind of a lot. I went over and fished it out, and held it up in my fingers.

For a moment, I feared that I had underestimated Pennie’s craftiness, and that perhaps she had tricked me and handed me a blank one. But I opened the memory bank…and there was the holofootage of Fannie on the stage. I deleted the file. And then I dropped the thumbrecorder on the ground and crushed it beneath the heel of my boot for good measure, scooping up the pieces in my hand and putting them in the wastebin. Then I went back to the armchair and sat down, exhausted in every aspect of the word.

Fannie woke up a few more times during the night: once to throw up again, and twice to ask me where she was. Every time, I made her drink more water, and told her to go back to sleep.

I didn’t sleep, though. I was busy watching over Fan…and thinking about what I was gonna tell her in the morning. I thought about the “deal” I had made with Pennie: the one she had trusted me to carry out because she had information I didn’t want Fannie to know.

…Well.

That wasn’t gonna be the case for much longer.

As the sun rose and the first light of morning crept into the stuffy red-and-brown room, all the mirrors reflected it and the entire chamber began to light up. And I began to feel, against the faint undercurrent of my anxiety…

…a profound sense of hope.

After all this time…after all my mistakes…I was finally about to put Ben Solo the liar in the ground, and face myself.

“...Hi, Ben,” I whispered to my reflection from where I sat in the armchair. “Nice to meet you.”

Chapter Text

In the morning, Fannie didn’t remember anything. She didn’t remember what had happened, and she didn’t remember what we had talked about, and she didn’t remember where she was.

She woke up with a gasp about an hour after sunrise, causing me to stir from where I was sitting in the armchair. I had closed my eyes for a moment, but hadn’t fallen asleep. I stood up as soon as I heard her wake, but didn’t move—I didn’t want to scare her.

When Fannie looked around at the room we were in, threw off the bedcovers and saw the robe she was wearing, and saw me standing a few feet away—she looked horrified.

“Ben—what’s going on?” she demanded hoarsely, sounding much more alert than she had the night before, but no less terrified and bewildered. “What happened? What did we do?”

“Fannie, it’s okay,” I told her quickly. “It’s okay—we didn’t do anything. I’ll tell you what happened.”

Instead of approaching her, I stayed standing where I was and gave her a refresher on the events of the previous night as gently as I could. As I finished, she sank back against the cushions at the head of the bed, looking desolate.

“...Yes,” she said sadly. “Yes, I…I think I remember it all now.”

She slowly sat up on the edge of the bed, and rose to her feet, turning away from me and re-tying her robe so it would cover her more snugly. I looked away out of respect.

“How do you feel, Fan?” I asked.

“Bad,” she groaned.

“You’re not the only one,” I said with a small laugh.

Fannie turned to look at me, and frowned. “Oh…Ben, your eyes are all puffy!” she exclaimed. “Goodness, you look horrible—”

She stopped and covered her mouth. “Oh—I’m sorry. I…I didn’t mean that, you know.”

I shook my head. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I do look pretty bad. I, uh…well, I cried a lot last night.”

It felt strange to admit that to her. It would have fallen into the genre of things I wouldn’t have told her before. But…if I was gonna start being honest with her and stop hiding and omitting things…well, I might as well start here.

Fannie looked concerned. “Oh, love…why were you crying? Because of me?”

I shook my head again. “Not exactly. Um…Fannie, there’s…something I need to tell you. Well…several things. But…let’s start with one.”

My heart started pounding, and I felt sick as I said it. Oh, I can’t do this, I thought—and then I thought, Yes, you can—and what’s more, you’ve got to.

Okay, I thought. Okay. Okay. Fannie saw how nervous I was, and began to look nervous, too.

…This was gonna be rough.

“Let’s…sit down,” I said. I led her to the table across from the door, and pulled out one of the chairs so she could sit before taking a seat in the other one.

“Ben…you’re worrying me,” said Fannie, her eyes wide. I wished I could tell her she didn’t have to worry…but I knew I couldn’t tell her that.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But it’s—it’s really important that I tell you this.”

Her eyes were huge, like two of Ryloth’s five moons. I fidgeted in my seat, and willed myself not to kortokk out.

“So, um…do you remember how last night I told you that when I didn’t hear from you, I happened to walk into the dining hall when Pennie brought you into the gentlemen’s banquet?” I began.

“Yes,” said Fannie. “Yes…I do remember you saying that. And I remember telling you how fortunate it was that the Force guided you to where I happened to be.”

“Yeah, great, glad you remember that,” I said, scratching the side of my face. “But actually, Fan…what I told you…it wasn’t really the truth.”

I looked up. I hadn’t been making eye contact with her, because it was too painful. Her expression hadn’t changed—she was still staring at me intensely, as if waiting to hear everything before she decided how to move her face.

“...What do you mean?” she asked, her voice cracking like a dry leaf.

I gazed at the ceiling for a second. Then I took a deep breath, sat on my hands, and looked at her.

“Fannie…I was at the gentlemen’s banquet last night,” I told her solemnly.

“Yes,” she said, monotone. “Yes, I know that, Ben. You had to have been there in order to rescue me.”

“No—you don’t understand, Fan,” I said. “I mean I was there as a guest. I attended the whole event. I was there since seven o’clock—I was there the whole time, and ate dinner there, and watched the dances and everything.”

Fannie was staring at me stone-faced, and it frightened me. I almost would have rather she cried.

“But…how were you there without an invitation?” she asked, flatly. “It is a very exclusive event. There’s no way you could have been there without being personally invited by my father.”

“See—that’s the thing,” I said. “He did invite me, that time I had dinner with him at his table. What was that—two nights ago? Gosh, it feels like forever.”

“But you said you weren’t invited,” said Fannie, without any expression on her face. “You said that, in the taxi with Rol.”

“Well…I wasn’t telling the truth then, either,” I said. “I wasn’t planning to go at the time, so I didn’t want to get into it.”

“Ben…” Fannie shook her head, trying to make sense of it all. “You and I talked about the gentlemen’s banquet, after you had dinner with my father. You certainly neglected to tell me you had received an invitation to it.”

“Well—like I said, I wasn’t planning to go, at first.”

“But…you did.”

“Yes.”

“And then…you lied to me last night about whether you were there.”

“Also yes.”

And now Fannie’s eyes were beginning to fill with tears.

“I—I don’t understand,” she stammered. “Never mind that you hid your invitation from me. Why did you go? You, Ben? You? It’s—it’s not like you at all—it goes against everything I thought I knew about you.”

“Would you believe me if I said the food was really good?” I asked—and then immediately regretted trying to be funny.

“You know as well as I do that the men who attend Pentarra’s banquets do not do so primarily for the food,” Fannie said stiffly.

She was right, of course.

“...Let me get you some water,” I murmured, because she was beginning to cry, now, and I didn’t want her to get dehydrated. I came back with the glass of water, and held it out to her.

She refused to take it.

I set it down in front of her. “Fannie…I’m really sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry that I went to the banquet, and I’m sorry that I lied about it—”

But she interrupted me, which was not something Fannie usually does. Usually, she lets anyone speak until they have finished speaking.

“Stop,” she said, her eyes enormous even as they continued to leak tears. “We are not there yet, Ben Solo. We are not at the point of you apologizing yet. I need to understand why you did this.”

Her Rylothian accent was beginning to creep back in. I knew that meant she was really upset.

…Not that I could blame her.

I had tried to plan out what I’d say, all that time I had been sitting there in the armchair waiting for the sun to rise. But…now that I was here in front of her, watching her weep silently, all my eloquence was gone.

“I…I went because I wanted to impress Vataash and Nabohri,” I said honestly. Fannie frowned, dumbfounded.

“My brothers?” she asked. “But why, Ben? You don’t even know them—you have no relationship with them—frankly, I’m surprised that you even remember their names.”

I was quiet for a second, and sank further down into my chair.

“...Don’t tell me there’s more you haven’t told me,” Fannie said, shaking her head slowly.

“...Listen,” I said, reaching for her hand. She didn’t move, so I put my hand back down. “There’s…there’s a lot that I need to tell you, Fan. But…I want you to be in a good place to hear it. You’ve had a rough night. Let’s get you to your chambers, okay? You can clean up and rest, and I’ll bring up some food for you from the kitchen. Maybe we can talk later tonight when you’re feeling better. Please, Fan—drink your water.”

Fannie shook her head again, causing fresh tears to fall from her moons-for-eyes.

“No,” she said, softly. “No. You are going to tell me everything right here, Ben Solo. Right now.”

I pressed my lips together, and rubbed my left thumb between my fingers. Usually, when she and I disagree on what to do, she offers a compromise. The fact that she didn’t meant that her mind was already made up.

Usually, she doesn’t use my last name so much, either.

“...Okay,” I agreed. “I’ll tell you everything right now. But…can you at least drink your water for me?”

She held the glass begrudgingly, and took one teeny-tiny sip.

“Tell me about Vataash and Nabohri,” she demanded.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ve…spent a lot of time with Vataash and Nabohri, actually. And your other brother, Mikal. And…most of your brothers, really.”

“But…when did you have the time? You’ve either been with me or with Pennie this whole trip.”

“Well...I haven’t been with Pennie almost at all. I only pretended to.”

“Ben, this just keeps getting worse and worse,” she whispered. “Is there anything you’ve been honest with me about during this entire week?”

“Oh, it’s still got worse to get,” I said grimly, before I could stop myself—and she looked like she might be ill again.

“...I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I—I don’t mean to be flippant. It’s just that I know this is going to be really hard for both of us. So I’m…you know. Just trying to…lighten the mood.”

Her cold stare told me she did not appreciate it. I made a mental note to quit lightening.

“You haven’t spent any time with Pennie?” Fannie repeated. “But…the two of you walked into supper together two nights ago—the night you had dinner with my father.”

“I…made a deal with her to pretend like we hung out. Partially so I wouldn’t have to hang out with your sisters, and partially so Pennie wouldn’t tattle on me for hanging out with your brothers. She also wanted to use me to make Pentarra jealous—a scheme that failed spectacularly, by the way. But…I have seen Pennie around a lot, even if we never purposely spent time together. We ran into each other a couple of times, and she came into my room two nights ago. She tried to, well—seduce me, to get revenge on you or something—”

Fannie dropped her head into her hands.

“...a scheme that also failed spectacularly, I would like to note,” I added quickly.

Fannie looked up again, wiping tears from her eyes with the heel of her hand. She looked like she was doing all in her power not to completely break down.

“So…you knew that my sister was trying to hurt me, and you still let me have supper with her the next day?” she asked. “Why? Just to give you a chance to go to the gentlemen’s banquet without me knowing?”

“No, no,” I protested. “I—I didn’t know she still wanted to hurt you. I genuinely believed she might be serious. When I left Pennie in my room that night, she was crying—”

“What do you mean you left her in your room? Ben, just to be clear—you and she did not do anything, did you?”

Part of me was insulted that she had to ask.

The other part of me fully understood why she had to.

“...No,” I said quietly. “No, Fannie, I didn’t do anything with her. She tried—though if she had known me at all she wouldn’t have bothered—but…no, we didn’t do anything.”

“Did we do anything?” she demanded.

“What—you mean…you and me, Fan?”

“Yes, Ben—you and me.”

“Fannie…you know I wouldn’t…. You know I’d never…”

“Well,” Fannie said stiffly, “there was a lot I thought I knew about you that I’m only now learning was never true. So please, Ben—did we do anything or not?”

“Fannie…you’ve known me for years.”

“Yes, I really thought I had. Answer the question, Ben. And please…tell the truth, this time.”

And once again…as much as it hurt, I completely understood why she had to ask.

“…No,” I said quietly. “No, we didn’t do anything.”

She looked at me in silence for what felt like a long time.

“...Okay,” she said at last. “Well. Is there…anything else you still need to tell me about?”

I hesitated…then nodded.

“Yes, actually,” I said. “One very big thing.”

She stared at me, growing pallid.

Then she stood up, walked to the edge of the bed, and sat, dazedly staring at the floor.

“...I think I know what it is,” she said, so quietly she could have been talking to herself. “Oh, may the Force be with me. I know what it is.”

I got up, and came quietly to where she was sitting, then knelt in front of her on the ground. The posture reminded me of the women who’d knelt before Tollah’s statue in Bulii’kana, bowing their heads in supplication.

…Well, I wasn’t here to ask Fannie for anything. I knew she did not owe me her forgiveness.

“…I lied about Luke,” I told her gravely. “I said he told me to shut you out, so you wouldn’t be tempted by your feelings. Well, I made that up—I avoided you on my own because I was too afraid to face you and discuss our relationship. Then I lied about it to hide that I’d been selfish…and to make you as angry at Luke as I was. I knew you respected him and his opinions on things—possibly even over mine. I thought that, if I could turn you against him, you wouldn’t care anymore that he didn’t think it wasn’t smart for us to be together. I’m sorry, Fannie. I’m really sorry.”

“Ben…” Fannie’s eyes filled with tears. “At this point, I’ve made my peace with the fact that choosing you is a decision Master Luke and I may not agree on. And I’ve come to a place now where I’m all right with that. Yes, I respect Master Luke a lot, and we do share most of our beliefs…but it would be naive to think every Jedi will always have identical convictions about the right path to take. Luke not being completely in favor of our relationship, while difficult, was something I was willing to accept. But…this, dear? You, lying to me since the very beginning of our relationship? This, I do not know if I can get past.”

My throat tightened. So…she would have chosen me, even if I hadn’t lied. But now…because I’d lied…

…It’s a horrible feeling to sit in the bottom of your own grave with the shovel still warm in your lap.

“Fannie…I am so sorry,” I told her, reaching for her hands. “Really.”

She did not take my hands…but she allowed me to take hers. Her fingers, which were always so warm, felt cold.

“I really messed up,” I said, rubbing my thumbs over her fingertips, as if I could bring warmth back into them. “I was only thinking about myself, and how much I wanted to be with you, and how much I wanted you to like me. I wasn’t fair to you, and what I did was really bad. You don’t deserve to be treated this way. I am so, so sorry, Fannie—can you ever forgive me?”

She was quiet.

My heart sank.

“...I am not yet ready to forgive you,” she said at last. “But…as a Jedi, I must, eventually. And I will.” She paused, and ran her tongue over her lips, looking sadly up at the ceiling. “What I do not know is if I can ever trust you again, dear. So many of the things you led me to believe over the past month were simply lies designed to benefit you. Tell me, Ben…how am I supposed to believe anything you have ever told me? Or anything you tell me now—or in the future?”

It was an excellent question…one that I wished I had an answer for.

“I...I don’t know,” I said. “But…I’m still me, Fan. We’ve been friends for years. You do know me, after all.”

“Do I?” she asked, her eyes wet.

…I didn’t know what to say.

“...I’m telling you the truth, now,” I said quietly. “I…know it doesn’t count for much. But I hope it at least counts for a little.” I looked down at our hands. “I don’t know if you’d want to stay in a relationship with me going forward. Or…what that would even look like. But I can promise you this, Fan: that from now on, I am always going to be honest with you.”

She didn’t say anything.

Finally, she stood.

“Excuse me, please,” she said, and slipped past me to disappear behind the curtain into the refresher room.

I sighed and collapsed forward, pressing my forehead into the edge of the bed. Everything felt so odd. Like a dream, almost, or maybe a nightmare…but I knew it was real, and also that it was the only way things could have ended—unless I had planned on deceiving her all the way to both our graves. I felt a sense of loss…but also a sense of relief, and somewhere mixed into all the shame and grief was the joy that I was finally doing the right thing after all this time.

“Ben—what is this?”

I turned around. Fannie was holding up the wastebin, with all of the crushed thumbrecorder components in it.

…Well. I hadn’t really wanted to get into that. I didn’t want to stress her out over something I had already taken care of.

But…I had promised I was going to be honest with her from now on. And I did intend to follow through. I shuffled around on my knees to face her.

“...That was the thumbrecorder your sister used to take holofootage of you last night,” I told her. “She recorded you dancing. I tricked her into giving it to me, by promising her a…more explicit tape in exchange. Obviously, I didn’t record anything. I only told her that so she would give it to me. And then…I destroyed the recorder last night, and the file along with it.”

Fannie stared at me, processing what I had just told her.

“I’m surprised Pennie was so easily deceived,” she said at last. “Thankful…but surprised.”

“Well, Pennie only agreed to it because she had blackmail on me,” I explained softly. “She told me that, if I didn’t follow through on our deal, she’d tell you I’d been hanging out with your brothers behind your back. And that I was at the gentlemen’s banquet.”

Fannie looked at me for a long time, and I looked at her back from where I knelt on the floor.

Finally her face contorted and the wastebin fell from her hands, spilling bits of circuitry and plasteel casing across the ground.

“So…that was why you finally came clean,” she choked out coldly, with no love in her eyes. “Because you knew you no longer had a choice. You knew that Pennie was going to tell me everything anyway, so you decided at last to end your little charade.”

Horror settled into me. I hadn’t even thought of that.

Had that been the only reason? It couldn’t be.

At the same time…I doubted how much I really knew myself or my own intentions.

I chewed my lip, looked at the floor, and said nothing.

“You knew we were already over, Ben Solo,” Fannie wept, her voice sounding hollow. “But I suppose I should at least recognize that you had the decency to tell me that yourself, instead of leaving it to my sister.”

I looked up at her pathetically, every part of me descending into a dull, miserable ache. I felt that there was nothing I could say in my defense—nor did I feel like defending myself before her. I felt like I deserved to let her flay me alive.

“...I’m sorry,” I uttered again. “You have to believe me.”

“Moments ago, Ben,” Fannie whispered, “I would have believed anything you told me without a second thought.”

I swallowed bitterness and hung my head in shame.

“...I am going away to my mother, now,” Fannie said softly. “Do not follow me. Do not seek me out. You will hear from me if I wish to speak with you again.”

“I leave Ryloth tomorrow morning,” I told her quietly. “Just so you know.”

“Yes, Ben, I know,” Fannie said softly. “I memorized your itinerary. I was very excited about you coming here. Of course I remember which day you were planning to leave.”

She turned and walked over to the door…and then she stopped. I watched her, as stiff as a statue.

And then she spoke, without turning around to look at me.

“...I was very dazed last night,” she said. “There is a lot that is difficult to recall. But…I do remember how crushing it was to realize that Pennie had betrayed me. That she has truly changed, and that she was so willing to hurt me. I was forced to let go of my last bit of hope for her—even though giving up on Pennie was something I had fought so hard all this time not to do.”

She turned to look at me, and we locked eyes.

“And…I thought to myself…well: at least I have Ben.”

She said the words with something like a laugh…if a laugh was able to make a man cry.

And I thought about all that Fannie and I had gone through together over the years, and I wished—oh, how I wished—that it did not have to end like this.

“...I am so sorry, Fa’nakhra,” I said, in a small voice. “I am really so, so sorry for everything.”

“Yes, I know you are,” she said.

“…I love you, Fannie.”

“...Yes,” she said softly. “Yes, I know you did.”

We looked at each other for a moment. And then she walked out the door, and it closed behind her with a slow creak and a dull thud.

I stayed where I was on the ground, staring at the place where she’d stood, hoping to burn the image of her in my mind forever.

I didn’t follow her…but I didn’t hang around for long, either. I waited a few minutes, then I collected my waistcoat from the refresher room and left the bedchamber so I could go back to my room and wash up.

I ran into one of the dancers in the hallway. Her makeup was smudged, and she had bruises all over her body. I didn’t want to stare at her, but I was worried about whether she was okay.

“I wish you had chosen me, human,” she said playfully, in the same way one might complain about Mondays at the office. “I saw your mate come out just before you did. She did not look as if you had touched her at all.”

I wasn’t sure what to say in response to that. The scars I had left on Fannie were not the kind you could see with your eyes…but they were there nonetheless.

I nodded, and went on my way.

I took the exit that led back into the dining hall. The servants were still clearing away the velvet curtains and moving out the wooden platforms that had comprised the stage, but bread and fruit had been put out in bowls on the dining tables. I stopped, and took some bread.

As I did, I met eyes with the girl who was refilling the bread bowl. It was the same girl who had poured my wine the previous night, and who had found me sleeping in the east library, and who had been peeling redfruits with Fannie in the kitchen.

She was dressed normally now, in a short top and a short skirt, both in brown. Her arms, legs, and stomach were visible—but compared to what she had been wearing last night, her current attire was conservative.

She quickly turned and began to walk away.

“Um—wait,” I said, and she stopped, and stood with her back to me. “I’ve been wondering. What’s your name?”

She hesitated, and then turned back to face me.

“...I am Serakh,” she said quietly.

“Hi, Serakh,” I said. “I’m Ben. Nice to meet you.” I did the Rylothian bow, holding my bread, and she looked stunned.

“No man has ever bowed to me before,” she said as I straightened up.

“Well…you seem to do a lot of work around here,” I told her, rolling the piece of bread around in my palm. “I feel bad not knowing your name.”

Serakh did not smile, but there was a softness in her expression. “Fa’nakhra is fortunate to have you for a mate,” she said.

My heart sank.

“Well…I was even luckier to have her,” I said, and then, after a pause: “Take care, Serakh. Thanks for breakfast.”

I took another piece of bread and a piece of longfruit, and headed up to my room.

There was no one to speak to in the men’s quarters—it had been a late night for everyone. I didn’t know what the remaining guys had done, after I had left dinner with Fannie on my shoulder…but I had a hard time believing they had gone straight to bed. Anyway, they were all asleep now—some in their rooms, some in the lounge, and even one or two in the hallway (I stepped carefully over them).

My room was just as I had left it when I had gone down to the banquet the previous night. I put my waistcoat from last night into my laundry bag, along with everything else I was wearing, then washed and changed into fresh clothes. And then I looked around at my bedchamber as I rubbed a towel through my damp hair, and remembered how enamored I had been with the room upon my arrival.

It definitely made me feel like a king. I knew I could never afford to live or even stay somewhere like this ever again.

And yet…I would have much rather had my little old apartment on Naboo, and Fannie there at home with me.

I didn’t have much time to think about that, though. I still had unfinished business with her sister.

Chapter Text

At ten o’clock, I met Pennie in the east garden courtyard. She was waiting for me on one of the ivory benches, dressed in a fine robe. It was made of a similar shimmery material as her outfit from last night, but in a pale pink, and the edges of her sleeves were adorned with beaded tassels that clicked against each other when she moved.

“Good morning, Ben Solo,” she said lightly. “I trust you had a pleasurable evening?”

I thought about last night—about mopping up Fannie’s vomit, about watching her to make sure she was alive, about being trapped in that room of mirrors with only my thoughts and a pit of guilt and a sea of panic, about the visit from Snoke and the strange experience I’d had after he left.

“…My night was fine,” I said. “How was yours?”

“Also fine,” she said, smiling. Her lips were glossy, and her eyelids all glittery. I wondered if she had dressed up to commemorate her revenge.

Pennie cleared her throat. “Enough with the pleasantries,” she said, extending her hand to me. “Let us speak business. Do you have the tape?”

“You know, funny thing,” I said. “Let’s just say that in the heat of the moment, I forgot to hit ‘record.’”

Pennie’s expression soured. She dropped her hand amidst a clamor of little tinkling. “Now, now, Ben Solo,” she said in a warning sing-song. “You told me I could trust you.”

“Actually, I said the opposite,” I told her. “I said you had no way of knowing if I’d hold up my end of the deal. I don’t remember ever saying you could trust me.”

Pennie looked at me for a moment, considering me. And then she smiled. “You know…I did doubt whether you would deliver on our agreement, Ben Solo,” she said, shaking her head. “But…I thought you’d be motivated by the knowledge that it is very foolish to betray someone who guards your secrets. I don’t want to have to tell Fa’nakhra all that you’ve been doing behind her back while you’ve been here.”

“See…funny thing about that, too,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Fannie already knows.”

Pennie stared at me, her glittery eyes widening. I squished one corner of my mouth up, and shrugged again.

“What do you mean?” she demanded.

“I mean that I told her everything myself,” I said. “I decided I was done lying to her and keeping secrets, so I told her everything…and I also told her some other things I haven’t been honest with her about. Things that you don’t even know.”

Pennie squinted, trying to determine if I was telling the truth.

“…You’re bluffing again, Ben Solo,” she said at last. “Don’t think I can’t tell.”

“I’m not,” I said quietly. “She was pretty mad. In fact, I’m pretty sure Fannie and I are through now. I don’t think she doesn’t want anything to do with me…not that I blame her.”

The sorrow in my words was so raw, I think Pennie recognized I was serious. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, unable to make sense of my confession—me blowing up my own life hadn’t been a play she’d anticipated on her mental chessboard.

Of course she hadn’t expected it. Up until now, all my decisions had been made based on whatever served me best. For the first time since Pennie had met me, I had done exactly the opposite.

“Then…give me back the tape,” Pennie demanded hoarsely, grasping for recovery. “You purchased it with that which you have refused to supply. Therefore it is still mine, and belongs to me.”

“Well…let’s just say I lost it,” I told her. “And by ‘lost it’...I mean that I deleted the footage, and smashed the thumbrecorder into a bunch of tiny bits.”

Pennie’s olive-green skin slowly flushed red, and her voice became low and dangerous. “I am not happy to hear that, Ben Solo,” she murmured.

“Unfortunately, your happiness wasn’t my top priority last night, Pennie,” I told her.

“Hm,” said Pennie, fighting for control. “Without holographic footage…the least you could do is tell me how your encounter went. Did you enjoy her, Ben Solo? Did you fulfill your wildest fantasies? Did you make her cry? Bleed? Scream?”