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hellotherekenobi · 1 year

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LOVE ME AND MEND

03. THE DENOUEMENT

Chapter Summary: with the big day approaching, much is weighing on Obi-Wan’s mind, much like you. The question is, who will speak first?

Word Count: 6.1k

Index: Previous Chapter. Masterlist.

The night is young when supper is had and Qui-Gon, Anakin, and Sir Naberrie are walking down the hallway on the lookout for Sir Kenobi.

He had been fairly quiet during supper and so had you been, which only made the trio of comrades jubilant with the knowledge that the discussion of both of your “confessions” have sunk in deep.

Only a few words were spoken and one had been when Kenobi offered bread to your ladyship, which you had welcomed but when you reached for them, you had knocked your elbow into the wine bottle on the table and spilt red onto the cloth covering.

All three men had tried their hardest to stifle their laughter, very much entertained by you and Kenobi’s behaviour.

But he had run off afterwards and they are intent on seeking him out. They had checked the courtyard and reception hall and when they found both empty, they decided to go to the guest rooms which Sir Naberrie had graciously arranged for them.

Good thinking on their part, too, as when they reach the doorway into Kenobi’s quarters, they peer around the corner to see him standing in front of the mirror hung on the wall and combing his hair.

He’s being especially delicate with his grooming, making sure that each strand of hair is settled to his satisfaction. He quickly puts the brush down and looks between two vests he had thrown over his shoulder, holding it up to himself and debating between which looks best.

When he wears one and twirls in a gaudy fashion in the mirror, the three men peering in at the scene burst out into laughter.

Obi-Wan turns to them, startled by the noise, but soon grumbles at the faces of his comrades.

“Gallants,” he sighs, adjusting his clothes, “I am not like this usually.”

“No,” Ruwee smiles, “I think you are sadder.”

As the men laugh, Obi-Wan puts his hands on his hips. He hadn’t wanted anyone to see him care about his appearance so much, seeing as it’s worn for the attention of someone in particular. But that is not a fact they need to know.

“I am simply perusing my options,” he huffs.

Throwing the remaining vest onto the bed, he wonders if that will be enough to deter their ridicule. They are acting very much like younglings and it irritates him to think that they are walking around with such a big secret.

This afternoon, Obi-Wan overheard the three of them say that you are in love with him. Though he at first was shocked, he soon became swoonful.

Fortunately for him, they do not know that he knows, nor do they know just how head over heels he’s feeling toward you.

He begins to walk out of the room but as he nears them at the doorway, he is stopped by Anakin who taps his shoulder, yet lightly. It’s almost as if he wants his attention but not directly.

“I hope you are in love,” he says with a youthful curve to his mouth.

It sends Obi-Wan into an inward spiral, wanting to both scream out and remain silent. But he knows that if he does either of those things, it will only spur his padawan on more.

No, he needs an excuse. Something plain and believable.

“I have a toothache,” Obi-Wan says.

“Sigh for a toothache?” Jinn shakes his head. “No, I too say he is in love.”

Obi-Wan will sigh for an itch on his skin, let alone a toothache. They know him to be vocal about all sorts of things and discomfort is a topic he has delved into before. Either they are having their fun, drunk on Naboo wine, or they are poking him with the intention for him to burst.

“He must be in love with a woman since look at his appearance,” Ruwee says, pointing at him, “he has combed his hair.”

“Yes,” Anakin nods, “and his beard is trimmed,”

“And he smells of Rominaria,” Jinn concedes.

“Hmm, is that for your benefit, Sir Kenobi, or for hers?”

What a ludicrous thought. If Obi-Wan is to woo a lady, he can do it without the help of a potent fragrance, especially one so flowery. Though it’s true that he is in fact wearing an essence, he’s certainly not going to own up to it.

They tease him and yet they will not succeed in squeezing the truth from his lips. He is keeping them sealed shut. The only words that he will speak will be to discourage their scrutinizing.

Before Obi-Wan can reply, however, Qui-Gon is talking over him.

“Yes, I conclude that he is in love.”

“Truthfully, and I know who loves him,” Anakin grins.

Obi-Wan turns to look at him, his chin pointed upward.

“I too,” Jinn nods.

Yet, they do know not enough of the heartfelt news as he is likewise a partaker.

“Sir Naberrie, please walk with me,” he says, clearing his throat. “I have studied eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which these Nerf herders must not hear.”

Though Qui-Gon and Anakin snicker, Ruwee grants Obi-Wan an audience. Just as well this happens straight away since Obi-Wan feels in his own sort of tormenting limbo by undergoing their ribbing.

They step away onto the terrace, walking casually and yet Kenobi is fidgeting with his hands. He is at least thankful that the night is cool, so he may avoid melting to his feet.

“What is your dilemma, Sir Kenobi?” Ruwee asks.

What a fitting description of the truth of it. He is having some difficulty with this.

Obi-Wan had an entire plan drawn up in his mind. He had rehearsed his speech with perfect precision and adapted a few arrangements should his original declaration not sway Sir Naberrie’s mind.

Thankfully, his group of merry men had not come to his quarters earlier; if they did, they would have heard him practice the speech in the mirror.

Though, as they walk, he feels himself worry that all of his preparation has been for nought and that he may not have the courage to say what he wants as well as he thinks.

The whole galaxy labels him a grand negotiator but, Maker above, he cannot speak on the topic of his heart without feeling dizzy in the head. He’s seen space more than he’s seen the ground he walks on, yet now, with so much anxiety creeping up his spine, he sees stars.

“Well, sir, I have something on my mind,” Obi-Wan starts, clearly enough.

“Your mind?” Ruwee encourages, looking at him with a curious gaze.

“And my heart, more so,”

“Do tell, Sir Kenobi, or else I will pass with high hopes.”

He might pass away in a moment as the nerves are climbing up his throat like bile. He will not make such a scene, though. Instead, he takes a deep breath and reminds himself that if this doesn’t work, there are plenty of fish in the sea.

Yet, you are the only one he has his sights set upon and, if he truly does fail in reeling in his line, he will send himself lifeless into hyperspace.

“I refer to your niece, Sir Naberrie,” Kenobi says. “As you know, we have not been the most familiar of associates, which I would like to amend,”

Ruwee furrows his eyebrows. “You mean to say that you no longer hold interest in your conflicts?”

“Yes. Or rather, not entirely, but instead I possess a new interest,”

“I hardly see what this has to do with me,” Ruwee shrugs. “If you are keen to move on, then so be it.”

Obi-Wan croaks, watching this conversation steer off its path.

“No, sir, that is not it.”

“Then out with it, good Jedi!”

“Sir Naberrie,” Obi-Wan takes a breath, trying not to sound impatient, though he is more restless at his lack of translation, “I am asking for your blessing so that I may wed your niece.”

The pause that he is expecting does not come. He’s waiting for a moment of thought, silent enough for him to hear a pin drop, but instead, the gentleman beside him seems the least bit astonished. Given the circumstances, he seems rather calm.

“You want to marry my niece?” Ruwee asks, a bemused look on his face. “But I presumed you loathed her?”

“No, in fact, I do love her.”

Obi-Wan has had so many bouts with you that surely, to any onlooker, it would appear as if he does detest your company. Perhaps at one point he believed he felt that way but come this afternoon, he’s more sure that his genuine, deep impulsion is rooted in an amiable disposition.

In fact, his yearning is so intertwined with his spirit—his force signature, even—that if he cannot have you, he may die.

“Please, sir,” he solicits, “may I have your permission for her hand?”

He has never begged for anything in his life. He never begged to become a Jedi, begged to become a General, or begged to be a part of the Council. If anything, the only time he has ever pleaded for something has been for Anakin to stop talking.

That padawan of his is so impulsive. What irritates Obi-Wan the most about it is how he can see himself in his comrade’s actions. Had he not been trained so acutely by his master, Qui-Gon Jinn, then he believes he might have ended up the same way.

But now, standing under the moonlit sky, and feeling more vulnerable than he’s ever done, Obi-Wan begs Sir Naberrie for the only thing he has ever truly wanted for himself.

If he never heard about your affections, he wouldn’t fight so hard. But knowing that you love him when he loves you is enough of a driving force for him to stand by his wish.

Stopping in his steps, Ruwee graciously eases Obi-Wan’s thoughts.

“Why, Sir Kenobi, my heart is with your liking. I have watched you grow into a fine, young man. And my niece has grown with you. It is unequivocal.”

There is no further statement and this time, Obi-Wan does hear a pin drop. They stand face to face with each other in a moment of silence, allowing the structure of his response to become clear.

“So,” Obi-Wan speaks, his heart racing, “I have your permission?”

Ruwee smiles, placing a firm hand on Kenobi’s shoulder. He squeezes it strongly, gingerly rocking him back and forth.

Then he answers, “Of course.”

It’s as if a firework has blown inside of his chest as Obi-Wan lights up from the inside out, his face breaking out into a wide smile and crinkled eyes.

The worrying is done, he thinks. He has now the blessing of Sir Naberrie to conjoin with you in the state of honorable marriage. It is really so! His hopes are no longer a dream.

To think that he swore to die a bachelor. But how could he, really, when you already exist in his life?

“Thank you, sir!” He cheers, shaking Ruwee’s hand vigorously.

Ruwee laughs as Obi-Wan skips away, bolting into the château. He runs with such a sprite to his step that it is only proven further to Ruwee that this game of Dejarik which Sir Jinn set up to play is indeed worthy.

He at one point believed that his niece could never fall in love with a man and that Kenobi would have to be the very last man in the galaxy for that to ever happen. But with an eager Jedi running off blissfully into the night, Ruwee knows that the heart is true.

And, truly, Kenobi is immeasurably in love with you.

─────── ⋯ ───────

There is not a lot that can scare you. In fact, you like to consider yourself quite tough given the circumstances. And yet, your heart almost leaps out of your throat when while you are walking to your bedchamber, Kenobi finds you and asks if he can speak with you in private.

Surely, in the empty hallway only filled with the two of you, it is enough privacy for whatever is on his mind, but he asks you with such ambition that you allow him to walk you outside into the gardens.

Usually, you are unshakable in the presence of practically anyone, but as you and Kenobi walk the starlit path, you feel unmistakably nervous.

After learning that he loves you, all of your actions around him have been so floundering. You might as well be a fish out of the water with how ridiculous your behavior is around him.

First, you had knocked over a bottle of wine during supper. Next, you tripped over your own sandals when you stepped foot onto the grass outside.

Now, twirling a flower stem you had plucked from a nearby bush, you are failing in hiding how anxious you are. Not that you are fearful of being alone with Kenobi, but because now you are looking at him with rosy eyes and it makes every inch of you skittish.

There is a moment when the two of you lock eyes but it’s not lived for long; both of you look away from each other with an awkward chuckle which puts the origin of embarrassment to shame.

The silence is nauseating and you cannot live in it any longer, so you open your mouth to say something, anything at all, but Kenobi has the same thought as you and speaks over your words.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Please continue.”

“Oh, no,” you shake your head. “You talk.”

His smile is shaky when you say it and yet it does nothing since the two of you submerge into silence once more.

Mother of Kwath, could this be any more awful?

Who would have known how useless you are in flirting? Perhaps your prior resolve for never marrying was a way of saving anyone foolish enough to hold an interest in you.

That being said, Kenobi has always been a fool, so you suppose it adds up.

“What is it that you wanted to speak about?” You ask, trying to understand his intentions for coming out here in the first place.

“There is something I wish to say to you,” he speaks, relatively hushed.

“Yes, sir?”

“I hope you will not find this too brash but I am enamored,”

With a hopeful spark to your breath, you nod. “Enamored, sir?”

“Yes,” he keeps your gaze, “I am burning up.”

Genuinely, you feel the same. This yearning you have is boiling, blazing underneath your skin. The ferocity of it might leave you flushed.

There have been other suitors before in your life, other men who have attempted to woo you. All of whom you turned down, even Master Jinn. Yet, only one man has ever pursued you a second time and it is the same fidgeting man in front of you now.

The first time he had sought your heart, he was much the same timid wreck. He had stumbled over his words but grew confident when you had agreed to his advances.

Remembering how Kenobi has seemed to love you since the beginning and how awful you have treated him, though in fun, makes you feel distressed with yourself.

Do you really deserve a heart like his?

Regretfully, you think not. So, you turn away from him, feeling overwhelmed with both wanting a confession from him and wanting him to merely jest with you. Your cousin was right, he deserves someone who can care for him better than you can.

You feel rather ridiculous when the concern you have turns into tangible form; warm tears pricking your eyes and threatening to fall.

With your back turned against him, you seek out a distraction so as not to embarrass yourself with such a wet emotion and play with the Queen’s Heart bush in front of you.

“I am sure you have more pressing matters to attend to,” Obi-Wan speaks, “but I promise I will not take long.”

Shaking your head, you don’t even dare to speak with the possibility that your voice will crack if you do. That will only make matters worse.

As adamantly as you have sworn against a betrothed, you swear more rigidly against never letting Obi-Wan see you cry.

“Are you all right?” He asks, and you feel him creep up behind you.

Turning to the side so that he cannot see your face, you nod your head with a curt hum and hope that will satiate his question and that he will not poke any further. Even now, tears have begun to stream down your cheeks.

“My lady,” he coos, bringing a hand to your shoulder and encouraging you to look at him.

It is beyond your control whether or not you stop crying, seeing as the irksome tears dropped anchor without your permission. After all, maybe the sight of you in this state will be the deterrent you need in forcing him away from you.

So, you sigh deeply and turn toward him, and his face casts a cloud of concern.

“Have you wept all this time?” He asks.

“Yes,” you reply, noting the fragility of your voice, “and I will weep longer still.”

“I do not desire that,” he shakes his head and his hand on your shoulder squeezes firmly.

“You have no reason to,”

The Obi-Wan you know would laugh at your tears and perhaps encourage more of them with an offhand remark. That is, in fact, what you were expecting instead of his caring, tender words.

If you had not heard about his feelings, you would think he is being insincere.

“Can I not call for someone?” He asks. “Perhaps one of your cousin’s handmaidens, in order to aid you?”

“No,” you shake your head, “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

“Yet, I see you,”

“Against my will,”

You push off of him, walking further down the grassy path. He is intent on following you, however, right over to the water fountain in the centre, lit up with encased candles.

“What do you need, my lady?” He asks.

Brushing the tears away from your cheeks, you sigh. “Comfort, sir, but I have no such friend.”

“Then may a man do it?”

“There is no man.”

He would have to be a real gem in order to sway your mood. When you fall into a feeling such as this, it takes a lot of effort on your part to get out of it, and if someone were to help pull you out of the hole, they would need to be strong.

Kenobi is your muse, but never your reality.

Then, with a purposeful expression, he takes a step toward you, and within the brief moment when he stills and takes a breath, your heart skips a beat.

He smiles so sincerely. “I do love nothing in the world so well as you,”

His words are soft and gentle as if dipped in gloss. They shimmer iridescently before your eyes, stilling your tears only for a moment since the gravity of his confession makes them all spill out, racing down your cheeks agilely.

“Is not that strange?” He whispers, yet his smile remains.

Almost as much as when you heard it the first time on the terrace spoken by your cousin, yet when Kenobi speaks it, it’s as if you haven’t known it until now.

You nod. “As strange as it were possible for me to say I love nothing so well as you,”

Speaking is done without thinking, just now. As soon as Kenobi smiles wider, stepping toward you once more, you begin to second-guess all of your intuitions.

“But I do not,” you say, shaking your head.

He takes another step toward you, ever delighted. “By my saber, my dove, you love me.”

You take one step back, trying to keep distance between the two of you, though he is persistent in taking one step forward for each of your steps backwards.

“Do not believe me,”

“I do believe it,” he insists, “and I shall make every man believe me if they think I do not love you.”

With another step, you stumble into the bush behind you, yet remain on your footing. It’s enough of a collision for a few petals from the Queen’s Hearts to flitter to the ground, and the sound of the bush swishes for a moment before it steadies.

The tip of Kenobi’s boots are pressed up against your sandals and he is so close that each breath he takes fans across your skin.

“I love you.” He whispers.

By that, you crumble.

“Maker, forgive me,” you whine.

“Why?” He chuckles. “What offence, my dove?”

“I was crying and now you’ve made me happy,” you titter, feeling both miffed and consoled by his cure. “I was about to admit I love you.”

“Then speak with all your heart,”

“I love you with so much of my heart—”

Kenobi tears the distance in two as he leans forward, his hands resting on either side of your face, and kisses you deeply.

Every inch of you comes alive at that, wrapping your arms around him as you invite your lips to more of him, humming in contentment at the feeling of his unabashed affections.

It feels as if it should be a dream but as sure as you feel him pressed against you, the more sure you are that this is real and that Obi-Wan, by the depth of his heart, loves you.

You had never thought you’d see the day when your lips would be upon his, but the galaxy is a vast and surprising thing.

When he pulls back, looking into your eyes with sincerity, his growing smile breaks into a burst of joyful laughter which you join in on, perched upon cloud nine.

“My dove,” he sings, brushing your wet cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

“My heart,” you reply, watching him soften at the name.

He kisses you once more, smiling against your lips. His elation has you chuckling, not having seen him so happy since the day Anakin had fallen off of a Shaak.

With a gleeful look, Kenobi grasps your hand, patting it gently, and leads you over to the water fountain to sit on the edge of it.

“Tell me,” he speaks, looking like an eager youngling, “for which of my bad parts did you first fall in love with me?”

You laugh, nodding your head in agreement with his definition of qualities. Truly, he has many bad parts and not even with the veil of love across your face can they hide from you.

“For them all together,” you say and he scoffs, his grip tightening on your hand with a playful response. “But, I must know, for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?”

“Suffer love!” He nods his head, smiling brightly. “A good epithet, indeed, for I love you against my will.”

“Though inevitable that you should feel this way,”

“Oh, truly?”

“Yes, for you had fallen many years ago and continue to fall further.”

Kenobi chuckles. “You and I are too wise to woo peaceably.”

That much is true and yet it is admired. A man like him with the ability to respond to your tongue is a rare man indeed. For you, lucky in love, you have the privilege of capturing his devotion, which you return in full.

With a deep breath, you bring a hand to your head. The pressure of tears, laughter and endearment has made your head feel awfully strained.

“How do you feel?” Kenobi inquires, resting his hand against your forehead to feel the warmth of your skin.

“Very ill, I think.” You tell him.

He hums, taking hold of both of your hands.

“Rest well—” he starts, kissing your knuckles on one hand.

“Love me—” he continues, now leaning forward to kiss your forehead.

Then, hovering by your lips, he says gently, “and mend.”

He leans in for a kiss, but before he can close the gap, there is a rush of footsteps entering the gardens, and he groans as he moves away, reluctantly slipping his hands out of yours.

In runs Sabé with her dress bunched up so as not to trip and fall.

“I have been looking for you all over,” she heaves, gazing at you. “I need your help with some preparations for tomorrow.”

With a nod, you stand up from the fountain. “As you wish.”

“Good—” she reaches over to grab your hand, tugging you with her. “I bid you goodnight, sir Kenobi!”

“And you!” He calls out, smiling as he watches you leave and glows when you look back at him before disappearing into the château.

He is in love and he is loved.

Obi-Wan has never felt merrier.

─────── ⋯ ───────

On the morning of the wedding, there is still much to be done and all of Padmé’s handmaidens are running around like Endorian chickens with their heads cut off.

The majority of the work has already been completed—having been attended to the day prior—but the matrimonial jitters seem to invade everyone.

Ruwee is counting the heads of each person that enters the venue, which is the courtyard around the rear of the château, under the big Cambylictus tree. Various flowers and candles have been strung all over to make the place absolutely sparkling.

Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon are waiting by the balustrade where across from it the Naboo waters span over miles. Each of them is clothed in ceremonial attire, and you admit that Kenobi is looking rather handsome in this light.

Sabé has finally come to rest by your side, chuckling with exhaustion as she remarks on how the other handmaidens are fretting over making everything look perfect.

With a bride like Padmé, the wedding will already be perfect.

You can see on Anakin’s face that he’s trying to suppress just how excited he is, noticing the tightness of his cheeks, especially when Kenobi mutters something to him and nudges his side.

It is the perfect day for a wedding, you think. Of course, every springtime is especially sunny but today, with a cool breeze, the weather is the best it’s ever been.

Then the remainder of the handmaidens come piling into the courtyard, two of them grabbing Ruwee by the arms and shoving him around the corner. They’re all giggling like eager younglings, each finding their respective place in the crowd.

There are a lot of people here today; many Senators, Jedi, folks people, friends, family, and Gungans. Anyone who has been in company with your cousin is here to witness the ceremony.

When at last the handmaidens are all settled, the Gungan choir begin to sing the wedding tune. Everyone waits in anticipation for the bride to appear and when she does, all eyes are on her.

Around the corner, Padmé walks arm in arm with Ruwee, the both of them smiling widely as the crowd begins to clap and throw Millaflower petals as they walk the aisle.

Her dress is beautiful; white lace and beading tracing the embroidery of her bodice, and an elegant pearl veil draped from her head down her back.

She looks stunning and you smile wide at the sight.

Reaching where you and Sabé stand, Ruwee takes Padmé’s hand in his and kisses her cheek. You then do the same when she walks past you, winking at her in mirth.

She stands beside Anakin, smiling up at him with crystal eyes and he, likewise, looks at her with a gaze so tender that everyone in attendance might melt at their spot.

The Naboo minister begins his address, speaking with a friendly formality. His words are inspiring, fitting the atmosphere excellently.

As he talks, you flicker your gaze over to the two Jedi on the opposite side and offer a soft smile to Kenobi who is already looking at you. He grins in your direction, not daring to break away from you first.

When the minister concludes his speech, he gestures to Anakin and Padmé to join hands, which they do.

“I am your husband,” Anakin says, gazing at his bride.

She smiles, her cheeks rosy. “As you love, I am your wife.”

The two of them break out into wide smiles and Anakin wraps his arms around Padmé and hugs her, and the entire assembly applaud.

The remainder of the petals are thrown above the happy couple and the Gungans sing in celebration.

Holding each other’s hand, Anakin and Padmé begin to run into the crowd, and you and Sabé follow behind. Yet, the eagerness to attend the wedding feast is delayed as someone calls out over the cheering voices.

“Wait,” Kenobi says, looking a tad unprepared when he gains everyone’s attention. “Where is Sir Naberrie’s niece?”

You are behind many people in the crowd, having pushed gently through it to meet your cousin, but with one forceful push to your back by Sabé, you go tumbling to the front and meet Kenobi’s steadfast eyes.

“I am here,” you clear your throat, feeling the need to straighten out your clothes and walk over to him. “What is your will?”

He doesn’t seem to have the tongue he used to call out in the first place, looking around the intent faces, toward you, and then back to them.

“Do not you love me?” He asks, his chest slightly puffed.

What a laser brain! He has the audacity to make such a remark in front of everyone, your family included. Yes, you are in love with him but, as sure as the force is living, you are not about to admit that to the entire population.

“No,” you scoff, shaking your head. “No more than reason.”

The crowd laughs and Kenobi goes red in the cheeks, his stance going from prideful to defensive within an instant.

“Then your uncle, my master, and Anakin have been deceived,” he huffs. “They swore you did!”

Please, aside from the gardens last night, you have not uttered a single romantic word about Kenobi, let alone any good words. He is out of his mind.

About time you put him in his place.

“Do not you love me?” You inquire, hand on your hip.

If he wants to play a game of ownership, then he should be ready to admit his own feelings.

“No!” He shouts, causing you to gape wide at his outburst. “No more than reason.”

“Then my cousin and Sabé are much deceived,” you bellow, “for they swear you did!”

“They swore you were near dead for me!”

“They swore you were almost sick for me!”

Either everyone has bubbles in their brains, or there has been a severe incident of miscommunication. You have not heard Qui-Gon or Ruwee mention any affection. In fact, you would have never known had you not overheard your cousin and Sabé yesterday afternoon.

This is ridiculous and more than that rather rude of Kenobi to make such an accusation—although legitimate—mere seconds after your cousin is wed.

“I know it to be true,” he says, pointing a finger at you.

Slapping his finger away, you scoff. “It is no such matter,”

He hesitates only for a moment, reverting to his previous hesitation of looking between you and the crowd, except this time he settles on your face and his expression appears almost sad.

“Then… you do not love me?” He asks.

“No, truly. Only in a friendly quarrel.”

“Come, niece!” Ruwee shouts from where he stands. “I am sure you love Kenobi.”

“I swear that he loves her,” Anakin says, running over to the two of you and pulling out a note from Kenobi’s pocket. “For here is one of many letters she wrote to him during the war, which he kept!”

The crowd burst out into joyous noise, though you gasp. Reaching out, you snatch the letter from Anakin’s hand and look over it.

Had Kenobi really kept the letters that you wrote to him? Surely, Anakin must be mistaken since the only things you ever said to Kenobi through your letters were all in the same jesting tone of your ongoing merry war.

Perhaps, though, he had found the one letter you had sent to him when he had written to you in nervous pen, explaining that he was fearful that the war might never end. You had sent him encouraging words and, if you squint closely, some affectionate words, too.

But that is their word against yours as his doting reply is hidden where no one will find it. In your hand, however, is indeed one of the letters you sent him.

“And here is another,” Padme chuckles, standing beside you and holding up a letter, “written in his hand, which she kept beneath her pillow.”

Son of a bantha, how in the galaxy did she find it! You had been so careful with folding them into even smaller squares so that they could not be found, yet your cousin must have seen them.

You’re not quick enough to grab it before Kenobi does, practically leaping over his brother to do so. He flashes you a cocky grin, peering down at the paper to see if what your cousin said is true. When he raises his brows, you believe he’s made it certain.

It goes quiet for a moment after Anakin and Padmé rejoin the crowd, with you and Kenobi re-reading the letters as if you’ve never seen them before now.

Examining each word, you know what you wrote to him is truthful. Maybe you did not know it then but your heart surely did and you can’t deny that, in your own way, you’ve always looked at him with a tender eye.

Likewise, Kenobi turns to you, waiting a moment, then lets out a bashful breath.

“Here are our hands against our hearts,” he says.

Nodding, you agree with him. Sometimes it acts faster than your mind does.

“Well, then,” he exhales, folding the letter back up and slipping it into his pocket. “Come, I will marry you.”

The way he says it is as if he’s been inconvenienced and that taking your hand is the last resort. Surely, you love him, but surely more you spite him.

“Very well,” you say, placing the letter between the fold of your clothes. “But only for your benefit for I was told you were in a consumption.”

Kenobi widens his eyes, taken aback by your response, but within another second, his gaze softens and he chuckles from the depth of his chest.

“I will stop your mouth,”

Reaching out to cradle your face, he pulls you to him and kisses you. The moment your lips meet, the crowd cheers and, though your eyes are shut, you feel the Millaflower petals falling upon your head.

You are certain that married life with him will be interesting but more than that, you know it will be worth it.

“How does it feel, Obi-Wan,” Jinn smiles, nodding over at the pair of you, “the married man?”

Holding your hand, he bears a toothy grin. “I tell you, master, that no other purpose in the galaxy is as great. After all, man is a giddy thing and this is my conclusion—”

Once more, Kenobi kisses you, this time sweetly. His lips barely remain on yours for long, yet the feel of them lingers after he pulls away. He keeps his hand holding your own and walks with you over to Anakin and Padmé.

“Come!” He encourages. “Let’s have a dance!”

He gestures a hand over at the Gungans who hoot in agreement, roaring into a happy, melodic tune. As the crowd claps and forms a circle, Qui-Gon steps beside Anakin and nudges for his attention.

“Do you know of Maul?” He asks.

Anakin shakes his head. “No, master,”

“It is in the past now but know that he tried to impede your relationship with Padmé. I have since sent him away.”

“Thank you, master.”

He should have known that it was a trick when Maul was so set on his master betraying him. After that night, he hadn’t seen him. Now he knows why and, to add on top of all the prayers for today, he is grateful for his master’s support.

Clapping a hand onto Qui-Gon’s shoulder, Kenobi steps into view bearing a toothy grin.

“Why so sad, Master?” He asks. “Get yourself a wife.”

Jinn laughs at that, patting a hand against Kenobi’s back, and comically shoves him toward the dancing circle, joining in on the festivities.

A/N: thank you all for reading, supporting, and commenting on this mini-series! I appreciate hearing from you & knowing that you like my stories. Hope you enjoyed this one!

Strike up the music and strike up in love. After all, it is the most meaningful thing in the galaxy.

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