Private One More Mile

[Rin Taal]

The music followed them all the way back to the familiar form of Rin's speeder.

At first, the festival seemed reluctant to surrender either of them. Its warmth spilled along the paths in wavering pools of torchlight, accompanied by laughter that rose and fell behind them and the occasional brilliant bloom of fireworks overhead. Music wandered farther than everything else, slipping between buildings and threading through the ancient trees in fragments that seemed determined to accompany them wherever they went. A familiar melody would emerge clearly for several measures before distance softened it again, leaving only the pulse of drums or the faint silver thread of strings upon the night air.

Rin walked beside Muad without feeling any particular need to fill the silence between them.

Perhaps that was what she noticed first.

Silence had never been uncomfortable for her. She had spent too much of her life traveling for quiet to require filling, and the road had taught her that companionship did not always need conversation to prove its existence. There were people with whom silence became an absence, an empty place where words ought to have been. With others, it became something shared, capable of holding thoughts that did not yet need to become words.

Muad had somehow become the latter remarkably quickly.

Their bodies occasionally came near enough to brush as the path narrowed, and neither seemed particularly concerned with correcting the distance when they did. Rin remained aware of him in a way she had not been upon Batuu, not because he was any more present now than he had been then, but because something between them had changed beneath the willow. Nothing dramatic had happened. No kiss had transformed one thing into another. No promises had been made beyond another moment and perhaps the one after that.

Yet the man walking beside her was no longer simply the stranger she had found dying beneath the trees, nor even merely the unexpected friend whose company she had discovered she enjoyed far more than circumstances required.

She was attached to him, the realization returning with surprising ease, and this time Rin did not resist it.

She had spoken it beneath the willow and found no reason to regret doing so. Attachment did not frighten her, though she understood its cost better than most. A century and a half of living had taught her exactly what happened when one allowed another person to matter. Another person's joy could become one's own, but so could their sorrow. Their absence could acquire weight. Their return could become something anticipated in ways one never quite intended.

Perhaps the wisest thing would have been to leave such complications alone. Rin had lived long enough to know wisdom was sometimes vastly overrated.

A small smile touched her lips as they rounded the last bend. There it was. Her speeder waited exactly where she had left it, looking distinctly less impressive than nearly everything surrounding it.

Dented in more than one place, worn by roads scattered across more worlds than Rin cared to count, and bearing the accumulated evidence of a life spent being used rather than admired, the familiar vehicle possessed absolutely none of the elegance someone might have expected from a machine belonging to a woman who had lived as long as she had. One panel had never quite matched the others after a repair years ago. The finish had surrendered its original shine somewhere several planets behind her, and there were scratches along one side whose stories Rin could no longer reliably separate from one another.

She loved it, and more importantly, Muad knew it, a realization that slowed her steps for the briefest moment as she remembered he had ridden in that speeder before.

On Batuu, she had carried him into it wounded and barely held together, his life having become unexpectedly entangled with hers because circumstance had placed a dying stranger beneath the trees along her path. They had traveled together then with no expectation that their roads would ever cross again after they separated. Somewhere during those miles, however, conversation had become companionship, silence had become comfortable, and a stranger had become someone whose absence Rin had noticed after he was gone.

Now they stood before the same battered speeder on another world entirely, and this time Muad was not being carried somewhere because he needed saving, but because Rin wanted him there, a difference that settled warmly beneath her ribs.

She glanced toward him, wondering whether the same parallel had occurred to him, but she did not ask. Instead, the corner of her mouth lifted as she gestured toward the vehicle with the understated pride of someone presenting a treasured possession that objectively looked as though it had survived several minor wars.

"You remember her."

There was enough affection in the words to make it unclear whether Rin was joking about the speeder possessing an identity of its own.

She climbed in with the ease of long familiarity and settled into her accustomed place, waiting only until Muad had joined her before bringing the old machine to life. The engine answered with the same familiar vibration she knew as well as some people knew their own heartbeat, accompanied by a brief mechanical complaint that Rin ignored entirely. Whatever objection the speeder possessed about being asked to work at this hour apparently went unacknowledged.

Then they left the festival behind. Veradune unfolded before them beneath the night.

The roads nearest the celebration remained alive with travelers for a while, some walking home in laughing groups while others crowded aboard transports of varying ages and questionable capacity. Rin guided the speeder among them without hurry, exchanging an occasional raised hand with someone she recognized before the gathering gradually thinned behind them. Torches became fewer. Buildings gave way to older paths winding among trees and open country, and the music that had followed them from the festival slowly surrendered to distance.

Neither Rin nor Muad spoke much. She found she preferred it that way tonight.

The hum of the speeder filled what might otherwise have been silence, joined by the rush of cool air around them and the nocturnal sounds of the world Rin had known longer than almost anywhere else in the galaxy. She drove without needing to think about where she was going, her hands making small adjustments born from familiarity rather than conscious navigation, leaving the quieter reaches of her mind free to wander.

Once before, she had sat beside Muad in this very speeder. Everything had been different then.

She remembered the wounded and recovering man beside her, the conversations that had unfolded without either of them quite intending them to become personal, and the peculiar ease with which his presence had gradually ceased feeling like that of a stranger. She remembered explaining home without meaning a building or even a world, and the gesture that had somehow survived between them long enough for Muad to return it beneath the firelit sky earlier that evening.

She wondered whether either of them could have imagined this then. Probably not.

Of all the people she might have expected to find when she returned home, Muad Dib would never have made the list. Somehow, that only made seeing him there more pleasing.

Now he was sitting beside her again, the same worn speeder carrying them along another road, except there was no inevitable parting waiting at the end of this journey. There was her home.

Rin glanced toward him once before returning her attention to the road.

Muad had said there was nowhere else in this universe, or any other, that he would rather be. She still did not entirely know what to do with the warmth those words had left behind, and perhaps she did not need to do anything with it yet. Not everything needed immediate examination simply because it mattered. Some things were better allowed to settle into their own shape.

So she carried the words quietly with her.

The landscape became increasingly familiar as they traveled, not merely in the broad sense that Veradune itself was familiar, but in the smaller ways that announced she was drawing closer to the place she personally called home. A particular bend in the road appeared beneath the spreading limbs of trees that had been ancient when Rin was young. Stone markers passed at intervals, softened by moss and time. Here and there, warm lights glimmered through the darkness from homes nestled naturally into the surrounding landscape.

Rin found herself seeing everything differently because Muad was beside her, and that surprised her.

Things she had passed countless times suddenly seemed worthy of noticing again simply because he had never seen them. She wondered what he thought of the world beyond the festival, what details caught those luminous blue eyes when he believed she was concentrating upon the road. She almost began explaining something more than once, only to decide against it.

There would be time, the thought coming to her with an ease that felt both unfamiliar and quietly reassuring, and she found she liked it far more than she had expected.

The journey eventually carried them away from the broader road and onto one Rin knew intimately, narrower and quieter, bordered by vegetation that had been allowed to grow with only enough guidance to prevent it from reclaiming the path entirely. The communal complex waited somewhere beyond the trees ahead, several generations of stone and timber gathered around courtyards, gardens, and common spaces rather than a solitary house standing apart from everything around it.

Rin eased the speeder onto the familiar route home, and only then did something resembling uncertainty touch her: not regret, never that, but simply awareness.

Muad had seen pieces of her already. He had seen the traveler beneath the stars and the healer inside a tent. He had seen the musician beneath a rain-soaked pavilion, the warrior who could decide without hesitation when violence became necessary, and tonight he had seen something freer beneath the lights of the festival. He had watched her laugh and dance among her own people, had held her close enough to feel her breath, and followed her when she went after him rather than allowing his goodbye to stand.

This was different, because home contained no role for her to inhabit, and here she was simply Rin, which was perhaps precisely why she wanted him to see it.

The first warm lights of the communal complex appeared between the trees ahead, and Rin felt the smallest smile return as the battered old speeder carried them toward them.

Once, this same machine had carried a wounded stranger into her life.

Tonight, it was bringing him home with her.

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

The great willow bent toward the pond, long limbs falling in a curtain around them. The serene surface of the water reflected the majesty of the heavens, with bright explosions of color mirrored on the glassy surface. A choir of amphibians croaked their throaty songs as golden fireflies swirled around the landscape, their soft glow permeating the light to the grass, limbs, and the two who turned from the glorious, picturesque scene. Up the sloping hill they walked. Their feet moved from the trodden grass to the well-worn path until they reached an intersection.

To the right echoed the sounds of song, dance, voices raised in laughter and enjoyment at meeting old friends and new acquaintances. Orange firelight wreathed the stone walkway as inviting as light in the dark always was. They went to the left. Latecomers to the festivities passed on either side of the pair. All shared warm greetings and waves. And yet the pair did not feel a compulsion to return to the lively party, for their path lay elsewhere. The torches adorning the sides of the trail grew fewer, lending a more desolate ambiance. Not frightening, merely removed from the fun being enjoyed in their wake. Every few steps, their arms would lightly brush. However, they felt no need to create a buffer between them and enjoyed the light contact, as if to confirm they still walked together.

As they neared a clearing where vehicles of all types rested, his eyes found a speeder he knew well despite his brief exposure to it. At his approach, a smile crossed his face, and his fingers lightly trailed along the weathered patina. The color had lost its luster, if not its shine. Deep grooves were etched into its surface with untold stories of past exploits. Dents testified to a life of action and motion, the dream of every vehicle. He chuckled at Rin's question.

"How could I forget her?"

The question of whether he spoke of the old speeder or the zorren was open to interpretation. As his hand pulled the door handle, the familiar loose grip reminded him of his first time entering the weathered speeder. A long, lonely road made less empty by the people of the caravan and the woman behind the controls. He eased into the comfortable seat and eased the door closed. Callused fingers ran across the cracked dashboard that had witnessed countless suns on as many new planets. It was in the speeder that the two shared stories, secreted smiles, and comfortable silences.

It was the later that he dwelt on as Rin drove the vehicle from the impromptu parking area, one hand raised in passing greetings to others either arriving or taking their leave. Most individuals feared the quiet as much as they did in the dark. But the two seated next to one another had transcended both fears long ago. Instead they embraced their silent comraderie and unnamed chasm that, in the past on Batuu, they left untouched and unexplored. However, actions and words had changed the unnamed thing between them I to something other than merely friendship. What it was had yet to be established. And neither were in a hurry to force title or expectation on the delicate thing. All they wanted in the moment was the blink of time. And the one after.

His gaze fell on the woman beside him, drinking in the sight of her hair flowing in the wind orchestrated by the speeder's brisk passing. The glow from her golden eyes was reflected in the windshield, the corners of her lips upturned. He matched her expression and leaned back in the chair with his right arm hanging over his door.

This journey was similar and yet, distinctly different from their first ride. Then, they were strangers with a growing fascination fostered by their curiosity with the stranger across from them. Furtive glances were not shy, only respectful in their growing interest in just who it was that sat next to them. His left hand twitched in remembrance of stroking the fine fur of her tail after a hilariously open verbal exchange. Now, they were friends instead of strangers. The ride felt like a continuation of their previous journeys and intimately opposite. Now he knew her carefree laughter with no reservation. They both had broached the subject of wanting more. And his body remembered the shape of her body pressed against his. Her form had etched itself upon his flesh and burned into his memory.

A soft smile flickered on his lips as he turned his head and enjoyed the trip. Torches became scarce until the ceased completely. The thick woods thinned to be replaced by ancient trees that stretched into the night sky. Their limbs arched upwards as though the strength of the massive trees held the heavens uplifted on thick branches. Deeper in the treeline, homes stood. Not apart from nature but in communion with it. And though the dwellings were manufactured by hands, nature accepted them into its embrace.

Stone markers lay by the roadside accounting and testifying to their advance across the narrow road. Carpets of green moss grew across the stone as vegetation claimed them for their own. The road narrowed even more and the vegetation reclaimed the shoulders alongside the road. Grass tickled his arm hanging over the door as his eyes searched out the depths of the forest finding pinpoints of yellow light shining from windows of unseen buildings which lay nesteled in trees. The giant trees on either side of the road stretched their limbs over the path to interweave with other ancient goliaths to create an arched lush green canopy above.

Everywhere he looked he was met with the symbiosis between nature and the zorren. The inhabitants of the planet took nothing from nature, only borrowed. And nature seemingly embraced them. Not as foreign Interlopers but as adopted children welcomed home. The revelation revealed more about the woman next to him than a long leisurely drive on Batuu had.

The multi faceted aspects that united to create Rin Taal began here. She had the patience of a tree who moved with slow intent. The way she didn't force her will onto anything but chose to work in communion with people and nature. Her resiliency and quiet strength. Her love for life. And the since and genuine belief in protecting what could not protect itself. From a full grown man who laid beside death's door to the small children of a caravan whose birth she had witnessed along with their parents to her interactions with animals most would never spare a second thought for. Veradune was Rin and Rin was Veradune. The realization of things known but not acknowledged beat with a warmth inside his chest. Veradune was beautiful as was her child.

In the distance, lights appeared in a multistoried building. Rin's home. A place deeply personal and shared with few, if any, outsiders. And yet, she had chosen to share the intimate dwelling with him. The warmth in his chest spread. This was another step in their joined journey. A willingness to be vulnerable with yet another glimpse into her personal life and her soul. Home. His hand snaked across the narrow space between them to cover her hand on the controls. Not in search of holding to her. Just a gentle squeeze that said he was there. And he wasn't going anywhere. Tactile touch that spoke without words. A caress across her fingers, back of her hand, and across her forearm before retreating once again to his side of the speeder.

Whatever this was, whatever the next mile and moment looked like, he was here for it and for her. With her. A choice he was glad they both had made.

Rin Taal

 

[Rin Taal]

The old speeder settled into its familiar rhythm as Rin guided it deeper beneath Veradune's ancient canopy. Festival music faded until it became little more than a memory carried on the breeze, replaced by the softer sounds of insects, distant frogs, and leaves whispering high overhead. She welcomed the quiet. It had become one of her favorite things about traveling with Muad.

Many people hurried to fill silence, mistaking it for absence. Rin had learned years ago that silence often held more truth than conversation ever could. Some people revealed themselves through stories. Others did so through the spaces between them. Muad had never seemed uncomfortable with either, and over the days they had traveled together, the quiet between them had transformed from something polite into something shared.

It pleased her more than she expected.

The world always seemed eager to place names upon things before they had been given time to grow. Friends. Partners. Lovers. As though a title somehow completed the journey instead of merely describing where one had arrived. Trees did not work that way. They spent years strengthening roots before anyone noticed the branches reaching skyward.

Perhaps people deserved the same patience.

A small smile touched her lips as she caught him looking her way before his attention drifted back to the passing forest. She pretended not to notice, though only because pretending had become something of a game between them. The breeze carried loose strands of light brown hair across her cheek, and she tucked them behind one ear as the speeder bounced over a familiar rut.

"Still there," she murmured fondly. "Every spring I think someone will finally fill it in." Then again, maybe it had been filled in during her years away, and she only returns when it needs to be done again.

The old engine answered with its usual assortment of rattles and complaints.

"Don't listen to me," she told the speeder with quiet affection. "You've earned the right to creak."

The deeper they traveled, the more the forest ceased being scenery and simply became home. Moss-covered markers stood where they always had. Warm lights glowed from homes nestled among enormous trunks, their windows peeking through branches rather than replacing them. It never occurred to Rin that Veradune was beautiful. Beauty was something people noticed because it stood apart. This place did not stand apart from her. It had shaped her.

She knew which hollow filled first after heavy rain, where fox kits would emerge each spring, and which child would almost certainly be climbing farther into the branches than their parents preferred. She knew where mushrooms appeared after autumn storms and which elders never refused company over a cup of tea. The forest was less a place than an old friend whose habits had become inseparable from her own.

Perhaps that was why she found herself watching Muad almost as often as the road. Not because she wondered whether he approved. Because she wondered what he noticed.

There was an unexpected vulnerability in bringing someone home. It was one thing to tell stories beside a campfire or share another mile of road together. It was another entirely to invite them into the place that had quietly made you who you were. She had not fully understood that until now, yet she found herself hoping he saw what she loved rather than merely what she remembered.

His hand settled gently over hers. The touch carried no urgency, no uncertainty, and no expectation. It simply rested there, warm against her own.

Without thinking, Rin turned her hand beneath his just enough for her thumb to brush slowly across his palm. She let the contact linger as she guided the speeder around the final bend, reluctant to let the moment pass too quickly. When he finally began to withdraw, her fingers caught his lightly for the briefest instant, answering his reassurance with one of her own before allowing him to go.

"I'm glad you came," she said softly, her eyes remaining on the road ahead. "Not because I wanted to show you Veradune." She smiled to herself. "Because I wanted you here." The words settled comfortably between them, needing no explanation.

The trees gradually opened, revealing the familiar communal home nestled among their roots and branches. Warm lights glowed beneath wide eaves while laughter drifted through open windows. Someone on the porch spotted the approaching speeder and offered an easy wave before disappearing inside to announce their arrival. Home had always greeted people that way. No ceremony. No questions. Simply the quiet assumption that there would always be another place at the table.

Rin eased the speeder to a stop beneath the broad limbs of an ancient tree. The engine gave one final protesting cough before settling into silence. For a moment she remained where she was, hands resting lightly upon the wheel as she looked toward the welcoming lights. Then she glanced at Muad, warmth lingering in her golden eyes with an openness she had not offered anyone in a very long time.

"Come on," she said, her smile growing just a little brighter. "Let's go home."

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

When the speeder hit the rut nearly bottoming out, he smirked. Country roads were the same everywhere, it would seem. Well-worn and traveled, there was something homely about the lack of duracrete and transparasteel. He enjoyed this far more than the cityscapes and towering monoliths crafted by hand as if to say, Look at what I have created. Perhaps that was why he put so much effort into bringing nature back to the cities of Siskeen. Rin mentioned the seemingly ever-present rut.

Later, when she shifted her hand in response to his own hand, her thumb briefly swept his palm. It would appear he wasn't the only one communicating through light touch. Her words only reinforced the feeling that grew in his chest. This trip wasn't a check marked onto a map of tourist destinations. It was because she wanted him here. And he wanted it too. That was all that needed to be said: their presence with one another spoke volumes.

This was her home. Briefly, Muad wondered what stories or anecdotes she concealed about the forests and the animals who lived there. Which trees were the best for climbing, hidden blinds to watch animals trot to their next stop for the day, and even where to be to catch sight of the majestic birds that nested within the majestic trees. Perhaps there were water holes where she splashed with friends and family during the heat of summer, partaking in the chilled refreshment of crystal lakes.

The thought then crossed his mind. Somewhere in the hills or mountains, she could have stood at a place of special meaning and shared her first kiss. There was no jealousy in the thought. Just wonder at how her life had played out in the span of one and a half centuries: so much time and so many opportunities to reinvent yourself. Would that young, idealistic zorren recognize the strong and resilient woman he now shared a speeder with? On the other end of the spectrum, he mused silently about himself. Would the young Sith on Drommund Kaas recognize the trapping of the man he became? For himself the answer would be no. And yes.

As the speeder cleared the final edge of the road the trees opened up to reveal Rin's home. Or, at the least, part of it. A porch attached to the multi generational home stretched before it as an extension. Porch rails were not felled timber but nurtured and directed eota that wove along its length. Someone waved before entering the door, a voice that echoed, presumably, with an announcement of her arrival. Just what would they think when she entered with a non-zorren in tow? If the people inside were anything like the wandering daughter of Veradune who had returned, it would be warmly inviting.

The speeder coughed, or belched, a final time before true silence reigned between them for a moment. Another moment shared. With expectation of another after that. He eyed Rin who sat silent, hands still gripping the controls. He considered that perhaps she was regretting her decision. After all, this was her home and these her people. Maybe the idea of bringing him had lost its appeal in their final approach.

But then she turned her head on that graceful neck and gave him a look that banished his trepidation for her resolve. The warmth reflected in her eyes caught the flame in his chest anew. The simple expression shared revealed a vulnerability he had yet to see from her. An openness as though she had laid her cards down in the midst of playing sabaac and trusted him not to take advantage of her faith in him. And here he was, an idiot, holding a hand of Idiot's Array, the unbeatable hand. He'd fold the trump hand and let her win. Because, in a way, he would win just as much as she.

And then her words, "Come on. Let's go home." And a smile that would put any other smile on any other woman to shame. He returned her smile and climbed quietly from the speeder to close the door softly. Her words tumbled in his head. Let's go home. Let us go home. It felt good. His boots crunched on the gravel and mulch mixture that led to the porch. Beside him Rin walked. Every step she took closer to the home seemed lighter and lighter. As though all the baggage she accumulated and carried from her years of journeys just slipped from her shoulders to make her free. To restore her. As she took the first step onto the porch he caught her hand while remaining on the ground a step below her.

Their eyes were level when she turned, golden glow meeting flashing blue. He had never considered their height difference until this moment when, due to the step, they looked into one anothers eyes at an equal height. The corner of his lip twitched in amusement at the thought before it smoothed away to be replaced by concern. Not for himself but for her.

"Are you sure? We don't have to do this next step. It's a big one. Are you sure it's me you want to share this with?"

Just as he hesitated beneath the willow not wanting to take something until she was ready to freely give it, now he did it again. This was a big step into the unknown road they traveled on. Muad just wanted to make sure Rin knew what she wanted. His hand held hers without waver, communicating that this wasn't a moment of uncertainty from him, it was to ensure she was certain. To bring him home. With her.

@Ein Taal

 

[Rin Taal]

The warmth in Muad's hand never wavered.

Rin stood quietly upon the first step of the porch, her fingers resting comfortably within his while the sounds of home drifted around them. Somewhere inside the house, someone laughed before another voice answered. A door opened and closed. The breeze carried the scent of pine, damp earth, woodsmoke, and fresh bread still warm enough to perfume the evening air. She had imagined bringing him here more than once during their journey, but standing at the threshold with him looking into her eyes, it felt wonderfully unlike anything she had pictured. It felt simpler than she had expected. There was no dramatic weight pressing against her shoulders, no uncertainty demanding to be overcome. There was only Muad, asking one final time because he understood that this choice belonged to her alone. He was offering her the chance to stop without disappointment or persuasion, just as he always had with her. He had never hurried her along the road they shared, and somehow that quiet patience only made each step easier to take.

A faint smile softened her features as she continued to hold his gaze. The difference in their height had disappeared without either of them noticing until now. The porch had lifted her just enough that neither needed to tilt their head. Golden eyes met brilliant blue naturally, as though the world itself had quietly arranged the moment so neither stood above the other.

Her free hand rose slowly until her fingertips brushed a stray lock of dark hair away from his forehead. They lingered there for a heartbeat against his temple before she leaned forward with the same unhurried certainty that had carried her across countless roads. There was nothing impulsive in the gesture. It was simply an answer given without needing many words. Her lips rested gently against his forehead, returning the same quiet affection he had offered before they had begun this journey together. When she drew back, her smile remained, reaching her eyes as easily as the evening light reached the porch.

"I am, Muad Dib."

The words settled warmly between them before another followed, not aloud but along the gentle thread that had slowly formed between them over shared miles, shared silences, and shared trust.

Are you?

She let the question rest where it was, making no attempt to tug at the bond or search for the answer before he chose to give it. He deserved the same freedom he had given her.

As she waited, her gaze drifted beyond his shoulder for only a moment. Evening had begun to gather beneath the towering trees, the familiar darkness settling across the hills and forest with the easy confidence of an old friend returning home. She had loved that sight since she was a child, through every departure and every homecoming, and it had never once failed to make the wandering road feel complete.

Then her eyes found Muad once more.

For a quiet heartbeat she simply stood there, taking in the contrast before her. Beyond him lay the forests that had raised her, the valleys that had taught her to wander, and the home that had always welcomed her back without question. Between her and all of that stood the man she had chosen to bring here, his blue eyes bright against the deepening dusk, waiting only for her and whatever answer he wished to give.

She found herself smiling just a little more as she enjoyed both views.

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

"I am, Muad Dib."

A simple statement. But in those four words was the reaffirmation of their course. And then he felt the feathery touch of her consciousness against his. He needed no moment to answer, but he paused anyway. His forehead leaned towards hers, their skin touching where her lips had momentarily been. Her face filled his vision, which mirrored the feeling in his chest. He wanted Rin. As a friend, a companion, a confidant in moments of conversation and silence, as a dance partner, and more which remained unnamed. She was the path he chose.

I want you, Rin Taal.

His reply was also sent through their bond. His response was simple truth, inflected by his earlier thoughts. All the ways he wanted to share the road with her. However, a whisper of thought slipped by unintended, which colored his cheeks a distinct shade brighter than his normal complexion. Muad being Muad, he didn't apologize, only giving her a wink as he leaned back and took the step onto the porch, into her home, and into the next mile of their journey.

The porch was exactly as he imagined it from afar. A unity and cohesion of nature and creativity. Small flowers blossomed directly from the railing of the porch. The floors were partially flat roots of considerable width while trimmed boards fit into the gaps between to create an even floor. It was a thing of beauty where nature existed in harmony with the need for shelter.

Standing with her on the porch he smiled, an openness without any expectations. The door behind them opened and he turned his head while stepping aside for Rin to greet family and friends and enter her home. He would follow.

After you, fearless leader.

Rin Taal

 

[Rin Taal]

The words reached her before the thought had fully crossed the bond.

I want you, Rin Taal.

For a heartbeat, the world beyond the porch simply ceased to exist. The familiar sounds surrounding the homestead faded into little more than distant background as his words settled somewhere she had not realized had been waiting to receive them. They did not startle her. They did not leave her searching for an answer.

They simply belonged.

Warmth blossomed across her cheeks, spreading farther than the gentle kiss she had placed upon his forehead only moments before. She had expected an answer to her question. She had not expected something so completely honest, nor so wonderfully unguarded. It settled into every mile they had already traveled together, every silence they had shared without needing to fill it, every road they had chosen because it simply felt like the right one. Before she could think to restrain herself, the bond answered in kind. Not with words at first, but with feeling. Peace. Contentment. The quiet certainty she had found whenever the road placed Muad at her side. The simple happiness of realizing that, without either of them ever deciding it outright, the path she most wished to follow had slowly become the one he walked beside her.

Only then did a single thought follow, carried with all the gentleness she possessed.

Good.

Almost immediately, another thought brushed carelessly across the bond, unintended and wonderfully unfiltered. Golden eyes widened just enough for him to notice before the corners of her mouth betrayed her entirely. A quiet smile escaped despite every effort to contain it, and the warmth upon her cheeks deepened until it reached the tips of her ears. She had not meant to overhear that particular thought, but now that she had, she found herself unable to regret it. Her tail swayed lazily behind her. She offered no teasing remark. His wink received only the slightest shake of her head and a look that promised she would remember that little slip for quite some time.

The front door slid open with a quiet hiss.

A woman with long ash-blonde hair gathered into a loose braid stood just inside. The same warm coloring graced Rin's own hair, though centuries had threaded silver naturally through hers. Her gaze settled first upon Rin before drifting briefly toward Muad, and a quiet smile found her face.

"Rin."

Rin stepped forward first, wrapping her mother in an easy embrace that was returned without hesitation.

"Hello, Mama."

When they stepped apart, Maeve regarded her for a long moment. "You're looking thin."

"I've been traveling."

"I know." There was no criticism in the answer, only quiet recognition.

Another voice joined the conversation before the silence could settle. "Which is usually her explanation."

Rin looked farther into the house where Nerys had risen from one of the seating areas, amusement already written across her face.

"You could pretend to take my side once in a while."

"I could." Nerys smiled a little wider. "I simply don't see much reason to."

A quiet laugh drifted from deeper inside the room.

Corren closed the datapad resting on the arm of his chair before standing. Even after centuries in the house, he still dipped his head slightly beneath one of the broad living branches that crossed overhead. Tall and broad-shouldered, he carried the kind of strength that came from a lifetime of working with his hands rather than cultivating it for appearance. His calm golden eyes settled on Rin before moving naturally to Muad.

"You finally brought someone home." There was no question attached to the observation. No expectation. Merely quiet acknowledgment as he stepped forward, extending one large hand toward Muad. "Welcome. Corren Taal."

The heart of the homestead spread naturally beyond the entrance, its rooms grown around living trees whose immense trunks rose through polished wooden floors before disappearing into upper levels connected by gently curving walkways. Soft lighting had been integrated so seamlessly into the architecture that the source almost disappeared, leaving the living wood itself to command attention. Broad windows overlooked the darkness beyond the house while books rested where they had been set aside, a dejarik match waited midway through its game, and quiet conversation resumed almost as naturally as it had paused. Nothing had been prepared for visitors. The house simply made room for them.

Maeve's gaze settled on Muad beside Rin. "We weren't expecting a guest."

Rin blinked once. "...I may have forgotten to give you a heads up. I wasn't expecting this either."

"I assumed as much," Maeve replied, entirely unsurprised.

Nerys laughed. "She remembers to arrive. The details have always been negotiable."

Even Corren smiled. "You've never planned farther ahead than the next bend in the road."

Rin rubbed the back of her neck, unable to argue. "That does sound like me."

"It does," Maeve agreed, the corner of her mouth lifting. "Fortunately, we made enough."

Rather than remaining in the central gathering space, Rin stopped briefly at one of the serving alcoves built seamlessly into the living architecture. Prepared dishes rested beneath discreet warming fields that kept the evening meal ready whenever someone wandered in. She selected enough for two without much thought, arranging slices of fresh bread beside roasted vegetables, smoked meats, cheeses, fruit, and a small dish of preserves before adding two glasses and filling them from a chilled dispenser recessed into the wood itself. Balancing the basket and drinks with practiced ease, she glanced toward Muad.

"Come on."

She led him farther into the homestead, following a gently curving corridor that wrapped around one of the immense living trunks anchoring the house. The conversations behind them softened naturally with each step until only the occasional laugh drifted through the hall. Large windows followed the outer wall, revealing little beyond the dark silhouettes of the surrounding forest beneath the night sky, while the integrated lighting became gentler the farther they walked, encouraging quieter voices without ever demanding them.

The room at the end of the corridor felt less like a retreat and more like a place that had quietly collected stories over time. Shelves grown directly from the living walls climbed toward the ceiling, crowded with well-read books whose bindings ranged from pristine to lovingly worn. Between them rested objects that clearly had not originated on the homestead. A polished stone no larger than a fist had been mounted upon a small stand beside a handwritten note. A carved wooden bird, unmistakably made by hands unfamiliar with Zorren craftsmanship, perched atop a stack of journals. A length of woven cloth displaying an unfamiliar geometric pattern had been carefully framed instead of stored away. There were small sculptures fashioned from glass, bits of worked metal whose original purpose had long since been forgotten, an antique navigational compass preserved behind clear transparisteel, and a tiny carved creature whose oversized ears suggested some distant world neither of them had visited together.

There were dozens more. A smooth shell whose iridescent surface shimmered blue beneath the lights. A brass token from a spaceport long since renamed. Tiny painted masks no larger than her palm. Pressed flowers preserved beneath transparisteel. An old astrogation marker that no longer transmitted. A child's woven bracelet whose colors had faded with time. Individually, none of them seemed especially remarkable. Together they became a quiet map of a life spent wandering from world to world, each one carrying a story remembered by someone in the house.

None of it had been arranged to impress anyone. The shelves felt accumulated rather than curated, each piece occupying its place because someone had once brought it home and told its story. Comfortable chairs surrounded a broad, low table near the windows, their cushions softened by years of use. A woven rug in muted earth tones softened the polished floor beneath them, while a pair of reading lamps emerged gracefully from the living wood beside the chairs. The room overlooked the forest through expansive windows, and in the darkness beyond the glass the interior reflected softly back upon itself, the shelves of keepsakes appearing to stretch deeper into the house than they truly did. It was a room built for lingering conversations, quiet reading, and evenings that passed unnoticed.

Rin set the basket on the table before her gaze wandered naturally toward the nearest shelf. A faint smile touched her lips.

"I usually bring something back." Her fingers brushed lightly across a very familiar small carving. "Nothing expensive."

She looked back toward Muad. "Just something that reminds me where I've been...or who I met while I was there."

Her eyes drifted over the shelves with quiet affection. "Mama always found room for one more."

She pulled out one of the chairs before settling into it, the familiar room wrapping around her like an old friend. Looking across the table toward Muad, her smile returned, softer now than it had been downstairs.

"I've probably spent more evenings in this room than anywhere else in the house." Other than her own bedroom.

Her gaze wandered briefly toward the windows before returning to him.

"The center of the house belongs to everyone. If someone comes home, that's where they'll be found. If there's news, it's shared there. Most evenings, we eventually gather around in that room."

Her fingers rested lightly against the rim of her glass. "But this..." She looked around the room once more.

"This is where I came when I wanted fewer voices." A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Some things are easier to hear when the house is a little farther away."

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

Peace. Contentment. Agreement. Three emotions he felt within himself heard the echoing sentiment from Rin. And in that moment, he felt real peace—the kind he rarely experienced. Until he watched the sneaking blush creep from curved lips, over her cheeks, and all the way up to the cute rips of her ears. He was no fool; it was clear she had heard more than he intended. All he could do was shrug his shoulders with a slight roll. He was saved by the door opening.

Another zorren woman stood at the threshold with features and coloring familiar enough to his keen eye that he assumed there to be some form of familial connection. Her eyes flickered first to Rin, and then to Muad, before settling back to the woman Muad stood next to. There was no recognition of the stranger nor question. She spoke Rin's name, and they came together in a warm embrace. Together, it was like a mirror had been placed in front of Rin, so closely did they resemble each other. Then Rin called her mama, and everything fell into place. No wonder they favored each other.

Perhaps his earlier attention to the older woman's response to seeing him wasn't entirely fabricated. How would his own mother feel to meet a strange woman of an entirely different species at their door? The question was moot. His parents were long dead before he took his first step. He didn't even have a memory of them. But he could imagine. At least the older woman hadn't carved his face off with the talons she possessed. He had seen Rin do nearly that on Batuu.

He followed the women in and quietly closed the door behind them. He may not be civilized, but he had accrued manners in his time. More voices joined in as another young zorren female entered the fray. However, young may be a mistaken assumption. Their remarks about Rin's weight had him glancing appreciatively at his travel companion. She looked fine as she was. She looked fine. Amusement colored his thoughts at the same word with two meanings. She embodied them both. A deep, masculine voice rumbled from a different room, and seconds later a massive male strode in. He had massive shoulders and a fit physique that testified to a very active lifestyle.

"You finally brought someone home."

If this wasn't Rin's father, then he was someone she knew her entire life. The simple statement was an observation free of judgment. So like Rin. The cadence of words and lack of negative or positive inflection could have come from her mouth, except for the deep baritone. A moment after registering these things, his mind went back to the man's words. You finally brought someone home. Muad surprised the grin that threatened to seep onto his face and moved forward to clasp hands with the giant.

"A pleasure. Muad Dib."

Corren's grip was like a vise, his innate strength telegraphed in the handshake. Muad's own grip was firm as each of their callused hands rubbed with enough friction to start a forest fire. There wasn't an act of dominance, just two men giving firm handshakes and exchanging pleasantries. With his hand released, his eyes flickered over the other male. Taller, wider, perhaps stronger, the way he moved proved he was still light on his feet with no noticeable limp or favoring of any particular muscle group. Clearly, he was more than capable of taking care of himself. And his family. Muad felt a genuine grin stretch his face. He found that he liked Corren Taal.

The interior of the house was something else. Everything fit perfectly between tree trunks and walls, shelves and archways. This wasn't just craftsmanship but art. Every curve in the walls and ceiling was graceful and flowing into the next section. He could find no seam between the wood and the living wood, which reminded him of the abode of the Dathomiri witches. Again he cast an arched brow at Rin.

I knew it. She's a witch. And from a coven ...

The humorous thought wasn't the first time to appear. Or the last. The soft glow of light permeated the room without coming from a single source. Similar to were light in the Netherrealm. But instead of casting a cold aura that felt draining, here it was warm and welcoming. Finally, he began to see her home as the place Rin was nurtured and grew. Graceful and elegant with purpose while resisting a type of showiness or pride. Like Rin. Others who lay in different rooms resumed speaking. The renewed conversation drew him back to the present.

Rin's mother turned her gaze and remarks back to Muad, who felt he could almost sense a refined hostility of indifference at his surprise appearance. What did he expect? He'd given more than one of his daughters' suitors a much less welcome greeting. There was that one kid, Anders, whom he held over the balcony for a few minutes. That was fun. Never say the punk again either. So he couldn't blame the less-than-warm greetings. On top of that, he was a stranger to them. Though both Corren and the smaller female gave him open smiles as they ribbed Rin.

When Rin moved to the next room, Corren turned back to Muad. "So where did you two meet?" he inquired. Again, there was no accusation or inquisition. Just an honest question with no expectation other than the truth. So very much like Rin.

"Well, the short of it is my ship crashed, and she saved me."

In more ways than one.

But the latter thought wasn't spoken aloud. It was just a thing that appeared within his mind. He glanced back into the room and smiled, realizing it was true. She busied herself with food before moving to a recess in the wall. When he turned back, he saw an expression on Corren's face. Recognition of the seemingly innocent glance that was anything but. Not a carnal desire or possessiveness, but a deep feeling for the woman coming back in the other room. Again, there was no judgment, merely acceptance that what was ... was. Rin gave him a glance and a command, though it wasn't meant as such.

"Yes, ma'am. And it was good to meet you all."

As he followed Rin, the trip had them pass her mother, and he paused, leaning slightly as he spoke quietly without whispering.

"Are you sure you're her mother? Not a sister?"

He smiled at the woman before he straightened and followed Rin as they traveled through the halls and corridors. Shelves filled with books ,littered their paths, reminding him of several quaint bookstores he visited. Very few people owned books. But here, there was a plethora of volumes in various shapes and stages of care. Some were like new, the spines barely creased. Others were worn and weathered, and it was obvious their current bindings were replacements. Most would find this an archaic tradition and a waste of space. Not him. He loved the feel of a book, tome, or journal in his hands. The texture told a story as much as the words within.

They passed branchings to other halls and rooms framed by actual branches. The light dimmed somewhat as they walked without feeling gloomy. Mood-enhancing light, his brother called it. He grinned, knowing Derek's love of books. He'd love it, though these days he preferred more technologically finessed accommodations.

As they walked, he began to notice the shelves held objects that were not books. Masks, stones, figures of various materials, and many other items were placed in positions of honor. Now it began to feel like a museum. No, not a museum. Someone's persojudgmentctions of priceless artifacts. Here, the artifacts were personal. And Mugreat-grandkidsch ones had Rin brought.

The passage opened into a recessed den with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the forest. He found himself drawn to them, gazing out at the nighttime landscape. Shafts of moonlight pierced the trees' canopy, showing small things in a brilliant pale light. One was a small fern, lush with life and large green leaves. It was spaced between two massive trunks with enough room to grow while remaining under their benevolent protection.There in the reflection of the glass, he saw Rin pause at a shelf, fingers ,touching a carving before she made her way across the comfortable rug to one of the chairs at the table. He watched her as she spoke of her trips before returning with trinkets. And she elaborated on the layout of the home and how this room held importance to her. An unfamiliar emotion had him blinking as his eyes stung briefly. This was Rin, exposed, open, vulnerable. And she was offering this precious gift to him. His throat grew tight from the emotion before he cleared with a grunt.

He turned from the window and saw her there, at the table, gazing at him. There she sat, hair still wild from their ride in the speeder, with a small smile on her lips, and those golden eyes he could drown in. Nothing she brought from the kitchen would compare to the feast his glowing gaze consumed now. Not just the fact that she was stunning. It was the bond they had built with themselves. He held it as sacred.

"You know, when the tips of your ears turn pink, it's so cute."

He wandered the den, fingers running along the spines of books, only to pause as he read the title before he continued. Each object he came to, he studied briefly before continuing his slow trip around the room. Until one object caught his eye: an old, small lap harp. Lightly, he touched it with intent as he closed his eyes. Suddenly he could see the small harp in a lap; small legs of a child dangled over a tree branch where the person perched high in the air. Fingers plucked the strings as the musician watched a flock of birds flying across the horizon against a magnificent sunset of crimson blues and purples. His hand raised from the object and the vision faded. But he turned his head, brow arched in question, knowing she could have seen the memory he had just witnessed.

You?

He made his way to the table, where the chair sat opposite Rin. Unhurriedly, he raised the chair, and moved it closer before setting it down and settling in its comfortably worn embrace.

"I'm not sure your mother cares much for me being here. Maybe she just wants her time with you. And Corren, is he your father? I rather like him. And the other woman?"

One hand scratched the stubble on his chin idly. Thoughts went to another time, seemingly eons ago, when he met his father-in-law, though neither knew it at the time. Gareth liked him. Then the meeting with his then mother-in-law. She didn't. Maybe he was cursed that way. He chuckled under his breath before he sighed. There were truths he needed to speak of. And it might impact how his Rin thought of him. His Rin? Already he sensed the deep feelings that grew within, and he could not deny its existence. Looking at her he wanted to take her hand, but once he finished it may lay empty. So with slowness, he began.

"I was married once. I loved her. I still do, in a way. It was born of youth. Gods, we were young. Not even twenty. She was the princess to two dynasties, one of which was a Sith Lord who has lived for thousands of years. It was like puppy love. An infatuation. But it grew and matured into real feelings. We were both Sith. Until I walked away. From the Sith, that is."

"It strained the relationship. But eventually she accepted the path I was on and joined me. However, rarely were we together. When we were, things were good. When we weren't, it was fine. I was still young, late twenties. I was a warmonger who was trying to find a different path. Time went by. I became a mandalorian. Then I became Alor of my group, Clan Farr."

His eyes looked to the intricate table, to the basket with food, to the cool drinks sitting between them. He didn't want to look into her eyes and see disappointment, judgement, or cool distance. So he continued.

"I have kids. And grandkids. And great grandkids. None naturally born. I've never held a child of my own blood, created with a woman. I've been adopting. Orphans, lost souls of both children who are alone and hurting as well as adults who I felt an affinity to. They are all my kids. And I'm proud of them. I have twin sons from a distant, possible future or different timeline. It hurts my head to think about it. But they came to me as young adults. And in their timeline I was a Sith Overlord before I died. So there's issues we are trying to work through. A little over a decade ago my wife, Arabella, and the youngest twin, Hannibal, were in a ship that suffered a massive explosion that sent them into the sun. I hadn't seen my wife for years before this."

"The years that passed created distance between myself and Arabella. I believe our paths diverged decades ago, we just never saw one another to confirm it. I think I changed too much from that young Sith battlelord who sought chaos and death as his only purpose. In the centuries between then and now, I became something else. I wasn't the man she married. I don't regret this because I have a Clan, a House, family and friends. I'm not a murderer without conscience or morals. I'm a murderer with conscience and morals. That may not sound like much of a distinction, but to me, it is."

"I don't have parents to meet you. They died when I was a kid. A toddler. The first time my powers expressed itself. They died in the fire a baby made."

His hands clenched for a moment before he forced them to relax. His eyes remained far from Rin.

"I was an orphan who was forced to live underground testing missiles. I don't like enclosed spaces or the feeling of being underground. Before I was in double digits some passing Jedi realized I was force sensitive and told the Perator, like a president. They promised to return for me but never did. And the Perator had me captured. Tortured. Trained. I was caged and fed IV drips while they erased who I was and created a weapon with no moral, conscience, or identity."

"That was when I escaped and joined the Sith. And slowly I grew a conscience, morals, and an identity. I'm used. I'm damaged. I'm broken. I have no place that is home, only the ones I call my own. They are my home."

His fist raised to his chest before falling away.

"I once told you I was not a good man. I believe this in my soul. But I also don't want to be that person. Which is why I lost my wife long before her trip in the sun. And I have many kids, though none born naturally. You should know this all before we continue our journey together. This tale ... I've never shared it with anyone. Not even Arabella, who was the only woman I ever loved … or been with. I've never wanted to strip away my ... defenses and barricades. And I never tasted the fear I do right now."

Finally he lifted his chin, glowing eyes wet with unshed tears as he met her gaze. A hint of humor tried to alleviate emotions with a whisper.

I think those are the most words I've ever said to her at once. Probably the last too ...

Rin Taal

 

[Rin Taal]

Rin's gaze lingered on Muad as he wandered through the room, watching the easy curiosity with which he explored the shelves. He touched nothing carelessly. His fingers brushed the spines of books with the same quiet respect they lingered upon the keepsakes tucked between them, as though he understood instinctively that every object had earned its place. That simple consideration stirred something unexpectedly warm within her. She had brought very few people into this room over the course of her life. Family came and went as naturally as breathing, but this place had always belonged to quieter moments, to conversations that never needed to be spoken loudly and memories that deserved gentler company. Allowing him to walk among those pieces of her life felt strangely vulnerable, though not in a way that made her uneasy. If anything, she found herself quietly pleased to watch him discover her through the things she had chosen to keep.

His observation about the tips of her ears brought another bloom of warmth rushing into them before she could stop it, which only confirmed his teasing. Her lips pressed together in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the smile threatening to spread across them. The effort was entirely wasted. Her tail gave an absent sweep behind her chair, and when she looked back at him, there was no embarrassment left, only a softness that had not existed between them before today.

She had spent enough years alive to know that feelings did not always arrive dramatically. Stories loved grand declarations, sweeping moments beneath impossible skies, and hearts deciding everything in a single breath. Life had rarely behaved that way. More often it happened exactly as this had. Shared roads. Comfortable silences. Trust built one conversation at a time until one day she realized she no longer measured the journey by the places they visited, but by the person who happened to be walking beside her.

She had not named whatever was growing between them. She found she did not want to yet.

Not because she feared it, but because it still felt wonderfully unfinished. Like a flower whose first petals had only just begun to open. Naming it now somehow felt as though she would be asking it to become something before it had discovered what it wished to be on its own.

When his hand came to rest upon the old lap harp, the familiar ripple passed through the bond between them before the memory itself fully unfolded. She felt the impression of it before she saw it. Rough bark beneath small legs swinging high above the forest floor. The weight of polished wood resting across a child's lap. Fingers too small to stretch comfortably across the strings, plucking hesitant notes while the evening birds carried melodies infinitely prettier than anything she had managed herself. The memory smelled of summer leaves warmed by the sun and carried the contentment only childhood seemed capable of producing, when an afternoon could pass unnoticed simply because there was nowhere else in the galaxy one wished to be.

Muad turned toward her with quiet curiosity written plainly across his face.

Me, she answered gently across the bond, affection accompanying the thought before the word itself arrived. Mama insisted every one of us learn an instrument. Corren said music taught patience. Mama said it taught us to listen. I was better at climbing trees than I ever was at either of those things.

A faint laugh escaped her.

I spent more time carrying that harp into the forest than I ever did practicing it properly.

Her eyes lingered on the little instrument after his hand withdrew. She could not remember the last time she had actually played it. Decades, certainly. Perhaps longer. Yet Maeve had never tucked it away or replaced it with something finer. It remained exactly where Rin had left it all those years ago, waiting without complaint for a day that might never come. Somehow that felt very much like her mother.

When Muad returned to the table, he did something so small another person might never have noticed.

He moved his chair closer.

Not dramatically. Not enough to draw attention to the act. Simply close enough that the table no longer separated them. Had either of them wished to reach across the remaining distance, they easily could have done so.

Rin noticed anyway. She found herself wondering whether he had realized he had done it. The thought lingered only briefly before his questions drew her attention elsewhere.

Concern colored his voice when he spoke of Maeve, and Rin understood it immediately. Her mother had never been an especially expressive woman, certainly not beside Corren's quiet warmth or Nerys' playful wit. Strangers often mistook her reserve for coldness until they remained long enough to discover it was nothing of the sort. Maeve simply believed affection was best demonstrated consistently rather than loudly.

"Mama doesn't dislike you," Rin said with a smile that carried decades of familiarity. "She simply believes people reveal themselves if given enough time. She has never understood the need to decide who someone is within the first few minutes of meeting them."

Her gaze drifted thoughtfully toward the hallway beyond the room.

"She'll probably spend the next day or two watching how you speak to everyone. Whether you thank her for dinner. Whether you put your dishes away without being asked. Whether you notice when someone else needs help before they ask for it."

She smiled a little wider. "Then one morning she'll begin talking to you as though you've always belonged here."

It had happened often enough over the years that Rin no longer questioned the pattern. Maeve's acceptance arrived quietly, but once given, it rarely disappeared.

"Corren is my father," she continued, warmth entering her voice without conscious thought. "And yes...he likes you."

Her smile softened. "If he didn't, he wouldn't have hidden it behind politeness. He would simply have remained courteous and asked very little."

She lowered her eyes briefly toward the basket resting between them.

"Asking how we met was his way of saying he hoped there would be another story after that one."

The realization made her ears warm again, and Nerys' name drew a quiet laugh from her as she shook her head slightly. "She's my younger sister." She paused, as if trying to summon the exact distance of years between them, only to find the memory slipping just out of reach. "You know… I genuinely don't remember exactly how much younger anymore." Her brow furrowed in exaggerated concentration, lips pressing together as though effort alone might resolve it. "A century? Somewhere around there." She finally looked back up at him, amused by her own uncertainty, the warmth in her expression softening into something fond and lightly self-mocking.

"Eventually birthdays stop being very useful measurements. We remember seasons instead. The year someone learned to ride. The winter someone broke their arm climbing where they shouldn't. The spring Mama planted another orchard because we insisted we'd help this time."

A fond smile lingered.

"Nerys still reminds me that I convinced her to climb onto the roof when we were children because I wanted to see whether birds ever slept." Her expression grew briefly sheepish. "They do." A pause. "Corren was less interested in the answer than he was in getting us safely back onto the ground."

The memory faded beneath another, quieter silence as Muad settled more comfortably in his chair. Then he spoke again. His voice had changed. Only slightly.

Had Rin not spent so much of her life listening to people, she might not have noticed it at all. The words themselves remained calm, measured, carrying the same steady cadence she had come to know over the course of their travels. Yet something beneath them had shifted. It reminded her of watching still water moments before the first raindrop disturbed its surface. Nothing visible had happened.

Not yet. But she felt it anyway. It was an almost imperceptible tightening in the air between them, like the moment just before a distant storm decides whether to break. Her smile faded without ceremony, not replaced by alarm, but by a quiet, steady attentiveness that asked for nothing and expected less. Then came the words: "I was married once."

For a brief instant, surprise crossed her face before settling into something far more thoughtful. Not because the idea of him having loved someone before her was strange. Life rarely began at the moment two people met, and she had never assumed otherwise, but because he had never spoken of it. Not once, not in passing, not in the long silences between roads or the pauses beside campfires. It was not absence that struck her, but concealment; the realization that something so significant had been carefully folded away and carried alone for so long.

Rin did not interrupt. She simply remained still, letting the moment exist without trying to shape it or soften its edges. Her gaze stayed on him as his eyes drifted away from hers toward the table between them, as though the surface of it might offer steadier ground than her expression. And without understanding why, a quiet, almost imperceptible ache settled in her chest. It was not sharp or painful in any immediate way, but present all the same, like the echo of a door opening into a room she had not known was locked.

She listened as the story continued, each sentence arriving with the same measured calm that had become so unmistakably Muad. He did not hurry through any part of it. He did not seek sympathy, nor did he linger upon moments that might have invited it. He simply told her the truth as he remembered it, allowing each piece to settle before offering the next. There was an honesty to it that surprised her almost as much as the story itself. He made no effort to reshape his past into something kinder than it had been. He did not ask her to excuse the choices of the young man he had once been, nor did he attempt to distance himself from them. He acknowledged them because they belonged to him, and then continued onward as though trusting her to decide for herself what they meant.

Arabella. The name quietly settled into her thoughts.

It was strange how quickly a name could become a person. Moments before she had simply been "my wife," someone whose existence had been entirely unknown to Rin. Now she found herself trying to imagine the young woman Muad described. A princess born into impossible expectations, carrying the weight of ancient bloodlines upon shoulders scarcely old enough to understand them. She pictured two young people, neither yet twenty, believing with all the certainty youth could offer that whatever lay ahead would somehow bend to the strength of what they felt for one another. There was something achingly familiar in that hope. Time had taught Rin that love alone could not always keep two paths together, but she had never stopped believing it mattered that people tried.

When he admitted he still loved her, in his own way, Rin did not feel the sting she might once have expected from such a confession. Instead, she felt something quieter. Respect.

How could she fault someone for continuing to care about a woman who had shared so much of his life? Love did not become false simply because it changed. Some people remained with us long after the road carried them elsewhere, not because we wished to return to what had been, but because they had helped shape who we eventually became. Listening to him speak of Arabella without bitterness, without resentment, she found herself grateful that he had not tried to erase her from his own story merely because another chapter had begun.

Then came the children. She had expected many things. That was not one of them.

For a heartbeat, genuine surprise flickered openly across her features before curiosity gently replaced it. She found herself smiling almost despite herself as he spoke of the orphans, the lost souls, the people who had become family because they had needed one. Somehow...somehow that felt exactly like him.

It fit the man who had offered help without ever asking for recognition, the one who carried gentleness so naturally beneath his strength that it was easy to miss until you were close enough to truly see it. The man who still paused, even now, to notice frightened creatures others hurried past without a second thought. Of course he had built a family from those the galaxy had long since chosen to forget. The realization settled over her with such quiet certainty that she almost laughed at herself for ever being surprised in the first place.

She could picture it without difficulty. Children who had arrived wary and hurting, unsure whether kindness was something that could be trusted. Young adults who had long since stopped believing anyone would choose them simply because they were worth choosing. And a man who had looked at each of them, one by one, and simply decided they belonged. There was nothing remarkable about that thought. Nothing except everything.

Her eyes remained upon him as he continued, but somewhere inside herself another understanding had already begun to take root. The family he described had not happened by accident. Again and again he had chosen people who needed someone. Again and again he had decided that whatever home meant, it would become something he could offer another person.

For someone who insisted he was not a good man, he had an astonishing habit of doing remarkably good things.

Then he mentioned grandchildren. Rin blinked once.

The word itself was not difficult to understand, yet it seemed to echo strangely within her thoughts. She had known he was older than she was. He had mentioned centuries before, almost casually, and she had accepted the number with little more than passing curiosity. Long-lived species rarely thought about years in quite the same way others did.

Numbers remained abstract, but generations did not, and before she had fully adjusted to that realization he continued: great-grandchildren, and this time her surprise lingered, not because she doubted him, but because suddenly those centuries were no longer something she understood only with her mind; they became real, and she found herself trying almost involuntarily to imagine it: children becoming parents, those children watching their own children grow into adults, entire lifetimes unfolding while he remained the constant thread quietly connecting them all.

The span of years she had once pictured as little more than an impressive number suddenly filled with birthdays, celebrations, griefs, weddings, arguments, reconciliations, and stories repeated often enough that grandchildren rolled their eyes before asking to hear them one more time anyway. What had been an abstract measure of time transformed into generations of lives, each one connected to the next by a man sitting quietly across from her. It was enormous in a way she had never truly considered before, and strangely beautiful besides. A small part of her wanted to smile and ask what his grandchildren called him, whether he had been the sort to spoil them or embarrass them with stories from centuries earlier. The question rose naturally to her mind because it felt so wonderfully ordinary, and perhaps that was why she left it unspoken. Beside everything else he was entrusting to her, it seemed almost sacred in its simplicity, a reminder that beneath all the extraordinary turns his life had taken, there had also been years spent simply being part of a family.

The warmth of that image faded as his story continued. He spoke of the explosion, of Arabella, of Hannibal, and though his voice never rose or faltered, it carried a weariness that felt older than either of them. Rin felt her heart tighten, not because she believed he remained trapped inside that grief, but because she could hear that he had learned to live alongside it. There was a quiet sadness in the way he described those years, the kind that belonged to two people who had once walked the same road with every intention of reaching its end together, only to discover that life had gradually asked different things of each of them. Through it all, he never once spoke unkindly of Arabella. Even after decades apart, even after everything that had changed, he offered her the dignity of respect. Rin admired that restraint more than she could easily explain. It spoke of gratitude rather than resentment, and of a love that had changed shape without ever becoming something cruel.

Only then did she realize something else. His eyes had never returned to hers.

The realization did not strike her because he suddenly looked away. It came because she understood that he never truly had looked at her after those first words. Since saying, I was married once, his gaze had wandered everywhere except to her face. Sometimes it settled upon the basket between them. Sometimes upon the glasses waiting untouched on the table. Once it lingered upon the grain of the wood itself, as though the shifting patterns there demanded every ounce of his attention. Anywhere. Everywhere. Just never her.

Something inside Rin shifted so quietly she could not have named the moment it happened.

Until then she had believed he was simply telling her about his past. Now she understood that he was preparing himself for her response to it. Every sentence had been offered with extraordinary care, not because he feared remembering, but because he feared what remembering aloud might cost him. He was waiting for disappointment to find him. Waiting for judgment. Waiting for that almost imperceptible distance that sometimes settled between two people after one of them learned a truth the other had carried in secret for far too long.

The understanding settled so heavily within her chest that, for a few moments, she scarcely heard the words that followed. It was not because they mattered any less, but because she finally understood why they were being spoken this way. Every confession emerged with painstaking care, as though each one had first been weighed against the possibility of losing something precious. Somewhere inside himself, he had already imagined the moment she might stand, thank him for his honesty, and quietly walk away.

Her attention drifted beyond the words themselves. She noticed the brief tightening of one hand before it relaxed again, the measured rhythm of his breathing, and the almost imperceptible hesitation that preceded each new truth, as though every admission demanded a little more courage than the last. Those were not the movements of someone seeking absolution. They were the movements of someone making themselves vulnerable despite believing the outcome might break them.

Rin had spent a lifetime listening to stories. She had heard them around campfires beneath unfamiliar stars, across crowded market stalls where strangers traded memories as easily as goods, and beside lonely roads where travelers often found it easier to tell the truth to someone they might never meet again. Over the years she had learned something quietly important. People rarely feared telling stories about what had happened to them. What they feared was telling the story of who they believed those experiences had made them.

As Muad continued speaking without ever once meeting her eyes, Rin realized she was no longer listening simply to the history of his life.

She was listening to the history of the walls he had spent centuries building around his own heart.

His story continued, and with it came one confession after another. The frightened child who had accidentally killed his parents before he understood what he was. The years of torture that followed. The shaping of a weapon from someone who should never have been asked to become one. The Sith. Every chapter seemed to offer another reason, in his own mind, why the man sitting across from her should be judged by the worst things that had ever happened to him or the worst things he had ever done. Rin listened without interruption. She never felt the urge to stop him before he reached the end of a thought or to soften what he was saying with reassurances offered too soon. She had learned over a very long life that comfort could become another form of silence if it arrived before someone had finished speaking. If these memories had waited centuries to be given a voice, they deserved to be heard in their entirety.

As she listened, however, she found her attention drifting away from the events themselves and settling instead upon the person recounting them. The frightened child who had lost control of unimaginable power was not the man who had quietly waited outside her parents' home until she was ready to invite him inside. The young Sith who had been shaped into something terrible was not the traveler who paused to rescue frightened creatures, who spoke gently with strangers, or who had blushed because she had accidentally heard one honest thought through the Force. Those people belonged to the same life, but they were not the same person. Somewhere across the centuries separating those memories from the present, he had chosen again and again to walk away from the man he feared she would see. Whether he recognized those choices or not, Rin could see them clearly, because they were sitting next to her.

That realization settled heavily enough in her heart that remaining where she was suddenly felt impossible. She did not think about moving so much as discover herself already doing it. Sliding quietly from her chair, she lowered herself onto both knees upon the rug between them with the same unhurried care that had marked every other movement since he had begun speaking. She never asked him to stop, never interrupted the flow of his words, and never attempted to steer the conversation away from places that obviously frightened him. Instead, she reached forward with quiet gentleness and enclosed one of his hands within both of hers. Her grip was light, almost tentative, offering support without asking anything in return. If he wished to pull away, he could. If he wished to continue speaking exactly as he had been, she would simply remain there in front of him. The gesture was not meant to rescue him from the story he needed to tell. It existed only to ensure he no longer had to carry it alone.

The bond between them remained remarkably quiet. Rin resisted every instinct to push reassurance through it simply because she could. Some moments deserved honesty more than comfort, and she wanted him to know that if he felt anything from her now, it was nothing manufactured or amplified. He would find only her steady presence, her attention, and the simple certainty that she was still there, still listening, and still choosing not to look away.

When he finally admitted that he had never shared these things with anyone else, not Arabella, not his children, not the family he had spent centuries building, the weight of those words settled over the room with a quietness that almost made them more profound. Rin felt something inside her soften in a way she had not expected. Until that moment she had believed he was offering her the history of his life. Instead, she realized he had entrusted her with something far more precious. He had placed into her hands the part of himself he believed no one else could bear to hold.

Trust had always seemed such a small word for something so immeasurably large. People often spoke of trust as believing someone would keep a secret or honor a confidence, but this was something altogether different. This was allowing another person to witness the places inside yourself that you believed would make them leave. Arabella had known the husband he had become. His children had known the father who had raised them. His grandchildren had known the elder who connected generations together. Somehow, despite knowing her for only a fraction of the time any of them had, Muad had chosen to let Rin meet the frightened child who still believed he might be abandoned if someone learned the whole truth. That realization humbled her more deeply than she could easily express. Time alone had not earned this gift. He had offered it because, despite every reason life had given him to believe otherwise, some small part of him had decided she might not turn away.

When his voice finally fell silent, Rin did not hurry to fill the stillness that followed. She remained kneeling before him with one of his hands resting quietly between both of hers while the sounds of ordinary life drifted faintly through the walls of the house. Somewhere in another room someone laughed. A cupboard closed. Footsteps crossed the hallway. The world continued exactly as it had a few minutes before, completely unaware that something precious had just been entrusted to another person. Rin simply looked at him. Not searching for the Sith he feared she now saw, nor the frightened child, nor the soldier, nor any of the countless identities life had forced him to wear. She looked only at Muad, and after everything he had shared, she found herself believing she knew him more clearly than she had an hour before, not because of the darkness that had shaped his past, but because of the courage it had taken to finally stop hiding it.

Rin remained quiet for a long while, not because she struggled to find the right words, but because she refused to answer something so precious with haste. Silence had never frightened her, and she didn't think he was bothered by it either. Throughout a life measured in more than a century, she had learned that silence was rarely empty. More often, it was where understanding settled after truth had finally been spoken aloud. What Muad had entrusted to her deserved that space. She continued to cradle his hand between both of hers, her thumbs resting lightly against his skin as she studied the face only a short distance from her own. Now that she knelt before him, there was no space separating them, no distance left to bridge. She could see the uncertainty he had tried so hard to conceal, the weariness carried in eyes that had witnessed centuries of joy and sorrow alike, and the quiet fear that still lingered beneath all the courage it had taken to speak. More than anything, she found herself wishing he could borrow her eyes for just a few moments. If he could, she thought, he might finally understand why nothing he had said had made her want to leave.

When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft it almost blended with the quiet surrounding them. "Thank you." The words were simple, but they carried a sincerity that left no room to mistake what she meant.

"Not for the pain you've lived through," she said gently, giving the faintest shake of her head. "No one deserves that, and I would never ask you to be grateful for it. I'm thanking you because you chose to trust me with it."

Her fingers shifted almost imperceptibly around his hand, not tightening their hold so much as reminding him that she was still there.

"You told me you've never spoken these things aloud. Not to Arabella. Not to your children. Not to the family you spent centuries building. Yet somehow you decided I should know them."

A small, almost disbelieving smile touched her lips. "I don't know that I've ever been given something quite so precious." She let what she said settle before continuing, her gaze never leaving his face.

"I've spent most of my life listening to people's stories. Travelers have a way of sharing pieces of themselves with someone they meet along the road, and over the years I've heard more than I could ever hope to remember. But this..."

Her smile softened. "This wasn't simply a story." She lowered her eyes briefly to the hand resting safely between her own before looking back to him. "This was the part of yourself you believed would make me walk away." Her voice never wavered. "I think that may be the greatest act of trust another person can offer."

For a moment she simply looked at him, allowing him to see there was neither pity nor judgment in her expression. There was only warmth, touched by a sadness that he had carried such loneliness for so very long.

For a few moments Rin simply looked at him, allowing him to see there was neither pity nor judgment waiting in her expression. There was only warmth, touched by the quiet sadness that anyone could have spent so many years believing they had to carry such a burden alone. She had listened to every word, but somewhere along the way she had stopped hearing only the story he was telling and begun hearing the fear beneath it. It had been there from the moment he spoke Arabella's name, in every careful pause, every measured breath, every place his eyes had wandered except to her face. He had not been wondering whether she understood. He had been wondering whether she would still choose to remain once she did.

"You've spent this entire conversation waiting for me to become afraid of you."

Her voice was soft enough that it seemed made for the quiet surrounding them rather than interrupting it. "Since you told me about Arabella, you haven't really looked at me once." Her thumb traced a slow, absent circle across the back of his hand before becoming still again, the motion as unconscious as breathing. "I think somewhere inside yourself you've already decided what I'm supposed to think. Every time you told me something difficult, you were waiting for me to see you differently."

A smile found her then, gentle enough to soften the sadness in her eyes without chasing it away. "But I've been watching you instead." She let the words settle before continuing, not hurriedly, but with the same patient certainty that had marked the rest of the evening. "I've watched the man who thanked my mother for opening her home before she'd even finished setting the table. The man who held an old lap harp as though it deserved the same care as the child who once played it. The man who still stops for frightened creatures because kindness has become so natural to him that he never thinks to do otherwise."

Her smile deepened almost imperceptibly as she continued to hold his hand. "I've watched someone who built a family because there were children who needed one. Someone who still speaks of the woman he once loved with kindness instead of bitterness. Someone who believed I deserved the whole truth even though telling it frightened him." She gave the smallest shake of her head, as though the conclusion were the simplest thing in the world. "Those aren't small things, Muad. They're who you are."

Only then did he finally lift his chin.

Rin felt something tighten gently within her chest as his eyes met hers at last, luminous with tears that had not yet fallen, and the faint thread of humor that accompanied them somehow made the moment even more tender. Even now, after placing the deepest parts of himself into her hands, he was trying to ease the weight of what she had been given. It was such a profoundly Muad thing to do that she could not help but smile.

"There you are."

The words escaped almost as a breath, spoken with quiet relief rather than triumph. She held his gaze without hesitation, hoping that, just for this one moment, he could see himself reflected in her eyes instead of the image he had carried of himself for centuries. There was no disappointment waiting for him there. No fear. Only affection, admiration, and the quiet certainty that the man before her was still the same one who had waited outside her parents' home until she was ready to invite him inside.

"You asked me to see all of you." Her fingers remained loosely wrapped around his hand as she spoke. "I do. I see the frightened little boy who lost everything before he could understand what was happening to him. I see the young man who made mistakes he has carried ever since. I see the husband who still speaks of Arabella with kindness, the father who chose children who needed someone, the grandfather who somehow found room in his heart for generations more, and the traveler who waited outside my parents' home because he wanted to be certain I was ready before he stepped inside."

She paused, not because she had run out of words, but because she wanted him to feel the truth of the ones she had already spoken.

"I don't have to choose between those people, Muad." Her smile softened until it became almost wistful. "They're all you."

Emotion caught quietly in her throat, though she made no effort to hide it. She simply continued looking at him with the same unwavering warmth that had greeted him when he first arrived at her family's home.

"And after everything you've shared with me..." The words lingered between them for a heartbeat. "...I'm still here."

The silence that followed no longer belonged to uncertainty. It settled around them with the easy peace of something that had finally found where it belonged, carrying neither expectation nor fear, only the quiet understanding that something unimaginably fragile had been entrusted, accepted, and would be held with care.

After a while, the tenderness in Rin's expression gave way to something lighter. A quiet laugh escaped before she could stop it, and one ear twitched with the familiar curiosity that had first carried her out into the wider galaxy.

"Though..." she murmured, amusement warming her voice once more, "I have been wondering something ever since you mentioned them."

Her smile broadened just enough to brighten her eyes.

"What do your great-grandchildren call you?"

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

Without looking, he felt her hands as they softly enclosed his own, which previously gripped the arm of the chair. He didn't interpret the initiation as anything other than what it was—physical contact. But the knowledge that she was there, holding his hand, and the distance between the two of them shrinking to nothingness bolstered him through the words that continued to flow from him.

As he talked, his story pouring out in a desire to share his truths with the woman who knelt achingly close, he chose to keep his eyes averted. So he missed the flicker of surprise, not once but twice, at the mention of having been married and the declaration of his children. And while he didn't watch the emotion roll across her features, he did feel the slight echo along their bond. Despite his hand being held by hers, he expected to find it devoid of her touch.

But her hands never left. Her presence never abandoned him. And the proximity of her body to his never chose to shrink away. It was as though she listened with an understanding bought not by the cool intelligence she possessed but by the expansive acceptance of her heart. No judgment. No accusations. Just Rin watching and hearing him, Muad Dib, as he stripped away all that he used to deflect other people in his attempt to protect them from himself. But, in this case, he stripped away everything because he did not want to protect himself from Rin. He wanted to be open, to be vulnerable, to be real with her. For however long the silence lasted before she would pull away from him, looking at him with eyes filled with the revelation of what he was.

And then there was the shockwave and aftershocks that he felt from her at the mention of his grandchildren. Then his great-grandchildren. Any moment he felt the end of their journey looming at his words. Yet he would not deny the truth of them. Not to her. And he wouldn't deny the reality that, however painful, he wanted to share his life with Rin. Even the parts that were dirty, painful, and never uttered aloud. Because, in the end, Muad wanted this path beside the woman his mind whispered, His.

He knew they both had far surprised the average lifespan of most beings in the galaxy. And he had warned her he was the older of the two. But still, hearing him mention centuries in the same breath one would speak of years, was to be shocking, desire her intellectual understanding. His head almost shook, recognizing the she separation was real. Even if they measured life experience by centuries rather than decades. Maybe her mother should have ripped his throat out. Wait, was he older than her parents? That was a question he didn't believe he would ever give voice to. Rin didn't need another reason to flee from him.

In his mind, there existed plenty of justification for Rin to pull away from him. To excuse herself politely and have Corren see him on his way. Out of the house, past the old speeder, and down a pathway to a future filled with uncertain, bleak, and lonely destinations. All because she would not be there with him. And yet, she didn't shy away. Instead, she closed the distance even more. Her knees leaving impressions on the old rug, his hand in both of hers, and her body pressing gently into his personal space with every intention of retreating should he wish. He did not wish it.

The silence that came from the end of his story grew with each passing second. Seconds stretched into minutes. A weight began to grow like the atmosphere before a storm. The temperature cooled, clouds gathered, and a new wind blew. All proof of the approaching, encumbering weather. And yet, despite having reconciled the retreat of the woman from his form and away from his heart, action did not prove his fears true. Her body closed the seemingly non-existent space between the two of them. He felt the warmth of her body against his legs on either side of her. Her hands still didn't retreat from his.

"Thank you."

The two words washed over him, and he almost looked up into her eyes. Almost. The genuine emotion behind such basic words threatened the small resolve he yet clung to. Instead, he listened as she did, and in doing so he found Rin understood him far better than he did himself. Her fingers on his skin were a lifeline, a sign she was right there with him. That this moment was real. Then her words revealed she saw too much, had pierced the thinly veiled curtain, and knew his truths.

He expected judgement. He expected their divergence. Perhaps … he wanted it. Not the separation from Rin, for he would rather be separated from the oxygen in his lungs. Maybe he still believed he should be punished. That happiness should be something he deserved to never feel. The weight of the past weighed heavily on his shoulders. But when he sat next to Rin, held her hand, or gazed into her golden eyes, everything was lighter. Sins of the past dimmed and the possibilities of the future glowed on the horizon.

But in her presence, in her hands, he didn't feel the sharp prick of denial. Instead she spoke soft words of his expectations of judgement and how his eyes had failed to meet hers, ever since the first mention of Arabella. Rin stripped away all his expectations and then she stripped away the emotion he'd tried to hide, from himself as much as her. Fear. Fear of losing her to the facts of his life. Fear of ending before they truly began. It was her gentle perseverance, as much as her words, that finally drew his halting gaze to hers.

"There you are."

The simplicity in her statement rocked him. That despite everything she still looked for him, still waited for him. Until she found him. And the affection in her eyes warmed him, the certainty she still knew him as the man who sat beside her that long day on Batuu. And the hint of admiration shook him. Why did he deserve these looks or the affection she held for him? And still, it was there in her eyes. And while her hands held one of his own, his other hand lightly emulated her strokes on a larger scale. His fingertips lightly caressed along her inner forearm, small spirals across bronzed skin.

"You asked me to see all of you." And so he did, never anticipating she would still be there with him. Golden warmth embraced him even as emotion tickled her voice. "I'm still here." Everything shared and still, she was there. He felt her breath upon his face, the heat of their bodies challenged only by the warmth in her gaze. His free hand trailed up her arm, fingers teasing the skin among the gentle curve of her neck, and finally, softly cradled the graceful slope of her jaw. He leaned into her body to again rest his forehead against hers.

The moment stretched. A tenderness he was careful to respect. There was a renewed desire born from offering up the most intimate part of yourself for your partner to accept you. It did not merely feel attached, but growth too. Their noses touched which tempered his desire with a soft smile. Their closeness had evolved from the passionate fire of a dance, to a close embrace that hinted ideas through their bond, to this moment of wholeness. As he stroked her cheek and gazed into her eyes he knew they did not need to name the thing yet. It grew between them, around them, and he knew the feeling preceded the external statement. His thumb lightly brushed along her lower lip in a caress.

Their noses brushed again and he smiled, disarming the tension he had begun to feel build within himself. Rin's question further disarmed him with its teasing lilt to her laughter. His hand slipped from her face to drift at their side. Fingers twitched forward a moment, almost reaching for her hip, then her waist. But in the end, Muad resisted the urge. He was trying to give Rin as much time as she needed. Then there was the fact that her mama and father lay in the center of the compound. They wouldn't take too kindly to the desire he felt for their daughter. With a smile he answered.

"Ori'ba'buir kebliin sur'haii'la besbe'vor. Though mostly, it's Ori'buir or Buir kebliin: Great Father or Father Blue. The longer name is only used when they're bragging to friends or trying to scare someone. I guess Great Grandfather the Blue-Eyed Beast is more theatrical."

He smirked at the memory. His kids were some of the best parts of his life. The many grandkids followed by great grandkids. His hands had crafted more toys than most toy stores carried on their shelves. He had grown so adept at the skill, it took him only brief moments to coax an animal from a block of wood. Of course, Rin had seen him do just that on Batuu. He briefly wondered what happened to the small replica he carved of the zorren woman. Probably somewhere in a caravan of people he found himself thinking of more often that he would have imagined.

"When you said that I asked you to see all of me, I mean, technically, you already had that opportunity in the tent the first morning."

His eyes skipped upward, wondering if the tips of her ears would respond and turn pink. His hand rose unbidden and stroked her ear as he grinned. He had already revealed he thought it was cute, he was just responding to her earlier words with an alternate outcome than what she intended. His voice lowered and he turned his head to speak near her ear, lips so close it would take nothing to find them at her neck or ear.

"Surely, we have to do something about this. I know I can't take much more … temptation. I can only control this desire and hunger for something your mouth has promised me. And I intend to fully release my wanton desire. You promised me a delight I could find with no one else. Food and ale. Enough ale. Do you remember?"

From where his lips lay near her ear, his eyes flashed brightly as the teasing double entendre became clear. She had promised him sustenance to rival what was offered at the festival. And he intended to accept what she offered. Like he had beneath the willow and on the steps of the porch. Then his brows furrowed as he found himself answering the curiosity that befell his mind. With soft conversations of others in the house whispering through the corridors and the soft ambient light glowing all around he pulled back slightly, eyes alight with an unvoiced question. Simple curiosity.

"What exactly did you bring back home this time?"

Rin Taal

 

[Rin Taal]

His fingertips drifting along the inside of her forearm sent a warmth chasing across her skin that had nothing to do with the closeness between them. It followed the slow spirals he traced as though her body refused to let the sensation end where his touch did. Instead it climbed her arm, spread through her chest, then seemed to reach all at once from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes before returning again to gather somewhere gentle beneath her ribs. For one bewildering heartbeat she forgot how to breathe, not from fear or even surprise, but because nothing in more than a century of living had prepared her for the quiet joy of wanting someone to keep touching her.

When his hand rose higher, fingertips grazing the graceful curve of her neck before settling against her jaw with extraordinary care, the feeling returned with renewed intensity. It fluttered through her like a flock of birds suddenly taking flight, scattering every coherent thought in its wake before finally settling deep within her stomach in a restless warmth that refused to be still. Her heart missed one beat entirely and hurried through the next as though trying to recover what it had lost. She had watched this happen to other people often enough to recognize it immediately. The skipped heartbeat. The butterflies. The inexplicable desire to smile simply because one particular person was looking at you as though you were the only soul in the galaxy worth seeing. She had understood those things as observations before. Living them herself was something altogether different.

When his forehead came gently to rest against hers once more, Rin found herself melting into the familiarity of the gesture almost before she realized she was doing it. Somehow it had already become theirs. Not a habit yet, perhaps, but something instinctive, something that belonged to the quiet language they had been building ever since Batuu. Then his thumb brushed softly across her lower lip, and the butterflies, which she had foolishly believed were beginning to settle, took flight once more, leaving her wondering if they intended to make a permanent home within her after all.

Only then did his smile widen as he answered her question. The unfamiliar Mandalorian words rolled from his tongue with the effortless familiarity of names spoken across generations, each carrying a history she could hear reflected in the fondness of his voice. She smiled before he had even translated them, and when he did, a soft laugh escaped almost of its own accord.

"The Great-Grandfather Blue-Eyed Beast," she repeated, delight brightening every syllable. "That sounds exactly like something children would invent while trying to convince their friends their great-grandfather is the most impressive person in the room."

The image arrived in her imagination with remarkable clarity. She could almost hear half a dozen excited voices all trying to outdo one another, each child convinced their own story was the most extraordinary. One insisting he could carve any creature from a single block of wood. Another swearing he had wrestled monsters. A third embellishing the tale still further until the legend had grown beyond all recognition. She doubted Muad had ever encouraged such stories, yet she could easily imagine him smiling quietly while pretending not to hear them at all.

It was not really the title that delighted her. It was him. Every mention of his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren seemed to smooth another century from his face until he looked less like a man carrying the weight of history and more like someone whose happiest memories had always been measured in laughter, tiny hands reaching for his own, and toys patiently carved for little people who believed their great-grandfather capable of absolutely anything. She had admired many things about him already. Seeing that quiet pride shining through his smile warmed her heart in an entirely different way.

Then he reminded her of the tent.

Understanding arrived so quickly that her eyes widened before she could stop herself, and the warmth already lingering within her betrayed itself almost immediately in the rosy tint creeping into the tips of her ears. She knew exactly which morning he meant. She also knew, judging by the way his gaze lifted with unmistakable satisfaction, that he had been hoping for precisely that reaction.

"Muad..."

His name escaped her somewhere between disbelief and laughter, carrying enough affection that any attempt at sounding reproachful failed before it had properly begun. When his fingers found one ear in a slow, teasing stroke, every carefully gathered thought scattered once again. Warmth blossomed beneath the touch and raced through her in another impossible wave, leaving her acutely aware of every place their closeness allowed him to reach without either of them moving so much as an inch.

Then he leaned nearer still.

His voice lowered until it brushed softly against her ear, and suddenly every word he chose seemed determined to test the limits of her composure. Temptation. Desire. Hunger. For one glorious, utterly bewildering heartbeat she was certain he had decided to abandon every ounce of restraint they had so carefully maintained between them. Her pulse stumbled, then raced ahead of itself, while the butterflies inside her became nothing short of unruly.

Food. Ale. The realization struck all at once, and before she had even the faintest hope of holding it back, laughter spilled from her in a bright, helpless burst.

"For one rather astonishing moment," she admitted between quiet laughs, "I thought you had suddenly become impossibly bold."

Her golden eyes danced with mischief as they met his once again.

"Instead, all this unbearable temptation and barely restrained hunger has been for Zorren food and enough ale to make you forget how dramatic you've been all evening."

She regarded him with the most suspicious expression she could manage, though the smile threatening the corners of her mouth made the effort entirely unconvincing.

"I did promise you both," she conceded with mock solemnity.

His final question settled between them with surprising gentleness. What exactly had she brought home this time?

Her gaze drifted slowly around the familiar room, lingering upon the old lap harp, the shelves lined with books she had grown up beside, and the comfortable furniture that had witnessed countless evenings much like this one. Every journey had ended here eventually, and every return had carried its own collection of treasures, stories, oddities, and gifts gathered from places her parents would likely never see for themselves.

This journey had brought something altogether different. Her eyes returned to his, and the smile that met him was softer than any she had worn that evening.

"A great many stories," she answered quietly. "A few things Mother will undoubtedly insist belong on shelves I can't reach. Enough little gifts to convince Father I've been spoiling strangers again."

She paused, the truth settling comfortably within her before she gave it voice.

"And someone I hoped my family would come to know." The smile lingering upon her lips deepened almost imperceptibly. "I think..." she said softly, "they're going to be very glad I brought you home."

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

"Muad …"

In his long life, he decided he would never grow weary of his name on her lips. Her silent gasp and blushing ears stirred him even more. He wasn't sure which sound he liked better. Her laughter, his name, or the shallow breath she took when his fingers explored her skin. Muad decided he didn't have to choose. He wanted them all. And more. He could imagine sitting in a swing, Rin beside him, nestled into the crook of his arm. Or at a beach as they watched the sun dip below the horizon, colors of gold, reds, deep purples, and blues setting the sky afire above while the ocean reflected the scene into soft watercolors. She would be between his legs, back braced against his chest as she gazed on beauty. And he would be watching her, knowing nothing could compare. He even pictured them before a fire, snow falling gently upon the ground as they shared stories and soft whispers.

He realized with sudden clarity that he didn't just want Rin. He wanted life with her. However long the journey took them. His heart beat fast in his chest as fire flew through his veins. Nothing else mattered, except for the two of them at this moment.

"For one rather astonishing moment, I thought you had become impossibly bold."

In that moment, as playfulness danced in her eyes, he wished he had been. He became acutely aware of their closeness, how their breath mingled. At the accelerated pulse he could see at the hollow of her throat. The pink tint of her ear tips and cheeks and the reaction of golden pupils to the flush of endorphins. And he knew his body matched and responded to her in an even greater way.

Then she turned the tide he had painstakingly set. The idea of food. He was trying to curb what he felt. Not that he didn't acknowledge it. No, he still wanted them both to choose. And the fake seriousness on her face drew a laugh that echoed from his chest. The serious expression bordered on a pout with eyes narrowed and the endearing furrow between her brows. Even her lower lip extended just slightly, moist and full. It wasn't intentional. Probably just trying to keep a smile from spreading across her face and ruining the illusion she created.

His head turned as he followed her gaze around the room. Each item a story. A part of her story. And he wanted to hear all of them. Everything she brought home, her family found a place for. Because they knew it was a piece of Rin. This wasn't just a den that offered a convenient place to sit, away from the bustle near the center of the home. It had become an exhibit of priceless artifacts, all dedicated to the woman kneeling between his legs, his hand still clasped between hers, and not even a breath of air separating them. A celebration of her life, her travels, her stories, and of the woman she had become.

He became aware that her eyes no longer viewed the room, and he turned his head to find them glowing with a soft golden light that reflected the scattered lighting of the room. A different kind of smile greeted him. One that had him shifting uncomfortably, aware of how close they were. The collarless tunic felt restricting around his throat as he swallowed dryly. It wasn't that he felt uncomfortable. It was quite the opposite. He found her presence to be completely inviting. And her body seemed as heightened as his own. He tried to keep the mental image of him capturing her lower lip from his mind, because they both had gotten unintended glimpses already.

Her words were a nice distraction. Stories and things for her mother and father to cherish and give commentary on. And then she paused, and he knew whatever words she spoke next would change the course of their journey forever. And then they came, like a tidal wave crashing over him. His emotions piqued, and a massive grin split his face. He knew he looked like a fool at that moment, but he didn't care. It was words spoken between them. Not just actions and the way their bodies responded. They were words that did not give a name, only an implication of what they may one day become. Now he smirked as his hand finally slipped from hers and moved to her hips, fingers lightly tracing the edge of the hem of her shirt and skirting along the curved bronze flesh beneath.

"Oh, they will, will they? To have another musician in the house?" His fingers walked to the back of her hips, thumbs rubbing gently on the incurves. "Or to have another man around to do some work?" His hands slipped to the small of her back before his fingertips met. "Maybe it's for my foreign and exotic recipes from places their own daughter has yet to visit?" His hand slipped past one another as they encircled her waist and drew her forward to press tightly against his chest. "Or is there some other reason I'm missing, eh?"

Beneath his shirt, he felt his heart race. And against him he felt hers answer with equal speed. Again their foreheads rested against one another, as natural as breathing. Then his nose traveled down her jawline, inhaling her familiar feminine scent, before ascending toward her ear. The stubble of his beard rubbed along the underside of her jaw before his lips brushed her earlobe. Not in a kiss, maybe a teasing foreshadowing where he allowed his lips to make the barest of contact, where his words whispered.

"Food and ale pales in comparison to what I want. But I give you this promise. Until you ask me, I will not kiss your lips. Or you kiss mine. I won't take that from you. However, torture is fully on the table. Besides the food and ale. Which is, perhaps, the wisest decision considering your parents, your sister, and I don't know how many others are nearby."

To prove a point, or more likely, because he needed to, his teeth nipped, just lightly, at her earlobe before he withdrew, back the way he had come, his face sliding along hers, cheek to cheek until the corners of their mouths almost touched. Then he leaned back with a massive grin, his arms loosening their embrace to where his hands rested lightly on her hips. He gave an elaborate wink before one brow arched back at the chair she had abandoned much earlier.

"The food is cooling off, and the ale is warming. And I'm sure there is a story you can regale me with about the house, family, or a little Rin running around that I would find highly entertaining."

His cocky grin said it all. But just in case it didn't, he sent the words along their bond.

Your move, darlin' …

Rin Taal

 

[Rin Taal]

The loss of his hand from between hers should have created distance. Instead, the moment his palms settled upon her hips, Rin became aware of how little distance had ever remained between them at all. His fingers traced the edge of her shirt before finding the sun-bronzed skin beneath, and the first light contact sent a current through her that was altogether different from the living energy she knew so well. It did not rise from the soil beneath the house or whisper through root and leaf. It began beneath his fingertips, bright and intimate, awakening every nerve they passed over until the simple act of breathing required far more thought than it should have.

His questions reached her through the sudden rush of blood in her ears, each increasingly improbable suggestion accompanied by the slow movement of his hands around her waist. Another musician might have pleased her family. Another pair of hands would never be refused when work needed doing. The promise of meals from worlds she had never seen was tempting enough that she might have played along, but his touch made answering impossible. His thumbs moved across the inward curves of her hips while his fingers wandered toward the small of her back, leaving warmth in their wake and stirring butterflies beneath her ribs until she could no longer tell whether she wanted to laugh at him or draw even closer.

Then he made the choice for her.

The last breath of air between them disappeared as his arms tightened around her waist and drew her against his chest. Rin inhaled sharply, her hands finding his shoulders through instinct rather than intention as her body yielded to his with an ease that startled her. His warmth surrounded her, seeping through their clothes until she felt as though she had stepped into sunlight after hours beneath a shaded canopy. Beneath her palms she could feel the strength of him, but it was the racing beat beneath his shirt that held her attention. Her own heart answered with equal urgency, two uneven rhythms pressing so close together that she imagined they might eventually settle into one.

Their foreheads met again, and the contact felt so natural that she wondered when it had become something she expected from him. Her eyes drifted shut for a heartbeat as she breathed him in, allowing herself to remain exactly where he had placed her. Every instinct urged her closer rather than away. The butterflies had become something larger now, a bright and restless warmth that filled her chest and curled lower through her stomach while every awakened nerve waited for whatever he might do next.

She was not prepared for his nose to trace the line of her jaw.

The slow movement drew a shiver from her before she could disguise it. His chin and cheek followed, the rough brush of stubble against tender skin sending tiny sparks racing along her neck and down her spine. Rin's fingers tightened against his shoulders as her head tilted almost imperceptibly, giving him more room without consciously deciding to do so. By the time his lips brushed the delicate edge of her ear, the barest promise of a kiss rather than one freely given, a breathless sound escaped her that she would not have recognized as her own.

His whispered promise settled into her more deeply than the teasing contact. He would not take the choice from her. However much he wanted her, however swiftly his pulse raced beneath hers, he would wait until she asked or crossed that final distance herself. The respect within the promise touched something far quieter than desire, though the mention of torture drew a soft chuckle from her, breathless and warm against his cheek.

"For one rather astonishing moment, I thought you possessed remarkable self-control," she murmured, amusement slipping between words that were not quite as steady as she might have preferred. "Now I discover you've merely found a loophole."

The light nip at her earlobe answered her accusation and robbed her of whatever composure she had managed to reclaim. A stronger shiver traveled through her, warmth blooming beneath her skin and spreading all the way to the tips of her ears. Her eyes closed while her fingers curled into the fabric over his shoulders, and for one suspended instant there was nothing beyond the sensation of his teeth, the warmth of his breath, and the intimate scrape of his beard as he withdrew along the path he had taken.

When his cheek slid against hers, and the corners of their mouths nearly met, Rin forgot the food, the ale, and every story waiting to be told. She knew precisely how little movement it would take. A slight turn of her head, one breath surrendered between them, and the promise he had placed in her hands would be answered. The want was no longer vague or easily dismissed. It had become an ache threaded through every nerve ending, a physical awareness of his mouth so near to her own that she almost felt the kiss they had not shared.

He leaned away wearing a grin of absolute triumph, and Rin remained between his knees with her hands upon his shoulders, looking at him as though he had just presented her with a challenge she had not yet decided whether to accept. Her cheeks remained warm, her ears undoubtedly betrayed her, and her breathing had not entirely steadied, but she refused to pretend his teasing had affected her less than it had. There was no shame in wanting him. The honesty of it felt too precious to conceal behind embarrassment.

"That was exceptionally unfair," she told him, though the quiet laughter in her voice undermined any attempt at reproach. Her golden eyes moved over his face before settling upon his mouth for one dangerous heartbeat, and when they returned to his gaze, there was no uncertainty within them. "Because now I know exactly how much I want to kiss you."

The admission remained between them, open and unguarded. Rin lifted one hand from his shoulder and placed her fingertips against the side of his face, savoring the warmth of his skin beneath them. Her thumb traced slowly over the rise of his cheek before her fingers followed the line of his jaw, brushing through the rough stubble that had so thoroughly awakened every nerve along her own. She let herself explore him with the same gentle curiosity he had shown her, learning the shape of his face beneath her palm and the subtle tension that gathered beneath her touch.

"Wanting it isn't the same as being ready for it," she continued softly. Her hand drifted upward, fingertips moving behind his ear and into his hair before settling lightly at the back of his neck. The gesture drew her closer once more, though she stopped before their lips could meet. "This is our second meeting, Muad. Everything between us is new, no matter how familiar some of it already feels. I don't want our first kiss to happen simply because the moment made restraint difficult."

Her thumb moved slowly against the nape of his neck while she searched his eyes. She could feel the strength of her own desire in every breath, but beneath it waited something quieter, a patient certainty that did not ask her to deny what she felt. It only reminded her that some things became more meaningful when allowed to grow at their own pace.

"Want can arrive quickly," she said, the warmth in her expression deepening. "It can burn brightly enough to make the rest of the world disappear, and right now I understand that far better than I did yesterday or even an hour ago. But I would rather wait until this becomes something neither of us merely wants in the excitement of a single moment. I want to wait until not kissing you feels less natural than kissing you would."

The distinction felt right as soon as she gave it words. She did not wish to resist him until desire overwhelmed them, nor did she want their first kiss to become a reward won through increasingly inventive torment. She wanted it to come when the bond growing between them had settled so deeply that neither of them needed to question what followed. Want had brought butterflies, racing hearts, and the exquisite awareness of his mouth near hers. Need would come when the thought of leaving that distance unclosed became impossible to accept.

Her smile slowly brightened, the seriousness in her gaze giving way to the playfulness he had been encouraging since they entered the room. The hand at the back of his neck tightened just enough to draw them just slightly closer, and Rin leaned forward until their breath mingled once more. She allowed her nose to brush his before turning her face along his cheek, retracing a portion of the path he had taken. Her lips never touched his skin, but her breath warmed the edge of his ear while her fingers combed slowly through the hair at his nape.

"Until want becomes need," she whispered, letting the words pass close enough to stir the fine hairs near his ear, "I suppose I will simply have to endure your torture."

Rather than withdrawing immediately, she let the tip of her nose skim lightly beneath his ear and along the line of his jaw, answering his earlier caress with one of her own. Her fingers moved once more through his hair before trailing down the back of his neck, each touch deliberate now that she understood the effect proximity could have. She stopped with their cheeks nearly brushing and the corners of their mouths only a breath apart, holding him there long enough to feel both their hearts quicken again.

"Though I should warn you," she murmured, her golden eyes finding his from impossibly close range, "I'm beginning to learn your games."

The smile that followed carried a quiet satisfaction of its own. She had not kissed him, but she had not retreated from him either. She had allowed herself to enjoy the way his breath changed beneath her touch, the warmth of his neck beneath her fingers, and the electricity that answered wherever their skin met. Turning the teasing back upon him had awakened another swarm of butterflies, but these felt different from the first. They carried less uncertainty and more delight, the discovery that patience did not require passivity and that waiting could possess its own particular sweetness.

For another lingering moment Rin remained within his embrace, her palm resting against the side of his neck while she studied the man before her. They had known one another for scarcely more than a day total, yet his arms had already begun to feel like a place she could choose to remain. That very ease was why she wished to move carefully. She did not distrust it or fear where it might lead. She simply wanted the journey to belong to both of them, every step chosen rather than surrendered to the strength of a passing moment.

Only then did she ease back enough to glance toward the table he had indicated. The food had indeed been cooling throughout their exchange, while the ale likely grew warmer by the moment. A quiet laugh escaped her as she looked back at him, still close enough that her hands had not yet left him.

"You may be right about the food," she conceded, affection and lingering mischief mingling in her voice. "It would be a shame to let a perfectly good meal suffer merely because you discovered how easily you can distract me. Though I suspect that was precisely your intention."

She rose reluctantly from between his knees, allowing one hand to glide from the back of his neck to his shoulder before trailing down his arm. Her fingertips followed the length of his forearm until they reached his hand, where she briefly threaded their fingers together. The touch lingered before she released him and returned to the seat she had abandoned, immediately aware of the cooler air where his arms had surrounded her moments before.

Settling into the chair, Rin glanced around the room that held so many fragments of her life before returning her attention to him. His invitation to tell a story gave her an escape from the delicious uncertainty he had created, though the warmth in her cheeks and the restless flutter beneath her ribs assured her that she would not forget it soon.

"Since you asked for a story about a little Rin," she began, reaching for the meal while a fondly resigned smile touched her lips, "I should probably tell you about the period when I believed every injured creature I found could become part of the family. I brought home anything that allowed me close enough to carry it, and several things that did not. My intentions were always good. My judgment was considerably less reliable."

Her eyes sparkled over the table as she lifted her drink.

"There may also have been an incident involving a wounded tree-glider, an open bedroom window, and half the household searching for it until dawn. My family remembers the details rather differently than I do, but since they aren't in here to correct me, you will be receiving the version in which I behaved with perfect wisdom throughout."

The smile she offered him carried the warmth of the home surrounding them and the promise of every story yet to be shared. Beneath it, however, lingered the memory of his lips against her ear, the brush of his stubble beneath her jaw, and the quiet certainty that when the moment finally came for their first kiss, she would know exactly why she had chosen to wait.

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

Her admission of desire stretched his grin further, teeth flashing in his triumphant smile. And then she cheated. Her hand swept up his shoulders, and her fingers caressed his face. The sensations were almost unbearable. His body betrayed him as his face leaned into her touch, hungry for more. His lips parted, and his teeth bared, wanting to capture the soft arc between her finger and thumb. He resisted the compulsion, even if just barely. Then her hand swept into his hair, and he felt every nerve ending alight with energy.

And when her fingers trailed their way to the nape of his neck, electricity surged down his spine with tangling so strong it bordered on painful. As she pulled them together again, his lips twitched with hers so close. Desire escaped him in a groan that bordered on a growl. He wanted her. To hell with the vow. But even as his hands tightened on her hips, he looked into her eyes. Reflected in the golden pools was an equal desire. But that wasn't what gave him pause.

In her eyes danced the moments that had built to this moment. Her gentle heart. The way she accepted a stranger when he was nigh death. Her laughter at one of his more amusing moments. The softness of her touch when there was no need or request for it. The way they both felt, just walking beside each other with the knowledge they had chosen the path together. The absolute joy of watching her drive the old speeder, lost in the journey while a smile curved on her lips and her hair whipped in the wind. How her fingers plucked the harp as she sang, not needing to overpower anyone. Just finding a place in the melody. Passion as they danced at the festival. The soft invitation to bring her home. How she neither hurried nor slowed things to a crawl, but chose to find the right rhythm. The way she looked at him at that moment with hunger, but a desire wishing for more than a moment's pleasure. She wanted the meaning of the pleasure. And gods help him, he did too.

Even as her thumb rubbed along where his spine sizzled under her touch, he knew she was right. And here he was, supposedly the older and wiser one between them. His smile answered her own as his grip on her hips lessened. Not enough to free her, but enough to show he understood and agreed. Her words echoed in his ears, and he gave a small nod.

"I want to wait until not kissing you feels less natural than kissing you would."

As soon as the words left her mouth, it struck a chord that resonated deep inside. He felt the flush of adrenaline and endorphins. Her skin called to him like a siren's song. Her hands drew chills and fire along his skin. And his heartbeat so rapidly it was a wonder it remained in his chest. These were natural reactions to physical desire for someone you felt attracted to. Even more for someone you cared for deeply. How much more would it grow as their feelings for one another flourished. He wasn't sure he'd survive. But it would be a good death. He wanted more than desire.

And then her face closed with his and emulated his playful exploration. Her nose brushed his, and he felt their breath mingle as her lips hovered so close he could almost taste it. Then she spoke of need. That was literally what his body screamed. He needed her. But he didn't close the distance, instead taking the intimacy she offered, even if it was a wicked way to play.

My witch …

The spell of her body wove over him, the playful light in her eyes drew him in, and the wicked curve of her lips finished the spell. Her lips hovered at the corner of his as she whispered about learning his game. Hell, she didn't learn it; she elevated it. In that moment, he knew she could control him with a caress, the whisper of her skin against his, or the lightest touch of her lips. When she leaned away, he was left trying to control his breathing even as his body spasmed from the loss of her embrace. His head swam as his hands moved to the armrests while he tried to regain his composure. Her words about food made no impact on his mind; too busy was he imagining what he could do to get her back in his arms.

His breathing slowed as he finally regained a semblance of control. And his mind dipped toward her words of want and need.

"I think … we can both agree … there is a substantial want here. And I hear you about need. But I do not fully agree. Because, um, I'm feeling a substantial amount of need. Want and need are very important. More important is choice—a conscious decision. Not surrendering to desire. When want and desire soften into the glow of something more. When being together is as natural as breathing, I want that. When basking in your presence is all that is needed to make me smile. When …"

His hand slowly raised to his chest, over his heart.

"My heart doesn't live here anymore … when it lives …"

His hand moved slowly until it rested softly over her heart.

"Here … that is when I expect the taste of your lips upon mine. Not before. And hopefully your heart won't beat here but …

His hand moved back to his own chest.

"Here. I felt your heart racing next to mine, like thoroughbreds in a race. When they beat in sync … that is when we will know. You're worth the wait. And we both have plenty of time to get there."

He smiled gently. There was still the flush of desire on his skin and the racing tempo of his heart within his chest. But his eyes had softened into the intent stated. He wasn't sure if he had pushed the envelope of naming the thing which grew between them. He just knew he would regret it if he didn't say it. And he wanted no regrets between them on their journey, however far or long it would take them.

He claimed his own glass of ale and slipped it, smiling at the story. He could visualize it. Not through any use of psychometry, but because he knew her. He smirked as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Not necessarily because of any ale but because her scent remained on his hand. Almost imprinted, like the feel of her thumb at the top of his spine.

"Perspective colors any story. I'm entirely too curious to hear your family tell it. But I can see it. Even if you no longer collect animals, you collect people, your stories, and your memories. When you come to Siskeen, I'll introduce you to Traycn, my sith hound. Maybe take you out on Charlie. My six-legged K'kayeh dragon."

The offer to bring her to Siskeen was spoken so matter-of-factly that he didn't consider a future where he didn't take her there.

"Derek, my brother, would probably spin the tale of our initial meeting. His mission from the Sages was to find and kill me, to bring balance. I was tracking Rhaegar, trying to stop him for … uh, things. Anyway, there we were fighting on Hawn Rock on Dorin when he slipped, his feet flew out from underneath him, and he cracked his head, out like a light. Rhaegar escaped, and when Derek came to, there I was, sitting with a bottle of Corellian whiskey. He didn't understand why I didn't kill him. My question was, why should I? That began our relationship. He tells the story that he knocked me out, and I woke up to him sipping some fancy brandy. We'll have a rematch. One day. I told him I'll bring the ale when he wakes."

Muad didn't know why he shared that particular story. His was a complicated past, especially with Derek and Rhaegar. But sitting here, with Rin, in the home she wanted him at, he realized in her presence nothing was complicated. There were just layers. And he wanted to peel them back with her.

His hand reached out and snagged a piece of bread before leaning back. The soft light of the room cast her partially in its shadow. The light lit half her face while her golden eyes illuminated the other half. He smiled. He couldn't help himself. Here in her home, surrounded by untold memories and artifacts of her travels, he felt peace.

"How old were you when you first left? And where did you go?"

He found he could listen to her all night as the layers of who she had been were pulled away to reveal the woman he knew and … cared for more deeply than he wished to name. For now.

Rin Taal

 

[Rin Taal]

Muad's words stole the smile from her lips, though not because they saddened her. Instead, they left her sitting in thoughtful silence, her fingers still resting around her glass of ale as she searched his face. For perhaps the first time since they had met, she found herself without an immediate answer. His words settled somewhere deep within her, not because they were grand, but because they were sincere. Her eyes drifted to the hand that had rested over her heart only moments before, and as it began to withdraw, her own hand lifted almost without thought. Her fingertips brushed lightly across the back of his as though to delay its departure for a heartbeat longer before she realized what she was doing. Warmth bloomed across her cheeks and spread into the pointed tips of her ears, tinting them a soft rose. She offered no explanation, simply allowing her hand to settle back into her lap while she could still feel the memory of his touch lingering beneath the fabric of her shirt.

A quiet laugh escaped her, directed more at herself than at him. "That's...a rather beautiful way to describe it." The words came gently as she continued studying him, her expression soft with a kind of wonder she hadn't expected to find. "I don't know whether our hearts ever truly leave us. Mine still feels very much where it's always been." Her own hand rested lightly over her chest before she smiled again, smaller this time, almost thoughtful. "But I think they make room." It was the only way she knew to explain what had been changing inside her since the day they had met.

"A few weeks ago you were a stranger. Now I find myself wondering whether you've eaten, whether you've slept, whether you're smiling somewhere when I'm not there to see it." The admission came so naturally that it surprised even her, yet once spoken, it felt impossible to deny. "I look forward to our conversations before the current one has even ended. I catch myself thinking about places I'd like to show you, stories I want you to hear, and wondering what you'll think when you see them." She smiled, shaking her head ever so slightly. "If that isn't making room for someone, then I honestly don't know what is."

Her golden eyes met his without hesitation. "I think you've already found a place within my heart." There was no flourish to the confession, no attempt to dress it in poetry because it didn't need it. It was simply the truth as she understood it. "Not because I need you, but because every day I want to know you a little better than I did before." She smiled warmly. "That feels...healthier somehow. More honest. I don't want to wake up one morning and realize I can't be myself without you. I want to wake up knowing I'm myself, and that I would still choose to spend that day with you."

Her thumb absently traced the rim of her glass while she considered the distinction he had drawn between want, need, and choice. "I think that's why I stopped." She laughed softly again, the blush deepening across her cheeks and ears. "Not because I didn't want to kiss you. Quite the opposite, actually." She held his gaze as she admitted it. "I want to kiss you very, very much." Even now, the memory of his breath against hers and the warmth of his hands resting at her waist was enough to make her heart quicken.

"But if we'd crossed that last little distance tonight, I think I would have remembered the kiss more than everything that brought us to it." She smiled, her voice carrying the quiet certainty that had guided her since the beginning of their journey together. "I'd rather remember the conversations, the dancing, the laughter, the way you make me feel safe enough to tease you, and the fascinating expression you had when I touched your neck." Her eyes sparkled mischievously for a moment. "Besides, I rather enjoyed discovering that you're not nearly as composed as you pretend to be."

The teasing faded naturally into something gentler. "One day we'll kiss and hopefully more, and I think you're right. We'll know when that day arrives." She looked down briefly before meeting his eyes once more. "Not because desire has disappeared. I don't think it ever really does. It'll simply have become one thread among countless others we've woven together. Friendship, trust, shared mornings, difficult days, quiet evenings, arguments we worked through, journeys we haven't even imagined yet. The kiss won't be the beginning of whatever this becomes. It'll simply be another beautiful part of it."

A peaceful smile settled across her face as she leaned back slightly in her chair, still watching him with the same quiet affection that had slowly grown between them. "So yes," she said softly, "I think our hearts can make room for one another. Mine already has. And if one day they beat so closely together that it becomes difficult to tell where yours ends and mine begins..." She laughed quietly, warmth returning to her eyes. "...then I imagine neither of them will care very much whose chest they're supposed to be in."

Rin smiled into her ale as she listened to him describe Derek's version of events, unable to keep a quiet laugh from escaping when he reached the part about the bottle of whiskey. "I suppose every good story improves with each telling." She looked back up at him, amusement lingering in her eyes. "Although if I ever meet Derek, I fully intend to hear his version before deciding which one to believe." The invitation to Siskeen settled just as naturally in her thoughts. Traycn. Charlie. He spoke of introducing her to them with the quiet certainty of someone who had already accepted that she would one day stand beside him there. She found herself smiling again, not because of the promise itself, but because he had offered it without hesitation.

His question drew her attention toward the shelves surrounding them. Weathered carvings, bits of polished stone, a cracked instrument that no longer played, pressed flowers carefully preserved between sheets of transparent resin, each had found its place over the years. None of them were particularly valuable. Together they told the story of a life spent wandering.

"I was in my mid-thirties." The answer came easily enough before she laughed at herself. "Or at least I think I was. Once you've lived long enough, birthdays begin blending together. I remember seasons far better than numbers." She leaned back in her chair, her eyes drifting briefly toward the window as memories reached farther back than most beings ever had the chance to remember. "I wasn't unhappy here. Quite the opposite. I loved my home, my parents, the forests, the quiet. I never reached a point where I wanted to leave it behind."

She lifted one shoulder in an easy shrug. "One morning I simply realized there was an entire galaxy beyond those trees, filled with people whose stories I would never hear if I stayed where I was." Her smile softened with the memory. "So I packed enough supplies for a few months, hugged my parents, promised them I'd be home before they had time to miss me, and set off with no real destination beyond seeing what was over the next horizon."

A fond laugh escaped her. "Mother believed me. Father smiled in that way fathers do when they know perfectly well their daughters are about to do something foolish." She shook her head. "I returned home three years later. Mother cried. Father informed me that I had become exceedingly difficult to keep track of, then immediately asked where I'd been before I'd even finished unpacking."

Her fingers traced the rim of her glass again as another memory surfaced. "The first world I truly stopped on was Alderaan." There was unmistakable affection in her voice. "I'd never seen mountains so green or cities that seemed to grow out of the landscape instead of replacing it. It is entirely different than Veradune. There was music everywhere. Not performances or festivals, just...people playing because they enjoyed it. Families singing while they worked, musicians in gardens, children learning instruments in public squares." She smiled wistfully. "I arrived intending to stay a week."

She laughed into her ale before taking a small sip. "I stayed nearly five months." Setting the glass down once more, she glanced around the room. "That was where I began bringing little things home. Nothing expensive. Just reminders. A carving from a market stall. A flower to be pressed. A song someone was kind enough to teach me. I thought I was collecting souvenirs." Her eyes found his again. "Looking back, I think I was collecting memories before I understood how precious they would become."

She regarded him for another quiet moment before a playful smile returned to her lips. "Though I admit..." Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. "...I think I'm looking forward to Siskeen now. Mostly because I have a very important question." Tilting her head ever so slightly, she asked, "How does a six-legged K'kayeh dragon end up with the name Charlie?"

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

He felt his lips widen again. His eyes could clearly see the rosy tint to her cheeks and the curve of her ear where it met in a point. This was more stunning than a thousand sunsets. The soft glow of her eyes, the delicate expression somewhere between mirth and slight embarrassment at how her body betrayed her. The softness of the edge of her earlobe sprang back to memory, and he shifted in his seat before slowly crossing his leg, one ankle over his other thigh, and relaxing back into the chair.

Her words flowed with the elegance he had come to expect and appreciate. Chosen words of poetic descriptions of emotions, feelings, desires, and the mysteries of the heart. Then an admission. "I want to kiss you very, very much." The heat that flushed her cheeks was mirrored by the fire he felt beneath his collar. The taste of her breath, the scent of her body, the silken skin of her hips beneath his hands would haunt him for a long time. And he found himself okay with it until memory was replaced by discovery anew.

When she mentioned his expression when her hand found the nape of his neck, he almost growled. There was a moment when he almost tossed his oath to the wind and captured her lips with a kiss. But she was right. The consumption of their desire would have overshadowed the entire night. And there was his composure.

"I remember telling you I wasn't the civilized sort. Just manners. Maybe a little learned behavior. A facade." The specifics of his statement were steeped in frustration at the time. He didn't want to appear weak in front of his friend. A friendship that grew with undertones of something more, way back on Batuu. However, he refused to acknowledge it then. A fear that had disappeared this evening.

"One day we'll kiss and hopefully more …" Immediately he shut down whatever his imagination was threatening to summon. If for no other reason than he knew imagination would pale in comparison. The continued words about their hearts needed no more remarks. Their stated intentions were clear, even if they danced perilously close to giving name to that which was between them.

"Well, I might postpone that meeting with my brother. He's more sophisticated. Has a more regal bearing. And he's prettier. I don't want to risk an infatuation with him until I know you can resist his charms." The soft glow of his eyes revealed he was only teasing. Not that what he said wasn't true about his brother. But that their bond was so weak that he wasn't sure about their commitment to one another. Not commitment. Attached. For however long the road extended before them.

When she began her story, she laughed. At the loss of importance of dates. He smirked. That was something he understood. So much time had passed that he couldn't recall his own LifeDay, if he ever knew it at all. He felt her humor and longing for new horizons, and as she spoke, he shared in the excitement as she retold a tale from a century ago. In his mind, he pictured Corren and her mother responding to what Rin wanted to do. And then she was off.

Alderaan.

Of course it was Alderaan. It was a tourist stop for the galaxy. Muad could understand why she went. And why she stayed as long as she did. It was a perfect planet, climate controlled by weather satellites, nature flowing all around, palatial structures of immense awe, and pleasant people. The culture wasn't bad either. A hundred years ago. He might have been on the planet at the same time she visited. He had been assisting his vod, who was married to the queen. Who also happened to be his former sister-in-law. His eyes creased at the corners, and his lips pressed too firmly in their smile before she moved on.

To Siskeen and how his dragon came to be named Charlie. He smirked and leaned forward slightly, taking another drink of ale before beginning. "Actually, the full name is Pufferian Charlotte, the magical K'kayeh Dragon. At the time I thought he was, well, a he. When it turned out Charlie was a girl, her name was changed. Everyone refers to her as Charlie, in memory of my first command. The one you and Mara thought came from delusions or exaggeration. But I like to call her Puff the magic dragon. Derek hates that name."

Another drink from the glass finished the ale, and he grinned at Rin. "I thought you said 'enough ale', ma'am. But yeah. I went to Almas and found a piece of the original Sithspawn creation of Darth Rivan. Then, well, we recreated it. Without all the dark side mumbo jumbo. Now we have an estuary and sanctuary on Olanet and Siskeen for the K'kayeh dragons. They are spectacular. And very smart." He took a bite from the bread in his hand and nodded thoughtfully. It was wonderful. Light, fluffy, with extra herbs within that elevated it from just bread to something you could enjoy on its own. The rest of it was tossed in his mouth as he chewed, a grin on his face almost causing him to choke.

Once he swallowed it, he turned to the woman still sitting across from him. He was still somewhat surprised that he sat here, in her home. Not that he couldn't be in a house, but that she chose him. To bring home. It was both baffling, humbling, and exciting. And he wasn't going to mess it up. His forefinger tapped lightly on the armrest. "Alderaan is nice. I helped a Mandalorian from another clan get established with his new wife, the queen—my former sister-in-law. Unfortunately, most of the Organas have left Alderaan. And now, the High Republic and the Sith are about to battle over the system."

He smiled sadly. "The Organas are gone. But the ties between that world and the United Siskeen Coalition, my own House, and Clan remain. When war comes to their doorstep, I will be one of the ones there to answer the knock." Muad did not mean to dampen the mood. This was one of those things they would have to navigate, should they wish to stay on the same road. He did.

"Where will you go once you've had your fill of Siskeen and Veradune? Before the proverbial grass grows over your feet?" These were questions he knew would come. The who and what they did in the where and why, often followed by how. And what place would they share in it?

Rin Taal

 

[Rin Taal]

Rin laughed softly, the sound warm enough to chase away whatever lingering awkwardness remained between them. "Your brother is prettier?" She tilted her head, studying him with exaggerated consideration before an amused smile spread across her face. "Well, now you've created a problem. I suppose I'll have to meet him eventually just to determine whether you're being honest or merely trying to lower expectations." Her eyes sparkled with quiet mischief before softening again. "Though I suspect you're giving him an unfair advantage. I've already grown rather fond of this face."

She noticed his empty glass as he finished the last of his ale. "There is more ale where that came from. Would you like more?" Rising from her chair, she crossed to a small beverage chiller tucked neatly beneath one of the cabinets and retrieved two chilled bottles. As she returned, they both reached toward the bread at nearly the same moment. Her fingers brushed lightly across the back of his hand before settling there for just a heartbeat longer than necessity required. There was nothing accidental about the touch. She met his eyes with a small, knowing smile before her hand slipped away and she poured fresh ale into his glass, then her own, as though nothing at all had happened.

His explanation of Charlie earned another bright laugh. "Pufferian Charlotte?" She shook her head, delight dancing across her features. "That is simultaneously one of the most dignified and least dignified names I've ever heard." Resting her chin lightly against one hand, she regarded him with open curiosity. "More importantly..." Her smile widened. "...what name does she like?" She gave an innocent little shrug. "I'd rather know before I meet her. I have no desire to offend a dragon within the first few minutes of our acquaintance."

The mention of Alderaan and the coming war tempered her smile without extinguishing it. She recognized the quiet certainty in his voice when he spoke of answering that call. She had met enough soldiers, Rangers, Jedi, and wanderers over the years to know that some responsibilities were chosen long before the moment arrived to fulfill them. "Then I hope," she said gently, "that when that day comes, you're surrounded by people who remember you're more than the weapons you're carrying." She offered nothing further about the coming conflict. There would be time enough for such conversations another day.

His final question lingered between them, and Rin found herself unexpectedly grateful for it. For more than a century, the answer would have been effortless. Another road. Another sunrise. Another village. Another song and story waiting somewhere beyond the next horizon. That had been enough for almost her entire life. Yet sometime during the evening, somewhere between shared laughter, quiet confessions, dancing, and conversations that seemed unwilling to end, their chairs had drifted closer together. She hadn't noticed when it happened. Only that now it felt perfectly natural to be sitting beside him rather than across from him.

Turning slightly toward him, she never looked away from his glowing blue eyes. "If things go in the direction I want them to," she said quietly, "that won't happen." They were close enough now that she hardly had to move. One hand rose to rest lightly against his chest above the steady beat of his heart while her other settled over her own. She held them there for a quiet moment, her peaceful smile saying everything she had already told him and everything she had yet to find words for. She did not need to explain herself. The answer lived beneath her fingertips.

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

His laughter echoed from his chest before he covered his mouth with a sheepish grin. He didn't want to wake anyone who was sleeping or disturb anyone still awake. That would be his luck. Have her mom and dad storm in with a stern look and tell them to go to bed. He knew the scenario drifted from his thoughts to their bond, and he tried to suppress a snort of laughter, with varied results. Fingers wiped literal tears from his eyes. Bedtime, Ms Taal, he thought in a firm voice before he clamped down his amusement from erupting again.

When she rose to get them more drinks, he half rose, with an arm outstretched to stop her. If his choice was between Rin and another ale, she won hands down. But she didn't head toward the hall from whence they came. Instead, there was another hollow of shelves where a small unit rested beneath them. She bent and retrieved them, and he twisted in his seat, arms over the back, and thoroughly enjoyed the view. Her tail swished in the golden light, and he wondered for a moment just how sensitive it was before his gaze firmly memorized the exquisite curves of her posterior and hips.

When she turned, he didn't shift his gaze away. She should know he found her physical attributes just as precious as he found her heart. He returned to sitting in the chair more naturally, though his glowing gaze continued as she returned to her own seat. There was a strong grin on his face, completely unrepentant. Completely different from the forest and meadow of Batuu. There, he enjoyed the view of a beautiful woman. And now he gazed at a woman who knew that touch of his hands on her body. And he knew the caress of her skin on his face. More than that, they had shared their intentions, wants, desires, and hopes for their future road. He didn't just enjoy the view; he appreciated the woman they belonged to.

Her touch was relished, and the look in her eyes told him it was not accidental. Playing the game again, ma'am? Don't be shocked when I return the favor. His smile teased future tortures of the most exquisite kind. Then he retrieved his refilled glass. "Vor'e, darlin'." He took a drink as he listened to her melodic voice.

"I think she rather likes Puff. But I also know she understands that Charlie is a name passed down from a ship that was important to me. Maybe not necessarily that it was a ship, but rather a name that holds importance. And for the record, if you want to remember that young girl that collected animals like you now collect memories, there are unhatched eggs just waiting to imprint on someone I L … someone I like very, very much."

He took another drink as thoughts gathered as the clouds did before the storm. "There will be war on Alderaan. For Alderaan. And when I go, I won't be surrounded by strangers. I'll be leading my people." A wink was tossed her way. "And I am a weapon that carries weapons." Muad knew the thought was still unsettling. That was the way of battle. And he knew that Rin was aware of it.

The glass was once more at his lips as he drank, and then he paused, a mouthful held in a pause. "If things go in the direction I want them to, that won't happen." He swallowed in a single gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat before he set the glass back on the table. One of her hands lay on her chest as the other pressed against his heart. There were no words necessary. He understood.

His hands reached out and turned her chair to face him more than it was. Then they slipped from the armrests and down to her thighs, fingers dipping beneath the supple flesh, and gripped with nails taking her flesh through the cloth. Then he pulled her closer as he leaned toward her. Fingers remained curled around her thighs as he pressed his forehead against hers.

Was there desire and want and need? You're fething right there was. And despite his handling of her form, it wasn't the kiss with all the magic it contained. It was the intimacy of this contact with Rin. Their breath intermingling and their noses kissing the tips of one another. It was the comfort and strength he drew from her presence. The warmth in his chest at the gentle look she gave him. It was everything the gesture said, and words didn't need to.

"I was going to tease you. Ask exactly what direction did you foresee? What were your plans for this old man? But it doesn't matter. Whatever direction I go, you are my true north." He sighed as he leaned in, their heads tilting at the same time, and their lips hovered beside one another as their cheeks tingled from their contact—silken smooth and rough stubble. If you had asked him earlier in the night if this was enough, he would have said no. Now, now he knew the power this intimacy held.

"One more question … where am I supposed to sleep?" The glow in his blue eyes brightened as he stared into the flow of her golden ones.

Rin Taal

 

[Rin Taal]

His laughter proved contagious. Rin found herself smiling before she even understood why, the warmth of his amusement brushing gently through their bond before the imagined scene followed. Her ears warmed as she pictured her mother standing in the doorway with her hands planted firmly upon her hips while her father lingered just behind her, wearing the sort of patient expression that somehow made the inevitable reprimand even worse.

"You know..." she said, trying and failing to suppress a laugh of her own. "My mother would absolutely tell us we've talked long enough and that it's past our bedtime." She tilted her head, amusement dancing in her golden eyes. "My father would probably just stand there nodding until one of us admitted she was right."

His hesitation from only moments before lingered quietly in her thoughts. He had caught himself before finishing the sentence, but she knew enough to recognize there had been another word waiting behind the one he had chosen instead. She neither acknowledged it nor asked him to explain. Some things deserved to arrive in their own time, and if that word was meant for her, she wanted to hear it because he was ready to say it, not because she had drawn it from him. There was no need to hurry words that were already finding their way home.

His offer of an egg drew another delighted laugh. "You make a very compelling argument." She could picture the younger version of herself all too easily, arriving home yet again with some lost creature tucked beneath one arm because it needed feeding, mending, or simply someone willing to care. Her parents had long ago accepted that if an animal crossed her path, there was every chance it would become part of the family before the day was over.

"I suppose collecting living memories would be the natural progression."

Her smile softened into quiet anticipation. "Then I'll remember that. Puff it is." A playful glimmer returned to her expression. "Although I suspect I'll have to earn the privilege before she'll allow me to call her that."

She barely had time to enjoy the thought before his hands turned her chair until she faced him completely. They slipped from the armrests and beneath her thighs, his fingers curling under the supple flesh as he drew her effortlessly closer until there was no room left for distance between them. Rin came willingly, never once considering resisting him. Their foreheads met. Their noses brushed. Every slow breath became shared, and the simple proximity sent warmth racing through every nerve ending in her body. It was astonishing how something so innocent could leave her heart beating as though she had crossed a finish line.

Her own hands rose almost shyly before settling upon his shoulders. For a heartbeat they simply rested there, feeling the reassuring strength beneath her fingertips. Then her fingers curled gently into the fabric beneath them as she answered his movement with one of her own, drawing him the smallest fraction closer still. The distance she stole back was almost imperceptible, enough only to satisfy the quiet desire not to let him drift even an inch away. As she leaned into him, her head tilted almost unconsciously, exposing the graceful line of her neck while leaving her forehead resting comfortably against his. She had no wish to part from him. Not now.

When he called her his true north, something inside her quietly melted. The words settled deep within her heart, finding places she had never realized were waiting for them. At this proximity, she could no longer truly meet his eyes. There was only the warmth of his breath, the brush of his nose against hers, and the quiet certainty that neither of them wished to move away.

"My room, of course."

The answer escaped before she had the opportunity to think about it, and the realization brought a warm blush to her cheeks and ears, followed by a soft, embarrassed laugh.

"Unless you'd rather have one of the guest rooms," she amended with an affectionate smile. "They're every bit as comfortable if you'd prefer a little more privacy."

She made no move to retreat. Her hands remained comfortably upon his shoulders, content simply to feel him there. His unfinished confession lingered quietly between them. He might not have spoken the word aloud, but she had recognized it all the same.

"You're making it very difficult..." she admitted, her voice barely louder than the quiet rhythm of their shared breathing, "...to separate the want from the need."

A tender smile found her lips as her fingers tightened just enough for him to feel it.

"When we first met, I was afraid of needing someone." The confession came easily now, stripped of the uncertainty it had once carried. "Now every conversation, every dance, every mile we travel together only leaves me wanting to spend another with you."

She drew him the slightest fraction closer, though she wasn't sure there was any distance left to steal. Their foreheads never parted, and for a long, peaceful moment she simply lingered there, breathing the same air and sharing the same silence.

"I think that's why this feels so different." Her smile grew softer still. "The more I know you, the more I want you beside me... and the less frightened I am of ever needing you."

She let the words settle between them before the smallest smile touched her lips once more.

"I think that's exactly how it's supposed to be."

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

Her laughter. Something about it warmed his soul beyond words. Like a soft spring shower that nurtured the newly formed buds into flowering, so, too, did the sound of the woman before him cause new growth in his heart. It wasn't the growth of weeds finding the cracks in his heart. More akin to the vines of a grape orchard as they wrapped around the structures already there, not choking, but embracing the space offered. And already the vines interspersed in his heart began to bear fruit. He found he didn't mind it. In truth, he cherished her presence.

A wry grin tugged at his lips when she confirmed his prophetic words at her parents' reaction to their scene. Not just their laughter and words, but their close proximity that had grown more intimate once more. He couldn't blame them. If he had walked in and seen an ad'ika being looked at and held with the intentions he gazed at her, with hands under her thighs, he'd probably set something on fire—or, more likely, someone.

"The males tend to imprint on one person. The problem is they constantly want to establish who is the alpha …" With her so close, he had grown accustomed to the hunger growing inside. But when her hands gripped the fabric at his shoulder and pulled them infinitesimally closer, his heart skipped a beat, and he lost the train of thought. "Umm, what was I saying? Oh, yeah … the females imprint but, uh, they follow their person and … uh, accept his pack as their own." Rin made it exceedingly difficult to concentrate. Especially when their heads turned, and his eyes now found the graceful curve of her neck.

"My room of course." Her embarrassment was easy to see with their faces so close. The pink tint at the top of her ears was, oddly enough, one of his favorite features. Not to say he didn't love every part of her. The word warmly settled in his chest. He negotiated the naming of something that was supposed to take long stretches of time. It had yet to be named, and unspoken. Titles held at arms' length. He wouldn't rush her by speaking before thought and feeling were united under the banner of the singular word. No matter how warmly comfortable it settled in his chest.

"You know, the last time you made the offer between my own secluded private quarters and one shared with you … you ended up sleeping next to a naked man. With your arm across my chest. And your tail tickling somewhere below my belt. You wouldn't want your mama to come in and pull the blankets off of us, now would you?"

His face slipped along her cheek and lowered to her neck, his lips skimming upward and behind her ear before he whispered. "That morning, when I woke up next to you. I had an overwhelming desire to kiss your lips, even before everything else. You put a spell on me, my witch. I almost kissed you … like this." Softly, his lips brushed along her neck, just beneath her jaw. The feathery caress felt the tempo of her pulse, and his lips smiled against her skin.

"I plan to make need and desire even more difficult. For a very long time. Until you get tired of me, I'm yours." His lips retreated; the taste of her skin was barely on his lips, but it was enough. Until she freed him from his oath, he pulled back, feeling her grip on his shoulders and smirked, their faces far enough away that they could look one another in the eyes again. "I did promise you a little torture. But … please … don't return the favor in this moment. I wouldn't survive it. Your skin was a double-edged sword that has cut me to the quick."

The proof was in his breath, which he raggedly drew between pursed lips. His head nodded slightly. "I understand what you mean. For the longest of time I have taken a measure of pride in my independence. In not needing to lean on someone else. With you, I don't have someone I need. I have someone I can count on. Not an expectation of services rendered from a friend whom I will return the favor for in the future. I have become attached to you. Not a friend. A partner. There for times of need. During periods of want. And here for all the other parts. Not to share moments with, but to share a life. All of it. I don't want you in my life, Rin Taal. I want you part of it."

His hands slipped from under her thighs and his fingertips traced along her knees before his hands slipped into his lap. His smile was gentle despite the pounding in his chest. "Perhaps we should retire before the ale goes to our heads. And, again, I find myself bereft of spare clothing. Would you, perchance, have another sheet I could use?" His smile flashed as he tossed her a wink filled with mischievousness.

Rin Taal