#saintknights

she promised him mere minutes ago that she would try and get some sleep. a long day of meetings and queenly appearances leaves her fatigued, a sparkly mess of limbs cuddled as close to him as possible. glimmer knows she's kept him up long enough with idle chatter . . . but her mind can't keep itself from racing. or her mouth from moving, apparently. ❛   —   okay, wait, one more thing, ❜ she rolls over onto her stomach, arm propped against bow's chest so she can get a good look at his face. ❛   — and then we can actually go to sleep, i promise.  ❜

earlier today, a young girl had pushed herself through a crowd to stand at her beloved queen's side. with a dreamy look in her eyes, she gazed up at glimmer and asked when she and bow were going to get married. and that was enough to send her into a small, totally not all - consuming spiral that she definitely hasn't been waiting to bring up all day.

now, there is a ring on her finger. not the kind given in alderaanian custom, braided with crystal from the caves beneath her mother’s mountains, but a thin circlet of pure gold, engraved with a dialect no protocol droid could translate. he had not proposed. he had declared it. she had argued, of course. yelled, paced, demanded time. he had waited, eyes like ice forged in storm, until she returned, and said yes. would she ever had said anything different?

not because he was beautiful (though he is, terrifyingly so). not because he saved her. but because — for the first time since the empire died, since luke had whispered he needed to go — leia had been chosen without hesitation. it almost felt like home again. he looks at her as if he knows she will never bow. and still, he wants her. the palace is always quiet. no droids. no echo of tactical briefings or rebel boots. just the wind in the trees, the distant roar of a beast slain in the forest, and sometimes, only sometimes, the brush of his sleeve beside her own as they walk. ❝ you avoid me, ❞ she tells him, hands taking his. ❝ only in council have i truly heard your voice. what is it you fear? ❞

[ he is not hers. not yet. not really. but he is something like a mirror. something sharp enough to cut through the lie of peace she’s worn for too long. ] & so she stays. and the stars, for now, stay quiet too.

“ even gods fade, if the telling is soft enough. ” hilda has long since lost her trust and belief in the gods. they were the ones responsible for the destruction of her lands, a natural catastrophe, the sages would say. nothing they can do to prevent it, just accept the fate the gods have bestowed upon them. nothing and no one in this mortal world could stand a chance against their powers. a funny thing to say to a nonbeliever. where were those sages and clerics now? were they burning in the deepest depths of hell, waiting for their gods to save them, or had they accepted the fate their gods had bestowed upon them? “ what i have done, i have done for my people, not to be presented as a god to them. gods mean nothing when forgotten. ”

the worst of what lingers after the war always has something to do with horde prime. the months she spent on his ship felt like centuries, and glimmer fears it will take twice as long to move past it. even now, the palace hallway she's standing in grows just a little too long, becomes just a little too cavernous. her mother's grand mural melts away, and she feels herself transported back to that wretched, sterile place.

his hand, so often sat upon her shoulder, makes her jump. a beam of light simmers behind her closed fist. her gut tells her its a horde clone come to drag her back to her cell . . . but every other part of her body knows damn well it's bow. glimmer deflates, shoulders sagging, and lets out a deep breath.

❛   — sorry. i didn't even hear you coming.   ❜ he's giving her that look ! that i'm worried about you look she both loves and hates so much. ❛   i'm fine ! really.   ❜

stars, trying to lie to him about stuff like this is such a waste of time. glimmer relents, knowing she doesn't have to be a picture - perfect queen when it's just the two of them. sparkle - dusted cheek comes to rest upon his shoulder, her eyes returning to the artwork of her mother watching them.