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He was coming tomorrow. Satine tossed in her bed. Ben was coming back to her tomorrow, after a little over six years. She knew that the circumstances were not happy. Master Qui-Gon had been killed, and of course the jetiise with their confounded emphasis on being impossibly calm at all times would frown on Ben mourning his Buir the way a proper Mandalorian would. But there was no way Ben would survive that, not in terms of his soul.
Go to sleep, Satine. You want him to see you at your best, given the bombshells you’re dropping on him tomorrow. The little voice in her head chided. He knows you’re not nineteen anymore, but he doesn’t know about the twins. Not yet. That’s what you’re going to tell him.
Would Ben see her and notice the way her body had changed after childbirth, see her practical, sensible, short sort-of-bob hairstyle and think she looked like a middle-aged mother, would he decide that their life experiences after that exciting time together as two teenagers on the run were too different? Ben had a jetii’ad now, so it wasn’t like he was a stranger to responsibility of a parental nature, but six years was a long time. At least he clearly remembered who she was.
The bedclothes were blue, as were the walls, with highly stylized lily motifs. This was the branding decision she had made regarding her image, trying to sell herself to the Mandalorian public. Cala lilies for peace, beauty, and integrity. Would Ben find any of it attractive?
Satine found herself sitting in her bedroom, except that it was in the middle of a clearing in the forest. She immediately thought of the picture book she had been reading to Korkie and Bo, about teddy bears having their picnic in the woods. They would open up their wrapped lunch, join hands and dance in a circle, shout and play, as they celebrated their holiday from their busy lives as children’s teddies. Perhaps that was what Satine would do with Ben.
The flowers all around her bobbed and swayed, even though there shouldn’t be a breeze inside the glass domes of Sundari with its seasonless climate control and purified air. The moon was full, clearly visible as the clouds dispersed, bright and round. The limpid water of the stream sparkled in the silver moonlight as mandarin ducks paired off, splashing each other, colorful feathers glinting in the moonlight. Paired for life, an ancient symbol of romance and marriage, and so very much in love. Satine became aware of the breeze caressing the faces of the flowers all around her, filling the air with sweetness.
But as she looked out over the assembled flowers, she frowned. The apple blossoms asserted her preference for Ben, of course, and it was inevitable that the amaryllis and sunflower would point out her haughty pride—which was really more of a caricature of who she really was—while the black-eyed susans reminded everyone of Satine’s commitment to justice. The asters and various colors of carnations and camelias reiterated the love Satine still bore for Ben, but some of the other flowers were a bit more sinister.
“Yes, that’s right. Look at me.”
Satine searched her surroundings for a source of the voice, but there was no sentient person there. Her children were supposed to be asleep, after all, since it was the middle of the night and Satine didn’t want them wandering around parts of the garden that didn’t exist by day. The voice was familiar, a man’s voice, but it wasn’t Ben’s or Master Qui-Gon’s. Satine couldn’t place it.
Ah, there. The anemones were glaring at her. “You’ve been forsaken, Kryze.”
Satine swallowed. She hadn’t planted anemones, but she knew their meaning in the language of flowers. Forsaken. Like when Mama was killed, when Papa was killed, when Ben and Master Qui-Gon left. But Ben was on his way back to her.
The begonias and rhododendrons began to tisk at her. She hadn’t planted those either. “Beware, beware,” the begonias chanted, as the rhododendrons rustled their fuchsia blooms, offering her a large pitcher of lemonade.
“For your unbirthday.” The rhododendrons spoke, again in that man’s voice. It sounded like a man at least a few years older than Satine herself, someone in her government, perhaps. But rhododendrons carried a meaning of danger.
That was when Satine saw the snapdragons laughing. You are being deceived. Satine politely declined the lemonade, noticing the yellow roses offering her soda. Yellow roses. Satine shuddered. Infidelity on Ben’s part, jealousy on hers. She tried not to think about the possibility that Ben had other lovers on other worlds. He had seemed fairly inexperienced then, but he was eighteen when Satine knew him before. He was now a man of twenty-five, going on twenty-six, entering his prime. She couldn’t fault him if he used dalliances as a weapon in his diplomatic arsenal. Satine had no right to feel jealous of whatever other man or woman might have caught his eye.
“No thank you.” Satine looked around the garden some more, until she saw a glass of milk planted with the thyme. Thyme was something that she would plant, given its meaning of courage and strength. Courage to put Mandalore first, strength to deny herself and her children the happiness of claiming Ben as a husband and father. It was a mistake to succumb to her creature instinct and talk Ben into succumbing also.
No, her children were not a mistake. Loving Ben was not a mistake. Satine did not regret that. She smiled at the sight of the red salvias—forever mine—and reached for the flowers. The protruding tip of the small red blossoms grew before her eyes, into a size and shape she knew and loved from its associations with a certain part of Ben’s body. She plucked one of these flowers and put the tip into her mouth, sucking the juice. Yes, this was a nice unbirthday, with the salvias winning her over with their message of “drink me.” Satine would go through with her plan, show the courage expected of a Mandalorian, as she respected Ben’s right to choose.
Satine woke up with a start, then smiled tentatively. That was a strange dream, but dreams brought clarity when her conscious mind was too choked with the weeds of shoulds and musts and oughts. She should be honest with Ben, give him everything, not just her heart and body, but her trust. I’ll give you apples and pears, mangos and grapes, raspberries and pomegranates, and so much pineapple. I’ll give you jogan and gorka berry, even pallies. Come home to me, Ben. I love you. I always have and I always will.
“Come out into the garden, Ben. You’ll see what I’ve planted since I was reinstated as Duchess, thanks to you.” Satine was smiling, but Obi-Wan could see the dark circles under her eyes. There was no doubt that she was kept busy by the never-ending work of rebuilding Mandalore after the Wars, at least, the part of the Mandalorian system that was under her control. The glass domes incasing Sundari were testament to the damage sustained by the main planet of Mandalore. The fact that Satine had restored the garden of the palace in Sundari had a political meaning.
But of course it was also exhausting. When Obi-Wan was frazzled as he adjusted to his new reality, the Temple gardens were helpful. It should be Master Qui-Gon training Anakin, with Obi-Wan himself as a solo knight. How was a pathetic little lifeform who was headstrong and still had much to learn of the Living Force and was only somewhat capable, supposed to train the Chosen One?
Then again, the gardens were good for trying to get better connected to the Living Force. Do or do not, there is no try, and all that, but since it didn’t come naturally, the gardens were useful. Obi-Wan let out a wistful chuckle at the thought that Satine had learned this from Master Qui-Gon, too.
Obi-Wan followed the Duchess of Mandalore into the garden off of the semi-formal audience room they had retired to from the throne room. Satine glanced over her shoulder to make sure he was following—alone—and the way she quirked an eyebrow suggested a suppressed smile.
She didn’t stay in the square formal garden with the colonnade of trees on either side of a small strip of lawn with a fountain in the middle, but gestured to him to follow her past the trees on one side, into the “wild” garden. This was definitely Master Qui-Gon’s influence, since the rest of Sundari had been rebuilt in a rigidly geometric fashion, but Satine had created a part of the palace gardens to be more natural, like some of the country that she and Obi-Wan had been in hiding in during her year on the run. The little brook babbling over the artfully-arranged rocks and natural-looking patches of semo grass looked like an amalgamation of Draboon and Kalevala.
Obi-Wan was surprised when they reached a small clearing with a picnic table already set with little cucumber sandwiches, cookies, tiny pots of pudding, and a full tea set. It was almost as if Satine had been expecting him to join her in what appeared to be a very private tea party for two. Then again, he had let her know he was coming, so perhaps she had prepared all this.
“Have a seat, Knight Kenobi.” Satine indicated the bench attached to the picnic table with a formal flourish, but her eyes were already smiling, despite her obvious exhaustion. Then again, Obi-Wan knew the planes of her face, the way she moved, every square inch of her body, in more detail than what was seemly. Her formal blue gown with the massive disk headdress couldn’t erase the memories of bare flesh, tousled blonde hair, her aristocratic voice giggling in his ear.
“Thank you, I will, if it pleases your Grace.” Two could play at this game of exaggerated formality. Satine was already licking her lips, ostensibly at the spread in front of them, but she was looking at Obi-Wan himself. He remembered that hungry gaze, the one that bore past his Jedi robes, past his Jedi calm, and into the very depths of his passionate Mandalorian soul, that she had recognized before he himself had.
“I heard about our—your—loss. I have my own fond memories of Master Qui-Gon. I’m sure you have thousands more than I do. He was a beloved mentor to me as well.” Satine bit down on her lip, which was one of her tells. Obi-Wan knew that she was suppressing her own grief in favor of his.
“Thank you. I miss him every day. Certainly Anakin does. Oh, Anakin is my padawan now.” Obi-Wan flashed his sad smile. This was not quite the conversation he had imagined having with the love of his life when they were finally reunited, but he was a Jedi, had chosen to stay a Jedi. Whatever the elaborate fantasies of Satine that had gotten him through miserable missions for years, he allowed himself to have them precisely because they were fantasies. This was probably for the best.
Obi-Wan gingerly picked up his teacup. “I trust this isn’t poisoned?” What a stupid joke to make.
“Of course not. The tea is sapir and it’s just crying out to you, ‘drink me,’ like something else here in this garden.” Satine cast her gaze towards some full-length windows not far from this picnic area, so that Obi-Wan realized that this was her private, personal garden, off of her bedchamber. Oh.
Obi-Wan looked some more around him and noted the trees. Myrtle trees were everywhere. Master Qui-Gon was good at picking up the plants and the pathetic lifeforms, but it was usually up to Obi-Wan to research about them, especially how to take care of them, so that he could recognize many plants on sight. These were myrtle trees, which had symbolic meaning on several planets. More than likely the meaning Satine intended was “good luck” in rebuilding Mandalore, but Obi-Wan knew of one other meaning.
He popped a cookie into his mouth and smiled as the subtle notes of bergamot and almond registered. These flavors went well with sapir tea. Satine had helped herself to a slice of pie, daintily cutting off the tip with her small cake fork, popping the morsel into her mouth, and gazing at Obi-Wan, as if it wasn’t pie she had in her mouth.
Oh no, banish the thought. Obi-Wan felt his cheeks start to flush at the memory of standing in a cave, Satine kneeling at his feet, mouth occupied with a piece of his anatomy that was very dear to her. Back in the present, her gaze on the rest of her slice of pie confirmed that she was relishing the same memory, since there were banana slices on the pie.
Obi-Wan noted the ice cream that would melt if someone didn’t help themselves to it soon. Digging his small spoon into it, he realized that it was peach-flavored, and the two scoops of ice cream side by side in the rather roomy bowl reminded him of one of his favorite parts of Satine’s anatomy. There was even one cherry atop each mound. Soft flesh, the ample roundness spilling out of his outstretched hands, the pert nipple taut under his fingers—. That was another memory that he had tried to banish, but without success. It provided comfort, yes, so that he could stay functional and do what needed to be done on his mission.
Satine swallowed her mouthful of pie with a suggestive gulp and smiled. “You’re probably wondering what all this is about. I wanted to have a semi-formal setting but in a natural, private space in order to give you some rather important news, and there’s a question I’ll be asking afterwards.”
Obi-Wan cocked his head in confusion, the gesture very similar to that used by helmeted Mandalorian warriors. The little movements and subtle habits betrayed his close familiarity with the culture, the length of his exposure, even if one completely discounted nature in favor of nurture. He had been three years old when plucked from Stewjon, on the edges of the Mandalorian system. This was a man who would look completely natural in one of those skin-tight blue suits favored by New Mandalorian men or even in beskar’gam, would be entirely appropriate seated on a smaller throne next to hers as her official consort, but she couldn’t ask for that.
“All right.” He eyed the brownies for a moment but looked up instead, meeting Satine’s eyes. Perhaps it was to be expected that their relationship was more distant now, to the point that she felt a need to entertain him like this with afternoon tea before asking some diplomatic favor.
“My news is this. I knew before you and Master Qui-Gon left, but didn’t tell you then. I wanted to, with every fiber of my being, but I couldn’t bring myself to, since I didn’t want to put you on the spot, didn’t want to force you to take a big decision in a short time, not with all the emotion of my triumphant return to Sundari. Do you remember the flowers I gave you the night before you left?”
Obi-Wan cocked his head in confusion again. “Yes, I do. Carnations, I believe.”
“Did you look up the meaning of this choice in the dictionary of flowers?”
Obi-Wan furrowed his brows. Of course he had. But there were so many variations, depending on flower color, and she had given him a bouquet of carnations of many different colors, so that he hadn’t been sure how to interpret them.
“There were many meanings depending on color, many of them contradictory.”
Satine toyed with her teacup, which was now empty. “But the meaning of carnations in general, regardless of color?”
“A mother’s love.” Obi-Wan drained the last of his tea as well.
“Precisely.” Satine was smirking now, letting the skin around her eyes crinkle, the way Obi-Wan himself did. “I didn’t have the resolve to tell you then, especially since these things are delicate, but months after you left, our twins were born.”
Obi-Wan nearly shattered his teacup in his hand. “Our what?”
“Bo-Katan and Korkie Kryze are their names. They’re six years old now. Oh, officially they’re my mysteriously-much-younger sister and nephew, but they look a lot like you. It wasn’t easy to hide a pregnancy, especially twins, from the whole Mandalorian system, but I did. I claimed to be recuperating from the physical strain of the things we went through together, and of course I was very thin when you left, so it seemed natural for me to gain weight as I solidified my position as Duchess. My gowns were carefully engineered to hide it.”
Obi-Wan cast his gaze down. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t there for you going through all that. Gah, I’m a terrible father.”
“No, Ben.” Satine reached across the table for his hand as she reverted to her old pet name for him. “I should have told you, given you the right to choose. I thought I was doing the right thing, but in hindsight I was being manipulative by not giving you the option to choose me, choose Bo-Katan and Korkie, to make an informed choice. For that I’m sorry.”
“What do you want me to do now?” Obi-Wan felt his mouth go dry. He had not one but two children. Not just a padawan like Anakin, but children who were his own flesh and blood. “Are they Force-sensitive?”
“No, I had them tested. Neither are jetii material. Instead they’ll maybe be my heirs.”
That was when Obi-Wan noticed the orchids planted by the full-length windows leading into the master bedroom. Love, beauty, refinement, mature, elegant charm, of course—qualities a young duchess trying to project a certain gravitas would need—but also “many children.”
“The myrtle trees all over this garden have meaning too, don’t they?”
“Why yes, how astute. That ties into the question I was going to ask you. Now that I’ve told you about the children: Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, of Clan Kenno, House Kryze, Clan seat on Stewjon, will you marry me?”
Obi-Wan opened and closed his mouth a few times. Even though the question was a natural follow-up to the planet-shattering news he had just heard, it was still a shock. Satine knew very well that he was a Jedi, and yet she was asking for his hand in marriage anyway?
“I don’t expect you to live here with me. Nothing has to change in either of our daily lives. Five minutes of vows, some legal flimsiwork on my end to give you access to the rights and privileges of being a full member of House Kryze—which you are, anyway, by birthright—and you can go back to your jetii’ad who needs you. I would never ask you to abandon your foundling. That is not the way.”
“But we’d be together forever in the Manda, is what you’re saying.” Obi-Wan was seeing the picture more clearly now. Of course Satine was reasonable in her expectations. If the Council decided after all that Anakin was too dangerous to be trained, or that Obi-Wan himself was not good enough to be a Jedi, or if the Sith master appeared and wreaked havoc and Obi-Wan needed a safe, neutral haven to evacuate to with Anakin, Sundari would be a logical choice. The logistics added up.
Who was he kidding, this was not a logistical decision. The woman he still loved much more than he should was asking for his hand in marriage. She understood the constraints, understood him, would not be demanding. It could work. He might actually have a chance at happiness for himself without letting Anakin down.
“I see now why you set up this elaborate tea party.”
“Have some cake. It’s not wedding cake, but as a sign of my sincerity. And don’t feel like you have to give me an answer right away. Think about it, weigh the decision, and let me know when you’re ready.” It felt like watching Ben and Master Qui-Gon board their ship back to Coruscant all over again, aching to tell Ben about his children but biting her tongue, reminding herself to be grateful for what she had had.
Ben took a bite of the offered cake, closed his eyes, and visibly ruminated. After a long while, he opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on Satine. “My heart is saying yes, but my mind and my sense of duty aren’t sure. Whatever I decide, do know that I have never loved anyone else the way I loved—and still love—you, and never will.”
Satine fought back tears. This was a better answer than she had expected. “I will always love you, Ben, and I hope that’s not a burden.”
“Whatever logistical decisions there are, I still want to meet the children.” Ben flashed his sad smile. After all, they were still his offspring, whether he married their mother or not. “On second thought—I don’t need weeks and months to mull this over. What am I thinking? Of course the answer is yes. The Living Force surrounds us in this garden, and even though I’m not as well attuned to it as Master Qui-Gon wanted me to be, I do know this much.”
He stood up from his place, moved to stand next to where Satine was sitting, and wrapped both arms around her from behind. “My answer is a bouquet of red tulips, yarrow, aster, all the colors of camelia, daisies, and red chrysanthemums. You know the language of flowers.”
Satine leaned into his touch. “I always meant to send you sweet peas to thank you for the lovely times I had, times of blissful pleasure. I suppose I’ll have chances to in the future.”
“A whole wedding bouquet.”