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Chapter Text

Jyn Erso was, by every definition, a fortunate woman. Through some extremely divine (but otherwise discriminate) luck, she was, on the first spring day of 1793, born into instant prosperity. Fathered by Mr. Galen Erso, who owned a considerable portion of land within Endor Village, and sired by Mrs. Lyra Erso, whose connections from having been the firstborn into an earldom, had elevated the family to a kind of reverence, even by those more powerful of their peers like the Baron Orson Krennic.

But what material and social fortune her parents had been blessed with in bounty, they did not lack in virtue. Much of the respect they had gained, while creditable to their position within society, was also, in large, due to their character, with Mr. Erso often deemed gentle, yet strong, and Mrs. Erso tenacious in spirit, sharp in wit.

There was a cosmic rarity in such favorable circumstances of birth, that it had, in consequence, produced the equally rare phenomenon of Jyn’s upbringing. With the comfort of her wealth and connections, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Erso’s rather liberal approach to parenting, Jyn grew up having gained knowledge, having thought up ideas, and having pursued endeavors well beyond those expected of her sex, and with little to no opposition from anybody who had power to give it.

By the encouragement of her patrons, Jyn learned of arts, sciences, and literature, using knowledge she’d gained from reading to perceive a view of the world past her home, Vallt Park. All this education had elevated her intellect to superiority, which, depending on who was asked, was either her boon or her bane.

The matter of Jyn’s upbringing had been for some time a subject of contentious debate among those who lived in Endor Village. A position of support, and even the admiration of its effects on Jyn, was taken up by the Ersos’ long-time family friend and neighbor, Mr. Bodhi Rook, and Mr. Chirrut Imwe and Mr. Baze Malbus, the seminaries of the nearby Jedha Boarding School.

There were, on the other hand, the likes of Sir Krennic, who viewed the situation with a total disinclination—though a furtive one at that, for with the preservation of his baronetcy in mind, he aimed to maintain an amicable relationship with a family of such social status. This did not deprive him, however, of the private belief that such upbringing was the very reason why Miss Erso had still taken no one’s hand in marriage at the “too ripe age of six-and-twenty”. 

This belief, however, was something his son, Mr. Philip Krennic, did not share with him. His heir absolutely saw no fault in the young maiden.

As for Jyn herself, she saw her own lack of a matrimonial half as certainly caused by the same reason, except, perhaps, with the distinction that she did not view it with any regret. No, Jyn did not want to be married, if it at all meant she would have to forever withdraw the freedom that had allowed her her education and enlightenment. In service of this pursuit, she had been able to put off her so-called prospects with a seven year streak of success, roughly the same amount of time that had passed since she had come out to society.

The plan was foolproof: she would go on rejecting every suitor and proposal until she finally crossed the threshold of being unwanted in the eyes of men. Perhaps this was the only advantage of the opposite sex’s mileage for desirability being so within a short age span; at twenty-six, Jyn did not have to wait long anymore until her social capital had expired. 

She understood, of course, what the consequences of being a maiden would be to women like her once they turned old. But she held firm in the belief that it was, by miles, a much better predicament to find herself in, than to become someone’s wife, to become the mistress to the affairs of his house, and to become the mother to his children. 

Besides, yet one of the many more fortunes of Jyn’s circumstances was that she had a fortune—a rather large one at that—secured for her by her father in a settlement, despite her not being a male heir. The amount, she had been told, would be enough to sustain not only a comfortable living, but even the pleasure of her endeavors.

What reason, what sense, would ever compel her to marry now? 

There was no doubt to anyone then, that Jyn Erso was, indeed, a fortunate woman. But while one may regard her luck as her greatest asset, it would soon prove to be, in its absence, the source of a great tribulation.

Much of the success of her plan depended on wealth being secured in her possession, and yet, with this morning’s news, all of it was about to slip her grasp.

“We are losing money.”

The words rang stale through the crisp morning air. Jyn looked up from her plate to direct her gaze towards her father at the head of the table, hoping that he’d either misspoken, or that she’d misheard. 

“What did you say, Papa?” she asked. 

Mr. Erso rested his elbows by the edge of the table, then loosely laced his hands together. A lock of grays broke away from his head of hair down to his forehead, which wrinkled down to a frown. “We are losing money,” he repeated grimly.

Jyn set down her knife and fork quietly onto the mat. She still was not convinced. “What happened?”  

Mrs. Erso, who sat across from Jyn, reached out a hand towards her husband’s arm and gripped it lightly. Mr. Erso placed his hand over hers to return the affection.

“Our farms,” he explained, “have not produced the same quality and amount of crop for the last two years.”

Jyn momentarily paused to reflect. “Do we know why?” 

“It is a problem we are yet to identify.”

“Well then, we must figure it out, do we not?”

“We will,” Mr. Erso replied, “but we are going to need money to be able to do that, and then some more to improve the farms, the moment we discover the issue.” 

Jyn had heard stories about estates losing their money all the time, and knew, to some degree, what was usually done to remedy such situations. “Does this mean we are to retrench?” she asked.

Mr. Erso shook his head. “We could do it, but it would unfortunately not be enough,” he answered. “There is already not much we can cut back on.”

“Then what do you plan to do? What are we to do?” 

“There are other options, which we have carefully considered.”

“Yes?”

“We think there is one thing in particular that could be done.”

“What is it?”

Mr. Erso took a deep breath to gather his wits. “We need to sell Lah’mu.”

Shock surfaced to Jyn’s fresh countenance. “Sell Lah’mu?”

In the same stories she’d heard, resorting to selling one’s property, or in this case, a considerable portion of their estate, was an indication of serious financial loss. And though this alone was good enough reason to alarm her, yet another stoked it much greater:

Jyn was beginning to understand that she did not know quite yet the extent of their current predicament, and she was terrified of what she would find out when she finally did. 

“Has our situation become so severe?” she asked.

Mr. Erso sighed, heavy and deep. “Unfortunately so. I had hoped that the issue would be a momentary lapse, but we have already given out more than we’re taking in with maintaining the farms. This has gone on longer than I’d hoped, and now I’m afraid we have no other choice.”

“But is there not something else we can do?” Jyn offered, then spent a moment to think. “Perhaps we could just lease it instead of selling it, or we could—”

“Jyn,” Mrs. Erso interjected, each word ripe with care but also a firmness, “we have considered all the options. Upon long and arduous thought, and with the counsel of Mr. Longhorn, we have decided that this is the best course of action we can take.”

“But Lah’mu Hall, Mama,” Jyn contended, hoping that invoking her childhood home's name alone would be enough to deter the decision. 

“We are going to lose it, yes,” Mrs. Erso answered with sympathy, “but with the money, we may be able to save our farms. You would support that, would you not?”

Jyn somehow felt slighted by all this; it would seem that her parents, in opening up this conversation, did not enter it with the intent to seek her advice; they were merely telling her what had already been decided. The only approbation she could give now was limited to the manner in which she could give it; she could only take the fact either with grace, or without.

Mr. Erso, observing her daughter’s quiet objections, spoke, “I understand, dearest, that the house means a lot to you—it means a lot to your mother and I, and I regret to part with it, but she is right. Please understand.”

For a few seconds the party sat silent. Jyn searched her parents’ faces in dreadful reflection. Lah’mu Hall, the place where her grandparents had lived, where her early life had taken fruit. All of it, gone! It was a most unfortunate loss, one she had imagined would severely injure the family in ways other than financial. And all the worse, it seemed like she could not do anything about it.

Yet for all the regret that currently took her heart, she felt her tensing gaze soften as she took sight of her parents, their expressions taking upon a somber quality, one graver than she had been privy to witness in the past. She came to the sensible conclusion that they would never really, if given the choice, agree to such an arrangement unless a direness of situation called for it. 

Upon thinking this, Jyn began to view the decision differently, with the warmth of someone who strongly did not approve, could be as capable of giving.

“Of course, Papa,” Jyn finally acceded. “I understand.”

Her father nodded in relief. “Thank you, Jyn.”

“At the very least,” she offered, “I am confident in Sir Donwell’s being a fit landowner and master of the house.”

Mr. Erso raised a brow. “Sir Donwell?”

The confused looks Jyn’s parents gave her confounded her in return. Warily she said, “Has he not shown consistent interest in the property for the past few months? I assume you are to sell the land to him.”

Mr. Erso shook his head. “Oh, not quite. We had initially considered him, yes, but it would turn out that his offer was hardly sufficient to the amount we are selling it for.”

“So who is to buy it? Sir Krennic? Mr. Rook?”

Mr. Erso shared a look with his wife before answering, “Well, after some inquiries, we have found someone.”

Jyn leaned forward in anticipation. “Who?”

“A Mr. Cassian Andor,” answered her father.

Jyn’s brows furrowed together. The provision of a name hardly gave clarity to her bewilderment. In fact, it seemed to inflame in her a new state of disbelief; she felt a rising vexation at the idea of a stranger owning the house that had been so dear to her. 

Again she said, “Who?”

“He is a solicitor from Fest,” replied Mr. Erso. “He worked with Mr. Rook once to settle a matter with regards to his horses.” 

On a regular occasion, any person's good association to Jyn’s friend Bodhi should be a reliable commendation of their character, but it was altogether still inadequate in alleviating her doubts of him. She could not so easily approve of him, especially when she considered him in the capacity of taking Lah’mu from her family, and of being her very close neighbor, if he proved to be dislikable.

She found herself giving his character what was perhaps undue judgment. 

“A solicitor,” she said, unimpressed. 

“I admit,” Mr. Erso said, “it baffled me at first that a man of such occupation could even afford such a purchase, but tides have also begun to change in recent years. Even men who work can make enough money these days. He has offered a large sum, more than enough for what we are hoping to do for the farms, and with some to spare for the matters of this house.”

So he was rich, Jyn thought. It didn’t faze her regard for him in the slightest. A man could have all the wealth of the world, but it did not signify his worth for anything.

So she asked, “And what of him? What of his character? Does he have the disposition required to be a master of Lah’mu?” 

Mr. Erso seemed slightly taken aback by her rapid inquiries. “Mr. Rook vouched for his abilities, and it was actually upon this good recommendation that we felt confident in pursuing the trade with him. And from what I have ascertained of him from our discussions so far in the previous month, he is of agreeable character. He asks the right questions, and entertains all of mine with care. He is steady but clever in his approach to negotiation. I can see why he is prosperous in his occupation. He said he has been in practice for twelve years.”

Jyn raised a brow. She doubted a man who possessed the skill of influence and persuasion—and made an entire living out of it—revealed anything about his virtue. If anything, it might reveal the lack of it, as those who did not have anything worthwhile to say, she knew from experience, would instead rely on an elegant turn of phrase.

She was about to ask further, but Mr. Erso reached out a hand to hold hers, which she did not realize until now, had been fraying at the seams of a doily. “Jyn. You need not worry yourself with him. You will meet him soon, and I have faith you will like him.” 

Jyn finally relented, though not without the effort to make her disapprobation known. As to the claim made, it was something she had yet to see for herself. And so began her anticipation for the newcomer’s arrival, a feeling characteristic of both caution and genuine curiosity. 

“When will he settle in the house?” she asked.

“We are hoping within the month, if we are quick."

The silence that followed seemed to finally signify the end of the conversation. Jyn was about ready to remove herself from the table, maybe even take the rest of the morning to muse on these new developments, when suddenly, in a grave tone that unnerved her, Mr. Erso said:

“Jyn. We have another issue we would like to discuss with you.”

All of Jyn’s breakfast seemed to instantly gather to a point just above her stomach. “What is it?”

Mr. Erso sighed. “Look, I’m not getting any younger,” he began, “and my lungs are growing weaker by the year. Though it is unfortunate, we do not know how long I have left.”

Incredulous, Jyn let out a sharp, dry chuckle. “That is ridiculous, Papa. You have many years ahead of you.”

“Yet we must think about it now,” he replied, unaffected, matter-of-factly. “In the event of my passing, I had fought to break the entail over my properties. If you would remember, I had ensured that while your distant cousin would inherit the estate, all my money would be yours to take.”

That was when the seed of suspicion had begun to grow on Jyn’s mind. Warily she responded, “Yes, I remember.”

“But,” Mr. Erso proceeded carefully, “as we have suffered significant loss, and should something occur to me now, what you will be left with may no longer be enough to sustain you.”

From that point on, Mrs. Erso took over the conversation, which seemed to now affirm Jyn’s supposition. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. 

“Jyn, dearest,” said her mother, “we know that you do not really seek to be married, and we have generally supported it because we understood that you would be secure regardless. But given our new circumstances, we might have to rethink things.” 

Jyn usually reveled in discovering her conjectures to be correct. Yet now, she found no such cause of celebration. “You are not saying what I think you are saying.” 

Mrs. Erso’s look was dead serious. “I am. Perhaps it is time, Jyn.” 

Jyn shook her head eagerly. “No, mother. No.”

“Dearest,” insisted Mrs. Erso, “it is the only way we can secure a livable future for you.”

Jyn rose from her seat. In a tone that grew more desperate she said, “I will not get married. I will not do it.”

“Jyn, please—”

“What if I can settle with what I am to receive? I do not mind receiving less. I can still not get married, don’t I?” 

“You do not understand, Jyn. You may be left with practically nothing, if it comes down to it. It will not matter anymore if you have your freedom; you might not have enough to even support your primary comforts.” 

Jyn could feel the corners of the breakfast room close in on her in rapid speed, perfectly in sync with her lungs that seemed to constrict, making her every breath shallower and shallower. 

“This—” she buried her face in her hands “ —this is too much to take in, Mama. First losing Lah’mu, now this. No, this is too much.” 

“I know,” said her mother with such gentleness that almost made Jyn believe her entire world was not currently spinning on its axis. Finally at her wits end, she stood and hurried to an open window. Outside, the fields of Vallt Park laid like a soft green cloth that had fallen upon the land, the gentle slopes of its hills like the folds of its fabric. To every sense in her body, the scenery should have been beautiful, but Jyn could only find it so unpleasant to look at.

There she stood for quite a while in silence, feeling herself caught in the moment just before the tidal wave, as though the earth beneath her was bracing itself, creating the momentum that would eventually pull the ocean in. 

Mr. Erso felt his mouth open in an attempt to offer some consolation, but no such words, at least anything that he thought would be enough for his daughter, came out. His wife, however, knew exactly what to say. She stood from her seat and walked towards Jyn. 

“Jyn.” She placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. Up close, Jyn beheld her mother’s face, observing the features that looked almost exactly like hers. She wondered if she would look just the same when she would grow to her age. 

She took both of Jyn’s hands into her own. “Jyn, I feel your anguish. Things are suddenly on the verge of change, and I can only imagine what you must be going through at this moment.”

Jyn was already turning away, ready to resist the persuasions of the incoming oration, but Mrs. Erso lightly shook her by her hand as if to tether her back. “But sometimes,” she said firmly, “we have to do what we must. We must sell Lah’mu. We must find means to survive. For you, that means marrying.”

“Mama,” Jyn pleaded, “you of all people know my feelings on the matter.”

“I do,” reassured Mrs. Erso.

“So you know that I have no desire whatsoever to marry anybody.”

“I know.”

“And, on the chance that I did, well, I had always thought that it would at least be because of love.”

Her mother nodded. “I know.”

“There is something I fundamentally seek in the ordeal of matrimony, Mama, the feeling that it is worth it, the feeling that I entered it because I wholeheartedly wanted to.” Jyn tightened her grip on her mother’s hands. “I am not feeling any of those things right now.” 

Mrs. Erso tucked a lock of hair behind Jyn’s ear. Softly she replied, “But Jyn, you say that you want freedom, too, do you not? To study, to explore — as you have the right to. To not be married affords you this, yes, but you may find it in marriage, too.”

“How?” 

“Once your children are grown, you may have more time to yourself to pursue these things.” 

Jyn suddenly pondered upon the fact of her being the only child of the family, and wondered if her birth and her childhood, for a time, had deprived her mother of the time she would’ve preferred to spend elsewhere. She met her mother’s eyes. “Mama, is this why you and father did not have any more children after me?” 

“Oh, no,” quickly supplied her mother, fully absorbing Jyn’s meaning, “I have not, for once, regretted having brought you into life, remember that.” She then chuckled lightheartedly. “No, we did not have any more children because, well, imagine if we put one more of you onto this earth. I do not think it would be able to handle it. You have already stirred this town alone.”

“I hope you mean that as a compliment.”

Mrs. Erso nodded. “I do. You are a force to be reckoned with, Jyn. You have time and time again proven that. You are smart, and you are clever.”

“Yet I’ll have nothing to show for it now, apparently.” 

“Look, I do not deny that some women in certain marriages are unhappy. But for you, you still have the option to turn this around to your advantage. It is just a matter of finding the right partner.”

Jyn frowned. “And who would that even be? I have practically injured every man in this town with my rejections to have any of them view me as a prospect again.”

Mrs. Erso pursed her lips in thought, but Jyn could tell that she had already given it much thought for quite some time now. “Well, you and Philip have known each other for a while. Though he does not say it, I think we all know of his interest in you.”

Jyn could not help but laugh dryly. “Philip, the son of Sir Krennic?”

“Come on, now. It gives him credit, as he is the eldest and therefore heir of his estate. And he is agreeable, is he not? You always engage in conversation during assemblies, and he often calls on us to see you.” 

“As a moderately warm friend,” Jyn supplied. Her mouth hung open, the right words not coming right to her. “I—I suppose Philip is agreeable, yes, but I have never viewed our friendship in such a way. You really do not expect me to marry him.” 

“But you have at least agreed to his being agreeable. These sentiments do not have to change or become more than what they are. Your amiability is more than sufficient reason to enter into a marriage with him. In fact, it is even more than what most marriages could ask for.” 

Jyn grimaced.

“I do implore you, dear,” her mother added in lieu of her silence. “If you get to know him better, you might even warm up to it.” 

“Mama,” Jyn finally said, “I know that you are giving me sound reasons to go through with marriage, but I cannot pretend that these have any power over my mortification. It does not change how I feel.”

“I know it does not. I do not expect it to.” Mrs. Erso cupped Jyn’s face in both her hands, held her close, and planted a kiss on her forehead. Quietly she said, “But remember, Jyn, there are worse fates than being married off well.”

To this, Jyn could no longer find any protestation. She could feel reluctant (if not at all opposed) as much as wanted, but she was beginning to understand that perhaps there was nothing more she could do but to accept her fate, just as much as her mother could not do anything now, but persuade her to it.

Helplessly, she watched the wick of her fantasies slowly burn out to the long overdue solicitation of the purpose, which women like her seemed to be born into, and which she could no longer, by any justification, postpone.

The reputation of Jyn Erso’s enduring luck, since this moment, had already begun to tarnish.

On a lighter note Mrs. Erso said, “The Rook ball is in a fortnight. You can use that as an opportunity to get to know Philip better.”

The thing was, Jyn was not at all opposed to the merriments of a party — dancing, in particular, was her favorite. If her bodily energy could not at all deplete, she would go up to four dances a night, if she pleased. But now, the sound of attending her good friend Bodhi’s ball with the purpose of baring herself out to a marriage prospect, had soured the possible joys it might bring—especially since she was in part, an architect of the party at his behest.

In such a brief moment in time, Jyn's world suddenly changed. Terrified, she looked to her mother. For a moment, they shared a look, and Jyn knew then, that an understanding had just passed between them.

Stiffly, she nodded. "I cannot wait."

Chapter Text

Jyn, in response to the tumultuous emotions brought about by the recent events that befell her family, had since then turned to dedicating most of her time to her studies. She thought it would be a good distraction, and not to mention an opportunity for her to finally get into botany, a subject which she had been, for a time now, nursing an enthusiasm for. 

In addition to poring through stacks of books and encyclopedias on plant species, behaviors, and, histories, she had also begun a journal for her annotations and sketches, filling the pages at a rapid speed that at the end of each day, she would have achieved filling more or less twenty pages. 

Whenever she went on her daily walks, she always made sure to stop by trees and plant bushes, collecting fresh flowers and leaves, which she would, when she got home, begin to dry and press. These easily became her favorite additions to her journal. Day in and day out, the sickly smells of various English flora would fill her bedchamber, sometimes even becoming so sickly that it gave her a headache. 

When it reached that point, she would go out riding. Though she did not always do it, she would always find herself unable to stop for respite, even during the hottest hour, and despite the aching muscles in her back and limbs signaling for rest. Vallt Park’s winds soothed her too much to resign from them, and she felt a liberating sense of space and movement in riding her mare through the fields at great speed.

These had been most of Jyn’s days, and she loved every second of them. 

The distracting effects these endeavors had on her did not last long, however, for indeed as Mr. Erso had expected, the negotiations surrounding the matter of Lah’mu Hall’s trade proceeded quickly. 

In no time, just two weeks after their discussion at breakfast, everything was settled. Their life changing was no longer an imagined future—it was becoming material, becoming real.

Jyn had just walked back from the stables when Mr. Erso, meeting her in the courtyard, gave confirmation of this final development. “All the papers have been signed,” he divulged to her as they entered the house together, arm in arm. “They should be moving in within the next few days.”

“So it’s finally happened,” Jyn remarked. “I am glad things went smoothly, Papa.” 

Mr. Erso looked down at her as though she had just told him a joke. “You are taking this surprisingly well.”

Jyn smirked. “Well, while I still mourn the loss of my childhood home, I am also now beginning to view it without such a reticence, especially since it was in exchange of a very important monetary gain for the family.”

Mr. Erso quietly mused at this statement. “And does this outlook extend to the matter of your marrying? I should hope that you are warmer now to the idea.” 

Jyn looked up at her father and gave him a teasing brow. “With you and Mama’s endless sermons on the advantages of it for the last two weeks?” 

Mr. Erso smiled, slightly embarrassed, though Jyn knew he was not really sorry for it. 

“But you would be glad to hear,” she continued, “that they are not entirely ineffective. If marrying will serve the benefit of preserving my current comforts, and more importantly the continuance of my endeavors, then I suppose I shall do it.”

Mr. Erso nodded approvingly. “That is a most welcome thing to hear from you, Jyn. I am grateful.”

“At the end of the day, I trust you and Mama's advice too much to not heed it. Which is why,” she added earnestly, “Papa, I also trust that we shall emerge through issue with the farms in victory.”

Mr. Erso did not speak for some time, reflecting on the remark. “You certainly are sanguine about the success of what we are about to do, Jyn.”

Jyn looked at him funny, as though it was obvious. “With you and Mama at the helm, I do not doubt it.”

Her father stopped in his tracks, which surprised her. Then, gently, but also more seriously, he told her, “Look, it is well and all that you should have so much faith in us. But Jyn, the fact that we are asking you to marry may be a sign that this has a possibility of not ending well.”

Frowning, Jyn asked, “Do you not think I should believe in it?”

Mr. Erso shook his head. “That is not what I’m saying.” 

“Then what are you saying, Papa?” Jyn sounded genuinely confused. 

Mr. Erso sighed. “I’m saying, sanguinity is an admirable sensibility, yes. But sometimes, it has its place. I know we have been lucky for most of our lives, Jyn, but that luck runs out even for those who have had an abundance of it.” 

To this Jyn did not know how to respond. She also felt the mild injury of having been corrected for her optimistic sentiment on their current predicament, but a part of her knew that perhaps, her father was also right. 

For a while both of them did not speak. Feeling the weight of her father’s gaze upon her, she looked wistfully ahead. They proceeded to walk in silence until they finally reached the door. 

She took a deep breath, and on a lighter note said, “Anyways, I shall miss Lah’mu Hall.”

“We all shall,” her father replied, squeezing her hand on his arm.

While her resistance to its being sold away had softened within the last fortnight, Jyn’s cautious apprehension of the property’s new owner, Cassian Andor, still stood steadfast. It alarmed her that she still did not know much about him. She conceded to her father’s judgment in choosing him, of course, but if he were to be their new neighbor, she felt her concern to be not at all unreasonable. 

After having asked the more pertinent questions on the details of the business, she finally asked, “So Papa, Mr. Andor—are we to meet him soon?” 

“Settling into the house might take a while,” he explained, “with so little crew at his disposal. He says he does not know for certain when he would call on us, but he has committed to its being done, so we are assured of it happening at some point.” 

Jyn frowned. “I see. Did he say anything else?”

Her father hummed in thought. “Nothing much of note. He’s rather frugal in conversation.” 

This Cassian Andor was giving Jyn nothing, and it was beginning to frustrate her. 

“Except,” Mr. Erso mildly exclaimed in sudden recollection, which perked Jyn to eager curiosity, “he did say that he’s looking forward to it. He says he wishes to properly meet you and your mother.”

Jyn groaned quietly. “Anyone in his position would say that, Papa. That does not say anything about him at all. Calling on us is just common courtesy, especially because we had just given him a new estate.”

Her father smiled. “But it does say something, Jyn. It tells us that he is a man who has common courtesy.” 

Jyn looked up amusingly at her father. “Shall we throw a parade for him, then?”

At that her father laughed heartily, which soon infected Jyn herself. For a short while they shared in this small joy, which she was glad for, knowing full well that ahead of him lay the risk and uncertainty of dealing with the farms. And for Jyn, there was marriage she had to prepare herself for.

“As I have already said once,” said her father after they had quieted down, “I think you will like Mr. Andor.” 

“What makes you sure of that?” Jyn asked. “And for you to say it twice, too.”

“Well, I have, for all my life, been in business with all sorts of men. Eventually I’ve honed the ability to sense their disposition even before they speak.”

“Incredibly lucky for Mr. Andor, then. For it would seem that he does not speak much at all.”

Her father laughed again. He planted a kiss on his daughter’s head before heading up the stairs. “I will see you at dinner, Jyn.”

Now alone in the hall, Jyn found herself looking out the closest window. She knew that just beyond the horizon, Lah’mu Hall stood. It would hopefully go on enduring for many years, now that it had its new master. She thought about Mr. Andor for a short while, wondering what he was like, before she ascended the stairs herself, and returned to her studies.

As the date of the Rook ball was fast approaching, Jyn finally found the self-restraint to break free from her preoccupations and go out to the modiste, where she had fitted for a new dress about a week prior, and which was now ready.

Accompanied by her chaperone, she walked the distance between Vallt Park and the town. There, shops of various trades were gathered together, and with the day already well into the middle of the morning, a thick crowd had already populated the streets, all rushing to their own businesses and affairs. 

Since she was there anyway, Jyn decided to first take a quick detour to the press shop. There she perused through the day’s pamphlets, hoping to find anything that related to her current botanical interest—but found, to her great dismay, no such paraphernalia. She would note this absence, and go on thinking about it regretfully for a while. 

She settled on purchasing a pamphlet on something somewhat adjacent, flower arranging, which did not really do much to satisfy her disappointment.

She finally stepped out, walked across the street, and turned around the next corner to head to the primary point of her errand.

The modiste’s building was a small, two-story establishment with glass windows that displayed various fashions. As she pushed on its door, the bell rang daintily, echoing damply against the shop’s walls inside. The air smelled of unwashed fabric and perfume, with mannequins donning both finished and unfinished couture standing around the room. 

She found that there was nobody there but her. “Hello?” she called out.

From behind the doorway appeared the modiste, Mrs. Finchley, a middle-aged woman with a volume of curly hair. She welcomed Jyn with a smile. “Ah, Miss Erso!” she exclaimed. “How lovely to see you. You are here to pick up your new dress finally, yes?”

“Sorry for not having claimed it sooner, Mrs. Finchley. I have been preoccupied.” 

The modiste teasingly raised a brow. “What is it this time?” 

Jyn gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Plants.”

The modiste smiled and nodded. “I see. Well, please give me a moment. I shall fetch you your dress.” She then disappeared into a backroom. 

While Jyn waited, she passed the time looking closer at the shelves of fabric rolls, feeling and rubbing the tabs of samples between her fingers. By the corner, she lightly ruffled through a display of hanging ribbons, then inspected the trays of floral ornaments she assumed were to be sewn onto hats. 

As she was checking out a rose ornament against her head in front of a small mirror, the shop’s door opened from behind her. 

It gave way to a lady about her age, perhaps just a year or two younger. In the mirror’s reflection, Jyn observed her features—dark hair, light bronze skin, and an overall pretty countenance. Her clothing looked plain, but judging from its clean tailoring and the sheen of its smooth silk, Jyn suspected it was an expensive one. She guessed the girl to be a genteel lady, at least from the poised and graceful way she carried herself.

She watched as the lady looked hesitant while going round the shop, clearly indicating that it was her first time there; whatever it was she looked for, she could not seem to find it.

Another merchant of the shop, the modiste’s assistant, appeared. “Welcome!” she said to the lady. “Are you here to fit for a dress?”

“Oh no,” the lady said, smiling, “I am only here to look for a reticule. I was wondering where you might have a collection of it?”

“Our hats and purses are in the showroom. I’d be happy to show them to you, if you would kindly follow me, Miss…”

“Andor,” the lady supplied. “Miss Andor.” 

As if lightning struck her body, Jyn suddenly tensed and quickly spun on her heel. She regarded the lady again, registering her appearance anew in light of discovering her name.

Before the lady, Miss Andor, disappeared with the modiste’s assistant into the show area, Jyn’s curiosity finally got the best of her. In a split second she made the decision to call out, “Excuse me, Miss Andor?”

The lady stopped and looked at Jyn, half confused, half curious. “Yes?”

“Forgive me,” Jyn said uncertainly, “but I overheard your name and cannot help but wonder. Are you, in any way, associated to a Mr. Cassian Andor, the solicitor who just moved into the village?”

Miss Andor, though wary, smiled kindly. “I would say I am more than associated to him, really. I am related to him; I am his younger sister, Kerri.” 

Her eyes wide, Jyn registered this revelation with fascination.

Where she had thought previously that she did not know anything about the new landowner of Lah’mu, it would seem that she had no idea how much she did not know. A sister! How come her father never mentioned a sister? Then it instantly dawned on her; come to think of it, Mr. Erso had always said “they” whenever he referred to him. Her folly, she supposed, was in assuming he only meant Mr. Andor himself and his staff.

“A sister,” she said, amazed. “I did not know he had a sister.”

“I’m sorry," replied Kerri, "but do you know my brother?”

A chuckle escaped Jyn’s mouth. “No, I do not, really. In fact I have not even met him. I’ve only heard of him from my father.”

Miss Andor shook her head in bewilderment. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Oh!” Jyn exclaimed. “Forgive me, I’m being rude. I have not introduced myself: I am Jyn Erso. My father is the landowner from whom your brother just bought the Lah’mu estate.”

Kerri’s face took an instant transformation from confused caution, to total relief and delight. “Mr. Galen Erso, yes!” Then with a look of wonder she exclaimed, “You’re Miss Erso!”

Jyn nodded. “Yes, that would be me.”

Kerri squealed. “Goodness, we finally met! I heard of you from my brother—he has mentioned you a couple of times.”

Jyn was quite taken aback as she processed this fact. “He has?”

Kerri nodded. “Yes. He was rather curious about you, too—especially because of what Mr. Erso has told him of you.”

“Is he now?” She was even more taken aback. “It would seem my reputation has preceded me. Whatever did my father say?”

“He told him of your pursuits for self-education,” Kerri answered, “which, if I may say so myself, and upon your solicitude of course, is something I personally admire.”

At that, Jyn could not resist a smile; she always welcomed any approbation to her pursuits, even though, regardless of whether it was given or not, it was something she did not need. 

“I imagine some others do not regard it as you do,” she said. “But I hope my father did not say anything else to your brother that I did not know about.”

Kerri shook her head. “No. That was all he knew of you, really.” 

Jyn could almost laugh, not at all unaware of the irony of it; it would seem that everything she knew of Cassian Andor, and everything he knew of her, were only what her father had said of both of them. But she supposed, if Cassian Andor did not know much about her, then she would be all right with not having known anything about him in return—at least not until they met. 

“Miss Erso, I cannot tell you enough how glad I am to finally meet you,” Kerri expressed. “Because you see, I don't really know anyone here, or where things are supposed to be (in fact, I had gotten a bit lost on the way here). So I have since hoped that we could get to know each other, and maybe even become friends.”

Where Jyn’s curiosities had only been previously affixed on the character of Cassian Andor, upon finding out now that he had a sister, she found herself growing just as eager to know more about her too. And because her disposition came off as undoubtedly sincere and cheerful, the only natural course for Jyn to take now was to like her. 

She smiled. “Of course. I am not one to turn down a chance of making new companions. And besides,” she added cheekily, “I am in dire want of interesting conversation.”

Kerri chuckled. “I hope to be equal to it, since I am sure you are very knowledgeable about various subjects. I confess I do not take particular interest in arithmetics and sciences, but if you are particularly predisposed to discussions of art, then I am all ears. I do love to paint. I find it soothing.”

Receiving this new information about Kerri warmly, Jyn was even more assured now of their potential friendship.

“Miss Andor,” she intoned, “that alone already makes you superior to most men I have talked to; they barely bother to scratch the surface of compliments and pleasantries. They assume we have nothing to talk about that is worthy of their male proclivities. Well, either that, or they just do not know how to converse with women. Unfortunately, it is both sometimes.”

Kerri laughed again. “Well then, perhaps, when you find the time soon, you can visit us at Lah’mu, and I can show you my paintings.”

Jyn briefly paused to reflect, slightly hesitating on the offer. “I admit it will feel strange to walk those halls now,” she said, “but I would absolutely be delighted to see your work.”

A grin formed on Kerri’s face—and then, to Jyn’s surprise, it suddenly changed to regret. “But ah,” she said dolefully, “we are still in the process of settling in, so it might not be until next week before we can welcome visitors, or call on anyone.”

Jyn nodded. “Yes, as I have heard.”

“But are you at least to attend this Friday’s ball? Mr. Rook sent us a last-minute invitation yesterday, and we thought it wise to go so we could begin our acquaintance with the village.” 

“Well then,” Jyn said, her face lighting up, “you might be glad to know that Mr. Rook himself has appointed me consultant to planning it, so I am by extension, also its host—which means that I will be there, from start to finish.”

“Now I am much more looking forward to it than I have already been!”

Kerri’s enthusiasm infused a lightness to Jyn’s spirits, but then the recollection of the ball’s importance with regards to progressing her friendship with Philip suddenly entered her mind. Her feelings took on a pensive turn, something which she concealed from her new acquaintance. 

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “I too am looking forward to it.”

It was then when Mrs. Finchley finally returned from the backroom, holding a large striped box. “Your dress, Miss Erso.” 

“Speaking of,” Jyn said, receiving the box, “here goes my dress for the occasion.” 

“Funny,” Kerri remarked, “I am here to pick a reticule as an accessory to mine.” She then straightened her frock then nodded. “I shall see you on Friday, Miss Erso.” 

Jyn nodded.

“And you shall finally meet my brother,” Kerri added when she was finally in the doorway to the showroom. “I’m rather excited, for I think you will like him very much. I know I do. Until then!”

Without much else to do, and eager to take a ride on such a fine day, Jyn finally left town to head back home. As she walked, she reflected upon her conversation with Kerri. Notwithstanding that it had revealed her pleasantness, it had also, to her surprise, produced yet another assurance of Cassian Andor’s agreeableness. 

Though Jyn still did not know him, she could not deny that there was merit to be acknowledged in having his character vouched for twice, first by her father, and now by his own relation. 

When she would meet him on Friday, perhaps a third assurance, which would now come from herself, would be the charm to manifest it true. She remained wary as one stranger would be of another, but she was less doubtful now of their acquaintance. 

Besides, she very much liked his sister; what were the chances of her brother being any different?

Chapter Text

The days passed by so gently, as though time floated along the easy winds of the spring. Friday came upon Endor Village like the quiet dawn, and before everyone knew it, the Rook ball, the first event of the season, finally commenced. 

Just as the last drop of daylight faded from the sky, Mabayar Hall received its first carriage, which transported the visiting Donwells—Sir Donwell, his wife Mrs. Donwell, and their ward, James Donwell. Soon the hundred other people that had been invited to attend followed, which included, among a few other persons of importance, the Ersos, Philip Krennic (without his father, who had to be away on an important meeting), and to the curiosity of everyone present, the Andors.

About an hour into the merriment, Jyn had been quickly pulled aside, for Bodhi’s particular want of her counsel on the matter of the chandelier. 

“I do not see what you have been worrying about, Mr. Rook,” said Jyn as they both stood by the corner of the ballroom, straining their necks to look at the fixture overhead. Streams of wax had already trickled down from the candles, their warm light softly fractured by the crystals. “I think it’s just right—neither ostentatious nor gauche.” 

“As long as you are sure,” Mr. Rook said. “I thought the same myself, but I do not want to stir conversation about its being too much or too little.”

Jyn looked at her friend, her expression mirthful. “For a gentleman whose reputation has already been established, you certainly still do worry about what others regard of you.”

Bodhi, chuckling, replied, “I know you are above forsaking me, Miss Erso, if I threw the worst party in the world, but I am not sure the others will be as tolerant of such failings.”

“If that is the case,” replied Jyn, “which I highly doubt it would be, then the only failing on your part would be consorting with the wrong company. Sensible friends would know that there are much worse blunders than a dowdy chandelier to reserve such sentiments for. Perhaps it is simply a matter of choosing the people with whom we are to be.”

“And I have,” Bodhi agreed. “For you are my dear friend.”

Jyn smiled.  

“But I would venture to say,” Bodhi added, “that there are times we cannot choose the people who will become part of our lives; one day they just enter and stay there—providence itself decides for us.”

“Well then,” Jyn said, “let us hope that in doing so, it is due to its benevolence, and that the people it chooses to grace us with will enrich the village.” She then briefly thought of the Andors, and found herself scouring the crowd, hoping to spot the sister. As for the brother, she did not know exactly what to look out for yet. 

“But I believe it has not renounced us thus far,” she finally continued after her failed attempt, “for our village is made up of do-good sorts of people, and I hope that whoever will enter it now will be the same. Which is why I beseech you, good friend, not to distress yourself.”

“You are right.” Bodhi nodded. “I do not believe anybody in this town has done or will do anybody anything in ill will, and over a trivial matter, no less.”

“I believe not, indeed.” 

Just then, a man from across the room came into their view, with a light head of hair and an easy, airy strut.

Bodhi leaned in closer to Jyn to try and direct her gaze. “Look, it is Philip.” 

Jyn, suddenly feeling alert, scrambled to spot the man in question from the crowd. “Oh.”

Bodhi then waved his hand in the air to capture the gentleman’s attention. “Mr. Krennic!”

The man’s face instantly lit up into a lopsided smile the moment he took notice of them. Jyn watched him, the object of her rather bizarre feelings for the last couple of weeks, pace towards their direction in big, perky strides. 

“Miss Erso!” he called out. “Mr. Rook!” 

When he stopped just before her, he gave her a curt nod, which Jyn cordially returned. 

“Mr. Krennic,” she greeted. “I hope you are having a good time this evening.”

Philip grinned. “I am, now that I’ve finally spotted you two tonight.”

“What do you mean?” Bodhi asked, suddenly anxious. “Have you not been enjoying the ball?”

Philip laughed. “Oh, not because you have hosted a terrible one, no. I cannot imagine ever offending you and Miss Erso on that point! No, I have just been dealing with an important matter with Sir Donwell.” 

This roused Jyn’s curiosity, for she very much liked Sir Donwell. “I hope he is all right?” she inquired. “And Mr. and Mrs. Donwell, too.” 

“Oh, yes, quite all right,” Philip easily assured her. “They are as healthy as ever. They are playing cards in the waiting room, James with them. No, we have only been discussing certain matters—” here he stopped himself “—but forgive me, I need not trouble you with the dull specifics, as I imagine you two have this party to preoccupy yourselves with at the moment.”

“Speaking of,” Bodhi said gravely, his eyes directed towards a footman who fast approached them, a somewhat panicked look on his face.

“A matter in the kitchen, sir,” he said before Bodhi pulled him in for barely audible whispers. Just then, he requested to excuse himself from Jyn and Philip, effectively leaving them both alone together as he followed his footman outside the hall, and towards the kitchen downstairs.

The gentleman Jyn was now left with then beheld her with a beamed up expression. Jyn tried to pay it back with her own polite smile. 

“So, Miss Erso,” he said, “you look like you could use a refreshment. Might I get you some?” 

To this Jyn had no objection; she was beyond parched. Together, they snaked through the crowd until they reached the table topped with all sorts of confections and liquor. 

Philip ladled some punch into a cup and handed it to Jyn. “I must say,” he said as he now arranged his own drink, “I am glad to have finally run into you, Miss Erso. I have been meaning to call on Vallt Park, but as I’ve been busy, I haven’t been able to.”

Jyn swallowed before responding. “Ah—it is no problem. I am sure Mama and Papa will be glad to receive you there should you find the time again.” 

This seemed to delight the gentleman. “You shall see me soon, then.” 

To this, Jyn only responded with an affirming nod.

Philip took a sip of his drink. “So tell me, have you been studying still?” 

This finally sparked Jyn’s genuine interest. “Oh, yes, actually. I’ve been reading up on Southern English flora.”

Philip’s eyes lit up. Enthused, he remarked, “That sounds incredibly fascinating, Miss Erso.”

Jyn felt a small smile break across her face, realizing that the subject being brought up was helping ease her nerves. Infused with more confident energy, she said, “It really is. Though, when I went to the shop the other day, I found that there were no pamphlets on the subject at all.”

Philip’s eyes narrowed. “Oh?”

“Well, there are books, yes, but I do not imagine them to be as accessible, for they are either too thick or too advanced. A pamphlet, in my opinion, makes it easier for anyone to be more interested in botany, for it divulges information in tidbits. You can choose one that simply interests you, and from there you can begin to nurse a deeper enthusiasm for your preferred niche. I thought it a shame, really, when I discovered it.”

Philip nodded thoughtfully as he seemed to ponder on this. “I see. Yes, that is truly a shame. I myself have learned a thing or two from pamphlets, and so concur with you there.”

“More people ought to write such publications,” continued Jyn, “for I imagine, if written well, they would attract a good number of readers. I know for certain it would attract me.”

“They really ought to, yes.” Then, quite passionately Philip added, “It is regrettable to know that our great botanists have not yet found the sense you have long already had, Miss Erso. I am of hope that one day you shall finally find the pamphlet you seek—on every shelf, in every shop and library, and in all of England.” 

Jyn watched him curiously, not at all insensible to the warm, if not fervent approbation he had given to her opinions. 

“I must say,” she remarked, “I appreciate that you not only see my point, but also acquiesce to it, Mr. Krennic.” 

Philip chuckled, swirling his drink. “I do not think there will ever be a time where I would not, if I’m being honest.”

Jyn knitted her brows. “Do you mean to say that you do not intend to ever disagree with me?”

After giving it some thought, Philip shook his head, his mouth down to a pout. “No. I do not find myself doing it.” 

“Forgive me, Mr. Krennic, but that is absurd.” Jyn let out a sharp chuckle, characteristic of both incredulity and amusement. “What if I had been wrong? What if I had said there ought to be more pamphlets on the various methods of killing wildlife instead? Would you still take this opinion for yourself, merely because I had said it?” 

“Well,” Philip explained, “if you did so to the best of your judgment, then you would be right, I still probably would.”

Jyn laughed in disbelief. “What if nothing else could have informed it but my lunacy?” 

Philip smiled. “But you are not lunatic, Miss Erso. Nor did you say those things.”

Jyn beheld Philip in quiet amazement. She shook her head. “You esteem my opinion too much, Mr. Krennic. I hope you do not mind my saying so, but I sometimes think you’re too agreeable. Too agreeable for anyone’s good, in fact.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Philip enthralled.  

Jyn smiled. “Had I not known you for a while, I would totally suspect it.”

To this Philip did not reply, only laughed.

“Well,” Jyn posed, “must I, Mr. Krennic?” 

Smiling, Philip said, “Forgive me. I do not mean to come off as sycophantic. If I seem like it, well, that is only because I regard your opinion with utmost value. You have, on several occasions, shared your wisdom which has hardly failed you. Not to mention, too, that you have always had a delightful disposition, which makes it difficult for anybody to disagree with.”

“But I do not mind disagreement,” insisted Jyn. “In fact, I prefer it, for I believe there is a fundamental difference in being correct because someone told me I was, and being correct because I was able to prove that I was. I find the latter to be more fulfilling, and above all more purposeful to the pursuit of knowledge.”

Philip grinned. “I suppose I’ll just have to agree to disagree.” 

At this, Jyn could not help but muse again. But before she could say anything in return, a voice from somewhere behind her suddenly exclaimed:

“Miss Erso!”

Jyn spun around and saw there, filing through the crowd, the petite figure of her recent acquaintance, Kerri Andor. Behind her she pulled by the forearm a man of middling height and a dark head of hair. The black coat and matching waistcoat beneath that he wore made him stand out from the crowd—Jyn could only but stare. 

From the distance she vaguely saw his features to be similar with Kerri’s. That was when she instantly surmised that he must be her brother. 

Cassian Andor.

“Are those the Andors?” asked Philip, straining his eyes to spot them in the crowd.

“It would seem so,” replied Jyn, suddenly nervous. 

Soon Kerri and her companion stopped to meet Jyn. “Miss Erso, I finally found you tonight!”

Jyn smiled and gave her acquaintance a bow. “Good evening, Miss Andor. I’m glad you made it.” 

“I made it a point to, of course. I am immensely enjoying myself; you host quite a party! Nothing like the perfect opportunity for us to induct ourselves to the village.” 

Jyn’s eyes then flitted to the man behind her, noting the blank yet vaguely curious expression on his face. Though she privately remarked that she had seen stone statue faces more animated than this, she also thought, even more privately, that the features that made it were not so unpleasant to behold. 

For a brief moment their eyes met, at which she quickly looked away. 

“Some introductions are in order,” said Kerri. Addressing Jyn she said, “Miss Erso, I’d like to finally introduce you to my brother, Cassian. Brother, meet Jyn Erso—” then when she realized that Jyn also had a companion herself “—and er…”

“Philip,” quickly intercepted Philip, a gleeful expression on his face. “Philip Krennic. I am a long-time friend of Miss Erso’s.”

Jyn curtsied, addressing Cassian. “Mr. Andor. Nice to finally meet you. Welcome to Endor Village.” 

Cassian, a vague scowl now forming on his face, stiffly returned the greeting, and with significantly less gallantry. “Miss Erso.”

Jyn frowned.

Philip took a step forward. “It is great to finally meet you Miss Andor, Mr. Andor.” He offered Kerri a smile, and reached out a hand to Cassian. 

Cassian just stared at the hand being extended to him, with seemingly no intent to take it. It took Kerri to lightly nudge his arm with her elbow for him to finally take it, though with a most visible reluctance, which, to Jyn, was just as bad as not receiving the handshake at all. 

She found it odd, if not impolite.

“So,” Kerri said, her eyes narrowed in thought. “Mr. Krennic. Your name sounds familiar.”

“Hmm, you might have heard of my father,” replied Philip, “or my grandfather, for that matter. If you are involved in the affairs of shipbuilding, then it is likely. We invest in the trade, you see.” 

“Ah, that must be it,” said Kerri, not quite convinced, but nodding. “My brother here briefly had some solicitor work done in that arena.”

“Did he now?” asked Philip, interested.

Kerri stared at her brother, expectant. Upon observing his general snobbish disposition, it was apparent to Jyn that Cassian had no desire to indulge the question, but when he registered his sister’s application, he finally said in a very clipped tone, “Yes, I did.”

Jyn—and Philip too, it seemed—expected him to supply the statement further, but a few seconds passed, and no such elaboration came. 

Jyn was beginning to find no excuse for such impropriety. 

To this, all Philip could say was, “Ah. Well, I suppose there’s no point in discussing such droll matters on an occasion such as this, am I right, Mr. Andor?” He laughed, then turned to Kerri. “So, Miss Andor, have you danced tonight yet?” 

At that, Cassian’s frown seemed to deepen. 

Kerri, however, remained oblivious to this. “I have not yet, actually,” she answered. “We’ve just arrived.”

“Well then,” said Philip, “I hope you allow me to be the first to receive the honor. My friend Miss Erso is already quite tired to even dance once—” he glanced at Jyn with a charmed smile “—so I entreat you, Miss Andor.” 

He extended his hand. Where the brother had received such a gesture with total repugnance, his sister, on the other hand, took it with a light, easy grace. She glanced at her brother, and Jyn could tell by the intensity of their locked gazes that they were amounting to an unspoken disagreement. 

Kerri would come out the winner, for ultimately, Cassian broke his gaze away first, and his sister, half-smiling, joined Philip to the dance floor triumphant. 

As they commenced their uptempo waltz, Jyn suddenly became too aware that she now stood alone with the brother, and it would seem that neither she nor he were willing to break the air of awkward silence that hung about them. 

They stood side by side, facing the ballroom floor. Jyn tried to glimpse a side-eye glance at him (who she realized considerably towered over her) only to find that he was also trying to do the same. Immediately he shifted his gaze towards his sister on the dance floor, a quiet indignance constant upon his countenance. 

Too intrigued to ignore such behavior, Jyn finally spoke. “Are you not enjoying the party, Mr. Andor?”

To which, Cassian replied in a dismissive tone, “I had much rather be back at the house than be here.”

“You are liking Lah’mu Hall, then,” muttered Jyn bitterly under her breath.

Cassian did not respond.

She cleared her throat. “So, how has settling in been?”

The solicitor still did not respond. A few moments of silence passed without either one or the other speaking. 

Jyn now took full offense for this impoliteness. “It’s true what has been said about you, Mr. Andor," she said pointedly. "You really are frugal in conversation.”

This finally elicited some type of reaction; Cassian turned his neck to face her.

“You might as well have been absent during our acquaintance,” Jyn continued, “for you did not much talk at all.” 

After a few moments of him just staring at her, he finally spoke. “Well, Miss Erso, that usually happens when I find myself with company that does not warrant it.” 

Jyn’s eyes widened, her mouth hanging open. “Excuse me?”

Cassian turned his face away and again returned to his silences. 

Jyn could feel her blood begin to boil. “My, Mr. Andor,” she said in a tone of mockery, “have I not been interesting for you—not even enough to earn your basest civilities? Well then, forgive me for my insufficiency in meeting your expectations, so early into our introduction, no less.” She shifted her feet so she faced him. “Do enlighten me. When I had greeted you earlier, should I have already inquired into discussions of the suffering British economy, or the current uprisings and massacres following the calls for reform, or perhaps the long-standing question of parliamentary suffrage—not only for men, mind you, but for women, too?” 

Cassian looked at her again, during which he seemed to be now carefully and intently observing the features of her countenance. He remained unflinching, however, in his indifference. 

“Because I would have, Mr. Andor,” Jyn continued smugly, “but I had a feeling I should not have with you. And I was right.”

They then both found themselves in a staredown, with Jyn noticing, despite her budding abhorrence, the deep brown of Cassian’s eyes. 

The look on his face began to change; his mouth slowly broke into a small, dry smile. 

“Do I amuse you?” demanded Jyn.

Ignoring this question, Cassian said, rather sharply, “So, it’s true what has been said about you, Miss Erso.”

“What?”

“You have been given liberties much more than is due yourself.”

Jyn glowered. “For a man who so terribly wants to be interesting, that is a rather blasé predilection. I ought not to be given liberties? Why, because I am a lady?”

“Because it haphazardly bloats your self-importance,” answered Cassian. “And it is begging to make itself known to everybody.”

Jyn laughed dryly, so audibly that it captured the attention of a gentleman within her vicinity. “Now I’m unworthy of your conversation and self-important. Come on, Mr. Andor. You can try to be more unsubtle in showing your displeasure.”

“I am not displeased.”

“Oh I had much rather you were, if I’m being honest. I would hate to think this is your natural state.”

“What would that be?”

“Perpetually unpleasant.”

Cassian smiled coldly. “That does not offend me, for I do not imagine anybody pleases you much.”

“So says the man who has not shown a single sign of delight upon our introduction.”

Now Cassian motioned himself so that he now faced her. “Why?” he asked. “Have you just not, before even meeting me, already had presuppositions about my character? Why should I be glad to meet someone who already has prejudices against me? You’ve just admitted to having them.”

Jyn scoffed. “Not that I have to clarify my position to you, Mr. Andor, but I had actually hoped to make a pleasant acquaintance with you tonight, as your sister and my father have attested to your good character. And yet as I face you now, I admit I am lost, for I do not see a single modicum of pleasantness in you. You accuse me of prejudice, and yet you do nothing now to prove it wrong. You cannot hope to absolve yourself of my opinion if you are so solidly fixing it to me as fact.”

That was when Cassian stepped closer, bridging the considerable gap between them much shorter. Gravely, he said, “I do not believe I have to prove myself to you.”

“Clearly, you do not.” Jyn laughed. “But it humors me so that I seem to have so severely irked you—and without my even doing anything. What could I have possibly done to warrant myself a treatment of such boorish manner, Mr. Andor? Or are you just so dreadful that you make it a point to be mean because you can be?” 

Cassian scoffed, which made Jyn roll her eyes. 

“Is that all you can do?” she challenged. “Grunt and mumble and brood?”

Cassian slowly shook his head. “Clearly you are so caught up in your own head, so lost in your own perfect little world that you fail to see the answer to your question as it stands, plain as the day.” 

“What?” Total bewilderment overtook Jyn’s countenance, for she had absolutely no idea what he meant. 

She could hardly believe it. What an incredibly obnoxious man! What a truly ill-natured being for the new owner of her childhood home, and above all, her new very close neighbor! It quickly occurred to her that his arrival, as it turned out, did not signify a pleasant addition to the village; it only signified that he would plague it with his total lowliness.  

“You truly surprise me, Mr. Andor,” she snarled. “I did not know anyone could be so unlikeable as you. And yet, as it stands, I suppose I find endless repose in the revelation that I had been right about you all along.”  

Cassian let out a sharp gust of air through his nose. “Does that make you feel better about yourself? Being right?”

Jyn shrugged, and erected herself to a proud stance. “It very much does.” 

Just then, the waltz had finished, and Jyn saw Kerri walking back with Philip, a smile on both their faces as they laughed about something funny. Briefly they joined Jyn and Cassian, and they became a party of four again. 

“That was splendid,” Kerri beamed, addressing her brother.

Philip, in observing Jyn’s grim expression, asked, “Is something the matter, Miss Erso?” 

Jyn, who had been looking at Cassian the entire time, finally broke her gaze to address Philip. “No, Mr. Krennic. Not quite.” 

“We must leave, Kerri,” suddenly spoke Cassian, meeting his sister’s eyes.

“But I would like to talk some more with Miss Erso,” Kerri said. 

Cassian seemed ready with a reason against their staying, but Jyn, unwilling to give him the satisfaction, went on ahead and said, “I’m afraid I have to attend to something myself, Miss Andor. I am required there now, as a matter of fact. I only waited for you to finish to properly excuse myself.”

Kerri looked disappointed. “All right,” she said, uncertain. “Well, I at least hope to find you again tonight, if you would please. I have much I would like to talk about with you, Miss Erso.”

Jyn tried her best to nod and smile reassuringly. “I hope so too.” 

She gave Cassian one last look before she finally gave everyone a parting bow, turned on her heel, and walked away.

For some time after that, Jyn tried to spend a good few minutes on casual conversation with guests, but her irritation had gotten the best of her that she did not understand a single word they had said. 

So she made the decision to head down to the kitchen instead. But before she could even reach the stairs, Bodhi had already found his way up and was on his way back to the party. 

He met her in the hallway. “You look irritated,” he observed with concern. “Did something happen while I was gone?”

Jyn, her fists balled so tightly her fingernails could rip through her glove and pierce her palms, replied, “I met Mr. Andor.”

Bodhi’s face turned cautious. “And…was he not to your liking?” 

“More like I am not to his liking, Mr. Rook, which I suppose, yes, makes him not to my liking.” She took a deep breath through her nose. “He is beyond improper, and not to mention hopelessly self-important!” 

“What?” Bodhi replied, incredulous. “That is impossible. I wouldn’t have recommended him to Mr. Erso if he was. I mean, did he not like him, too?” 

Jyn threw her arms in the air and let them fall back down against her thighs. “Well then, it would seem that he made a special, particular exception for me to this boundless agreeableness you speak of. I find it hard to believe that we talk of the same person. I am telling you, I have never met someone so unpleasant!”

Bodhi watched as Jyn paced back and forth in an attempt to dispel her anger. He had never seen his friend in such a state of distress over anybody before. “Miss Erso, you seem really agitated by him.”

“He is, without a doubt, the worst person I have ever met in my entire life,” she proclaimed with conviction. “I do not care if we are neighbors; I should hope to never see him again. For if I do, I shall hate him forever. And that is a promise, Mr. Rook.”

Jyn would soon remember, of course, that she would soon see Cassian again, when he would finally fulfill his commitment to calling on the Ersos at Vallt Park a few days from now.

Chapter Text

During the previous weeks, the Ersos had enjoyed the total silence of not being called upon by anybody, but since the conclusion of the big Rook ball, where everybody was finally returning to their business as usual, it would seem that the people of the village were slowly pouring back into Vallt Park for visits of various intent. 

Of these visitors were the usual ones—the family’s lawyer, Mr. Longhorn, Mr. Baze and Mr. Îmwe, the tenants of Mr. Erso’s farms, and, much to Jyn’s surprise, Philip Krennic, who had been quick to honor his owed commitment, which he accomplished just two days after the ball. 

His visit took about an hour and a half, with Philip perhaps subconsciously prolonging his stay due to continuously inquiring about Mr. and Mrs. Erso’s welfare (to the pleasure of both), as well as Jyn’s own interests (an attempt at gallantry she was not depraved to even rebuff).

When the visit reached its conclusion, Philip, pulling Jyn aside as he waited for his horse to be fetched, made a show of his sincere regret in parting with her, as well as expressing his hope to see her again soon, and more often. 

“Miss Erso,” he said, “I confess that I have enjoyed spending time with you. I shall like to see you some more, if you will allow me.” 

Jyn, as she heard these words, thought there and then that this moment had just become a defining one, for the encouragement Philip was hoping to receive out of this felicitation, when she would give it, would finally lay down in the open her intentions of forming a relationship with him. 

To her surprise, she found herself finally open to giving it, for two reasons: first, she was positively assured of his manners during the entire visit, noting particularly the behavior he not only extended to her, but to her parents as well. Jyn did not find offense in him at all—and as to his mild tendency to dispose of himself too easily to her opinion, her mother had advised her to see it as an advantage rather than something to doubt, for “was it so bad to have a husband who would readily agree with his wife?”

The second reason, which Jyn had had some more resistance against before finally relinquishing to, was that she could no longer deny the convenience of the potential union with Philip. The stars seem to have aligned perfectly for the affair—he was agreeable, she knew him well enough, he was rich, and her parents seemed to like him. Resist it as she might, she could no longer find any sensible reason to not acquiesce to these favorable circumstances.

So she decided it was time to move things along. 

With a smile, she expressed, “Of course, Mr. Krennic, I shall be glad. We ought to get to know each other better now, do we not?” 

It was an endorsement that seemed to work on the gentleman to great effect. Animated by its hopeful promise, Philip then committed more visits in the near future, and even proposed a leisure trip to Bath: 

“I think it would do us good to breathe in some new air,” he reasoned. “And the scene is so lively there that people do not stop to rest from their merriment, even past nightfall.”

“I would have to think about it,” replied Jyn, though a part of her already obliged to the offer, for she was truly joyous at the idea of visiting the town, and maybe even dropping by the Duchess Mon Mothma, if time permitted it. 

When all this had finished, she and her mother stood by the window as Philip mounted his horse to ride back to his home, Lexrul House. She would remember the remark her mother had made during that moment as they watched him slowly disappear over the small hills: 

“You are doing well, Jyn.” 

While Philip’s visit had been enough to stir Jyn’s spirits to states of disarray, these feelings were still incomparable to the ones she now felt, a day later, given what was about to happen:

“The Andors are finally visiting today,” her father exclaimed. He said this while he squinted through the spectacles lightly perched on his nose, eyes intent on the contents of a quick note Mr. Andor seemed to have written himself and had sent out to their address. 

“About time,” remarked her mother in earnest, despite not looking up from her embroidery project. “Their visit is long overdue.”

“Took them long enough, don’t you think?” replied her husband. 

Jyn had been sitting by the window when she received this news. Under her breath she muttered, “Maybe he does not want to meet us.”

“What is that, Jyn?” her mother asked over at the sofa. 

“Nothing,” Jyn quickly said.

Mr. Erso clapped his hands. “Well, we better get ourselves ready—we shall give them a warm welcome.” 

Jyn wanted neither to get ready nor give the solicitor a warm welcome, especially since she had taken it upon herself to dislike him, after their meeting during Bodhi’s ball. She shuddered at the recollection. Why could he not fully commit to his impropriety by dropping the intention to call on them altogether? She would have preferred that. Instead he seemed to just vex her more with this attempt at courtesy. 

A few hours passed; Jyn had almost hoped they would not come, and was already even expecting it, when the Andors finally arrived during the afternoon, their dark carriage coming into view from her window, passing through Vallt Park’s fields like a low-hanging, dark cloud. 

In moments, she was called on to come down from her bedchamber. 

As she descended the stairs, Cassian had just stepped into the house from the other end of the entrance hall.

“Mr. Andor!” exclaimed Mr. Erso, extending a hand that Cassian took politely into his.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Andor,” soon followed Mrs. Erso, giving him a curtsy, which Cassian returned with a bow.

From where she was, now at the foot of the stairs, Jyn tried to gauge the solicitor’s current disposition, noting, with contempt, the air of upright dignity he carried himself with. Had she not known the depth of his incivility, she would have found some credit in it. 

As such, she did know, and so she did not. 

Her movement within his periphery caught his attention; he found himself instinctively honing in on her sight; and in that moment, their eyes met. Both of them seemed to hesitate on what to do about this contact, until Cassian finally said, reservedly, “Miss Erso.”

Jyn now reached where they all stood. “Mr. Andor,” she replied, fighting to maintain a blank expression.

Mr. Erso eyed them both back and forth and smiled. “Mr. Andor, Jyn tells me here that you two have met.”

Cassian’s face pulled down into a frown, searching Jyn’s face for some indication on the kind of anecdote she had given to her parents of their introduction. Uncertain, he replied, “Has she?”

“She has,” answered Jyn herself, finding some small satisfaction in his confusion.

“She has,” confirmed her father, “but she has not really told us much about it. It perplexes me, for she has been bent on meeting you since I have told her about you—she could not stop asking about you.”

“Papa.” Jyn’s eyes threatened to fall out of their sockets. She dared not even risk a glance towards Cassian.

“Why?” asked her father. “I speak the truth.”

Jyn's face felt hot. “No you do not, Papa.”

“Well,” her father relented, though unconvinced, “I hope you had a good introduction nevertheless. I should like to hear that you two found each other well-suited for a new friendship, for I would very much like you two to be friends.” 

Neither Jyn nor Cassian responded to this hope. Their eyes met again, and this time neither of them maintained it; quickly they looked away from each other, with Jyn suddenly finding the statue by the door incredibly interesting. Was that a hint of the color copper in the marble?

The following silence that filled the hall resonated so profoundly that the faint sounds of the crickets outside seemed to come through. 

Mr. Erso’s brows furrowed. Doubtful, he asked again, “You two did get along well, did you not?”

Jyn’s mouth hung open, the response struggling to come out. “Er…” 

Her instinct was to tell her father the truth; that upon meeting each other, she and Cassian instantly detested each other. It would be as easy as saying “No, Papa, we did not.” However, for the same reason she hadn’t told him—and her mother, too—about their introduction then, she found herself unable to again at this moment, for she did not want to add one more worry, and such a petty one at that, to the ones they were already facing. 

So, with forced glee, and as though she could vomit the words, she finally said, “Of course we did, Papa. Our…our meeting was very pleasant. So pleasant that I was moved by it, even.” 

She quickly stole a glance at Cassian, who had been looking at her like she had just committed a pure atrocity. Jyn deepened her glare, not backing down. Disallowing him the opportunity to betray her to her father, she went ahead and said, “Mr. Andor agrees with me. Do you not, Mr. Andor?”

Cassian’s nostrils flared at this provocation, quickly realizing what he had been set up into. He deliberated how to go about this for a brief moment; he dared not put up a pretense for the benefit of Miss Erso, but in the interest of not appearing ungrateful to the Ersos (as much as he disliked their daughter) he finally made the decision to indulge her misrepresentation of their acquaintance; helplessly, he felt himself forced to agree. 

His eyes unpeeled from his adversary, he took a deep, sharp breath. “I do, yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “I found Miss Erso to be a truly amiable person of character, and I—” he cleared his throat “—I sometimes even wish that I would meet her again for the first time to experience how pleasant she is.” 

Jyn could almost sigh in relief, but stopped herself. 

Mr. Erso softened. He smiled. “Why, that is great to hear. I almost believed you two did not like each other.”

“Impossible,” Cassian and Jyn remarked at the same time, both feigning a smile.  

With that, Cassian made sure to express his displeasure at Jyn before he turned away from her entirely. Before he could even attempt to renew the conversation with her parents, a sound from outside caught everybody’s attention. Jyn soon discovered its source—there, through the door in the courtyard, was Kerri, who seemed to struggle to grab something from their carriage. 

“Er, is Miss Andor all right?” Mrs. Erso asked.

Cassian frowned. “Kerri?” he called out.

Once Kerri finally had, with an audible grunt, retrieved the object in question (which appeared to be a thick, large notebook), she finally skipped across the courtyard and fell in just beside her brother. 

“My apologies,” she said with an embarrassed chuckle. “I hope I did not miss anything?”

“No, not at all,” Cassian quickly supplied. He faced the Ersos. “Mr. Erso, Mrs. Erso, this is my sister, Kerri.”

“Hello,” Kerri greeted, her face beamed up. “Please excuse me from what happened just now—I was only grabbing this.” She held the notebook up in the air.

When it seemed to only puzzle her parents, Jyn took it upon herself to say, “Are those your drawings, Miss Andor?”

Kerri nodded, a grin on her face. “Yes. I brought them so I could show them to you, in fact.”

At this, all the Ersos’ expressions finally lit up, even Jyn, who, for all her current feelings of unrest towards the person who stood just beside Kerri, was polite enough to indulge her.

“I see we have an artist,” remarked Mrs. Erso, impressed.

The pleasantries of this official, monumental introduction between the Ersos and the Andors naturally progressed into the former giving the latter a tour of the house and its surrounding grounds. Jyn and Cassian hardly acknowledged each other throughout the expedition, except for the occasional repartee to stoke the fire of their faux friendship, which was, for both of them, quite difficult to do. 

By the time they had returned to their starting point, Mr. Erso finally said, “Who’s hungry? Let us have some tea, shall we?”

In the waiting room, Jyn sat down beside Kerri on the settee, directly facing her father, mother, and Cassian across the low table. Her current position paved the default of having the solicitor within her view; she had to actively turn on her seat to spare herself the sight of him. 

She was already on her second cup of tea when he raised the subject of Lah’mu’s lands. And though she invested great interest in her current conversation with Kerri about paint materials, she also found herself tuning in closely to the subject. 

“I was hoping to talk to you about this patch of dry land just along the estate’s border,” Cassian said. “The one by the woods.”

Mr. Erso nodded. “Ah, yes. I expected you to bring that up.”

Cassian’s expression took on a look of confusion. “It seems considerably large, yet I admit I do not know what to do with it.”

“Hmm,” Mr. Erso said, then taking a moment to think. 

Jyn, however, did not. Right away, she knew what could be done to the are, which she had passed by so many times she had already memorized its landscape. 

Mr. Erso spoke. “What if you—” 

“You can turn it into a home farm,” Jyn quickly interjected, hardly realizing the alacrity of her manner in doing so until after the fact. 

Both Cassian and Mr. Erso looked at her, somewhat blindsided by this insertion. While they did not seem offended by it, they did expect her to clarify herself. 

“Pardon, Jyn?” her father said.

Jyn swallowed. “You can turn it into a farm,” she repeated. “Or a garden. Though I feel a home farm would be more appropriate.” 

“A home farm?” Cassian asked, doubtful. “But it is dry dirt. The surrounding dead wood should attest to it.”

Jyn shook her head adamantly. “The patches of marigolds beg to differ.”

Cassian raised a brow. “Marigolds?”

Jyn frowned at the insinuation beneath this reply. “Yes, marigolds, Mr. Andor. They are a sure sign of soil fertility. They are everywhere on your property.”

Cassian instantly picked up on this antagonism. “I know what marigolds are, Miss Erso. But I do not remember seeing them there.”

“But I have.” Jyn shifted so that she faced him again now. Keeping the calm in her voice, she replied, “I hope you do not think I’m making a false claim.”

Cassian leaned forward in his seat. “I think I would know if I saw the marigolds, is all I am saying,” he answered, matching her tone. 

“I do not doubt that you would.” Jyn shrugged. “But perhaps you just haven’t looked well enough to see. Which leads me to somehow infer that you do not actually know what marigolds are.” 

Cassian grimaced. “Do you think I’m making a false claim, Miss Erso?” 

“Oh no, I do not,” Jyn replied nonchalantly. “I just think you do not know.” 

Cassian, clenching his jaw, did not reply.

“But do not be so hard on yourself, Mr. Andor,” Jyn continued, finding gratification from his non-response. “The marigolds are still very young, we’re very early into spring after all. Anyone can mistake them for grass.”

The air was growing palpably tense, but Mrs. Erso, insensible to the real animosity beneath this seemingly playful banter, only laughed. 

“Mr. Andor, don’t you find Jyn extraordinary?” she asked Cassian. “She has been studying botany, you see. She has grown rather very knowledgeable about the subject, among many other things.”

To this Cassian responded with a dry smile. “Yes,” he said, looking at Jyn. “She has ensured that I am aware of it when we first met.” 

Jyn rolled her eyes.

“Speaking of farms,” Mr. Erso brought forth, “now that you have your own estate, Mr. Andor, do you plan to step up further and purchase your own farm?”

Cassian contemplated this question. When he did not answer, Mr. Erso went on, “Because once you do, you may retire from being a solicitor, you know? Become a true member of the gentry. I hope that is something you’re considering.”

Cassian still did not reply.

“I imagine a lot of people would prefer you do it. They do not exactly like the idea of a working man earning his way to such status. I myself do not mind, but I cannot speak for others. The Krennics lean more towards the traditional—” he then shook his head “—but no, I do not think them capable of such prejudices.” 

The mention of the name seemed to stir Cassian to curiosity. “You’re close with the Krennics?” he asked, though in a tone that made the statement somewhat ambiguous, as though he was stating it as a charge rather than a question.

“I would say that’s a generous way of putting it,” replied Mr. Erso. “We are civil at best; we so rarely convene, unless permitted by big assemblies, or required by matters of business. It is Jyn here, in fact, who is more connected to them through her close friend, Philip. Have you met Philip?”

Cassian met Jyn’s eyes. “I have.” 

“But yes,” Mr. Erso continued, “I highly recommend you consider retirement, Mr. Andor. You ought to enjoy your comforts now that you’ve worked for it.”

“I…I shall think about it,” was all that Cassian said.

“Perhaps looking at some prospective farmlands might interest you.” Mr. Erso stood up and headed to a table by the shelves. Cassian soon followed after being beckoned; in no time, they were already poring through the paraphernalia while engaged in intent conversation. 

For a while, Jyn, her mother, and Kerri kept to themselves to talk about various topics, until Mrs. Erso requested to take leave in order to finish a very important letter to some of her friends in Scotland, which she was anxious to finish today. 

This left Jyn alone with Kerri. Their solitude seemed to instantly spark some excitement in her companion.

“Miss Erso,” she said, eager. “I must tell you something. I finally feel the liberty to do so, now it is just us two.” 

Intrigued, Jyn answered, “What is it? Do tell me, Miss Andor.”

“All right.” The sister took a deep breath, then with a tight-lipped smile, asked, “Do you know Mr. Donwell?”

“Mr. Donwell? James Donwell? Yes, I do. I have known him for a good time now. Why?”

“Well, after we parted ways at the ball, I met him.”

From the way Kerri’s face began to redden, Jyn had a sure feeling where this was going. So she said with encouragement, “And?”

“And,” Kerri said emphatically, smiling, “we went along very well. He is an incredibly pleasant and polite man. He asked me to dance not only once, but twice, Miss Erso. Twice!”

Jyn smiled. “He did?”

“Yes.” Kerri let out a breathy laugh. “And both dances were nice; he is such a good dancer, Miss Erso.”

“Miss Andor,” Jyn began, “might I be correct in inferring that you liked Mr. Donwell?”

Kerri blushed before she gave her an affirming nod. “I confess that I cannot stop thinking about him since.”

“You seem really struck.”

Kerri looked to Jyn. “You’re right, I am. I do like him. Tell me, Miss Erso, am I stupid for feeling this way?”

Jyn shook her head, grinning. “No, not at all. Your heart has served you well, Miss Andor, for it could not have chosen a better man to feel such affections for. Mr. Donwell is incredibly kind and gentle. I think that is because of the care Sir and Mrs. Donwell have given to him; they love him terribly, and he, them. I remember once, he rode back home from Cambridge on horseback alone, when he found out Mrs. Donwell came down with a terrible flu. He refused to leave her side until her recovery.”

Kerri sank back to the settee. “My, Miss Erso. I was hoping you would say something that should sway my feelings for him for good, but you have only nurtured them further with this recommendation.”

Jyn smiled. “I hope you forgive me for disappointing you.”

Kerri buried her face in her hands. “Goodness, I feel embarrassed.”

Jyn watched her new friend begin to descend into this endless rapture of feeling, which she, if she was being truthful, had never yet felt once in her life. She wondered what it must feel like. 

“Do not consider it a burden, Miss Andor,” she said. “It is a profound blessing to feel this way about someone you like. Do not attempt to push it away.”

On that note, Kerri found herself immediately consoled, if not encouraged. Then sitting back up, she said, “I’ve noticed that you and Mr. Krennic seemed really close.”

“Oh,” Jyn said, surprised. She looked down on the cup on her lap. “I suppose we are. We have been friends a long time.” 

Kerri seemed to debate with herself if she should say what she was about to say. “I hope you do not mind my asking, Miss Erso, but are you planning to marry at all?”

At this point Mr. Andor and Jyn’s father had stepped away from the table and towards a shelf, bringing them back closer to where Jyn and Kerri currently sat. The distance was still considerable, however, which made Jyn believe that they did not hear, so she continued. 

“Since you are so forward in your inquiry, Miss Andor,” she said, smiling, “I shall be as well in my answer.” She took a deep breath. “Yes, I do. I seek to get married.”

“And would it be with Mr. Krennic?” 

Jyn found no reason to conceal the truth; she nodded. “I do not see why not. He agrees with me, and if I’m being frank, there is a big advantage to marrying him. His father, Sir Krennic, is a baron, and he is the heir—he is to inherit his estate, along with 12,000 pounds a year.”

Kerri’s mouth hung open. “I did not know he was incredibly rich!”

Jyn nodded again. “He is. I really cannot see why I should not marry him. Whatever reason I could think of…” she felt her heart rattle in her chest “...they seem to be all naught and insufficient.”

“That amount of money should be more than enough to preserve your comforts, I imagine.”

“Yes,” Jyn replied, “and maybe even a bit more.”

Kerri smiled. “It seems that things are looking out really well for your future, Miss Erso. I am glad that you are able to secure it.”

“Yes.” Jyn laughed wistfully. “I suppose I have.”

For a while both women fell in silence, the inner feelings that they felt and reflected on, so opposite from one another. It struck Jyn odd, and maybe even fascinating, that while she and Miss Andor were alike in many ways, the lives they lived were equally different in extent. 

After some time, she cleared her throat. “But enough of all this talk. Your art, Miss Andor, I cannot overstate how astounding they are. The sketches you’ve shown hold so much promise to your skill.”

A rosy color surfaced to Kerri’s cheeks. 

“I wonder,” Jyn continued, “if it would be too much to ask you to occasionally join me on my walks? The thing is, I like to keep a visual record of all plants I encounter, but I admit I cannot do justice to all of them. Perhaps I could inquire for your help to do some of them for me?”

Kerri’s face lit up. “Miss Erso, I would absolutely be delighted!”

Jyn’s excitement rose. “You would?”

“I would draw your entire journal for you even, if at all possible.” She held back a sound of delight, to little success. “This excites me so, for this means we can see more of each other!”

Jyn cannot help but chuckle out her own feelings of excitement. “We shall, Miss Andor. It’s time we become friends.”

So they continued their discussions on art and botany for some time. After a while Cassian and Mr. Erso joined them again, which soon signified the end of the visit. 

Mrs. Erso was finally able to finish her letter-writing, just in time to bid the Andors adieu at the courtyard, where they now all stood, waiting for the carriage to arrive. 

“I hope you enjoyed your visit, Mr. Andor, Miss Andor,” she said warmly. 

“I did, Mrs. Erso,” replied Kerri. “You have a wonderful home.” 

“Thank you,” agreed Cassian, addressing the party as a whole.

The carriage finally came around the bend, then stopped just in front of them. 

Kerri turned to Jyn. “See you in a couple of days, Miss Erso?”

Jyn nodded enthusiastically. “You shall.”

The sister then gave everyone a curtsy before she finally ascended their transport. 

Cassian, after having extended his goodbyes to Jyn’s parents, then faced Jyn. She saw something new in his expression, one even much graver than before, and something not even their current pretense could conceal.

Jyn’s own expression darkened. She had a sinking feeling that something had changed for the worse—she just did not know what.

“Safe travels, Mr. Andor,” she said blankly. 

Cassian stared at her for a few seconds in silence before saying, “Miss Erso.” 

With that he stepped into the carriage, before it finally left. 

Later that night as she prepared for her slumber, Jyn finally found some answer to the question of how her relationships with both the Andors would become, given her wildly opposing sentiments for each. She had always thought it would be impossible to sustain one without forsaking the other, but she had found, during her time with Kerri, that it might be possible after all; she was beginning to understand that she did not have to get along with Cassian if she could help it, just so she could be friends with his sister.

But still, she thought about the look on Cassian’s face before they had left, which had left Jyn guessing, inquiring, pondering, more than she would care to admit.

The clarity she sought for would soon come to her, upon the arrival of an unexpected letter.

Chapter Text

When the day of Jyn’s first expedition around the estates with Kerri came, the heavens, to her delight, endowed its favor for their endeavor; the sun filtered through the cloudy canopy like tendrils of warmth, animating everything it touched with vigored life. From her window Jyn witnessed the daisies’ and cowslips’ slow bloom, the cool air moving through their quietude in whispers of the gentlest kind. The birds sang, and along with it Jyn’s spirits; she was ready for the day.

She was to expect Kerri’s arrival to Vallt Park by mid-morning. During the wait she spent some time writing about her new interest—a short history of Spanish hardwood species, for which she had made considerable progress, and in such a state of concentration that she hadn’t noticed how much it had eaten away at the hours before the anticipated activity. 

She found, however, even as the clock had already struck the awaited hour, that her companion still had not arrived. She decided to give her some more time, and wait by milling about the gardens. 

She let the petals of various flowers brush past her hand as she passed by them, their pleasant smells tickling her nose in a harmony of scents. When she reached a corner in the path, she knelt by a trimmed rose bush to examine one of its flowers being crushed under the weight of heavy, entangled brambles. 

As she began to gently pull on its stem, a movement towards the house caught her eye. 

There, through the foliage, she saw one of her household’s footmen walk towards the staff’s door, the day’s letters stuffed in a satchel that hung around his body. He was unassuming in stature; Jyn paid him no mind—she did not currently expect correspondence from anybody. When she returned to her attempt to break the rose free, she had even already forgotten about him. 

At that point the sun now radiated warmer, and Jyn’s doubt for Kerri’s arrival, which still did not happen, had now also grown more certain. She looked at the horizon and hoped to see her friend’s figure emerge somewhere along it. It didn’t.

Just then, the very same footman from a while ago appeared out of the door yet again. Jyn watched him head towards her direction, a tray in his hand, a lone piece of paper on its surface. 

“Miss Erso,” he called out as he descended the stone steps towards where she was on the pebbled path. “A letter.”

“For me?” asked Jyn. With hesitation she received the folded and sealed parchment from its vessel. Flipped over, it bore a delicate penmanship that spelled out her name and nothing more. Confused, she looked at the footman. “Where is it from?”

“Lah’mu Hall, Miss.”

Jyn frowned. “The Andors?” 

“Yes, Miss.”

Sweat began forming on Jyn’s palms, for a reason she did not really know. “I see,” she said. “Thank you.” 

An unexpected arrival of an equally unexpected letter. With no intention to prolong the curiosity it had stirred in her, Jyn hurried to pluck the wax seal and unfold the paper. 

Whatever she felt just moments ago, it seemed to now have doubled, if not tripled.

It was a letter from Kerri herself, and it read:

Dear Ms. Jyn Erso,

I am sorry to write to you that I cannot come today and join you in your walk. I know that we have entered, with utmost excitement, into this undertaking of ours—you keeping a record of every plant species you could possibly find, and I sketching them for your journals—which must make this news disappointing for you to read, as much as it has been for me to write it. 

But, as things would have it, I feel even more regret to impart something that I am now to do, and which, I am afraid, you may not forgive me for. 

From this point on, I am withdrawing myself entirely, not only from our activities, but from your company now as well. I am truly sorry to say this, Ms. Erso, but we can no longer be friends.

I know—some questions must go through your head at this moment; I understand the suddenness, and even the shock, with which this information has reached you, and for this, I at least owe you an explanation:

Ever since our calling upon you and your family a couple of days ago, my brother Cassian has been in a state of quiet unrest. He had already been somewhat sullen prior, ever since our attendance at Mr. Rook’s ball, but it seems to be our visit at Vallt Park which has finally aggravated it to the degree which I now speak of.

The most notable attribute of this unrest was his near-constant questioning of how I have been treated by you; in times more than I would normally expect him to, he asked about your character, Ms. Erso, and if you are a worthy friend. It struck me as odd. When I finally assured him of your goodwill towards me, however, he told me that he was not convinced, and nor should I be. 

I had nothing but endless questions. Here he finally expressed to me the nature of his feelings, which in turn, informed his strange disposition for the past fortnight. And I found out, to my extreme surprise, that you, Ms. Erso, have been their source and object! 

I asked him to clarify; obligingly and unhesitatingly, he listed out, to the most emphatic degree, the reasons why you seem to bother him. I have debated whether I should even mention what these specific reasons are to you, but I find that I must if I am to fully explain myself, so now I will: 

Cassian thinks you arrogant, spoiled, and, in his own words, “possess a spirit of the most feeble and vacillating nature.” I have expressed my indignation when he first conveyed these to me, and still to this moment I think these accusations to be baseless and untrue—you have witnessed how much I have enjoyed our friendship so far, have you not, Ms. Erso? So imagine how much it came to me as a surprise to hear them come out from my brother’s mouth, which I had hoped, from the first, would only speak well of you!

I have stated my reasons against this belief of his; but he is forthright and insistent in promoting them to me, upon the accounts of the encounters we both have had with you. He has argued against my disinclinations with the strongest conviction; he is so sure of it, Ms. Erso, and has appealed for my acquiescence to his reason. 

This has become a point of disagreement for the both of us within the last few days. Though I cannot fully grasp the sense with which he has put forth his argument, I have begun, nonetheless, to feel compelled to see it. For it struck me with such shock to see him so earnestly desperate, and so desperately earnest in his manner. He has shown a kind of acute temperament which, if I may say so, he has so rarely shown to me; I have only witnessed it so few times in my life. 

Whenever it occurred, I would know in an instant that he was absolutely serious about it. And so I have grown to believe that his reasons for whatever he feels now—they are motivated by true concern and no hidden malice. 

Here I must now appeal to you , Ms. Erso. I hope you do not see this decision of mine as a result of me just blindly agreeing to my brother, nor do I hope, upon my taking his side, that you view this as my neglect of the kindness I have so far received from you. I acknowledge all of it, and am grateful you have chosen to make a friend out of me—truly. 

But I implore you to know that I make this choice because my brother and I have been through thick and thin our entire lives—just him and me. He trusts me as much as I trust him, and where I know he would, on the first chance, seek my advice and heed it, I know that I can also do the same to his. 

I only truly regret what it is at the expense of. 

Please accept my deepest apologies, and I wish you well. 

Yours kindly,

Kerri Andor

The feelings that entered Jyn’s heart as she read through the contents of this letter budded to a strong anger, and she felt her grip slowly tighten on the paper—a thing she did not realize she was doing until the edges had finally crumpled into her fist. 

It was true, the pain of this letter’s injury seemed to come from Kerri’s choice to forsake her, but she realized, as she later reflected on it in the privacy of her bedchamber, that she ultimately did not find too much fault in her. Kerri had been nothing but kind, first for extending the courtesy of letting her know of the termination of their acquaintance, and, more notably, for even making excuses on behalf of her brother’s antagonistic behaviors.

So no, the anger Jyn felt now was not in any way directed towards Kerri, but towards the influence under which she felt compelled to make the decision. The nerve of her brother—the absolute nerve! Jyn had no other way of putting it; she truly disliked Cassian Andor now. First for reproaching her character, which on its own, was already a grievous offense, and now for reproaching it again more injuriously in front of her friend, his sister! 

He was absolutely and irredeemably contemptible.

These thoughts and feelings cycled themselves anew at every possible moment, and yet Jyn’s turmoil, she realized, was not so fully fixed on her adversary; Jyn felt its intensity to be even greater whenever she thought of the most unfortunate consequence of their hostilities: the loss of a potential friend. 

In lieu of this adverse turn of events, her current spirits for her studies were now effectively extinguished. All around her too, the scene had turned sour; the breeze felt too cold, the sun too hot, the birdsong too loud. None of it tempted her to inquiry and exploration; instead, she spent the rest of the day in her bedchamber, lying limp on her bed. 

But even doing nothing would soon not help her restlessness, either. So by the time the afternoon approached twilight, Jyn put on her riding gown, strapped on her muddied boots, and hurried to the stables to ride out on her horse. 

For a while the movement did her spirits good. She momentarily let her mare run off to its own will, allowing the freedom to thrill her to a state of elation. 

She did not notice, however, that during all this, her horse had led her to the crest of the low hill that separated Vallt Park and Lah’mu’s lands. She only realized it until her childhood home came into distant view, at which she yanked the reins in a sudden panic, forcefully putting her horse to a halt.

Once still, she sighed in relief. As she gathered her breath in a quick repose, she found herself looking at the house again, standing tall yet lonely across the empty grassy field. A timid melancholy gripped her soul as she beheld its sight.

A movement from its side caught her attention, and she found, after squinting, that it was undoubtedly the figure of Cassian Andor himself, walking along the side path towards the courtyard out front. 

Jyn again felt her anger rise; and yet, she found herself staring.

That was when Cassian seemed to have noticed Jyn herself, for he stopped in his tracks and faced himself towards her direction. 

It was a strange moment—for a while it would seem that they were both just staring at each other. 

But a wind blew past Jyn, effectively stirring her out of it. In an instant, she urged her horse back into motion again.

From where he stood in front of Lah’mu Hall, Cassian looked at her still. He did not stop, even after she had already descended to the cover of the hills.

A couple of days passed since, during which Jyn had begun to do her best to continue the life she had lived before the Andors came into it. It was not much different, she realized, for she still did the same things—read, write, and explore.

Writing, however, was something she had begun doing more—she continued to work on her piece on her history of hardwoods.

Today Mr. and Mrs. Erso had to leave to make some arrangements to one of their farms, up in the north of the country. This left Vallt Park entirely to Jyn’s whim, though she did not do anything much to do this advantage; she was too engrossed in her writing to do anything else. 

By the waiting room window where she usually sat, she had been scribbling in solitude, her back and neck hunched over a stack of papers, when suddenly a footman (coincidentally, the same one who had delivered her the letter a few days ago) entered to inform her of the quick, unplanned arrival of a visitor. 

Soon the visitor in question appeared through the doorway, the sight of whom made Jyn’s skin crawl. 

“Mr. Cassian Andor, Miss,” announced the footman, before leaving them alone.

Cassian scanned the place, his eyes widening at the sight of only Jyn being there.

Jyn gave her unwelcome visitor a glare. She put her papers aside and stood up. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

Cassian kept a straight face. “I was expecting to see your father, but I shall come back when he is here. Good day, Miss Erso.”

He was already turning on his heel when Jyn said, “I see your family’s quest for avoiding me is still very well in place.”

Cassian stared at her silently for a few seconds too long. “I do not know what you are talking about.” 

 Jyn scoffed. “Spare yourself this charade—I already know what you did. Your sister told me—she sent me a letter. Or did you not know?” 

Cassian did not respond.

A dry chuckle escaped Jyn’s mouth. “Miss Andor. I truly feel bad for her. It is clear to me that she really values your opinion, and here you’ve gone and disused it against me.” 

Cassian looked at her questioningly, his gaze sharp as a dagger. “Is that how you really see it, Miss Erso?”

The provocation compelled Jyn to step around the table and towards the middle of the room. Her voice raised, she answered, “Yes, Mr. Andor. You have deprived me of friendship—deprived her of friendship. And for what?” 

“It is not so much deprivation,” replied Cassian, “as it is an escape from her doomed affections for you.”

A quiet gasp left Jyn’s mouth. “You astound me. You know, I would have been able to live with your animosity, but what you’ve done—involving your sister into it—it signifies your cowardice. And for that I do not think I can forgive you.”

Cassian’s face formed into a sharp grimace.

“If you truly hate me,” said Jyn, her eyes piercing his, “do it yourself.”

Taking long, swift strides, Cassian met her in the middle of the room. “I merely told her what she ought to know,” he said in a quiet but intense manner, “and done as she ought with that knowledge she did.” 

“That I am arrogant, spoiled, and spineless? What fantasies you must have concocted in your own head to truly believe those things about me, Mr. Andor. And you’ve discerned that from what, our quick introduction and our subsequent meeting? From that you have gravely misjudged my character, and it baffles me so that you are so assured of its truth, when you do not even know me!” 

Cassian scoffed. “I know you well enough, all right. The things you said to my sister during our visit in this very same room were enough, notwithstanding the rest. Yes,” he added when he noticed the stunned look on Jyn’s face, “I heard all of it, and not with any effort of trying, for you were not being as discreet as you thought you were.” 

Jyn put her chin up in defiance. “That is a useless charge, for I did not say anything wrong.” 

“Really?” challenged Cassian. “What about the fact that you wish to marry Mr. Krennic merely for the advantage of his wealth?” He laughed dryly. “I suppose I should not be surprised that you are indifferent to the folly of it, for you are just like every other person of your station.”

“My station?” It took Jyn a few seconds to truly register the accusation being made against her. She blinked rapidly. “Am I right in hearing that you are reproaching me for entering a marriage for what it commonly is among women like me, an economic proposition? Why should I be exempt from this? This is preposterous—you’re a solicitor, you should know better!”

“Oh I couldn't care less that you would marry for that reason, Miss Erso!” Cassian matched her volume. “But you have done so in abandon of a long-held principle.”

Jyn frowned. “What—”

“For someone who wishes to staunchly excuse herself from the institution for her education and freedom, you certainly resigned yourself to Mr. Krennic willingly the moment it promised monetary benefit for you.”

Jyn tried to speak again—

“Your inconstancy to your principles suggests to me that you have never truly adhered to them in the first place. I can never witness my sister, or anybody I care for really, to maintain friendships with the sort of people.”

Jyn’s mouth hung open, feeling the censure hit her harder than she would have liked it to. She heard it echo all the way through the back of her head, traveling down to the hollows of her gut, making her squeamish. She felt her pulse quicken. 

She clenched her body to discipline, fighting the urge to show any sign of her current emotion. 

“You do not know me,” she said. “You do not know why I do not want to get married, or why I do . Frankly, it is none of your business. What do you know of my situation to quickly deduce the issue as a matter of my inconstancy, of my poor character? Here is my question to you, Mr. Andor: do you think we all have the privilege to do as we wish to?” 

Cassian shook his head disapprovingly. “Do not speak to me of privilege, Miss Erso.” 

“Oh I will,” said Jyn, “for it is the very thing that gives you leave to speak over me as you now do. Did it never occur to you that I have no other choice but to marry for wealth?”

Cassian’s expression did not change.

“Is this what it is?” Jyn proceeded. “You scorn me for choosing to not die a destitute? Must I suffer through life to prove myself worthy of your regard? This is incredibly high levels of self-importance, Mr. Andor. I do not need your esteem.”

Cassian’s face contorted in disgust. “Nor I am not trying to give it. And do not attempt to garner my pity because you feel like you do not have a choice but to marry a powerful Krennic, Miss Erso, a baron to be with 12,000 pounds a year.”

“And I am not trying to! It would take the last person on earth to perish before I would even begin to seek yours .” Jyn shook her head. “And what is your issue with Mr. Krennic? Why does it matter to you that it is him whom I choose to marry?”

She searched Cassian’s face; his expression did not falter under her scrutiny. It only seemed to glower more intensely upon her asking the question—a question which he did not respond to.

“You can’t answer me, can you?” said Jyn. “For you have no good reason—for any of it.” 

Cassian took a step closer towards her. “Why, Miss Erso?” he challenged. “Will it even matter to you if I did?”

A shaky breath suddenly escaped Jyn’s mouth. She blinked.

Then she shook her head and attempted to walk away in her frustration, but soon found herself facing him back. “I had supposed you could stand to reason, Mr. Andor. Of all things, I at least hoped your hostility would grant me that grace. But it is clear to me now that you are averse to it, not because you do not have the ability, but because you do , and yet you refuse to. That is all the worse to me! And you say I’m just like every other person of my class? Have you looked at yourself? You’re practically the same—you are just like every other genteel person that has ever been, especially the ones you detest.”

Cassian stepped even closer. “Am I, Miss Erso?”

“You are,” Jyn replied. “You may not have not been born into your status and wealth, but that does not make much of a difference now to me.” She cocked her head in mock inquisitiveness. “Is that not why you bought a part of my father’s estate, and are now even considering retiring from your occupation—to become a part of all of this?”

Cassian’s expression took on a look of indignance. 

“For all I know, Mr. Andor,” Jyn said, finding satisfaction in it, “you already are. You are now a part of the same brood which you criticize me for. You are just like everyone else—just like me. Gentlemen and ladies who play and scheme and make alliances to build their own wealth.”

Cassian’s expression hardened, his sharp gaze boring into Jyn’s eyes. She steeled herself. 

“Clearly, Miss Erso,” he said quietly, “the books you read haven’t done you justice. Such a shame—all that reading, and yet no amount of knowledge has yet to cure your narrow view of the world. You attempt to insult me, that much is clear, but you do not even know what you are saying.”

Jyn relented with a lethargic shrug. “I suppose that makes both of us, when you first insulted me.” 

The lines of Cassian’s scowl deepened. Jyn’s heart raced. They both watched each other silently, unable to get a read of what went in each other’s minds. 

After a few moments, she finally said, “Is there anything else you would like to tell me about my character, Mr. Andor, in my own home?” 

She stepped closer to look up at Cassian’s face. His expression slightly faltered at this move, but in only such a brief moment in time. After a few seconds of their stewing in this heated silence, the solicitor finally stepped back.

“Good day, madam.”

Jyn did not reply to this and only averted her gaze. Cassian began to walk away. 

When he disappeared out of the door, Jyn finally let out the guttural and shaky sigh that had been building up in her chest since he’d arrived. 

As she shut her eyes in the middle of the room, she felt her heart sink to depths she hadn’t known existed before. Her soul wore heavy upon her body, and yet the fiery tongues of her anger burned it so hot she felt it surface to her face.

Gathering her wits, she finally walked back to the window where she had left her papers. Soon enough, through the glass pane, she saw Cassian emerge from the house below, his steps quick and light as he hurried back to his carriage. 

Jyn did not watch him leave this time; before the carriage door even closed on him, she had already twisted on her heel and walked to her bedchamber.

Chapter Text

Philip visited Vallt Park again, during which Jyn finally confirmed that she would like to go with him to Bath. Her parents’ permission had no sooner been solicited, and to Jyn and Philip they were happily given—but only, they insisted, if Jyn would be staying under the care of one of her family’s friends who lived there, the Duchess Mon Mothma.

According to her more recent correspondences with Jyn’s mother, the Mothmas had a house in Bath, apart from their main residence in London. There the duchess had been staying for a few weeks now, momentarily away from her family, who, apart from the duke, consisted of their only daughter.

After the letter that proposed the Ersos’ arrangement had been sent to her, the one that soon came back to Vallt Park with her reply contained her deepest approbation of Jyn’s staying with her. This gave Jyn some delight—not only because she would be finally meeting the duchess again after a long time, but also because the trip that she very much needed to keep her mind off the Andors—especially the brother—was now set in stone. 

The more Jyn thought about her quarrel with Cassian, the more confused she felt. It struck her in particular that he had so openly professed his disinclination for Philip, but not to the extent of providing a reason for it. It drove Jyn to a state of disarray, its effects particularly strong in her moments of idleness—which she had made sure were rare by, of course, devoting her attentions to her studies.

She had made a promise to herself to think no thoughts of the solicitor during the trip. Reminders of Cassian had done nothing but rile her up, and she had already had enough of the feeling to last her through to next year’s winter.

On the morrow Jyn and Philip finally left (with Jyn’s lady’s maid as their additional companion), and soon arrived at the premier town at dusk, after a day’s worth of traveling in one of the carriages owned by the Krennics.

Sir Krennic had insisted upon it: “Feel free to use it at your disposal while I am away,” he had told his son. “I shall be in the East Indies for some time. Meanwhile, you may step in to lead and manage my affairs for me here in Britain. I think you are ready, Philip.”

Philip would never forget the feeling of pride that coursed through him the moment he’d heard those words from his father, and he would go on feeling it even as they now rolled into the streets of Bath.

There, they first made the point to deliver Jyn to Lady Mothma’s house, where she was to reside for all four days of this trip, after which Philip would finally go and get settled at an inn he had arranged for himself just along Great Pulteney Street. 

After weaving through the traffic of carriages and pedestrians, as well as finding some sense of cognizance amidst the noise and the general rush, their transport finally made it to a less busy street, lined with conjoined buildings—an area of Bath known for the residence of its more wealthy characters. 

The Duchess’s house lay somewhere along the middle of the row, in front of which the carriage finally slowed to a stop. 

Jyn stepped down first, and beheld the facade of the house with a concerted attempt not to let her jaw fall off her face entirely. It was a house as befit a duchess—its limestone brickwork gleaned so pristine it was almost white, held up by columns of intricate classic architecture, the front shrubberies trimmed to odd, but interesting hexagonal shapes. 

They were welcomed and then led to the waiting room, where soon Lady Mothma finally entered, a smile on her face. 

“Jyn!” she said, her arms open wide in a bid to give her an embrace.

 Jyn happily took the gesture with equal eagerness. She wrapped her arms around the duchess and gave her a moderate squeeze. 

 “Your Grace,” she said after they broke away.

 “Lady Mothma, good evening.” Philip, who stood beside Jyn, gave the duchess a bow. 

Lady Mothma, upon beholding the gentleman, looked surprised, as though she had forgotten that he was also there. 

“Mr. Krennic.” Her tone was lukewarm. “Good evening. I hear your father’s on a trip to the east. How long will he be away for?”

“I am not entirely sure, but it will be a few months it seems, Your Grace,” answered Philip. “It would be one of his longer absences, but I shall manage back here at home.” 

With certain caution Lady Mothma then took a moment to observe Philip, her eyes brushing over his features. She ever so slightly frowned, her eyes widening.

“Upon my word, Mr. Krennic,” she said. “You look more and more like your father now. You sound just like him, too.”

Philip laughed politely. “I hear that often like you wouldn’t believe, Your Grace.”

“You must be tired of hearing it.”

Philip slightly shook his head and smiled. “On the contrary, I take any likeness to my father as a compliment. I hope to turn out to be even just a fraction of the man he has become. When I become baron one day soon, of course.”

A split-second moment of doubt showed in the duchess’s expression, before she finally smiled, albeit uncertainly, and said, “I see. Yes, of course.”

Jyn frowned, but tried not to think of it more when they all finally sat down.

Pleasantries were exchanged and questions were asked, both primarily on the point of Jyn and Philip’s travel from their county to Bath, as well as their plans during their stay in the town. 

“How about the theater?” Lady Mothma suggested. “You could join me in my box—you would love the view from up there. Please do, it gets lonely being by myself there sometimes.” 

“Of course, Your Grace,” Jyn agreed, hardly even having to think about it twice. 

Lady Mothma nodded her approval. “You may choose which show to go to, depending on your planned schedule.” 

“Ah, a night at the theater!” Philip exclaimed. He addressed Jyn, with whom he sat beside. “Miss Erso, I'd be delighted to go to a gala showing—it is often where the best performers are, don’t you think?” 

To this Jyn gave some considerable thought. She scrunched her face. “I don’t know, Mr. Krennic,” she said. “I myself am more partial to matinees—shows of the kind are severely underrated, and often overlooked. In my view they are just as good, if not at all better than evening shows.”

Just then, Philip was quick to abandon his previous opinion, just as instantly as he now put a premium on hers. He shook his head as if he realized he’d just made a mistake. 

“Of course,” he said, smiling. “You are right as always, Miss Erso. A matinee it is.” 

Jyn then looked over to the duchess, who, during her exchange with Philip had taken place, seemed to have been intently watching the both of them. From her countenance Jyn could glean, almost certainly, a slight furrow of her brows and a gaze of the most curious, yet wary air. 

But upon meeting Jyn’s eyes, this look melted, a placid delight quickly supplanting it, most apparent in the way her lips thinned out to a smile. Immediately she averted her gaze from Jyn, redirecting its focus back to Philip.

A subtle grimace formed once more on Jyn’s face. Doubt began to cling to her mind like leaves on a wet bough.

“All right,” the duchess said, her tone cool, “it is settled. We are to go in the afternoon on Thursday.” 

In no time one of the footmen came in to announce that all of Jyn’s things had finally been unloaded from the carriage and then delivered to her bedchamber. Philip then rose from the sofa and took leave of her and Lady Mothma. He wished the duchess well, and promised Jyn his return at the soonest possibility. 

“I shall see you on the morrow, Miss Erso,” he said, smiling. “Have a lovely evening.”

With this parting, Philip now headed for the door. Jyn watched him, her gaze unmoving even when he had already disappeared from her sight. 

The ladies that were now left in the room both did not speak for a while; Jyn, now feeling a bit strange, did not know what to say.

Lady Mothma was the first to break this silence. She cleared her throat. “So Jyn—” she gave her a small smile “—you and Mr. Krennic?”

Jyn swallowed. At this point, it should have already become much easier for her to openly talk about her intentions with Philip. But with the duchess’s strange behaviors towards him just moments ago, she slid back to her hesitations with the slickest of ease. 

“Yes,” she replied. She bit her inner lip. “Why, Your Grace?”

Their eyes met for a moment before Lady Mothma answered, “Oh, nothing. I am merely curious, and was just seeing it for myself.” She gave Jyn a reassuring smile. “So I see you are finally open to marriage.”

“Yes—” Jyn cleared her throat “—yes, Your Grace.” 

The duchess slowly nodded. 

Despite the ease of her expression, something about her tone made it unclear to Jyn as to whether she viewed the match with approbation or doubt. The duchess then wistfully stared at the window, out into the inky, purple dusk of Bath. She sank into private reflection. 

Jyn’s heart began to race, and her mind began to believe, as she witnessed the duchess now, that her strange behaviors towards Philip were not just merely a matter of her curiosity towards the match. Even more peculiar—though she presumed her behavior to be several worlds different from that which Cassian himself had demonstrated towards the same gentleman during his first meeting with him, it did, nonetheless, and for a reason Jyn could not think of, eerily remind her of it.

Suddenly the words that Cassian had told her during their argument, particularly on his strong aversions towards her match with Philip, surfaced to the shores of her thought. With growing suspicion she wondered: could Lady Mothma’s current dispositions possibly be of a related nature? 

Was she going out of her mind, or was there actually something to it? Was there something about Philip Krennic after all, that motivated the sentiment? 

Then Jyn caught herself; no—absolutely not.

As she sat there ruminating on the slim chances of the idea being true, she could not help but dispel a nervous laugh, in disbelief of what she was letting her mind slip into. It was ridiculous to the utmost—that she should even begin to entertain a reason for the behaviors of the man who had severely insulted her, and that she should allow her curiosities about the matter to influence the certainty which she had already harbored for Mr. Krennic.

Her mind flared to a state of iration towards Cassian once more, detesting him for the doubt he had planted into her mind about her prospect, and with which she now found herself misinterpreting the duchess’s actions.

Lady Mothma looked at Jyn, pensive and inquisitive. “Are you well, Jyn?”

Jyn blinked her thoughts away. She nodded and flashed the duchess a reassuring look. “Quite, Your Grace.”

The duchess didn’t look convinced. “Are you certain?” After a brief pause she added, “Why do I feel as though there is something you want to ask me?” 

Jyn maintained her smile, despite the blood rushing in torrents against the walls inside her body. “I…I don’t have anything in mind at the moment.”

The duchess beheld her uncertainly, before slowly nodding. “All right, then.”

Moments later she finally rose from her seat, with Jyn immediately following suit. 

“So, how does a soiree sound?” offered the duchess, a grin on her face. “I know you love to dance.”

Jyn’s face lit up. “It sounds splendid.” 

Lady Mothma nodded, pleased.

She was already walking towards the door, when suddenly she said, “You ought to enjoy such pleasures while you can before being wed to Mr. Krennic, don’t you think, Jyn?” 

She uttered the words with such casual innocence that it had produced the effect of striking Jyn with a certain gravity. Instantaneously the mirthful look on her face faded.

Jyn watched the duchess from behind as she proceeded to saunter out the waiting room. The confidence which she had just secured moments before all threatened to fall apart yet again. 

Her mind raced to the speed of sound. What the duchess said couldn’t have meant anything, could it?

It couldn’t have.

The first two days of Jyn and Philip’s trip to Bath quickly sped by; Jyn had spent most of them going to the library, visiting press shops, and being excited particularly, about one of the purchases she had made. She discovered, when she bought Culture of the Apple and the Pear, that its author Thomas Andrew Knight had a daughter named Frances, who apparently also loved botany like her, and who, from what she’d heard, was currently studying the ecosystem of flora in her late husband’s estate. 

This encouraged Jyn to continue her own pursuits, and feeling so compelled even, to stock up on stacks of papers and bundles of quills to bring back home with her to Vallt Park and use for her writings.

Apart from these personal endeavors, however, Jyn (Philip with her) had also spent much of the past couple days joining Lady Mothma on her nightly soirees and dinners with her other noble peers. And though Jyn loved dancing, even more socializing with great partners of conversation, these events all had too much of them than what she could normally withstand. She was already exhausted by the second night.

But little did she know that it proved to be a perk for her too, for the preoccupation with which these activities had gripped her had done quite well in taking her mind off the interaction she had had with Lady Mothma on her first night in Bath; she could now barely remember how much it had left her feeling bizarre, intrigued, but above all unnerved. 

On the morning of her third day in town, she woke up much later than usual, on account of her weariness that had finally accumulated to fatigue. 

She knew right away that the morning had already grown well into the middle of the day when the sun, already too white and too hot for an early morning rise, shone through her window and directly into her eyes. She groaned audibly and threw a pillow to her face. 

Moments later, she finally sat up on her bed and slowly got ready, stumbling into various corners and edges within the chamber, before she headed down to the breakfast room—which, to no surprise of hers, had already been tidied away for the morning. What remained was a half-empty pot of tea on the table, beside an exposed bowl of biscuits. 

Not one for being picky, Jyn settled in a chair and began filling her stomach with food. As she chewed and sipped halfway through her breakfast, she suddenly bit her inner lip as it occurred to her, with sudden recollection, that the letter she had been expecting from Vallt Park should have already arrived this morning. 

It was correspondence which her mother had promised to send to her on her second day in Bath, and which Jyn was excited to read. So after downing her last bite, she hurried off and began to wander Lady Mothma’s house, looking for a footman or a maid whom she could ask about today’s letters. 

She found herself emerging into the foyer.

There, she accidentally chanced upon the duchess herself, who stood by the door, saying goodbye to a middle-aged man with dark blonde hair and a stoic look on his face. 

“Reach out soon,” said Lady Mothma.

The man nodded. And just before the door closed on him, he caught sight of Jyn through the small sliver of space that now thinned out as the door swung into the jambs. This made the duchess spin around and look behind her. When she saw Jyn, she smiled. 

“Jyn,” she said. “I hope you had a restful sleep?” 

Jyn smiled in return, her face hot from mild embarrassment. “I did, Your Grace. Please forgive me for rising so late and missing breakfast.” 

“Oh please,” said Lady Mothma, smiling. “It is no problem.”

Jyn then stole a glance through the glass pane beside the door, watching the man walk away and into his carriage on the street. 

Lady Mothma followed her gaze. “That was Mr. Draven, if you’re wondering.”

Jyn registered the name with curious intent, but the name hardly rang any bell. “Mr. Draven?” she asked.

“He’s a barrister I work closely with,” supplied the duchess. “He was just visiting to apprise me of some developments within the Court.” 

A barrister. That was the second person Jyn had run into within the last month, who was involved in the law. The strange coincidence stoked her curiosity, though not enough, she realized, to stir her out of her current fixation on the letter from her mother, which she really had to read now. “I see. It is too bad I missed him.” 

Lady Mothma seemed to sense her stirrings and asked, “Is there anything you need, Jyn?” 

Jyn reddened out even more. “Yes actually, Your Grace. I would just like to inquire about today’s letters, and if they have already arrived this morning?” 

“Ah yes, they have. I think I saw one addressed to you from Vallt Park. It’s been put away in my study. Feel free to go there and claim it.” 

Jyn gave her a nod. “Thank you, Your Grace.” 

So Jyn went off again through the house’s halls, until she reached the floor where the duchess’s study was. With some force, she pushed on its double doors and stepped inside.

In the middle of the room was a gilded mahogany desk, surrounded by three walls of shelves. On the table’s surface was a slightly thick stack of letters, which Jyn began to carefully rifle through. 

When she finally found the one for her, its penmanship surely signifying it to be from her mother, another letter that sat in the middle of the desk, and which had already been opened and loosely folded closed, suddenly caught her eye. 

Strange, she thought. The seal that poked through from beneath the paper oddly reminded her of the same kind of wax that came with the letter Kerri had sent her—so eerily similar down to its sheen, color, and marbling. 

Upon leaning down and taking a closer look at the letter, she saw at its bottom edge, just jutting out from beneath the top fold, the bottom lines of ink that marked the writer’s signature. 

Her curiosity totally piqued, and with no one to reprimand her out of what she was now tempted to do, Jyn found herself, discreetly, slipping a finger between the folds and ever so slightly raising it—just to see the name, she told herself.

When she did, her hand instantly recoiled from the letter as though her skin had just been scalded by hot oil. She backed away from the desk, her surprise causing her to bump her behind into a shelf, motioning a book to fall onto her head. She winced in silence.

Hardly finding the time to recover from the pain, she put the book back in place, quickly grabbed the letter from her mother, and scampered out of the duchess’s study and into her bedchamber. 

From that moment she tried to ignore what she had seen and do her best to go about her day, especially since she had to prepare herself for an afternoon at the theater with Philip and the duchess. But she found that she could not; whatever she did, it was not enough to shake off the fact that still rang through her mind.

It was Cassian Andor. The signature spelled, undoubtedly, Cassian Andor’s name.

All the doubt that she managed to forget for the last two days—about Philip, about Lady Mothma’s and Cassian’s separate but similar reactions towards him—suddenly came flooding back to her.

Her previous suspicions, which she had since then thrown to the side, were starting to feel true once more. 

Lady Mothma had not been wrong; her box did provide quite the perfect view of the stage below. 

The show was set to begin in half an hour. People had begun to fill the theater, filing through the rows of seats below, as well as the other boxes around where Jyn and the duchess sat. 

To pass the time spent waiting, Philip had excused himself to mingle with his Cambridge friends, who had scheduled to attend the same showing, somewhere on the ground floor. Jyn watched him from the height and the distance as he laughed and conversed with his peers on who knew what. 

She wondered how a person of such easy manners could be the object of anybody’s disapprobation, not only on Cassian’s part now it would seem, but Lady Mothma’s as well.

She caught a side-eye glance at the duchess, who sat to her right. Jyn debated to herself whether or not she should ask about Cassian to her, who, apparently, was someone she not only knew, but also corresponded to. 

She drummed her fingers against the ledge in front of her, her sandaled foot tapping rapidly against the carpet beneath. 

Lady Mothma gently fanned herself while she perused a pamphlet about the afternoon’s show. “An opera in only two acts,” she said, addressing Jyn without looking up from the paper. “We should conclude and still have time for a quick visit at Sir Organa’s dinner party—that is, if you are still not tired. What do you think?”

When Jyn didn’t answer, she finally looked up. “Jyn?”

The nerves in her threatening to burst at the seams, Jyn finally found the strength to say, “Your Grace?” 

Lady Mothma’s brows wrinkled together. “Yes?”

This time Jyn didn’t hold back. “This question might come out of nowhere,” she began, “but, er, do you know Mr. Andor—Cassian Andor?”

Lady Mothma blinked, though nothing in her expression indicated any kind of surprise. 

“I do, yes,” she answered. “For a long time now, actually.”

Jyn’s heartbeat quickened. “I see. I assume—well, suppose —that you knew him because of some line of work he had done on your behalf?” 

“I have worked with him before, yes.” Lady Mothma’s sight narrowed, carefully observing her. “Why do you ask this, Jyn?” 

“Did you know that he had moved into our village? You must have heard, through some form or another?” (Here the image of the opened letter sped by her mind, but she dared not bring it up).

The duchess seemed to weigh how to respond to the question before she finally nodded.

“I did, yes," she said. "And it surprised me, to be honest.” 

Jyn frowned. “It did? Why?”

The duchess paused to think. “Well, of all places, I didn’t think he would settle there in Endor Village. The most likely possibility is that he just did not know.”

“Did not know what?” asked Jyn.

Lady Mothma leaned closer towards Jyn. “Jyn, what do you know of Mr. Andor?”

Jyn gazed off to think. “I suppose nothing much—well, except what I need, perhaps.”

“What do you mean by that?” Lady Mothma tilted her head. 

Jyn took a deep breath. She met the duchess’s eyes. “We don’t get along, Your Grace. He has made it a point to dislike me, and frankly I just don’t find him agreeable. I need not know more beyond his unwillingness to be civil with me.”

“What have you two argued about?”

Jyn stammered. “I…he has persuaded his sister Kerri to no longer be my friend, and I admonished him for it; for some reason, he thinks too little of my character and does not trust me with her.”

Here Jyn caught Lady Mothma stealing a glance in the general direction where Philip stood below. She then nodded as if she understood. 

“I do not say that I condone particularly his judgment of your character,” she said, “but, if I may offer some clarity, Jyn, I think I know why he acted the way he did.”

Jyn’s heart sank. At that point she felt like she had no choice but to finally pose the question she had been dreading to ask and receive an answer to. 

“Is it…because of Mr. Krennic, Your Grace?”

Lady Mothma met Jyn’s eyes, but did not speak. It was all the confirmation that Jyn needed. Her spirits spiralled.

“Has he done something to Mr. Andor?” she suddenly inquired. “Is this also why, with all due respect, Your Grace, you yourself seem to dislike him?”

The duchess’s eyes widened in surprise. “What do you mean? I do?”

“I do not understand,” Jyn went on, averting her gaze away from the duchess and shaking her head. “Mr. Krennic cannot have done something to warrant all this, can he?” 

Upon observing the turmoil that began to overtake Jyn, Lady Mothma’s expression softened. In a gentle voice she said, “Jyn. It seems to me that this is something that has weighed heavily upon you. And understandably so, for it involves a question around the person with whom you are to marry.” 

Jyn did not respond.

“And it’s clear to me,” continued the duchess, “that your confusion is caused by an important fact, and one whose knowledge of you do not currently possess.”

Her breaths heavy, Jyn looked at the duchess with anticipation. “What knowledge, Your Grace? What is it that I should know?” 

Lady Mothma took in a big breath of air.

“Let me tell you about Mr. Andor’s past.” 

With all the questions that plagued her mind finally about to get their answers, Jyn now lent her all her attention to the duchess as she began to tell her the story of Cassian Andor’s life, which, for Jyn, had been nothing short of a mystery—and the object of her deepest curiosity.

Chapter Text

“To first understand Cassian’s life,” Lady Mothma began, “you must first know about his and Kerri’s parents, Cassandra and Kiernan. Cassandra, who was then Cassandra Dashwood, was the fourth child of a well-off family who lived in Liverpool. One day, in an attempt to momentarily escape her parents’ incessant and too enthusiastic attempts at marrying her off, she took to the ports to wander about and keep her mind off things. 

“There, she met Kiernan, who was a clerk and assistant for one of the merchants who had a small office there. His line of work, in particular, was translating on behalf of his patron’s clients who could only speak Spanish; he was incredibly fluent at it.

“He and Cassandra got off quite well, and soon, they fell in love with each other. Cassandra would sneak away from her home everyday to meet him, and eventually Kiernan found the courage to offer his hand in marriage. Cassandra willingly accepted it.

“It came as no surprise to the both of them, however, that when Cassandra told her parents of the engagement, they did not approve—The Dashwoods did not want Kiernan as a husband for their daughter. But this did not faze Cassandra, and was still determined in keeping her engagement with Kiernan.

"To this her parents retaliated still with an obstinacy, and one even greater. They gave her an ultimatum: if she married the man, they would cut off all material support for her for good, and never speak to her again.”

“But still, she chose him," Jyn guessed.

“She did, yes,” confirmed Lady Mothma. “But despite the threat of financial loss, you see, in actuality, the union did not mean any ruin for her. For while Kiernan was not wealthy, he was also not entirely poor. After they got wed, they moved and found a small cottage in a town called Fest farther up north, almost to the border of Scotland.

"They managed on their own, Cassandra and Kiernan, which, just a year later, led to the birth of their first child, Cassian. Five years later followed Kerri.

“But while it overjoyed the Andors to have a second child, this also posed a problem for them now. With two very young children to take care of, keeping the household afloat was now becoming more of a struggle to accomplish. Kiernan’s clerical work, while previously enough, no longer produced the amount of money needed to sustain his growing family.

"With the war against France escalating and the Crown needing more men to fight at sea than ever before, he found himself with no other choice but to enlist in the Navy as a seaman. They deployed him on a ship called HMS Celeste. 

“Fighting at sea was not without its constant danger, but for a while he was finally able to earn enough to send home to his family in Fest. This went on for seven years. By the end of that period, though, things began to change.

"In the wake of the kingdom’s still increasing tensions with France, the conditions suffered by sailors all across the Royal Navy turned even more abysmal than they had already been before. This was when mutinies amongst sailors became more prolific. You’ve heard of the Nore mutiny, haven’t you? That was just one of the many others that occurred at the time. 

“The crew of HMS Celeste eventually partook in one themselves, with the willing participation of Kiernan himself. At that point, their crew were dropping like flies at such a rapid rate; within the last five months alone, seven of them had died—not from fighting the French, no, but from famine, infections, or madness.

"So they decided that they had had enough of it.

“Their determination was strong, but the force with which the Crown responded was too brutal, even for seasoned sailors. Kiernan fought valiantly, but he was killed, the entire crew along with him.

“The conflict irredeemably wrecked HMS Celeste. This infuriated its owner, who had invested a great deal in the vessel.” She then narrowed her eyes at Jyn. “I think you can guess who he is, Jyn. There are only a few names known for investing in the trade during the Napoleonic wars, and you are very close to one of them.”

It instantly dawned on Jyn. Her heart sank. Quietly she said, “The Krennics.” 

Lady Mothma nodded.

Jyn fell into total silence for a few seconds, reveling in the realization. “Sir Orson Krennic owned HMS Celeste.”

“He did, yes. Now widowed, Cassandra, upon discovering this, appealed to the Admiralty for reparation for what her late-husband had suffered. She also demanded due compensation for his service, which, after all, he had rendered for the kingdom for seven years.

"But Sir Krennic, who had taken it upon himself to get involved in the affairs of the ship’s mutineers, convinced its captain (who had fought against his own crew) that no such recovery of damages should be given to her.

“Cassandra did not back down, however. Still she stuck to her demands, but Sir Krennic was equally unflinching; to settle the matter for good, he made a case for Kiernan’s descent, which was when things began to go really south for her.”

“Why, Your Grace?" asked Jyn. "What did Sir Krennic do?”

“He had found out that apparently," answered the duchess, "that Kiernan was not from England; his investigations tied him back to New Spain, where his entire family resided. And it wasn’t just any family, either; his father, it turned out, was a governor who held office in the capital.”

Jyn’s brows furrowed. “And was it true?”

Lady Mothma nodded. “It was. Sir Krennic found this sufficient reason enough to suspect that the mutiny in which he had a large part in leading was motivated by his covert allegiances to Spain—a kingdom which, by then, was still a staunch ally of France. This would make Kiernan Andor, in effect, a much worse traitor to the Crown, and therefore must be treated as one. He had made such a compelling case to the Admiralty that it was too easy for him from that point.”

“But that’s not really the case, was it not?" argued Jyn. "He was not really a spy for Spain?"

“Sir Krennic had presumed the worst intentions behind his actions, on the mere basis of that information about him."

"So if his claim was a falsehood, then what is the truth, Your Grace? Also, come to think of it, if he was the son of a governor, why was he all the way over in Liverpool doing small clerical work?” 

Lady Mothma gave her a small smile. “I believe that is a story for Cassian and Kerri to tell.” 

Jyn suddenly felt flustered. "Oh. Of course."

"Anyway," continued Lady Mothma, "because of it, in the end, Cassandra received nothing. She now had neither husband nor money.

“Kiernan’s death devastated her, that’s without a doubt, but the dread of raising Cassian and Kerri now all by herself took heavier weight upon her. How could she even take care of two children alone without a reliable income?

“It was also not easy for the children themselves, but the loss seem to have affected Kerri much more gravely. She was only seven at the time, and losing a father was a severe tragedy to her heart. To see such a young child grieve to such a sorrowful extent—it was a tough sight for a mother to bear. So Cassandra made her son promise not to tell her about what Sir Krennic had done in response to his death—she did not know how much more her daughter could take. Cassian gave her his word.”

Jyn briefly remembered the imposingly cheerful disposition of the younger Andor sibling, now in awe of the disjoint between the joy she so consistently exuded, and the grief she had experienced. 

“For the next four years,” continued the duchess, “Cassandra tried to make ends meet as a governess, but overworking herself had made her weak. Eventually her body succumbed to a terrible case of tuberculosis in the lungs. She was too tired at that point, so much that Cassian already knew, young as he was, that there was no hope for her recovery. And he was right.

“Cassian and Kerri became orphans since then, and Cassian, in particular, was afraid—as any sixteen-year-old boy would be. He did not have any money to inherit, and he did not know how to take care of his younger sister by himself. There was no one he could reach out to—the Dashwoods remained steadfast in their prejudice against the Andors, and he did not take his chances with anybody from his father’s side. He tried to work, but since none of what he made was even close enough, he had fallen into a state of debt. 

“One day, while he was trying to evade somebody who he owed money to, he snuck into a gentleman’s club to hide. There, he ran into Mr. Draven.” Lady Mothma then paused to ask Jyn, “You remember Mr. Draven from this morning? He was the barrister who briefly stopped for a visit.”

Jyn nodded, and in an instant, already got an inkling of what was about to happen next. Lady Mothma, as she spoke the next parts of the story, confirmed it to be almost accurate:

“You see, Mr. Draven had known all along that Cassian, what with his appearance and dress during that moment, was not a gentleman who frequented that club—anybody would have known, really. But Cassian did not fold under it and impressively kept his air, despite looking like he did not belong there.

"Mr. Draven knew then, as he listened to Cassian’s attempts at conversation, that he wasn’t pretending, not entirely; there existed in the boy a well of knowledge that could only be acquired from studying materials typical for gentlemen. He also found that he possessed the high ability to converse, to reason, and to think with such logic and erudition. It amazed him quite profoundly.

“Later Mr. Draven finally called Cassian’s bluff, and propositioned for him to be his apprentice in law. And Cassian, not one to let such an opportunity pass, immediately accepted. Eventually he began his education at Gray’s Temple. There he studied law for five years, then worked for the next twelve.”

Jyn fell into a state of quietude, reflecting on these events that had fallen upon Cassian’s life. “And now he is a successful solicitor,” she said above a whisper. 

“And has accumulated enough money for his and his sister’s more than comfortable living,” supplied Lady Mothma further. “But, despite things already being better for him and Kerri, I believe he’s still keeping his promise to his mother; it seems to me that he continues to carry that knowledge alone, after hearing what you two had argued about.” 

Jyn had reason to believe the same. Nothing in the explanations that Kerri had provided in her letter signified that she knew at all about what Sir Krennic had done. And recalling the events of Mr. Rook’s ball now, Jyn surmised that she had not even known of the Krennics until they’d met that evening.

A sense of dread immediately fell upon her, sinking her spirit to the deepest of depths. She could hardly look at the duchess now; she buried her face in her hands. 

“Jyn?” asked Lady Mothma, concern clear in her voice. “What’s wrong?” 

The things Jyn had said to Cassian during their argument in Vallt Park all came crawling back to her mind. She felt her face redden in shame. 

“Jyn?”

Jyn sighed. “I said some terrible things to him, Your Grace. I had always perceived his anger towards it, but I never truly understood the extent of it, or the reason for it, until now.” 

Lady Mothma did not speak, only offered her a look of sympathy.

Jyn finally managed to meet the duchess’s eyes. Letting out a shaky breath, she said, “I see now why he feels that way about the Krennics, and by extension, about me—I, who now intend to join the family. But I knew nothing of this, Your Grace. I had absolutely no idea.” 

Lady Mothma put a hand on Jyn’s shoulder. “I know you didn’t, Jyn.”

Jyn sighed again. “But now that I do,” she said, “I assume you are now to dissuade me from marrying Mr. Krennic.”

She held her breath, preparing herself for the duchess’s answer, and now trying to imagine her new future from this point hence. But what Lady Mothma said next surprised her:

“No, Jyn. I’m not going to do that.”

Jyn gave her a look of disbelief. “You’re not?” she asked. “But—but I thought that you disapproved of my match with him.”

Lady Mothma observed her carefully. Then she shook her head. “I think you have misconstrued me, Jyn. But I can see why you would think that way.”

Jyn just stared at her, anticipating an explanation.

“Look,” the duchess said, “I admit that I had harbored some doubt particularly in the beginning when I saw you and Philip, but I soon realized that that feeling had less to do with Mr. Krennic himself, and more to do with the surprise that I felt from your decision to marry at all—for I know very clearly how you feel about it.” 

When Jyn didn’t speak, she continued, “Jyn, I am not judging you for it. You must do what you must—I know what it feels like to be burdened with the necessity.” 

Jyn frowned. “But I still do not understand, Your Grace. Why won’t you talk me out of it now, after all this?”

Lady Mothma offered her a kind smile. “I cannot tell you what you should or should not do about Philip.” Then, when she sensed Jyn’s confusion, she said, “What I’m trying to say, Jyn, is that whether or not you still want to pursue a union with him is something you have to decide for yourself. I do not know him, not in the way you do. And yes, Sir Krennic had pulled a decisive influence surrounding the matter of Cassian’s father, but you must realize, those were his actions, not his son’s.”

Jyn stared, spending a few moments to take all the duchess’s words in. “Your Grace, are you saying that Philip is blameless in all this?”

Lady Mothma shrugged. “Perhaps he is, perhaps he is not. It’s possible he knows not of it even—he was only but ten when it happened. Here is what I know: people are complicated; they don’t always turn out to be their parents. Sometimes they do, yes, but a lot of the time, they also just don’t. We cannot quickly condemn Philip for something his father had done—the same way Cassian cannot condemn you for it.” 

When Jyn still didn’t speak, Lady Mothma finally posed, “So what do you think, Jyn? Do you think that you cannot trust Philip anymore because of what his father had done, or do you think that you still can, because you know for certain that he had no part to play in it, and that he cannot do such a thing himself? Only you can tell this.”

Jyn started to feel lightheaded. “My, Your Grace,” she breathed, “that is an impossibly difficult question.” As she even attempted to think about it, so many complications already tangled themselves up with each other in her head.

She felt as though suddenly all of life, which hung over her like a cloud, had begun to descend into heavy rain.

Lady Mothma gave her a sympathetic smile. “Most questions posed by life usually are, Jyn.” 

Just then, the curtains on the stage below began to part, and a painted and costumed ensemble began to move about to the rhythm of a melodramatic, orchestral overture. 

Just as the first singer sang her first note, Philip finally emerged from behind Jyn. She jumped in surprise. 

He leaned down within her earshot. “Forgive me for being a bit late, Miss Erso,” he said, before sitting down on the chair beside her. “It was the first time I saw my mates in months.”

Jyn did not speak, only stared at the gentleman, her breaths quick in her anxiety. 

“Is there something on my face?” he asked, smiling. He proceeded to lift a hand to feel his cheeks in jest. 

As she looked at him in silence, Jyn suppressed any reaction that would betray her current confusions. In his countenance she saw the face of Sir Krennic, and yet, all the same, she found it difficult to reconcile him as being the same person entirely. 

It was impossible to imagine that Philip would ever do the sort of thing that Sir Krennic had. 

She was utterly torn, so much that she could feel her mind practically splitting itself in half.

In the instant Philip sensed her mood, he quickly dropped his gaiety. With audible concern he asked, “Miss Erso, are you quite all right?”

The singer on stage began to sing a shrill note, the sound ululating in the air, against the walls, and straight into Jyn’s ears.

Still, she did not speak. 

Jyn had since then racked her brain, thinking of the right way to deal with her current predicament. Unfortunately for her, she had not been able to find the time to do it—for after the opera, Lady Mothma ushered them both immediately to Sir Organa’s dinner party, where Jyn’s attentions had all but been solicited by the host’s daughter, Miss Leia. 

On the one hand, Jyn was glad for the distraction, for discussions of various matters that interested her meant postponing what she wildly hoped not to discover about Philip’s complicity in the whole deluge (and she liked the lady’s company very much), yet on the other hand, she also felt as though she was only but sustaining the anxieties that did not seem to quiet down, even in passing time. 

By the end of the evening, Jyn was already too tired yet again, and Philip too it seemed, for he had already gone straight for his lodging. 

She only found the time for reflection, really, when the conclusion of their trip to Bath finally arrived. 

The goodbyes that Jyn and Lady Mothma had exchanged during the moment were bittersweet, and Jyn, overcome by a deep gratitude, had expressed her thanks for the guidance which the duchess had shared to her, and should now inform her next actions henceforth.

As the carriage rolled away, she suddenly felt alone, despite the companionship of the gentleman who sat across from her.

Philip looked at her with a curious expression. “Miss Erso,” he said cautiously, “I sense that something has been bothering you since the opera.” He leaned forward. “I wish you would tell me what it is.” 

There was no going around it anymore; it was time for Jyn to settle the matter. 

At first she hesitated, but soon managed to begin. “I suppose I’ve been thinking about a question, Mr. Krennic—a rather difficult one at that.”

“Yes?”

“I wonder if one’s sentiments and affections for a person can overpower their sensibility for what is good and what is not.” 

“What do you mean, Miss Erso?”

“Do you…do you ever think about what you would be willing or not willing to excuse, ignore, or look past for the people you really liked and respected?” 

Philip paused in thought. “That is a rather deep musing, I would say. I hope you are not torn about it, Miss Erso. It seems like a difficult question.” 

Jyn let out a quiet, dry laugh. “It is, isn’t it. Well, I’m afraid I must now rope you into thinking about it as well.”

Philip looked uncertain, but he tried for a smile. “Try me, then.” 

“All right.” Jyn cleared her throat. “What if, say, you discovered that—that your father had done something deplorable? What if—what if he had deprived a person of something they truly needed because he thinks they do not deserve it?”

Philip frowned. “Why would my father think they do not deserve it?”

“Because—” Jyn tried not to show her indignation upon the remembrance of the fact “—he just believes they do not.”

Philip hummed in thought. “But they do?”

Jyn nodded. “Yes, very much so. And in consequence, that deprivation ruins their life for the worst—forever.” 

“Upon my word, that is rather a conundrum.”

Jyn narrowed her sight. “Is it?”

Philip tilted his head. “You seem surprised, Miss Erso. Why would it not be one?” 

“You do not think that your immediate disapproval is due the act?”

When Philip saw the growing mortification on Jyn’s face, he quickly shook his head. “Oh, no, no, no, Miss Erso. That is not what I’m saying at all.” He took a quick pause. “What I only mean is that it is difficult. Say it’s your father—would you not feel the same way?”

Jyn beheld him in a way that made it seem as if the answer was obvious. “I understand the difficulty of it quite clearly. However, the presence or lack of that feeling should not signify what I should do about it. Honestly, Mr. Krennic, I think it should be quite simple. Why must we condone a truly terrible thing being done just because someone we loved did it? What does that say about us? Our principles and sensibilities? Ruining a life out of spite, Mr. Krennic—I do not think it should be that hard.”

Philip quietly sank into thought. 

“So to answer your question,” proceeded Jyn, “if my father had done it, he would not be exempt from the same disfavor I would give to somebody I neither knew nor have deep affections for.”

Philip looked ahead and out the window beside him, his mind running at full speed.

After a long pause he finally said, “You’re right, Miss Erso.”

Jyn watched him carefully. “I am?”

The gentleman nodded, surer this time. “You are. You definitely are. I would do what you would in an instant; if my father had done something of the sort, I would deplore him for it, too.”

Jyn fell silent, which encouraged Philip to say, “But the thing is, Miss Erso, I do not believe it would come to that point; the reason I’ve always respected and looked up to my father is because I know that he had not and will not do anything of the sort.”

Jyn grimaced. Quietly she said, “But what if I told you, Mr. Krennic, that he had?”

Philip’s expression fell. “What do you mean?”

Jyn stammered. She did not realize how difficult it would be to impart dreadful knowledge about one’s father to his son.

“Miss Erso,” urged Philip, “what did you mean?”

Jyn took in a deep breath, and with a heavy heart, began to tell the story of HMS Celeste and the Andors—leaving out, with due diligence, any detail surrounding the family’s life which was not necessary to Philip’s awareness. 

As she progressed through the tale, so did Philip’s look of terror and incredulity.

By the time she finished, silence fell upon them in the carriage. Philip did not utter a single word. 

After a while, Jyn could not bear the quiet any longer. “Mr. Krennic?”

Philip, whose gaze seemed distant, finally looked at Jyn. He shook his head. “Forgive me, Miss Erso. I am just...shocked. I did not know about this at all—this is news to me.”

“So you really did not know?” asked Jyn.

Philip shook his head with a forlorn, but earnest conviction. "I did not, Miss Erso." Then, with desperation he looked into her eyes. “My father really did that to the Andors?”

Jyn leaned forward. “You believe it, then?”

Philip hesitated for a moment, then answered, “I do not find any good reason to doubt your accounts, Miss Erso, nor Lady Mothma’s, for that matter.” 

Jyn dipped her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not be.” Philip gave off a weak, wistful laugh. “It would seem that the fruits of our discussion will now be put to the test.” He looked at Jyn with a sad smile. “I understand now why you have been thinking about it, Miss Erso. It is clear that you disapprove of what my father had done, as anyone ought to, and you would now like to see where I stand.”  

Jyn felt her cheeks grow warm. “I do not mean to test you, Mr. Krennic. I know this must be a lot to deal with all at once, and you don’t have to say anything at the moment—”

“No, no,” gently interrupted Philip. “You are wise, Miss Erso, and you have served me well. You are right. My father had done something terrible, and I cannot just turn a blind eye to it merely because of my affections for him.”

Jyn gazed down to her lap.

“Be ill at ease no longer,” assured Philip. “I shall confront him about it when he returns from the East Indies, and then I shall make sure that he pays back what he has taken away from the Andors.” 

Jyn quickly looked up to face him. “How will you do that?” she asked.

Philip took a moment to reflect, then shook his head. “I…I admit that is something I do not yet know.”

They fell into more painful silence, and maintained it for a while. Philip, upon registering the uncertainty in Jyn’s expression, felt himself obliged to say, “I know it may sound vague, but you have my word that I will get it done, Miss Erso. I promise. If I am going to follow in his footsteps, I shall do it right by correcting his wrongs.” 

The proclamation stunned Jyn into more silence. It was something she did not expect to hear, but not something she didn't not want to, either.

Philip then leaned forward, and directly looking into her eyes, he asked, “Do you believe me?”

Jyn heard her own blood rush against her head. She exhaled air just as quickly as she inhaled them. She stared back at the Krennic son, and for a while did not—could not—answer. 

You must decide this for yourself, Lady Mothma had told her.

In all her life, whenever Jyn found herself at a crossroads, she had always relied on what she knew to decide which path to take forth.

She thought back on what she had always known of Philip. 

She decided to believe that. 

“Miss Erso?” the gentleman asked again. He watched and waited in near-agony for her reply. 

Jyn, meeting his eyes, took a deep breath. 

And then she finally spoke her answer. 

Chapter Text

For though Jyn, in the duration of their trip back to Endor Village, had done nothing but sit (and occasionally step outside to stretch whenever the horses needed a respite), she was still too tired from all the festivities she had attended in Bath; and so when Philip proposed to pause their travel and spend the night at a lodging, she had easily agreed to it. 

The small inn wasn’t far off from the borders of their county, and they had both decided to stay for no longer than six hours, so she was confident in this small change of plans to not bode too big of a delay to their expected arrival back home, which, as scheduled, would still be within the same day.

Besides, Jyn very much needed some time without Philip being in the same room—or, in the case of the last twenty hours, the same carriage. Though they had been mostly silent since their difficult conversation about Sir Krennic, Jyn still had not been able to fully process what she had given to him as an answer, an endeavor which was only something solitude could afford. 

By the time everything had been settled at the inn, Jyn finally headed up to her room. Much later that night, as she laid alone on the bed, the orange light from the fireplace by her bedside dancing against the wooden ceiling, the motions of her discussion with Philip played itself once more from her memory. And when it had finished, over and over again it played; it beleaguered her mind in a state of excess, that amidst all that thinking, she had forgotten at which exact point she had finally fallen into her slumber.

She had labored her mind wondering if she had decided right. She imagined various possibilities on how things would go from that point hence as a consequence of this choice. What would happen now with the Krennics, the Andors, and even her own family?

It felt strange to bear all of it alone. 

She had fallen asleep with no clear answer, but perhaps that was exactly she just needed—the indecision she had allowed to fester during her rest might just have been the very thing to steer her towards the clarity she sought for; to not chase it, but to let it come towards her when it was ready.

And ready it finally seemed to be the following morning. When she woke up at dawn, her mind finally clear of the last remnants of her exhaustion, she’d realized that, as she thought about the consequences of the other choice she had not made—she’d realized that whatever she had decided to tell Philip was the better, if not the only one of the two, she could have truly made. 

It should have given her some relief now to know there was no other thing she could have done—that the path she had taken was clearly the one to take. 

In theory, at least. 

In no time they were back on the road. Jyn now felt somehow refreshed, though as she looked at the gentleman across from her, she could not say the same for him. Philip seemed to be toiling under a storm in his own mind, no doubt caused by the same conundrum surrounding his father. For him Jyn felt bad; so she decided to maintain silence between them until they had to part their ways.

Soon the lush green fields of Endor Village and the stonework of the neighboring town farther back by the foot of the mountain finally came into distant view. It was not the best day out, but still, beneath the overcast sky the view still looked quite breathtaking to Jyn. As she drank in its sight, her body melted into ease. She found the comfort she felt now, borne from knowing that her home was finally within reach, to be in a certain way incomparable to any other. 

When they finally crossed the borders to the Ersos’ estate and took the path towards their house, the carriage finally parked by the small fountain in the center of the courtyard. 

Philip descended first to escort Jyn out. 

For a moment, he and Jyn only stood facing together in silence. 

Philip finally spoke. “Thank you for coming with me to Bath, Miss Erso.”

Jyn watched him in silence, the mild exhaustion in his voice not escaping her notice. She nodded. “Thank you too, Mr. Krennic.”

The gentleman gave off a small, defeated laugh. “I suppose I should thank you too for our conversation yesterday. It had not turned out to be the kind I hoped it to be, but…” he trailed off.

“Mr. Krennic,” said Jyn, “I’ve told you my decision about the matter, and it is final.” 

Philip nodded. He gave her a dry, tight-lipped smile. “Yes, of course. I suppose I just needed to hear it one more time to be sure that I understood it right.” 

A pause pierced the air between them before Jyn finally spoke again. “I think we should both take a rest, don’t you think?”

Philip nodded, then bowed his head. “Goodbye, Miss Erso.” 

Soon, as his carriage rolled away behind her, Jyn began her entrance into the house, feeling the gravity of her choice weigh her down on every step; she had the sense that things would never be the same again.

She expected to be no sooner welcomed by her parents once inside, but she was soon told by the house butler that they were both currently not home, and had gone out into town. “Would you know what for?” she asked, to which he replied, “They had gone to the food parlour, Miss.” 

Jyn would have waited for them to arrive, but as it stood, she longed to reunite with both her parents at the soonest possibility. Without thinking twice, and hardly taking the time to sit down for even a minute, she ventured out, alone this time, to head into town. 

The town on a Saturday tended to be one of its liveliest sort. A small fair had been set up in the center square, which was why everybody who Jyn had walked past seemed to carry all sorts of things in their bags and baskets—from special cuts of meat, to imported fruit, to small decorative trinkets. 

She had begun to wait by the corner of a street until it was safe to cross, when she heard chatter between a man and a woman from her far left. 

“I don’t know, Miss Andor,” said the man. “I think I might have to disagree with you there.”

Then the woman’s voice, which was surely Miss Andor’s herself, replied, “Upon my word, do not be absurd.” 

Both voices laughed. 

In an instant Jyn turned her head to confirm that the woman was Kerri indeed, walking closely alongside a gentleman—the very same one she had once confided in her, when she and her brother had called upon the Ersos some days after Bodhi’s ball, to be the object of her growing fancy. 

“Mr. Donwell,” continued Kerri. She wore a big smile on her face. “Forgive me, but I cannot take anybody who says such things to ever be serious.”

James Donwell grinned. “But I am totally serious.”

More laughter ensued.

Several buildings away from Jyn, they both currently cruised forward, at a slow pace, and towards her direction. As they were both engrossed in each other’s company, they had both not seen her yet. This gave Jyn the window she needed to scurry behind the corner of a shop and conceal herself from their sight. 

Soon the couple’s conversation grew much more audible, until they finally emerged from behind the wall beside her. Still though, they did not see her; their backs to her, they now both stopped by the spot where Jyn had previously been waiting to cross—like her, they also seemed to be waiting for the small traffic of carriages to ease.

She pushed herself farther behind the shop’s corner column and took her time. Every now and then she would peek around the column to check if they’d already gone, and whenever she did, she would not fail to notice how close and comfortable Kerri and James seemed to be with each other. 

Finally the couple crossed, but Jyn waited until they reached a certain threshold of distance before she began to move again. Once she felt confident that she was finally in the clear, she began to cross the street, and had already reached the other side, when ahead of her James and Kerri suddenly stopped in their tracks. 

Jyn braked her feet consequently, and, out of likely places to hide once more, had no choice but to stand behind a lamppost. She felt her face grow hot as she realized, standing behind this narrow shaft of metal, how foolish she must seem to anybody who looked—which were, unfortunately, a few people, including a few faces she was somewhat acquainted with.

It didn’t matter to her in the end, though; she would rather risk the hardly consequential small chatter among the townspeople about the only Erso daughter acting strangely, than run paths into an Andor—even the one of the two she liked. 

Peeking around the post, Jyn watched as Kerri appeared to part ways with James before she headed inside the building they had stopped in front of. For a moment James stood to watch her until he himself started to walk back the way he came, towards Jyn’s direction.  

Panic instantly seized Jyn. With haste she turned on her heel and began to hurry out of his sight, but it was too late; James had already caught her. 

“Miss Erso?” he called from the distance. “Is that you?”

Jyn froze her in place, overcome by the mortification of having all her rather stupid efforts to conceal herself easily thrown away in vain by quick recognition. Quietly she let out a sound that was both a groan and a sigh. 

She turned on her heel, and upon meeting James’s gaze, wore a grin on her face. 

Soon James stopped in front of her. His dark curly had been tousled every which way by the wind, his cravat sitting lopsidedly right around his neck. 

“Mr. Donwell, good afternoon,” Jyn said with a curtsy. “I didn’t see you there.” 

“Hello,” replied James with an easy smile. Then he gave her a curious look. “Pardon me, but were you just standing behind this post here?” He turned his gaze towards the tall lamp beside Jyn.

Jyn all too quickly feigned a laugh. “Oh no, goodness—I was just, er, trying to view the shop across the street. Yes, that one.”

She continued to fill the short, awkward silence that followed with her sustained laughter. The gentleman only looked confused, but decided not to probe further. Dropping the subject he said instead, “Well, I see you’re finally back from Bath.”

Relieved by this allowance, Jyn quickly picked up on the new topic. “Indeed I am—just an hour ago, in truth. I would not leave the house so soon after a long trip, but I am eager to meet my parents after having not been with them for a week. I’ve been told they are here in town.”

“I did see them, yes. Just half an hour ago dining in the French parlour on the other end of town. In fact, I myself had just had a meal there, with the wonderful company of Miss Andor.”

“Oh,” was Jyn’s only response. “I see.”

It looked to Jyn as though James and Kerri’s friendship had begun to progress while she had been away in Bath. Had nothing of what recently happened to her own friendship with her occurred, Jyn would have already expressed her joy for this development, especially since she knew how much Kerri liked him.

“You two seem to be getting along well,” she remarked. 

At that James suppressed a smile. He looked down on his shoes and let out a flustered chuckle.

“Anyhow,” he said, after recovering his wits, “After that I escorted her back to where she and Mr. Andor had agreed to rendezvous.” He looked over his shoulder and gazed towards the building where Kerri had just come in. “The dessert shop over there.” 

Jyn began to feel nervous. “You mean to say Mr. Andor is also in there?” she inquired.

“I believe so, yes,” James answered. “They agreed to meet at three o’clock. It is now ten minutes past the hour.”

“I see.” 

James seemed to notice her sudden unease. “Are you well? Would you like me to escort you to your parents? It is only that way.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder, towards the direction of the dessert shop. 

Jyn was overcome by immediate reluctance, for she knew that if she took this path now, she would surely run into the Andors, who could be coming out of the building any second.

And sure enough, the door to the shop opened, and through it emerged Kerri.

Jyn did not want to risk waiting around until her brother would come out next. She looked back at James and quickly shook her head. “Thank you, Mr. Donwell, but there would be no need for that. I plan on taking another path, er, there.” Without prior deliberation, she pointed a thumb to the perpendicular street to her right. 

James frowned. “That seems like an unnecessary long way.”

“Oh, not quite,” Jyn reasoned dismissively. “There is a building I’d like to stop by along the way, anyway.”

“Well,” James’s tone was unsure, “if you are certain, Miss Erso, then all right. Please tell Mr. and Mrs. Erso my regards.” 

Jyn smiled and quickly curtsied. “I’ll make sure they hear of it. Good day, Mr. Donwell.”

Quickly she crossed the road to her right, hardly looking back at the Andors who surely must now have already seen her. She kept walking forward until she found enough cover behind the buildings to no longer be within their view. 

From there she took a few more twists and turns through the town’s streets, convolutedly, taking her time to get to her destination on the other end of town, and as far away as possible. 

At some point, she found herself reaching the square, and straight into the heart of the fair. 

Small wooden stalls with each their own decorations littered the place. Overhead streamers and flags of various colors crisscrossed in almost a non-existent pattern. The moderate murmurs of what perhaps amounted to tens of dozens of people filled the air, with occasional shrieks of joy from children who ran around playing chase.

Jyn entered the crowd to get to the other side of the square. 

Somewhere in the middle of it, as she turned a corner behind a stall that sold puppies by the crate, then another to get to the main pathway that finally revealed the square arch within her view, she suddenly slammed into somebody coming from her left. The person made a grunting sound as she gasped in her shock. 

“My apologies,” she began, “I—” 

Then she dropped dead silent. As she beheld the face of the person she had run into, her eyes could almost fall right out of their sockets. She willed her pulse to slow itself down.

It was the very person she had been trying to avoid all along.

“Mr. Andor?” she said, her tone marked with genuine confusion. 

Her mind raced. Had she not just seen him leave from the dessert shop? Unless she hadn’t…and the more she thought about it, she realized that she in fact had not! She had only ever seen Kerri leave; Cassian had never been there in the first place! 

Fate seemed to have a penchant for disfavoring Jyn today, for despite her attempts to avoid any encounter with the solicitor, here she was, forced into one. 

His eyes wide and mouth hung slightly open, Cassian looked as equally in surprise as Jyn was. She seemed to have the talent to appear out of thin air in front of him at any given moment. He wished she hadn’t, for every time she had, he’d felt as though his insides had fallen out of order within his constitution. And after such a heated parting with her, he felt even more disturbed to be running into her once more. What would he even begin to say?

He realized that he had not spoken for a while now. He cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, Miss Erso.” 

Jyn found it difficult to meet his eyes. “I did not expect to see you here, Mr. Andor. I thought, and was certain, that you’d be at the dessert shop.”

“I was, but…” began Cassian, but then he blinked. “How do you know that?”

Heat rose to Jyn’s face. Quickly she said, “I heard from Mr. Donwell. I ran into him.”

“Ah.” Cassian gave her a long-winding nod. Then, a lengthy pause. “Well, I must go, Kerri must already be waiting long for me. Good day.”

From the way he hardly waited for Jyn’s response, she could tell that he was eager to leave. As he began to walk past her, a mortifying feeling gripped her.

She hadn’t planned on telling him about it, not really, but as she stood there, it suddenly felt wrong for her not to at all.

Her mind was instantly made up at that moment; she spun around on her heel, and without hesitation said, “Can she wait a bit more?”

Cassian immediately halted, a cold feeling suddenly spreading across his entire body. He turned around to face her. “I’m sorry?”

Jyn slowly closed the distance that had already formed between them with small, quiet steps. With a confused countenance, Cassian waited for an explanation to this unexpected solicitation. 

Jyn took a deep breath. “I…I finally get it,” she began. The slight shakiness in her voice almost betrayed her nerves. “I now know why you are so against the Krennics, Mr. Andor.”

All too quickly a dark look loomed over Cassian’s face. The world seemed to spin around him. He felt the blood drain from his body.

“What?” he asked quietly.

Jyn, searching his eyes, replied, “I know what Sir Krennic had done in the aftermath of your father’s passing.” She paused. “Your anger, Mr. Andor, the motivations of which had once evaded me, now makes sense to me.” 

Cassian took a step back, finding it difficult to regain his balance. A high-pitched ringing flooded his ears, a sound that seemed to have already troubled his hearing for some time now, but had only become audible enough to disrupt his orientation. He did not speak—he couldn’t even if he tried.

“Mr. Andor?” Jyn asked warily. 

It took Cassian about a minute before the sound even began to dissipate. When it soon faded into nothing, he slowly came to, out-of-joint, the way one would be after rising back up from beneath the water’s surface breathless.

In front of him still stood Jyn, her gaze ever so fixed on him, concern spelled all across her face. 

“I’m truly sorry for what happened,” she said.

As Cassian beheld her, a strange feeling subdued him—it felt as though Jyn’s utterance of Sir Krennic’s misgiving breathed a new kind of life into the memory. It made him feel as though, since all the time it had happened, and when it had seemed like a haze to him, that it had been in fact real all along. 

He felt twelve and helpless all over again. No, he did not want it to be real. 

He averted his gaze away from her. He shook his head.

“I do not need your pity, Miss Erso,” he said, the words ringing with an intensity that cut through Jyn so cleanly. Her expression immediately fell; she looked at him with obvious disbelief. 

“I am being earnest,” she contended.

Cassian shook his head again. “Miss Erso, you cannot truly expect me to glean the sincerity in your remark.”

“Are you being serious?" Jyn frowned. "What makes you think that I speak to you now with the intent to deceive?”

Cassian, with piercing eyes, looked at Jyn expectantly. “I think you know the answer to that. Unless I am wrong. Am I?”

Jyn blinked, understanding his meaning immediately. She stood speechless for a moment. Her anxieties from the last twenty-four hours had come back in full force, slamming all steady breath away from her lungs. She shook away the prickling sensations that currently numbed her hands. 

Her silence was all the confirmation Cassian needed. “It seems that I am not," he said with a tone of defeat. "You are still marrying into his family.”

“I am marrying Philip," argued Jyn. "That is a world of difference.” When Cassian gave her a look of disbelief she added, “He did not even know Sir Krennic had done it. And he regrets his father’s actions.”

Cassian grimaced. “And you truly believe that?”

“Yes, I do." Jyn's voice sounded sure. "I know him well enough to take him for his word.” 

“Right,” Cassian scoffed.

Frustration began to pass over Jyn. “Treat me with sarcasm, Mr. Andor," she said pointedly, "but I will not have you question my decisions as you have once done, not when you’re already set on being against them from the beginning, and not when you do not truly understand why I have to make them.”

Cassian took a moment to observe Jyn quietly. “So which is it really? Do you believe him because you truly do, or because you feel like you have to, so you may feel better about having to marry him?”

Jyn felt as though she had just been stabbed in the gut. “I cannot believe you, Mr. Andor. I don’t think you realize how unfair you are being.”

Cassian looked genuinely shocked by the accusation. “Unfair? I?”

Jyn was now in total disbelief of his obliviousness. With little patience to sustain her, she felt her temper rise even higher. 

“I understand your anger,” she started, “but since you have arrived here in Endor Village, you have done nothing but to take it out on the wrong people. You have taken it out on Sir Krennic’s son, who did not even know it happened until I told him of it. You have taken it out on me—” she frantically pointed at herself “—when I hadn’t done it, and truly hate that it had been done!” 

She paused to take a sigh. “I am trying here, if it has not still occurred to you, to extend my sympathies and offer clarity on my own position, despite the injury you have inflicted upon me in assuming the extremest of malice out of my choices—which, if it has to be said, I have not yet forgiven you for.”

Cassian, a grimace fixed across his face, watched her budding anger manifest in the contortions of her expression. He shook his head decisively. “Miss Erso, anybody can offer up the most reasonable consolation, but that means nothing, for words are nothing but what they are: words. It does not matter if you hadn’t done it, or if you were not aware of it, or if you felt terrible about it; for you consort regardless with the person who did do it.”

“And what I’m trying to say to you” retorted Jyn, “is that is not the case. Mr. Krennic, to show that he has renounced what his father had committed, has promised to accost him and seek out measures to make sure that you are given back what you are owed.”

A look of surprise suddenly fell over Cassian’s face.

“I want to help you, Mr. Andor,” Jyn added.

She uttered the words with such a surety that made Cassian, for a small moment, almost believe her—and the truth was, he really wanted to. 

But in his heart, in his full conviction, he knew that he could not. He could not find anywhere in his being the capacity, much less the faith, nor the sanguinity, to be assured by this single assurance alone—not after what he had been through in his whole life, not when everything he was promised had not been given to him. 

Though he did not speak, Jyn could instantly surmise all these feelings by way of his expression alone. Her heart sank.

“You really don’t believe me, don’t you?” she asked with audible disappointment.

Cassian, his heart aching, did not answer. 

Jyn nodded morosely. “All right then.”

Seeing her so crestfallen inspired a novel feeling in Cassian; he felt utterly terrible. But even if he desired to comfort her, he did not know how to do it.

He was entirely confused. 

Jyn continued to speak. “Mr. Andor, look, I am beyond sorry, truly, for everything that has happened to you and your sister. But you have nursed your distrust for me so well, and I do not think you realize how much injury you’ve caused to me by doing so. You have believed that I am out to get you; you are so convinced of my ill intentions that you do not stop to slight me, even when…” she felt her voice crack “...even when I just tried to tell you, right to your face, that I would never do that to you.”

Unspeaking, Cassian beheld Jyn’s face, who looked up at his with a pained expression. Suddenly he was overcome by an acute awareness of their close proximity. He could feel his chest tighten, his breaths quicken. 

Then Jyn looked away. “I said some rash things to you a week ago, and I truly regret having said them. But if you think I’m still making a mistake because I must marry Mr. Krennic, then I think that is no longer my problem to solve; I have already offered my explanations—you have rejected them. Trust goes both ways, Mr. Andor, and you clearly cannot extend it to me. Be it may that you have your reasons—sure, fine. But I do not think I can do anything more about it.” 

The silence that followed this was so profound, Cassian could practically hear the echoes of her words against the walls of his head.

And there they stayed, refusing to leave. 

The pain of the moment stung Jyn. She had hoped not to say such things; it was a cost she had hoped not to pay. But Cassian had already made up his mind—in many ways, this was the clarity she had needed.

After what felt like eternity of silence, Jyn finally curtsied, and with a tone of finality she said, “I think this is goodbye, Mr. Andor."

She did not wait for a response. Forth and past Cassian she proceeded to walk. The solicitor, feeling his heart rattling wildly inside his body, could only but stand still. 

He did not understand it, but a newfound emotion gripped him from the inside and wrung him dry to an unexplainable torment. It took his breath away; it made his stomach turn.

What on earth was this feeling?

By the time he turned around to try and spot Jyn from the crowd, she was already gone from the square.

Chapter Text

It was recorded somewhere, within one of Jyn’s journals of general observations from her earlier youth, that “between Lah’mu Hall and the great house of Vallt Park, there was an estimated distance of two miles. If viewed from atop the mountain behind town, it would seem as though this length was insignificant, but to actual scale, the two houses stood so far apart from one another that one could easily assume that the one they were in was the only one there was—and that the other did not exist at all.”

Jyn had made this observation precisely one day when she endeavored to attempt getting to Lah’mu Hall from Vallt Park by foot alone. Little had she known then, that the isolation afforded by this distance, something which she had previously viewed as an inconvenience, would later prove to the present her to be a clemency in disguise; due to the fallout between her and Lah’mu Hall’s new master, Cassian, she had since then treated any remoteness from the place to be a kind of relief—the farther she was from it, all the better. 

But the present Jyn was still yet to find out another thing which the future version of her would already know: she was yet to discover the irony of it all—for how much apart these houses were, the lives of the people who lived in them were now more and more confined to each other’s fates. 

It was the kind of lesson her books could not teach. 

As spring approached its last month before finally warming up to the summer, the world all around Endor Village now seemed to be in full bloom. The vibrant beauty that its sceneries had grown into, to Jyn and Cassian, at least made the passing of time much more bearable. Three weeks had passed since their conversation in town, and in these three weeks alone, much had happened to their separate lives:

The Andors’ acclimation to the village went along, despite it being a rocky one right off its genesis, especially if not exclusively, on the part of Cassian who continued to carry by himself the dread of living so close to the Krennics. However, as reluctant as he might be in maintaining such a proximity with the family, there was a fixedness to his situation that he simply could not, at this point, ignore nor reverse; he had already bought the estate, and had since then finally settled himself and his sister into it. 

He seriously pondered on the possibility of selling the property and finding a better home elsewhere, but knew to himself that until he had a solid course of action to implement it, it was not a current prospect he could look forward to. So it seemed, for the moment, that the best thing he could do was ride the tide.

Fortunately for him, this tide seemed to have been recently taking him away from home more often. One of the reasons he and Kerri had chosen to settle in Lah’mu Hall in the first place was that it was situated in an advantageous position; he liked the idea of being just but a carriage away from potential clientele, which had mostly involved drafting up wills and contracts for their estates and properties both large and small, of which there was a wealth in the surrounding areas. 

It was more than welcome preoccupation; he felt useful, his mind exercised. 

But despite these distractions, still he would catch his own mind wandering off, and would find to his surprise that his thoughts, without him realizing it, had somehow drifted to thinking about his last conversation with Jyn. Each time he did, however, he would try to stir it out of his present awareness, but he’d realize, when he’d no sooner find it back there again, that he’d spectacularly failed.

They had agreed upon estrangement, her words were clear. Yet for some reason, the silence in its wake was louder than any kind he had ever anticipated. 

His sister, on the other hand, remained oblivious to all these inner feelings. Kerri had only a mind and spirit privy to the novel pleasures of living in a large, wonderful home in the country. Since their moving in, she had progressively flourished in her painting, and even gained new artistic interests and passions. And in place of a loss of friendship with Miss Erso, which she still regretted to this day, she was consoled by the enjoyment of another—that of James Donwell’s.

Their growing intimacy, despite their attempts at covertness, became public quite quickly regardless, and had been a favorite subject of certain interest among the village and the neighboring town. Every introduction of it into conversation was preempted with curious someone-told-mes and have-you-heard-thats, which, to the ear of the aristocrat who had too much time to spare for gossip and creative imagination, were highly coveted morsels for conversation. 

This gossip of course, did not escape the network of social news which the Ersos were subscribed to—they lived within the same circles, after all. But while the family, including Jyn herself, felt no such emotions that indicated their being against the match (if such good opinion even mattered now), they had other more pressing issues towards which they devoted their current sentiments. 

After over two months of inquiry into the root of the problems with their farms, it would seem that the nature of their unyielding crops suggested something much deeper than an issue of horticultural practice. Mr. Erso, who had been alone with Jyn at the time, had broken the news so gravely that it instantly rattled her upon utterance:

“It’s worse than we thought,” he had said. “It seems that we are not the only ones experiencing this, too. Adjacent small-scale farms up north have reported the same problems.” 

 Jyn had fired a barrage of questions to better understand their predicament, but unfortunately, such was the only revelation afforded by the short time of looking into it. “Only more time would tell what it is that could be done, I’m afraid,” was all her father could clearly say on the matter.

Jyn hated not knowing, and since being primed on this development, had been in a sour mood. She liked to think that she was adept at concealing such storms beneath her demeanor, but to her mother, she might not be as skillful as she thought she was. It did not take Mrs. Erso, who knew her daughter like the back of her hand, long to notice this caprice.

On the same morning following that conversation, as she walked the corridor past Jyn’s bedchamber, she saw, through the gap in the door that had been left ajar, her daughter sitting pensively and quietly on the foot of her bed, gazing out through the window, into the distance.

After three knocks she decidedly she pushed on the door, the gentle creak rousing Jyn out of her quiet musings. When she saw her mother, she blinked in surprise. 

“Mother?” she exclaimed. She sat upright and attempted to stand, but Mrs. Erso urged her to sit still. Jyn watched curiously as she settled herself, cross-legged, on the space on the floor beside her. She beheld Jyn expectantly.

“What is it, Mama?” asked Jyn. 

Mrs. Erso narrowed her eyes insinuatingly. “I was hoping you would tell me that.” When Jyn didn’t answer, she proceeded to say, “You seem distracted, dearest.”

Jyn instantly broke her gaze away from her mother, and stared blankly at the carpet at her foot. She was silent for a few seconds. “I’m worried about the farms.”

Mrs. Erso nodded. “Your father just told me. I don’t doubt that you feel this way. But Jyn, you need not burden yourself too much with this, he and I are working on it.”

Jyn frowned at her mother. “You’re asking for the impossible, Mama. I can’t help but burden myself with it.”

Her mother gave her a relinquishing tilt of her head. “I know, and that’s why you’re the best daughter we could ever ask for.” She then placed a hand on Jyn’s before squeezing it gently. “But I do mean it, dearest. For the moment, the best way you can help your father and I is by worrying about yourself instead.”

“You mean by ensuring my engagement with Philip.”

Mrs. Erso, sensing her daughter’s darkening mood, paused to consider her next query. “I hope you do not mind my asking, but did something happen between you two? Ever since you’ve come home from Bath, something seems to have changed.”

Jyn quickly searched her mother’s face, wondering if she had since somehow found out about the matter surrounding the Krennics—perhaps by way of Lady Mothma. She soon realized, however, that nothing in her countenance (nor her tone) suggested any kind of awareness. Part of her felt immense relief that the duchess hadn’t chosen to tell her—it was one of the things Jyn admired about her the most, that she trusted her enough to deal with her own affairs, in her own way.

As Jyn beheld her mother’s face, she felt as though something deep from beneath the earth tugged down at her chest—she saw where the stresses of the last two months had marked themselves on her skin; some of the lines on forehead seemed deeper than usual, the bags beneath her eyes heavier. A sharp ache stabbed her gut—she realized that she could not, in good conscience, disappoint her mother with even the slightest suggestion of a wrinkle in the affairs between her and Philip.

Not that there were any; she had made that clear to the gentleman. And if this truly were the only way she could help her parents, then she could not even begin to fail at it. Not now.

She collected her wits until she could clearly say, “You need not worry about Philip and I, mama. Things are going well between us two.”

Mrs. Erso looked deeply into Jyn’s eyes. “And you’re being truthful?”

Without missing a beat, Jyn nodded affirmingly. “Yes.”

It was as if every muscle in Mrs. Erso’s body had suddenly relaxed. “Well,” she replied, the sigh of relief that came with it hardly unnoticeable to Jyn, “that is great to hear, Jyn. I am truly glad.”

Jyn tried to smile, which her mother returned to her.

“But be that as it may,” she added, “I am still worried about you. You seem to spend more and more of your time in solitude these days.”

Jyn cocked her head. “I visit Mr. Rook on occasion. At least once a week, too, I lend a hand to Mr. Baze and Mr. Imwe with the learning materials in the seminary.” 

“Yes, that is well and all,” her mother said in a tone that made it seem as though those were a given, “but what about Miss Andor?” 

Jyn’s stomach suddenly turned.

Mrs. Erso eyed her daughter inquisitively. “Come to think of it, I have not seen her visit once since their calling upon us. And that was a long time ago. I thought you two have decided to create your botanical journal together. Were you not excited about it, too?”

Jyn, swallowing her nerves down, looked away and attempted a nonchalant shrug. “I…I do not know. Perhaps they’re busy with other things, or still managing affairs back at Lah’mu Hall.” 

“Hmm,” pondered Mrs. Erso. “That’s an awfully extended period of getting settled in. I should hope they are well-off living in the village.”

Jyn did not reply and kept her sight focused on the tufted rug. Mrs. Erso proceeded. “Regardless, I do wonder how they’re doing, those two. Kerri I’ve heard a little about, what with her friendship with James, and which I adore if I may say so myself—don’t you think them a wonderful match?”

Jyn nodded with as much sincerity as she could muster—which was not entirely difficult, for beneath it all, she really was glad of the affair. “Yes, I do.”

“Cassian, however,” continued her mother, “I’ve heard almost nothing about.” Her face contorted in thought, quickly after which she looked at Jyn. “Perhaps you have?”

Jyn bit her tongue. With as much nonchalance she could muster, she shrugged. 

“No, I have not,” she lied. 

Minutes later, when their conversation had finally reached its conclusion and she was left alone in her bedchamber yet again, Jyn was somehow haunted by the fact that that wasn’t the only lie she had told.

What she had not told her mother during this was that the issue with their farms, while the actual source of her sullen mood, was not entirely the crux of it. In many ways, it was just the ultimate catalyst that propelled her to it. 

The truth was this: her final conversation with Cassian three weeks prior had weighed heavily upon her mind since its occurrence, and had been the tumultuous cause of her current feelings. It had caused in her certain emotions which she could not begin to describe—was it disappointment, anger, or heaven forbid, a pang of melancholy?

But how could she even begin to explain these to her mother—or anybody, really?

She did not even attempt, at this point, to pretend to have a mind and disposition for her writings. She was distracted beyond help. Oh, how distressed she felt! She desperately yearned for a time when none of what plagued her now was even within the realm of possibility—what she would give to have her mind return to a state of peace! 

But she did not do more than fantasize about this hope, of course; she did not hold her life to such an expectation. To do so would be naivete beyond excuse or reason in the face of her current adversity (though she knew now that it was already hardly excusable or reasonable even then, before the misfortune had fallen). 

As her father had said once, luck runs out even for those who have had an abundance of it. She should not think herself so exempt from this. 

She decided then that she needed to take a good long walk. 

Moments later, she was out of the house, pacing forward, with no clear direction on where to go. All that mattered to her at the present was the fact that she was putting one foot in front of the other, moving, moving, moving.

At some point, she reached the dirt path that would lead to an open patch of land on the other side of the village. After a bend in the trail, the sparse forest of trees on either side thinned up to a field where the grass seemed to glow under the morning light. To her far right the land sloped down towards a small lake, where several willow trees dotted along its narrow rocky shore. 

The path Jyn was on would eventually curve closer towards the body of water to skirt around a tall hill. In the instant she reached the crest of this curvature, she spotted, over by the beach, a woman sitting on a low and wide piece of rock by the root of a thick and tall willow. 

The trunk concealed half of the woman’s figure, but upon squinting for a more focused sight, Jyn already had a good guess of who it was. It was confirmed to be correct when the woman made a turn of her head to reveal her distinct profile.

It was Kerri Andor. 

She seemed to be repeatedly looking up towards the lake in front of her and back down at something on her lap. A slight shuffle in her position revealed to Jyn that it was a small, framed canvas. That was when she also noticed that in her hand she held a piece of coal, which she had been using to draw lines on its cream-colored surface.

So far Kerri had not noticed Jyn, despite being just in the path a stone’s throw from behind her. Jyn wanted to keep it that way, though even if Kerri did notice her, she was determined to remain unaffected. She was not oblivious to the occasional inevitability of their paths crossing in one way or another, even if they had decided to cut ties from each other. They might live far apart in proximity, but they still lived in proximity.

So she walked forth. 

As she was about to finally walk past Kerri and lose her from view, a sweeping movement in her periphery caused her to hone back in on her. She then saw Kerri making a motion that suggested she was about to climb the willow. When she did actually climb, her foot slid after the first attempt, causing her to land somewhat sloppily on the ground. Quickly she tried again, and this time she finally held her weight. 

Jyn held her breath as she watched the lady, her canvas wedged in her underarm, grip onto a jutting piece of the trunk to help her ascent. As somebody who had climbed a tree or two, Jyn knew right away, from the way Kerri hoisted herself up with somewhat of a struggle, that she was not one to typically climb trees. But if she knew Kerri from the short time of their acquaintance, she knew that she would get the hang of it sooner than expected. 

With this reassurance in mind she continued walking. 

That was when things started to go wrong.

When she was a few paces ahead, she suddenly heard the sound of a twig snapping off clean, a shocked exclaim, then a padded but very audible thud—all in rapid succession. All too quickly she spun on her heel and saw the figure of Kerri flat on the ground, lying limp.

Adrenaline instantly spread across Jyn’s entire body. Her eyes widened. She did not even think twice about revealing herself and calling for her.

“Miss Andor?”

When there was no response, she took a few steps closer and called her name again, much louder this time. “Miss Andor? Can you hear me?”

Still, Kerri did not answer. 

The urgency in her body finally seizing up to a panic, Jyn abandoned all second-thought and sprinted down the gentle slope towards Kerri. As she stepped over the thick root of the willow she finally gained a full view of the younger Andor’s motionless figure on the ground. 

“Kerri!” Jyn exclaimed as she knelt towards her body, so still it was almost lifeless. She instantly reached a hand to feel her wrist. She breathed out a huge sigh of relief; Kerri still had a beating pulse—a slow one at that, but beating, thank God!

She put her hand up to her face. Gently she rapped her cheek repeatedly in an attempt to rouse her back to consciousness. “Kerri!” she exclaimed a few times more. 

It worked, to small effect. Kerri’s eyelids slightly fluttered, a weak groan escaping her lips. She tilted her head to one side, which was when Jyn saw the blood, a patch of it pooling thinly on a small piece of rock which she assumed had cut a gash on her head when she fell. 

Jyn fought hard against the urge to spiral into a state of helpless panic, and with all her might redirected her instincts towards looking for anybody who might be nearby to help her. She tried yelling for help, but was instantly overcome by terror in soon knowing that there was hardly anybody around to lend a hand.

She knew she was left with no other option. It terrified her, but she could not afford to lose even a second to feeling afraid now.

“Kerri,” she said firmly, “I’m going to carry you, all right?”

Kerri replied with a weakest groan.

With a squat Jyn planted her feet firmly on the rocky bank, and began to hoist Kerri up from under her until she sat upright. Now holding onto her arms, Jyn twisted herself around so that her back was now to her. Then she pulled Kerri’s arms over her shoulder until she could feel her body leaning against her spine. Grunting, she began to pull herself up until she was just standing steadily enough to carefully straddle Kerri’s limbs up and around her hips. She kept a forward-facing bend so as to avoid her slipping from her shoulders, but Kerri threatened to fall at every possible moment. 

“Try to hold onto me, please,” Jyn implored through gritted teeth.

Kerri, struggling to stay awake, managed somehow to heed her and limply wrap her arms around her neck. When she was finally secure enough on her back, Jyn began to drag on forward.

There was only one place she could go right now.

She had to get her to Lah’mu Hall.

Under Kerri’s weight Jyn toiled, but she persisted despite the ache rapidly forming on her lower back. Kerri almost fell off of her a few times, but Jyn managed to yank her back up in place. Every step she took sprained her legs closer to inability, a feeling she was only able to ignore due to adrenaline. 

She cursed under her breath. Why was Lah’mu Hall so far away? 

After trawling on for what felt like forever, Jyn was finally within view of the manor. She felt herself approaching the last throes of her strength, and she didn’t waste them. She was so close.

As she crossed the threshold that marked half a kilometer’s distance from the manor, she saw a small figure of a man from the other side walking towards their direction. He did not see her at first, but when he finally did, which was bound to happen given the conspicuous oddity of having an unconscious person on her back, he quickly broke off into a sprint to meet them. 

As he neared them, Jyn instantly made him out to be James Donwell. Terror was apparent across his face. 

“Miss Andor!” he yelled as he bridged the distance between him and her. “What happened, Miss Erso?!”

Struggling between breaths, Jyn answered, “Fell from a tree—hit her head—unconscious.” As she said this, James was already on the move to remove Kerri from her back to carry her himself, but Jyn stopped him. 

“ No ,” she insisted firmly. “I’ll—I’ll take her in.”

James immediately protested. “But—”

Jyn shook her head to quiet him down. She could hear her own labored breaths. “You must call for the doctor. I know for certain Mr. Melshi is in town today—you must go to him and take him here.”

The gentleman appeared paralyzed by his distress. His entire body was stiff, his mouth agape. Jyn simply could not afford this at the moment.

“James, listen to me,” she rasped. “Kerri needs your help right now, and this is the best way you can do it. Trust me, I can take care of her from here. We’ll be fine. Go! ”

Her raised voice seemed to finally snap James out of his panic. Without second-guessing her command, he nodded his head and began running past her and Kerri towards town. “I’ll be back before you know it. I promise.” 

In that instant, Jyn resumed lugging Kerri across the grass towards the front door. The moment she stepped within the front yard, she was soon spotted by a footman from inside the foyer. He quickly came rushing out to help Jyn carry his unconscious mistress towards the manor. 

As she was becoming more and more closely swallowed into the house she had hoped not to enter again, Jyn let all her apprehension go. None of it mattered right now; she had to get Kerri to safety. 

With hardly a second thought, the younger Andor sister’s arm around her shoulder, she hurried inside Lah’mu Hall.

Chapter Text

The waiting was the worst of it; Jyn felt every second that passed by in anticipation of James’s return with the doctor to be equivalent to a thousand of it—each so little, but so crucial a disadvantage being continually added to the lady’s current odds, which were currently stacking up to a gigantic pile.

Kerri, who had since then been laid down in bed in her room and given preliminary aid, had begun to really pale in complexion, and was almost fully out of consciousness. It was aggravating to witness, and even worse, there was not much which Jyn nor the Lah’mu household staff could do beyond tending to and cleaning after her until the doctor would arrive. 

A heavy and tense air had naturally fallen upon the room, but Jyn made it out to be not just borne from the seriousness required by the current crisis, but also from the regret of it being a crisis that had befallen Kerri specifically. It did not take Jyn any guesswork to see that all the staff were concerned for their mistress—Jyn observed the terror that contaminated their every move to care for her. It made her wonder at Kerri’s relationship between all of them, and did not doubt for a second the kindness that defined it. 

“They should be here very soon,” Jyn promised to the room, though in part, she also addressed it to Kerri herself. As she spoke her words in a shaky whisper, she wondered if she heard, somewhere beneath her still demeanor.

She hoped.

A commotion of footsteps from outside the bedchamber perked Jyn’s ears and spiked her anticipation. Quickly she turned her gaze towards the door to see who was about to enter, but when she saw that it was just another one of the servants who had been attending to Kerri (carrying a basin of clean water) she felt her soul sink, and in its place, rise a frustration out of her impatience.

That was when Jyn suddenly realized that it had been the same set of people—who, apart from the housekeeper, were four other maids—coming in and out of the bedchamber since Kerri’s arrival. The moment it occurred to her, it stood out to her like a sore thumb; suddenly, the doctor was not the only person whose absence she very much regretted and wildly hoped to soon be amended.

She expected him to have already barged into the room the minute they arrived, but until now, he was still nowhere to be found.

Agitation balled up in her gut. 

Addressing the same maid who had just come in, Jyn asked, “Excuse me, but is Mr. Andor not here?” 

“Oh,” the maid answered, somehow surprised by the address, “he has not been home since this morning, ma’am.”

“He hasn’t?” Jyn replied. “Would you know where he is?” 

Before the maid could even answer, she was quickly summoned to assist in compressing Kerri’s wound. Jyn, without thinking twice, immediately disposed herself to her assistance. 

As she held Kerri upright, the shock and terror of beholding her pale, unconscious face still felt as novel as the first time she had seen it. It almost made her ill.

And all the while, in the deeper recess of her mind, all she could think of was the same thought over and over:

Her brother should be here right now.

Cassian wished so desperately for his horses to go faster. 

But he had already been pushing them to their limit, and his curricle could only withstand so much speed that also did not risk his own life. He found this present circumstance particularly cruel; he felt so far away from Lah’mu Hall, and all the worse, so incapably idle—he should be by his sister’s side and helping her in every capacity at this very moment!

Cassian had been in another village over and in the midst of discussing terms with a client, a middle-aged woman recently widowed, when his coachman, whom he had insisted stay back at home (for he felt more than capable of driving himself that day), came careening into the parlour. By this he was completely blindsided; he did not expect one of his staff to travel such a distance for anything, unless it was a matter of most crucial importance. He watched him dash towards him with an urgency, which he soon realized, when the news was finally broken to him, would only be a mere fraction of the terror that then instantly seized him.  

It was as though his entire world had turned upside down. 

Everything that happened since passed by him in such a blur; instinct took over his every move. The next thing he knew, he was already aboard his transport and on his way back to Endor Village. 

He spent most of the trip back asking endless questions- mostly to inquire into the matter, but moreso to distract his very own mind from any reckless conjecture.

“And you’re absolutely certain Mr. Melshi had already been called for when you left?” he asked just above a yell over the wind that whipped against him. 

“Yes, sir,” replied the coachman, one of his hands pressing down against the top of his hat, the other gripping onto a rail beside him.

Cassian shook his head. He still found it hard to believe that such a thing occured. “What happened, exactly?”

The coachman then explained the nature of the accident—that Kerri, who had intended to paint outdoors for the day, had fallen off a tree and knocked her head unconscious. It was when he narrated the part where she had then been quickly taken back to Lah’mu Hall, that Cassian stopped him. 

“But how did she get there?” he asked. “Was she not alone?”

“It seems that someone spotted her just in time by the lake, sir, and then carried her all the way back to the house.”

Cassian frowned, though still he kept his eye on the path in front of him. He thought of the highly likely person who could have been with his sister at the time. “James, you mean?”

The coachman shook his head. “No, it wasn’t Mr. Donwell, sir.”

“Who was it, then?”

Then in his periphery, Cassian saw the coachman frown as if trying to recall the detail, but to no avail. “Forgive me, but I—I haven’t found the chance to ask, sir,” he replied. “I was told to call for you right away.”

Intrigue immediately occupied Cassian.

Later, about half an hour into their travel, he would realize that this intrigue was now also added to by a new feeling: relief. 

Who knew what worse fate could have fallen upon Kerri, had no one been there to help her? How things would have been different! Cassian could not deny the perfection of the circumstance, of having someone be there for his sister at the time when she most needed it—it was so perfect even, it almost seemed as though providence itself was there, dealing its own hand. But Cassian immediately dismissed the thought; rarely had he any chances in his life to be touched nor compelled by any moment of divinity. He did not know if he even believed in it.

But, on the chance that it was precisely what was happening to him right now, what was it trying to tell him at this very moment?

He could not explain it logically, but it rang true within him with absolute logic regardless: he felt the sense as though a kind of mercy had just fallen—upon Kerri, of course, but more so on him—for whatever his sister felt, he felt in multiples as her other half: every reward to him was twice a gain, every loss twice the cost.

So God willing or not, for whatever it might mean, something told him this was something he should not merely gloss over. 

He just did not know what it entailed yet.

Their travel was just about to hit its two-hour mark, which were easily the hardest two hours of Cassian’s life, when finally—finally! —they arrived back in Endor Village. Now that he was so close, his desperation to get to Kerri then grew even more desperate; he gave the horses one last go as he weaved through the paths that eventually led back to Lah’mu Hall. 

The first thing he saw, from the distance, was the carriage that had been left parking awkwardly in the courtyard, which he immediately assumed to be the doctor’s. Then, through the windows of the second floor (where Kerri’s bedchamber was) he saw figures dashing back and forth across the hallway.

Once within reach of the house, Cassian immediately yanked the horses to a halt and smoothly maneuvered himself out of his curricle. He hardly took the time to recover from his somewhat rough of a landing when he began to hurry towards the house. 

As he slammed against its doors, the staff who were currently in attendance there at the foyer all stopped in their tracks to behold their master in shock. None of them spoke. The weight of all their gazes sunk Cassian down. 

His heart slammed in a riot. “Is she all right?” he inquired about the room.

Just then the housekeeper appeared from the top of the staircase. “Sir,” she said in a manner that attempted to soothe him, “Please follow me. Miss Andor is in her bedchamber.” 

With large and swift strides Cassian climbed the staircase and followed her through the corridors. On the last corner turn he finally saw the doors to his sister’s room, which had both been flung open. He broke into a run, and just narrowly stopped himself when he reached the doorway. 

What he saw on its other side broke his spirits into a million pieces. 

Lying still and unconscious on her bed, her skin pale and her face blank, was Kerri. Her head was wrapped in bandage, which Mr. Melshi, who knelt over beside her on the mattress, currently made sure was secure in its place. Immediately he clocked Cassian in his periphery, though it did not at all affect his composure. He merely addressed him with a controlled, “Mr. Andor,” before he stood upright and faced him completely. 

With legs like lead, Cassian trudged forward and sank himself on the floor beside his sister’s bed. With much eagerness, but also with an utter carefulness not to disturb her position and possibly aggravate her condition, he took her hand, which had been laying openly on her side, and held it in both of his.

She was still alive.

His entire being seemed to have been supplanted by nothing but mortal dread; it was the muscle and bone that molded him, the blood that kept it going. 

He gulped for air. Looking up at the doctor on the other side of the bed he asked, “What is it?”

“A concussion,” Mr. Melshi immediately answered. “It is, fortunately, not a severe one, for it would seem her fall was not from a considerable height, and she showed no signs of fracture, which would have been an entirely different complication.” He paused to preempt his next news. “It did cause, however, a deep wound on the side of her head that made her lose quite an amount of blood.” 

Cassian’s eyes widened and was about to say something—

“But not to worry, Mr. Andor,” Mr. Melshi immediately consoled, gesturing with both his hands, “it has already been stitched up.”

Cassian looked back at his sister. “Will she be fine?” he asked.

“If given the proper attention, care, and rest, she will be—within a fortnight, if we are so lucky.”

Though not a promise, the claim instantly relieved Cassian, so much so that his breaths, audibly loud as they escaped his mouth, teetered to sobs. Still he addressed the doctor, but now he only fixed his eyes on Kerri’s face. He was ready to dedicate everything to her recovery.

“Tell me what I must do.”

“I was actually just telling Mr. Donwell and Miss Erso here…” Mr. Melshi began. 

“What?” Cassian asked, quickly glancing back at the doctor, and, to his shock, seeing that he had been looking at two people who had been on the other end of the room all along. It would seem that the divider beside them had concealed them from his view in the doorway earlier, and given his full predisposition towards his sister, he’d barely noticed any signs of them being there, even from where he was now positioned. 

Resting on a parlor chair that sat just in front of the fireplace was James, looking as though all the wind had been knocked from his sails—his hair was unruly, and his tailcoat long abandoned. His usual easy disposition was gone from his face entirely, replaced with nothing but utter concern.

But it wasn’t his being there that seemed to drain all the blood out of Cassian’s body—if anything, he had already expected the gentleman to be there, knowing how close he and Kerri were becoming. No, it was the other person who was with him, who now stood awkwardly, her arms across her torso, whose presence completely blindsided Cassian. 

Jyn did not say anything as she watched him in silence. A thousand thoughts seem to go through her head. Cassian suddenly felt conscious of everything he had been doing.

What was she doing here?

“....we’ll have to constantly monitor the wound to make sure it doesn’t open,” Mr. Melshi continued from the other side of the bed, “and replace the dressing every now and then to avoid any infection.”

A short silence followed, and Cassian soon realized it was because the doctor waited for him to acknowledge his instructions. 

“Mr. Andor?” he appealed.

Cassian, finally caught back in the present moment, blinked his sight away from Jyn and, now facing the doctor, nodded. He recalled the steps clearly still: “Monitor the wound and replace the dressing, yes.” 

Mr. Melshi, nodding, proceeded. “It is also a given that Miss Andor must restrict any movement as much as possible, and remain at bedrest….” Here he provided other instructions for the treatment of Kerri, to which Cassian, as fazed as he was by Jyn’s being there, still managed to make a note of.

Mr. Melshi finally concluded with, “I trust you will see to these things, Mr. Andor, though I will make it a point to visit everyday to take note of her improvements.”

Cassian nodded firmly. “Thank you.”

After a few more exchanges on the pertinent matters surrounding the schedule of the visits, the doctor finally began to put his instruments away and back into his bag. “I must say,” he mused, “we are quite lucky that this is the extent of the care required during Miss Andor’s recovery. Had Mr. Donwell not called for me sooner, I might have already arrived to treat much worse conditions.”

Cassian could not even begin to think of the possibility. He found himself more firmly holding on to his sister’s hand. He did not speak. 

Everybody else in the room seemed to ponder on this worse alternative too, for they were all silent. 

Then James spoke, his voice slightly shaky. “We are fortunate, indeed. But Mr. Melshi, my efforts are by no means an equal comparison, I assure you, to Miss Erso’s here.” 

Cassian’s eyes quickly darted back towards Jyn. A speculation then formed in his mind, and the more he thought about it, the more it seemed true. A queasy feeling began to spread across his stomach.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

James took a moment to look at the lady beside him, waiting for her response. When she did not answer, he said, “I would not have had to call for the doctor myself right away if she had not found Miss Andor first and taken her all the way to Lah’mu Hall—all on her own, mind you.”

The world suddenly came crashing upon Cassian. 

It was her. It was Jyn who saved his sister.

Jyn, looking more uncomfortable than ever, seemed unsure what to say, though nothing in her actions denied the claim either. But even if she tried, Cassian would instantly deem it to be a falsehood, for her current appearance easily betrayed the signs that indicated otherwise: the strands of her dark hair had come undone from her pin and had fallen all over the frames of her face, and when she shifted her weight, the light caught on the tall wall of dirt that lined her mint-colored frock’s hem.

It occurred to Cassian the image of her carrying Kerri all by herself, across all that distance from the lake to this manor. It certainly must have exhausted her by the looks of it—he knew it would have exhausted him, had he been the one to do it.

On top of his queasiness he now also felt a quiet awe—and it was strangely warm against his chest. 

James continued in his praise of Jyn. “Not only that,” he said, “it was even Miss Erso who directed me to summon Mr. Melshi. I had been so afflicted by seeing Miss Andor in such a state, you see, and it was her who snapped me out of it. Amidst the panic of the emergency, she remained level-headed—she was quick, composed, steadfast, and everything else one could require of the moment. I regret having not followed in her example right away.”

More warmth rose to Cassian’s chest, and it seemed to spread now up to his face.

“So if we owe anybody the credit for Miss Andor’s uncritical state,” concluded James, “it would undoubtedly be Miss Erso.”

A silence had fallen upon the room yet again, and Cassian, his palpitations hardly calming down, allowed the words to ring in his mind until he truly understood their weight.

And incredibly heavy upon his soul were they. 

At some point during his trip back here, he had already bound himself obliged to the person who helped his sister. But now that he knew that that person had been Jyn all along, he knew right away it was beyond a matter of being tied to a debt of gratitude.

Both his mind and heart were in turbulence once more, just like they had been in the town square when she had walked out on him. But this was a kind of confusion that was, in nature, already immensely altered from it. The one he felt now was not caused by not knowing whether or not he trusted her—no, he was already past that. 

He felt confused because somehow, he had decided, then and there, that he already had. He already knew that he trusted her.

It was the ease of its coming, the instant possession of this feeling that baffled him; it was a self-persuasion that took him by surprise. It defied every honed reflex of his emotions towards her, which, from the moment he met her at Mr. Rook’s ball, were colored by a strong objection for being so closely associated, if not intimate, with the Krennics. 

It was against every his impulse and instinct to trust someone like her, and he had made up his mind to keep it that way. 

Yet here he was, going against every grain of it. 

But then he supposed it should not be so confusing as he made it out to be, for the truth was simple:

She had saved Kerri. At the end of the day, that was all that mattered to Cassian. 

As he knelt there beside her and knowing that she was now safe largely in part due to Jyn’s doing, he felt as though a tidal wave now washed over him. It overwhelmed him like a violent reckoning; it made him choke and gasp for air.

He realized his own faults; he realized now that his distrust towards Jyn had been founded merely on an immediate assumption of her worst, on a premeditation of her cruelty—a cruelty which he doubted she had even the smallest capacity for now. 

She had done nothing but act against his every expectation, first for convincing Philip to initiate reparations towards his family, and now, for saving the most important person in his life. She had ceaselessly shown her goodwill, her willing indiscrimination to rise above the ugliness and the bitterness of their acquaintance and eventual estrangement, to do all of this.

To Cassian, there was no better indication of high and noble character. 

Looking back at all the times he had pushed his stubborn rebuff at her, he felt ashamed. The feeling infected him like a creeping fever. It made him uncomfortable, it made him feel terrible. 

He was beginning to think—no, he was beginning to know—that perhaps he had been nothing but the biggest fool. 

“I see,” he breathed, and he found, at that moment, that that was all he could say.

“Ah yes, of course,” responded Mr. Melshi just after. “Forgive me, Miss Erso, I didn't mean to overlook your efforts.” 

Jyn immediately shook her head, and finally found the voice to speak. “Oh no, Mr. Melshi, not at all,” she countered. “Mr. Donwell overstates it, if I’m being honest.”

“No, Miss Erso,” James politely argued. “With all due respect, you understate it.” 

Jyn only looked down at her shoes in response. It was clear to Cassian then that she did not feel comfortable taking credit for the whole thing, and had he been in her shoes, he would have probably felt the same thing. It was difficult to feel a sense of pride for helping someone avoid the end of their mortality; it was almost tasteless to laud oneself over it. 

He understood her.

Jyn then cleared her throat. When she spoke however, she did not speak on the matter anymore—instead, she said, “I think we should give Miss Andor some privacy with her brother.” She stole a glance his way before eyeing James beside her. The gentleman easily heeded this proposition; swiftly he rose from the chair, and after wishing Kerri well, bid his goodbye to her brother. He ended with a desperate entreaty: “I hope you give me leave to visit her frequently, Mr. Andor. I promise to be useful in any way I can.”

Cassian only considered this for a few seconds, for he had already felt assured by James’s actions—his involvement in Kerri’s safety, as well as his concession to Miss Erso, had proved himself to be a person of good character. He found no reason to deprive him of the chance to further prove his affections towards his sister, which she herself had been encouraging for some time now.

“I think Kerri would like that, Mr. Donwell,” he said.

Assured by this, James gave Cassian a nod before heading for the door. Then, addressing Jyn, he said, “Shall we, Miss Erso?”

Cassian then watched Jyn in anticipation. But she only nodded at James, and, without speaking to Cassian, began to follow after the gentleman at the door. With the way she continued to sustain her silence, she seemed decided in parting wordlessly. The closest to a goodbye she gave him was when she briefly met his watching gaze before disappearing from his view. 

Cassian felt the emptiness of this lack of exchange—he floated aimlessly along it. 

He wished she had said something. 

He wished he had said something.

A few but agonizingly long moments passed, his hands still holding Kerri’s. 

At some point, he finally made up his mind. 

“Mr. Melshi,” he said quietly, “can you please watch over Kerri for a moment?”

Mr. Melshi gave him a slightly quizzical look. 

“There is just something I must do,” Cassian supplied.

When the doctor agreed, Cassian immediately stood from the ground, hurried out of the bedchamber, and headed to where Jyn was.

Chapter Text

Now that her adrenaline had faded, Jyn began to feel her weariness take its effect on both her body and spirit; carrying Kerri took its toll on her every muscle, and the dread of it was a more than strenuous mental exhaustion. She desired nothing more now than to be home and take a much needed rest. 

James had offered to walk her home, but since their houses stood at distant opposite ends from Lah’mu Hall (and she knew how tired he must have already been, too) she thought it best for them to go separately. 

They were already at the base of the stairs of the lobby when they had agreed upon this. James was the first to leave, and soon Jyn was left alone.

Because she had been intent on Kerri and Kerri alone the first time she entered Lah’mu Hall, this would be the first time she would have the chance to really behold it. Never had she ever imagined her first time coming here since its being sold away to the Andors to be under such circumstances. It gave her a sense of vague sadness, as opposed to the comfort she had assumed she’d feel, now that she was back within its halls again. 

As she walked the length of the foyer towards the door, she could not help but notice every detail that surrounded her. Everything looked quite the same from her childhood, except in the parts where it no longer did; despite all of it being familiar to her, she also saw that it was no longer the same house she had grown up in. She saw where the Andors had since placed their own touches in the arrangements of the furniture and the decorations, noting, with a curious attention, how they seemed to like the color blue in particular. In several shades it stood out to her eye—in the draperies that mildly fluttered in the breeze, the flowers in vases lining the walls, or the accents of the carpets that ran down the length of the floor. 

The assortment of the space, in its totality, was nothing of the grand sort—but still, it had a harmony that made it all look ultimately refined. From purely a perspective of taste, Jyn did not find herself averse to it. 

When she reached the large round table just before the door, she noticed its centerpiece, which appeared to be a life-size sculpture of a cat made of white plaster. Stepping closer, she made out the words sculpted in the plaque at its base: 

Kaytoo, on his third birthday, 1717.

Just then, a cat, whose likeness uncannily matched the one on the statue’s, sauntered out from behind a pedestal by the door. Jyn blinked—she did not expect it to be stark black, nor to have gray eyes so vibrant they were almost white. She soon knew that it was indeed the same cat, for just dangling below its neck was a silver tag, attached to a yellow collar, that spelled out the same name on the plaque.

Kaytoo the cat stopped to sit on the floor just a few paces in front of Jyn, then tilted its head at her curiously.

It tickled Jyn’s intrigue to discover that the siblings owned a house cat—and a strange-looking one at that. For a few seconds, the feline maintained its stare at Jyn—which, the longer it was held, she realized seemed to be more and more discriminating towards her. Then, as if sensing her growing tension, the cat’s mood instantly changed to caution. It quickly stood on defense, let out one loud hiss at her, and began to sprint away behind a corner.

What an incredibly odd cat. Jyn decided that she did not like it.

“Do not mind him. He’s not very friendly—at first, at least.”

Jyn could have sprained her neck from how quickly she turned her head to the source of the voice—Cassian’s, she instantly knew. Her already aching back slightly seized in the motion, which made her quietly hiss. 

The solicitor was already halfway through the flight of stairs when he spoke, and had since then, now under her watchful gaze, picked up his pace so he could reach her sooner across the distance.

He was eager to speak to her. 

Jyn observed the look of intense seriousness on his face and the way it cut sharply across his features like a tapestry of harsh shadows. It was the same look she had seen of him in all the other times he had interacted with her in the last couple of months. It seemed to deepen even more now when he was in much closer proximity towards her.

It made it clear to her that whatever feelings he felt now, she aggravated it.

She knew very well the depth of his contempt for her, and yet it continued to surprise her at this moment—she appraised the constancy with which he held it, even at a moment such as this, when she had assumed he would at least put it beneath a truce of civility. It would have impressed her how strongly he could hold a grudge, really, had she not been the sole object of it. 

It gave a rise out of her. 

“I can live with people, with men in particular, not being very friendly to me, Mr. Andor,” she found herself saying out of spite.

If only she had known at that moment what the thoughts were that truly occupied the mind of Cassian, who, upon hearing the lady’s pointed remark, was beyond perplexed and maybe even hurt by its sharpness. He was not offended, however. Why should he be? He had effectively destroyed her goodwill and her trust down to its last atom.

He now feared that because of her contempt for him, no words could ever do justice now to what he was about to tell her.

Where Jyn expected Cassian to react bitterly to the remark, he seemed to only relent to it; a tired resignation was apparent across his countenance. She pursed her eyes shut and quietly huffed in exasperation. 

She realized how cruel all of this is.

“Forgive me,” she said stiffly. “I should not have said that. I was just about to leave anyway.” 

Cassian’s eyes widened. “No, no, Miss Erso—on the contrary, please, er, stay for a moment.”

Jyn frowned. Warily she asked, “Did something happen to Miss Andor?”

Cassian, searching both her eyes intently, shook his head. “No, she’s quite all right.”

“What is it, then?”

Cassian kept his gaze fixed upon her. It took all of Jyn to not look away.

Cassian stammered before finally saying, “Well, you just left.”

Jyn’s heart raced. “What?” 

“I mean—” Cassian cleared his throat “—you just left Kerri’s bedchamber with hardly ever saying a word.”

“Oh. I—”

“Not that I held it over you to do so,” quickly added Cassian. “It was to be expected, given how we’ve…”

Cassian seemed to fight with his words. Jyn looked down at the tips of her scuffed and muddied shoes.

“But yes,” Cassian spoke again, “knowing where Kerri had been when it happened, I…I know how much different things would have been had you not been there to find her, Miss Erso—even moreso to take her all the way back here, and only by yourself.”

Jyn did not speak. Cassian sputtered in a way that continued to surprise her even more than he already had been doing. “Kerri,” he went on, “she’s—I—I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if she…” His voice faded into nothing, though the desperation that marked it remained in the air. 

To see him in such a state was novel to Jyn, and it unnerved her in many ways. She had understood, to some extent, the despair with which Kerri’s accident had caused him when she had seen him by her bedside. She found it quite impossible to forget the delicacy of his motions during the moment, and more so the plain vulnerability with which he showed his terror for his sister. 

It was unlike any version of him she had seen before. She supposed the trepidation of nearly losing a loved one could do that to a person. But even then, his behavior now revealed to her something that suggested his inner turmoil was much worse than he had let on. 

Cassian sighed exasperatedly. “What I’m trying to say, ultimately, is thank you, Miss Erso. For helping Kerri.”

His eyes flitted back and forth between hers, as if trying to gauge how she would receive the gesture. At some point, Jyn could no longer sustain the contact and found herself looking away and towards the sculpture of Kaytoo on the table beside her. It gave her the reprieve she needed to finally find her words:

“There is no need for that, Mr. Andor.”

Cassian’s brows knitted together, but he did not reply.

It was Jyn’s turn to search Cassian’s face. When it was apparent that he was truly confused by the remark, she sighed. “I just did what could only be done at the moment,” she said. “The alternative would have been to leave her, and that wasn’t really an option, was it?”

Cassian’s mouth only moved; still, he did not answer.

“My point is, I suppose,” Jyn continued, “anybody who had been there would have done it, too. You—you need not thank me for it, really.”

A quiet pause descended upon them.

Upon quick reflection of Jyn’s words, soon Cassian finally managed to find his own.

“I see what you mean,” he began, “but Miss Erso, I wish you wouldn’t downplay your efforts to just a matter of doing the obvious choice.” His voice faltered. “You are—you are more capable of other choices than you think you are.”

Jyn gave him an odd look. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“But it’s not just you,” Cassian quickly added. 

Jyn shook her head. “That hardly clears things, Mr. Andor.”

Cassian bit his tongue. He took a deep breath. “I only mean to say,” he said, “that though you are right, still, I—I don’t think such choices are always obvious to many people. They are very much just as capable of doing something as they are of not doing it—despite the right path being clear or obvious.”

Jyn did not speak. 

“So as to your claim,” finished Cassian, “I suppose what I’m saying is: I do not think so, Miss Erso. Not anybody would have done the way you did. I know of people who live in this same village alone who wouldn’t have.” 

The manner in which he said this last statement was more than enough to suggest a specific meaning to Jyn. She immediately knew who he referred to. Suddenly the very source of all this ire was a looming shadow over them once more, and remembering the long history that led them to this moment—it made her queasy. She felt as though they were approaching the edge of the same slippery slope to their spectacular animosity, which, in truth, they had never really gotten out of yet.

As if sensing her growing dread, Cassian said, “But none of that really matters right now.”

Jyn stared at him in surprise. 

“It was you who had been there,” he continued, his voice resolute. “It was you who helped Kerri. Anyone else could’ve been there, but they were not. I do not think it useful or particularly helpful to anyone right now, to wonder about those things.”

Jyn felt a tangle form in her gut.

Cassian gulped for air. “You say you need not be thanked, but I need to thank you . So please, Miss Erso, accept it.”

Jyn could hear her own heartbeat against her eardrums. When she looked down at her hands, she realized that she had been picking at the hems of her sleeve.

“Fine,” she relented. “I accept.”

When she did not say anything more, Cassian cleared his throat. “If you do not mind, I would also just like to say—”

“Mr. Andor,” spoke a voice from the top of the stairs.

Both Jyn and Cassian turned their heads to find a male member of the household staff standing there. He eyed them back and forth as though he was testing their temperament. Carefully, he said, “Forgive me for interrupting, but sir, Mr. Melshi wants to let you know that he is to leave soon.”

Cassian blinked. “I see,” he called across the foyer. “I’ll be there. Just give me a moment, would you?”

“Actually,” Jyn chimed in, “I think I’ll be going now, Mr. Andor.”

“But—”

“What should I tell Mr. Melshi, sir?” asked the footman.

In his periphery, Cassian saw Jyn motioning to curtsy her goodbye.

A small bud of frustration was balling up in him as his attention was now split in two halves, diverging farther and farther away from each other.

He tried to compose himself. “Tell him I’ll be there in a moment, thank you,” he told the footman, then immediately turning to Jyn he said, “Miss Erso—please wait.”

Wary, Jyn only furrowed her brows. Her frowning gaze pierced him so cleanly that his mind struggled to form the words in his mouth. 

It wasn’t that he had no idea what to say, for he absolutely had; it was even perhaps one of the surest things he’d known to himself in a while. But he was afraid of saying it the wrong way; he simply could not commit another misutterance—he could not risk any more injury to Jyn by saying another wrong thing. 

But with how much his mind and tongue struggled against each other, and with how much Kerri needed his attention right now, he was beginning to understand that whatever it was that he wanted to say—he was losing his opportunity to say it in every passing second. 

“Mr. Andor, I know you have a lot on your plate at the moment,” Jyn reasoned when she noticed his difficulty. “I really must go.”

Knowing that he was already sustaining too long a silence, it would seem as though some other mind detached from Cassian’s own body made the split-second decision to say the following in his stead:

“At least let me give you a ride home.”

Jyn’s eyes almost fell out of their sockets. “I’m sorry, what?” 

Upon seeing her reaction, Cassian immediately hesitated and wondered if he was making a fatal mistake, but ultimately he doubled down on the proposition. “I insist. Let me take you home to Vallt Park.” 

Jyn wondered as though she had heard it right. Her eyes, still wide, remained fixed on Cassian. 

A pause hung in the air between them.

Jyn slowly shook her head. “N—no. Don’t. You need not do anything of the sort. Save yourself the trouble.”

“But your house is quite a distance from here,” Cassian reasoned.

Jyn shook her head once more. “I cannot impose upon your time, especially when your sister requires all of it right now. Besides, I am perfectly capable of managing the long walk.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you were otherwise incapable, but you must be weary from—”

“And I was not saying you were—” Jyn spoke over him. “I was just….” 

As her words eluded her, in their place came something else entirely: clarity hit her like lightning. 

And it was so simple, too. She realized that she could give all the excuses she wanted in rejecting the offer, and they may be true to an extent, but she knew these would only be, ultimately, the halves of the truth. 

She found no reason why she could not just tell him plainly as she felt. She at least owed herself the dignity to be upfront about it.

“You were just what?” asked Cassian expectantly.

As Jyn quietly watched the solicitor in front of her, she felt surer of it now.

“Mr. Andor,” she answered, “it’s polite of you to offer to take me home, but you don’t have to do that, because…because I’d just prefer it if you didn’t.” She shrugged lethargically. “I just don’t want you to, if I may be so frank. That really is all there is to it.”

The entirety of Lah’mu Hall might as well have collapsed on Cassian with how devastating of an effect the words had on him. He could only stare amidst the odd sensation he now felt. It seemed to be made up of many different feelings, and he could not pinpoint exactly what they were. 

“Right,” he quietly said. “Of course.”

Jyn observed him for a few seconds. Then with a bitter tone she said, “You do not have to extend these courtesies towards me, sir. Do you get my meaning? Don’t feel like you have to pay me this debt. In fact, don’t feel like you owe it to me in the first place. I do not need it. I just do not feel comfortable suddenly being treated kindly because you need to hold up your end of the bargain. This is not a bargain—I did not help Kerri with that intention.”

Cassian frowned. “I never presumed that you did.”

Jyn’s expression was growing more and more exasperated. “Look, I have accepted your thanks, so I think it would just be best for us to move on from it and go about our own ways, like we already have been for a while.”

“But, Miss Erso, I am not—”

“Mr. Andor, please.”

This pushed Cassian to complete silence. Even Jyn, in the seconds after she said it, was taken aback by it. Neither of them spoke. 

She took a deep breath. “I do not want to argue with you again,” she entreated without meeting his eyes, her tone quiet and desperate. “Frankly, I am sick of it."

Cassian’s heart sank.

Jyn gestured a hand towards him. “I mean, do you not feel the same yourself?” 

When he had decided to come after her just earlier, Cassian hadn’t really understood what he was about to confront just yet, but at precisely this moment, he finally did: 

It would seem that Jyn had already closed him off completely. Try as he might now to say that he was sorry for his actions, he suspected that she had already made up her mind to not forgive him, nor to even hear him out. There was nothing more he could say at the moment that she would readily accept.

He felt helpless—and he was perfectly aware that it was his own doing. 

Then he said, just above a whisper, “No, you’re right. You’re absolutely right. I too am tired of it, Miss Erso.”

“Good,” she said quietly. “We are in agreement for once.” 

Cassian nodded. “I suppose we finally are.”

More silence fell between them.

Still hardly looking at him, Jyn started to gather herself together. She straightened her skirt. 

“In any case,” she said, “I do pray for Miss Andor’s quick recovery. But I am certain of its happening, and am sure that I’ll be hearing about it from somebody in the village when it finally happens.” 

Cassian, his spirits fallen, only nodded.

Jyn took a bow. “Good evening.” 

Just like that, once again, she was walking away from him.

“Sir?” again called the footman, who had come back again to the top of the stairs. “I’m afraid Mr. Melshi insists on leaving now.”

Cassian, standing still by the door, his gaze ever so fixed on Jyn, blinked his thoughts away and finally nodded. “Yes, I’m coming.”

As he walked towards the stairs, he realized that he could no longer bear it if he found Jyn and himself in the same scene of parting so bitterly for even just one more time. 

He did not know how, but he knew that something must finally change.