It is the Emperor’s habit to ride out every evening on the main boulevard of his city, to see his people going about their lives, and to listen to the petitions of any who approach him. This habit is said to have driven several of his Royal Guard into conniptions, but the common folk of the city adore it, as they adore their Emperor, and the Royal Procession is usually more of an impromptu parade than anything else.
It is Finn Smith’s habit to spend the hour of the Royal Procession in the back room of the little shop he and his oathsister own, balancing the books and tidying the shelves for the coming day. It’s not that he dislikes the Emperor - far from it - but he’s not fond of crowds, and if he wants to see the Emperor’s handsome profile, well, he can always look at any of the coins they’ve taken in that day. Sometimes his oathsister, Rey, goes to watch the parade, but most days she spends that hour putting her tiny smithy to rights, coming upstairs to their tiny apartment smudged with soot and grinning.
They make a good partnership, Finn and his oathsister. Rey is a gifted blacksmith, her strong hands turning out beautiful daggers and eating knives - their main stock in trade - and also tiny, intricately detailed toys, which actually move when they’re wound up. Those take her longer, and sell for a far higher price, and they’re what has earned the shop its minor fame. She’s usually got at least two or three commissions for those at any given time.
Finn is a former soldier, mustered out after he was injured by a prisoner who broke parole. He keeps the books and tends the front register - he’s far better at customer service than Rey, who is blunt to the point of rudeness when she’s distracted - and has found that he’s quite a good cook when he’s not restricted to army rations. Between the two of them, Rey and Finn keep their tiny apartment tidy and their shop running, and are building up quite a respectable little nest egg for the years to come.
Finn is quite content with his life, honestly. It’s far better than he thought it could ever be, growing up as an orphan on the streets, and far better than he dreamed he would have, while he was in the army. Even being alive is more than he ever expected, given the three months he spent under the surgeons’ care after a surrendered enemy broke his parole and attacked Finn’s troop, laying Finn’s back open to the bone. But Finn survived that, and he made it to the city, and he found Rey - or rather, Rey found him - and they have built themselves a good life.
Finn has just about everything he could ever desire. He has friends at the market he goes to every morning - getting up before the sun, and knocking on the door to Rey’s room before he leaves the apartment in the hopes that she’ll be awake by the time he returns. He has time for his own hobby - whittling - while he’s tending the shop during the day (and has built up a little following of his own, of people who find the brooches and pendants he makes to be quite lovely). He has midday practice bouts with Rey, her quarterstaff against the practice blade she made for him, keeping their skills sharp in case of trouble - and Finn has chased a few thieves off in the past few years, men who thought the soft-spoken shopkeeper would be a pushover and learned otherwise rather painfully. He has quiet evenings with his oathsister, eating food he has prepared himself and talking with her about the day.
Sometimes Finn thinks about finding a lover, but - whoever he found would have to understand that Rey is his oathsister and the most important person in his life, and in any case, Finn hasn’t yet met anyone who makes him want to take the time away from his quiet life.
Finn is on his way to the market in the dim pre-dawn light one morning when he hears a scuffle in an alleyway, a shout of pain; he rounds the corner at a run, and finds three men standing over a fourth, who has blood running down his face in a torrent. The three standing men are ones Finn recognizes: thieves who have recently moved into the area, and haven’t managed to annoy any of the other residents enough to be driven away. Finn doesn’t bother to draw the short sword at his side; that’s for real trouble, not a trio of thieves. He punches the first thief in the solar plexus as he reaches them, leaving him bent over and gasping, and grabs the other two by the scruffs of their necks before they can turn, slamming their heads together. Both go limp; Finn may not be a blacksmith, but he is by no means weak. He drops them in a heap on the side and kneels down next to the injured man.
“Hey, hold still a minute while I see how badly you’re hurt,” Finn murmurs, and the injured man blinks up at him - dark eyes, hazy with pain - while Finn parts his thick hair and examines the injury. “Huh, not too bad, just going to bleed like a stuck pig, I’m afraid. Head wounds do. And you’ll probably be dizzy for a while.”
The injured man manages to chuckle, surprising Finn a little. “Good to know.”
Finn digs a clean rag out of his basket - he was planning to wrap a loaf of fresh bread in it, but oh well - and wads it up to put pressure on the wound. “Hold that there,” he tells the injured man, who obeys. “Let’s get you on your feet and down to the Watch House, so they can come collect these idiots.”
“Sounds like a plan, buddy,” the injured man says, and Finn helps him to his feet and loops the man’s free arm around his shoulders, tucking his own arm around the man’s waist to keep him upright.
“Left, right, left,” Finn coaxes, and the man obeys, staggering a little but keeping his feet, and they head out of the alley together.
“Soldier?” the man inquires after a few moments, interrupting Finn’s quiet chant of ‘left, right, left.’ Finn chuckles.
“Used to be,” he admits. “These days I’m a shopkeeper. My oathsister makes the finest blades in the city.” Finn keeps up a stream of idle chatter, talking about Rey and the shop and what he plans to make for dinner, until they reach the Watch House, where he turns over the injured man to the medics and gives a full report to the men on duty, who go trotting off to retrieve the stunned thieves, if they’re still around. They probably will be, at least the two Finn bashed together - he wasn’t gentle.
And then Finn goes on with his shopping, rather later than he usually does, and the rest of his day scrolls out beneath his feet much as any other day would. He tells Rey the story that night, and then, for the most part, he forgets about it. It’s not the first time he’s rescued someone from thieves - indeed, Finn is a large part of the reason so few thieves operate in this neighborhood - and it likely won’t be the last.
So life goes on as usual - for a little while.
The commander of the Watch House drops by a few days after the incident, to ask Finn precisely what he saw and did; Finn gives his report again, as clearly and comprehensively as he can, and the commander claps him on the shoulder and thanks him for helping to keep the city safe, and goes away again.
A few days after that, a pair of members of the Royal Guard come into the shop, investigate the beautiful daggers on display in their shining ranks, the intricate delicate gears of Rey’s most recent commission (on display until its new owner comes to fetch it), and purchase three of the finest blades. Finn shrugs to himself and puts the money in the strongbox and thinks idly that if the Royal Guard starts buying their blades from his little shop, he and Rey are going to have an even better reputation.
And a few days after that, Finn’s erstwhile rescue-ee shows up, looking far better than he did when Finn found him. He’s quite handsome, Finn realizes, and dressed like a moderately prosperous merchant or craftsman, though the enormous floppy hat is rather odd.
“I wanted to thank you for saving my life,” the fellow says, leaning against the counter and grinning at Finn. It’s a very pretty grin. Finn smiles back.
“No thanks are necessary,” he replies easily. “It was my pleasure and my duty.”
“Soldier,” the man says, nodding, and then offers a hand. “I’m Poe.”
“Finn,” Finn says, clasping it. “Good to meet you again in better circumstances.” His eye catches on the hilt of the dagger at the man’s belt, and he adds, “Is that one of Rey’s?”
The man - Poe - glances down and smiles. “It is,” he says. “One of my friends bought it for me. Lovely work; I don’t think I’ve ever seen finer.”
“That’s Rey,” Finn says proudly. “She’s the most talented smith I’ve ever met.” He picks up the little toy - a dragon that flaps its wings and opens its mouth in a soundless roar - and winds it up a little, showing off the movements of the tiny gears. Poe leans over with an awed expression.
“I have never seen anything like this,” he says after a moment, stroking a finger gently down the shining scales of the tiny iron dragon. “What astonishing work! Does she take commissions?”
Finn chuckles. This, right here, is why they usually keep Rey’s toys on display for a week or so before the commissioner comes in to pick them up. “She does,” he says, “though I warn you they’re not cheap.”
“For something like this, I should hope not!” Poe says, grinning. “I will have to think about what I would like. This is marvelous, but for me - hm. Does she do birds?”
“She can, and has,” Finn tells him.
“A falcon, just this size,” Poe says. “That can spread its wings and open its beak and maybe even ruffle its feathers. That would be -” he trails off, gesturing expressively. “How much for that?”
Finn names a price. It’s fair, he knows - he and Rey are scrupulous about that. Poe doesn’t even bother trying to haggle. “Done,” he says. “I’ll bring the money - hm - not tomorrow, I have business that will not wait, but the day after?”
Finn nods. “Rey won’t start work until we’ve received half the fee,” he warns Poe.
“Very sensible of her,” Poe approves. “So. The day after tomorrow. And - could I take you to lunch, that day? Call it a thank-you for saving my life.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Finn objects.
Poe’s smile widens, and he reaches across the counter to put his hand gently on top of Finn’s. “Then call it a date?”
Finn can feel his face go hot, but he nods. “I - I could be free for lunch,” he allows.
“Marvelous,” Poe says, beaming. “Until then!” He bows, a little flamboyantly, and Finn laughs and shoos him out of the shop with a wide smile on his face. Poe is sort of ridiculous and kind of adorable, and Finn thinks a lunch date will be - pleasant. Possibly very pleasant indeed.
Poe shows up, beaming, just before Finn would have closed the shop for lunch two days later. He pays for half the price of the bird without hesitation, and seems utterly delighted with the sketch he gets in return, of Rey’s conception of the finished product. “I know a simply delightful inn not too far away,” he tells Finn as he rolls the sketch up and tucks it carefully into a beltpouch. “If you’ve no other preference?”
“None,” Finn tells him honestly, and pokes his head into the smithy to tell Rey he’s going out. She beams at him, teeth white against the soot-smudges on her skin.
“Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! And tell me if I need to break his kneecaps.”
“I can do my own kneecap-breaking,” Finn tells her reproachfully.
Rey laughs. “Well, yes, but I’d like to help.”
Finn laughs with her, and leaves her to her work. Poe gives him a slightly dubious expression, but he offers his arm like Finn’s a highborn lady, and Finn takes it with a chuckle. “How worried should I be about the safety of my knees?” Poe inquires.
“Not terribly,” Finn assures him. “Rey’s bark is worse than her bite.” He considers that, then says, “Actually, I tell a lie, her bite is far worse, but she only hurts people who really have it coming.”
“I’m very reassured,” Poe says dryly. “Here’s the inn - I booked us a private room.”
“Oh, that’s - that’s very kind of you,” Finn says, slightly bemused. A private dining room at what Finn knows is a very good inn, during lunch hours, is not cheap. And Poe bought one of Rey’s toys like the price was nothing to worry about. He may dress like a moderately prosperous craftsman, but he’s clearly a lot wealthier than that.
The innkeeper ushers them into a tiny private room and bustles off to bring them drinks, and Poe rests his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand and gives Finn a rather silly smile. “So your - sister? - makes beautiful daggers and really astonishing mechanical things,” he says. “What do you do, other than saving strangers from disaster?”
Finn laughs. “My oathsister,” he says, “sadly not blood-kin, though I’d be proud to share her lineage.” Poe nods understanding. “And I whittle, when I’m not tending the shop or making dinner.” He tugs his necklace out from under his shirt, a pendant that he made and then liked too much to sell, and holds it out for Poe to see. Poe takes it delicately and examines it. It’s a looping swirl of polished wood, dark with the oil Finn used to polish it, smooth as silk, and sort of hypnotic if you look at it too long; Finn’s quite proud of it.
“This is not ‘whittling,’” Poe says after a moment. “You are as much a master carver as your oathsister is a master smith, and I have not seen work so fine as hers in - possibly ever.” He looks up to smile at Finn. “This is gorgeous.” He hands it back carefully.
Finn tucks the pendant back under his shirt. “It’s a very soothing pastime,” he says. “And since I use one of Rey’s knives to do it, it’s sort of advertising, too.”
Poe’s appreciative chuckle sends very pleasant shivers down Finn’s spine.
The rest of lunch is equally pleasant. The food is good, the service unobtrusive, and Poe’s conversation charming and funny and delightful. Finn finds himself smiling broadly enough that his cheeks hurt. And when they’ve finished, Poe walks him back to his shop and bows over his hand like a courtier, making Finn laugh again.
“May I see you again?” Poe asks.
“You’ll sort of have to, when your bird is done,” Finn points out. Poe pouts melodramatically, and Finn smiles. “But if you’d like to see me before then, I’d be - I’d be very happy.”
“Really?” Poe asks, seemingly delighted. There’s an adorable flush high on his cheeks.
“Yes, really,” Finn says, and can’t quite help raising one hand to brush his fingers over that pink stain. “I enjoyed this. I’d like to see you again.”
“Oh,” Poe says, grinning sort of sillily. “Oh, that’s - that’s good. I’ve got business I can’t get away from for a little while, but - same time next week? Would that be alright?”
“I will look forward to it,” Finn assures him. “Let me pick the inn?”
Poe nods eagerly, then frowns a little. “Someplace with private rooms, please?” he asks. “I’ll pay for the room, it’s just - um.”
“If that’s important to you, then sure,” Finn agrees. “I can think of a few places off the top of my head that have very nice private rooms.”
“Thank you,” Poe says, apparently quite relieved, and reaches out to touch Finn’s cheek, a mirror of Finn’s own gesture. “I’ll see you next week, then?”
“I’ll count the days,” Finn promises, and Poe goes pink again.
Finn takes Poe to his favorite inn, and they share an enormous bowl of the innkeeper’s marvelous rabbit stew, and Poe makes little indecent noises in the back of his throat at the taste.
Poe takes Finn to one of the royal parks, and they sit on a hill and eat bread so fresh it’s still steaming and creamy cheese that melts onto it beautifully, and drink a very good red wine, and laugh at the antics of the small children playing on the grass.
Finn brings Poe to his favorite spot just outside the city walls, next to the river that flows down into the city, and they sit there beneath a weeping willow with their bare feet dangling in the water and watch the boats go by.
They talk about everything and nothing - about history and the war and carving and Poe’s daughter, who he dotes upon, and their favorite foods and the way the first snow of winter still makes both of them feel young and giddy every year.
Finn thinks - Finn thinks he might be falling in love. He’s been working on a pendant, since their second date, that he thinks Poe will like - an elegant swoop of wood that reminds him of the way Poe’s hair falls over his forehead when he takes his ridiculous floppy hat off. Finn thinks he’ll give the pendant to Poe when he finally gets up the courage to confess his feelings, which - should be soon, actually. Finn’s pretty sure Poe feels the same way about him.
And then the metal bird is done, and Rey declares that she wants to meet the man who has stolen her oathbrother’s heart when he comes to get his toy.
“Rey wants to show you the bird herself,” Finn tells Poe, and ushers the other man back behind the counter. “She’s very proud of it - says it’s some of her best work.”
“Then it will be spectacular,” Poe says eagerly. Finn opens the door to the smithy. Rey, with a fine sense of the dramatic, has set the metal bird up on a perch near the hearth, so that its shining wings catch the light of the fire and seem to glow, and Poe lets out an astonished breath and crosses the room in a few swift strides, bending over the bird to examine it. His floppy hat gets in the way, and he sweeps it off impatiently.
Rey claps a hand over her mouth.
Finn blinks at her, then leans over. “Is everything alright?” he murmurs, not wanting to distract Poe from his delighted contemplation of the metal falcon.
“Finn,” she hisses. “Finn, that’s the Emperor.”
“What?” Finn says, baffled. Poe looks up from the bird and blinks at both of them, face cast into silhouette by the flickering fire.
His profile is unmistakable.
“Fucking hell,” says Finn, who still swears like a soldier when he’s not thinking about it.
“...Your Imperial Majesty,” Rey adds, sounding a little stunned.
Poe winces. “Damn,” he says mildly. “I was planning to tell you that later.”
“What,” Finn says blankly. “What were you doing getting beaten up in an alley? You’re - you have bodyguards! I met some of them! Oh, gods, they were here to make sure I wasn’t some sort of assassin, weren’t they?”
“Finn,” Poe says, stepping forward and reaching out a hand, then stopping when Finn flinches. “Finn, it wasn’t - well, it was a little like that -” he gulps, all his usual eloquence gone, and adds, “I was going to tell you, but - I liked that you didn’t know who I was - I thought maybe if you did you’d change your mind.”
Finn takes a deep breath, takes comfort in the warmth of Rey’s slender form beside him. He bows as deeply and formally as he can. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he says quietly. “May I have permission to depart?”
Poe’s face falls. If Finn were any less devastated already, he’d be heartbroken at the expression of resigned despair on Poe’s lovely face. But Poe says, “Yes, you may,” and Finn goes - out through the shop and up the stairs and into his tiny bedroom, closing the door carefully behind himself and then slumping down against it, sliding to the floor and putting his face in his hands. The Emperor. Finn has fallen deeply and irrevocably in love with the Emperor. Finn almost gave the Emperor a little wooden pendant and asked him for his hand. Fucking shitting hell.
From downstairs he can hear, faintly, Rey shouting. And then the shouting stops, and the familiar banging of Rey’s hammer begins, and Finn sits there and tries not to think about anything at all.
A day goes by. Finn goes to the market and cooks and tidies and spars with Rey and sells three very nice daggers and cuts himself twice trying to whittle.
Another day, and Finn hears their neighbors chattering about how depressed His Imperial Majesty looked during the Royal Procession, and stops up his ears with wax until Rey comes and finds him and sighs at him dramatically.
On the third day, the two Royal Guards show up. Finn has a very bad moment of panic when they walk in the door, but the woman holds up her hands in the universal gesture of we-come-in-peace and says, “Hey, don’t worry. We’re not here to make any trouble for you, okay?”
“Himself just wanted us to come make sure you were alright,” the man agrees, nodding. “And we knew where your shop was, so we wouldn’t have to ask around. That’s all.”
Finn takes a few deep breaths and nods. “I’m - doing well, thank you for asking,” he says at last, stiffly. “And P - His Majesty?”
The Guards exchange an odd look. “He’s...kind of sad,” the woman says at last. “And - you don’t have to tell us anything, I mean, you don’t know us from the back end of a mule, but - why?”
She looks so damn plaintive. The man - a big bearded fellow - rubs a hand along the back of his neck and gives Finn surprisingly good pleading eyes.
Finn says, “I’m an orphan ex-soldier with no lineage and no wealth, and he needs to marry some - some princess or other, to bear him children and cement an alliance. Someone who knows how to deal with the court, and nobles, and everything. I don’t. I - I’m just Finn. I want to sell Rey’s daggers and go to market in the mornings and not worry about politics and court intrigue and all that - stuff.” He shrugs.
“Ah,” says the woman. “Well. That’s depressingly logical.” She sighs, and holds out a hand. “I’m Jess, by the way, and this is Snap. We’ll probably be dropping by every few days so we can tell Himself that you’re still, you know, alive and eating and looking alright.”
“Honored to meet you,” Finn says, taking her hand, because he can’t really say he’s pleased, not when every time he looks at them he’s going to think of Poe.
“Likewise,” Jess says. Snap pats Finn heavily on the shoulder.
When they leave, Finn puts his head in his hands and sighs. The worst bit of this, really, is that Finn would have proposed, given only a little more time, to Poe no-last-name-given, charming sweetheart of a man. But Apollinarius Dameron the Third, Emperor of the Eastern Lands...that is a different kettle of fish entirely.
“Himself wants to know how you are,” Snap says, leaning against the counter and running a finger over the carved hilt of one of the daggers on display.
“I am well, thank you,” Finn says. It’s mostly true. He’s healthy, he’s eating, he’s selling daggers and he’s managed to whittle three little toys for the neighborhood children without cutting himself. “And you?”
“Oh, well enough,” Snap says, shrugging. “‘Cept for having to watch Himself gloom about. ‘S not natural, Himself being gloomy. He’s quite cheerful as a general rule.”
Finn takes a deep breath. “I...hope he feels happier soon.”
“So do I,” Snap agrees. He pauses, then adds delicately, “He gave me a message for you.”
Finn rubs a hand over his face. “Go on.”
“He asked me to say,” and Snap’s words take on the lilting cadence of a memorized message, “‘Crown Princess Beitris Berengaria is my heir, and I desire no other; I think that she would like you, if you met. And you are the partner I desire, not any of the few princes and princesses of the west. Will you reconsider? Please?’”
Finn flinches. “Tell him that I know perfectly well that personal desire is not enough, for an Emperor,” he says harshly. “And I do not want to deal with the court and its politics. I am an ex-soldier and a craftsman, and nothing more.” He sighs at the dejected expression on Snap’s face. “I know that’s not the answer he wants, but it’s what I have,” he says softly.
“For what it’s worth,” Snap says, “you’re probably right. Court’s a snake-pit. I’m always glad I’m just a bodyguard, and nobody cares enough to bother me.” He pauses, then adds, “But Himself does love you, so far as we can tell, anyway. He’d keep the snakes away.”
“Yes, and work himself to the bone doing it,” Finn says. “I can’t put that on his shoulders.”
“Ah,” says Snap, and shakes his head, and turns the subject to a dagger in an interesting curved style which Rey has been experimenting with.
“I come bearing gifts!” Jess announces, shouldering the door open. Finn hurries out from behind the counter to hold it for her as she struggles with the bulky package in her arms.
“What on earth?” Finn asks. She plops the package down on the counter.
“Himself said he thought you might like a new winter cloak. And a few other things. And a matching set for your oathsister.”
“I don’t need his bribes,” Finn says, a little more coldly than he really meant to. Jess shakes her head.
“They’re not bribes,” she tells him. “Himself likes giving gifts. But - yeah, he’s probably hoping if he can prove he knows what you like, and that he can provide for you, you’ll want him back.” She unwraps the parcel, revealing a cloak in Finn’s favorite shade of royal blue, thick and soft as a cloud. Finn can’t help reaching out to run a hand over the plush fabric.
“It isn’t that I don’t want him,” he says quietly. “It’s the throne and everything that goes with it.”
“You may be the only man in the empire who doesn’t want the throne,” Jess says, with some amusement.
“Then I’m the sanest man in it,” Finn retorts. “I’ve met imperial courtiers. The ones that aren’t actively malevolent are still so ambitious they’d sell their own mothers for a chance to move up a single rank in the court’s estimation. I had rather starve in a ditch - which, I should note, I have done - than deal with that sort of poison on a daily basis.”
“I really wish you were wrong,” Jess sighs. “But - you’ll take the gifts? Or must I tell Himself bad news?”
Finn looks down at the cloak beneath his hand, the deep crimson red of the matching one for Rey, and sighs deeply. He really should tell Jess to take the cloaks away, but - he can imagine the devastated expression on Poe’s face if he finds out Finn has rejected his gift, and he can’t bear the thought of causing Poe such pain. “Tell him - tell him I thank him, and they’re lovely,” he says wearily. “Rey will love hers. And I will love mine. But ask him not to do this again, please.”
“Alright,” Jess says, and claps him on the shoulder before she leaves.
The cloak is the warmest and most comfortable thing Finn has ever owned.
“Finn,” Rey says softly, as they sit watching the fire burn to embers one evening, “I know you have reasons - damned good reasons - for not wanting to marry the Emperor. But you’re miserable, and Poe’s miserable, and it’s not getting better. You can’t fool me, you know: you’re putting a good face on it, but I can see how much it hurts you not to see him any more. I know being at court would be godawful - but wouldn’t it be better, at least, for you two to be miserable together?”
Finn laughs, but it’s a harsh, hurting sound. “It’s not just that snake-pit they call an imperial court,” he says. “It’s - me, the Emperor’s Consort. It doesn’t fit. I’m common as dirt. I never even made officer, for the gods’ sake.”
“That’s because you got your back cut near in half before they could promote you,” Rey objects. “Don’t sell yourself short.”
Finn shrugs. “Nevertheless. I was born in the gutter and never knew my parents, and he can trace his lineage three hundred years and more. I don’t belong in his world, Rey. And I - I can’t be his shield. I’d just be a chink in his armor.”
“Maybe you don’t belong in his world,” Rey says, grimacing. “But you belong with him, and I think you know it. You were so happy while you were courting him, Finn. You glowed with it. And now you’re fucking miserable and I hate it, and I’d go break his kneecaps, Emperor or not, if I thought it’d help. But it wouldn’t, so I won’t. And as for being his shield - well, if he needed someone to be his shield, he’d be courting them, not you.”
“Good,” Finn says, managing a weak smile. “I’d really be miserable if I had to come visit you in prison. And as miserable as I am - and yes, alright, I admit it, I’m fucking sick with it - I still don’t want him hurt, now or ever. Even if he doesn’t think he needs a shield, I know I’d do him harm, just by - just by being there.”
“You’re a good man, Finn,” Rey says quietly, reaching over to put a hand atop his. “And I know you don’t want to hear it, brother of mine, but Poe could search the world over and never find another man as worthy of his heart as you are.”
Finn sighs, but he turns his hand over and laces their fingers together, and they sit in silence till the fire is burnt to glowing coals.
Finn thinks about Rey’s words in the weeks that follow. Does Poe need a shield, someone to stand between him and the vipers of the court? Because if he does, then Finn is not the proper mate for him, now or ever. Finn can’t be that. He’s had enough of being stabbed in the back for one lifetime. But if that was what Poe needed, presumably he wouldn’t have started courting Finn in the first place.
Finn is whittling when it suddenly occurs to him that what Poe needs might not be a shield at all, but a sanctuary, someone who is not and never will be part of the court’s endless intrigues. And that - oh. Finn could be that for him.
Does he dare?
Finn is still mulling this over when the news sweeps the city: Prince Kylo Ren of Alderaan is here to pay court to the Emperor. Alderaan is the largest kingdom on the borders of the Empire; a union between the two polities would give the Empire half a dozen new seaports and the assistance of the best navy in the world. It would be a good match.
But Finn has met Prince Kylo Ren, years ago, when Finn was a nameless soldier in the ranks of the Empire’s army and Prince Kylo Ren was his enemy - when Prince Kylo Ren gave his surrender and Finn turned his back, thinking that surely a prince could be trusted to keep his word - when Prince Kylo Ren carved a slice out of Finn’s back that nearly slew him.
He stands there at the counter of his shop with his knuckles white as he clutches the hilt of his carving knife, and remembers dark hair and dark eyes nowhere near so kind as Poe’s, and a sneering face, and the blazing pain of a knife in his back. “No,” he says aloud, and Jess, who brought the news, blinks at him. “No - no,” Finn says again. “He’ll kill Poe, he’s - he’s a traitor and a coward - no. Poe can’t.”
“It’s a good match,” Jess says, clearly confused. “Half Himself’s counselors are pushing it, and the other half are just waiting long enough to seem like they really thought the matter through.”
Finn has a sudden, blazing mental image of Poe marrying Kylo Ren, of the Alderaanian prince waiting until their wedding night, of poison in the wine or a knife in Poe’s back or -
“No,” he says again, and drops the carving knife, and leaves the shop at a dead run.
Finn never goes to the Royal Procession, but he knows its route - knows where it ends, beside the river outside the city walls, where the Emperor pauses to survey the green lands stretching out to the horizon, the vast fields and forests which are his to rule. Poe and Finn had a date near there, months ago, sitting with their feet in the stream and laughing at the antics of the ducks dabbling in the water.
Finn reaches the streambank just ahead of the Royal Procession - he can hear the cheers of the crowd as the Emperor passes by - and stumbles to a stop, hands on his knees and panting. He may be in pretty good shape, but running halfway across the city is still tiring.
He’s mostly caught his breath by the time the gates open and the Emperor comes riding out on his black stallion, his guards arrayed around him. Snap actually sees Finn first, and it’s his startled, abortive movement which draws the Emperor’s eye. Finn gulps and stands his ground as the Emperor gapes blankly down at him, reins loose on his horse’s neck; and the stallion, well-trained but still curious, crosses the ground between them in a few easy strides and nudges its nose into the center of Finn’s chest. Finn reaches up absently to stroke its silky ears, eyes still locked on the Emperor’s.
“Finn,” Poe says at last. It’s jarring, actually, to hear Poe’s voice from the Emperor, this man arrayed in silks and velvets, sitting on his tall stallion with his guards arrayed around him. But it is Poe’s voice, and Poe’s dark eyes, and Finn tries hard not to look at the trappings of the Emperor’s majesty and focus only on the man within them - the man he loves.
“Poe,” he says, softly, and takes a deep breath. He’s not eloquent the way Poe is, nor charmingly and happily blunt the way Rey is - but this is important, and he needs to get it right. “Poe,” he says, “I love you. If you’ll still have me, I’ll marry you, and if I can’t shield you from the court I’ll be your sanctuary away from it. But if you - if you don’t want me anymore, I’ll go. Only don’t marry Kylo Ren. Please. I could not bear to see him do you harm.”
Poe stares for a long, long moment, and Finn’s breath catches in his chest - it feels like if he breathes out he’ll break the strange balance between them, shatter the moment and ruin everything. And then Poe swings down gracelessly from his tall horse, who looks back at him in surprise, and comes stumbling forward into Finn’s open arms.
“If I don’t want you anymore,” he gasps into the side of Finn’s neck. “Not want you? That would be as simple as not wanting my next breath, you beautiful idiot.” He pulls away far enough to look Finn in the eye; in his riding boots, he’s just a hair taller than Finn in his simple houseboots. “I will never cease to want you,” Poe tells him firmly.
“I couldn’t make myself stop wanting you,” Finn confesses. “And - I’m going to be very bad at being an emperor’s consort, you realize. I am a commoner, and I don’t understand the court. But Rey was right: I’d rather be confused and unhappy about that, and have you, than be downright miserable about not having you, and knowing you’re facing it alone. So. Um. Yes.” He fumbles a bit pulling the wooden pendant out of his pocket, and holds it out. “I - made this for you, when I was planning to propose to Poe-the-wealthy-merchant,” Finn says quietly. “It’s not fancy enough for the Emperor Apollinarius, I know -”
Poe cuts him off with a brief, searing kiss. “It is beautiful,” he says, and takes the pendant reverently from Finn’s hand, looping the leather thong about his neck. The pendant nestles at the base of Poe’s throat just as Finn meant it to, looking - absolutely perfect, actually. Poe puts a hand over it, smiling like the sunrise.
“Marry me,” he says to Finn. “Be my consort. Stay with me. Please.”
“Yes,” Finn says, and when Poe kisses him, it feels like coming home.
That's all for this one! I'll have something else Saturday and Monday, and then hopefully another longer fic starting next Tuesday.