"Owain, you will keep your answers short and succinct when addressing a superior officer, unless you are asked to elaborate," Holdo said, her voice calm and mild, though there was still an edge to it. "You may belong to Captain Dameron, but as long as he is a member of our armed forces, you also belong to the King."
She looked up, finally, catching Owain in a sharp look. "Do I make myself clear?"
"He doesn't belong to any--" Poe started to interject, a heat rising in his voice, but Holdo raised a finger and glared him down. "Just because you have difficulty with Authority, Captain, does not mean I don't expect obedience from you or your pledge. So you will let him confirm, himself."
Owain knew it was coming, and there's a brief, panicked second where he spirals. It shows on his face, which might make things worse - might show how inexperienced he is actually dealing with this kind of behavior without Kes's love for him as a safety net beneath it - but he takes a deep breath, resisting the urge to grovel on his knees.
"No, yeah, of course," he says, stuttering more than once. "I didn't-- I mean, yeah. Yes. Yes. Just yes. Confirming. Yes."
He looks to Poe out the corner of his eye, full of fear - is he fucking up too much? Is Holdo going to find a way to pull some strings and separate them? - and then he's back to staring at the floor, as he should be.
"I'm-- very sorry. For-- my behaviour. For not-- for not-- I'm sorry."
Holdo gave a vague, disinterested wave as Owain apologized.
"Then it's settled. Captain, here are your written orders," she added, holding the envelope out to him. Poe stepped forward, briskly, and took it. He didn't lip off again, but it was obvious how much he wanted to - his shoulders drawn as taut as his throat. It was an effort, standing where he was, but the last thing he wanted was to be stuck in the Capitol for months on end.
"Is that all, sir?"
Holdo waved the off. "Dismissed."
As soon as they left the office, Poe clicked his tongue derisively. "I'm sorry for that."
Dismissed. Owain follows Poe out of the office, head bowed in subservience, and he says nothing to the apology. They keep walking until Owain is absolutely sure nobody can overhear them, and then he stops walking, resting his hands on his knees and feeling like he's going to throw up.
"What was that? I'm not-- I was trained, I know how to talk to people, I was trained-- short, one word answers. Short. One word. She didn't-- have-- enough time to spend on-- on thoughts, or--"
He's embarrassed, taking this as a blow that hits him far harder than it should. He stands up straight again and lightly claps his hands to his cheeks a few times, as if trying to wake himself up. He stumbles back to Poe's apology, raising an eyebrow, hands still pressed to his own face.
"Why are y-- I'm sorry. I embarrassed you. She was in the right to admonish me, I just-- what if she blackballs my recruitment? Can she do that? Does she have that kind of power?"
"She wouldn't have cared if she wasn't so set on making an example out of me," Poe said, bitterly, though he stopped to stand next to Owain, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder.
"Normally I'd say you can talk to anyone any way you damn well please, but she will go out of her way to make our lives miserable, if she can. She thinks I need to be brought down a peg, or five." He scoffed, lightly, then bent down to meet Owain's eyes.
"But she can't do anything to you. Since you're here as-- as my pledge-- she can't do anything." The words were very hard to get out, and he ground his teeth as he said them. Hated it. Hated, hated, hated it. "I was hoping I could just-- enlist you under my squadron- but that whole fucking display was to make sure I had to do it as a pledge or not at all."
That-- makes sense. That makes sense. Owain nods a few times, just to show that he understands. He sees Holdo in a bit of a different light - still kind of daunting, but if she'd spent the past however many years listening to Poe's radical ideas about Pledges, he can understand why the two of them seemed to butt heads. He gets why Poe spoke back, to an extent.
But -
He doesn't want to be enlisted under Poe's squadron.
"I... want to be here... as your pledge," he says, carefully. "I want to protect you. I want to fight for you. You alone. Every priority I have is you. Even if we're--"
He drops his voice. Sooner or later, they're going to be overheard. He'd rather it be later.
"Even if we're redefining some things about how I should act around you, you're still... mine. I still see you as mine. I wouldn't be able to follow any orders if they weren't "stay beside the Captain". I'd get discharged pretty much right away."
The hand on Owain's shoulder squeezed gently, Poe's thumb running a slow, comforting stroke over it, his eyes locked on Owain's. The shame from earlier that morning had left him - replaced by righteous anger, and now, pure concern. But he hadn't entirely forgotten it. It changed the weight of certain words, even as they were spoken.
You're still... mine, Owain said, and it made something inside Poe's chest flutter, painfully.
He let out a hard breath and wet his lips, his brow pulling tight between his eyes. The gears turning so painfully obviously in his head as he tried to figure out what he should do.
"It's not... how you act around me, Owain," he said carefully, his voice very low. "It's-- I should not be the entirety of your universe. You- you need more than that. You deserve more than that. But I don't--" He sighed, his palm pressing a little heavier into Owain's shoulder.
"... Okay. Okay. I'll - I'll make it work. Somehow. The-- pledge. But only if you promise me something."
At the core of him, he doesn't understand why Poe keeps saying things as if Owain felt unhappy to belong to him. Or at least-- saying things as if that's how Owain should feel. He's waited so, so long for this, to have Poe as his master and for Poe to have him as his Pledge. He's had too many years of conditioning bled into him to feel like this isn't just a rejection.
He swallows, leaning into Poe's hand again, so much of his weight in it. Touch-starved and begging for it, like last night, when Poe roughed his hair and he craved it like the sad, hugless orphan he is. Like this morning, when all Poe had to do was feel him while he was asleep and it fucking ruined every part of him.
Owain lets his eyes shut just to take in this moment of Poe being here before he finds it in him to ask the question.
It hurt, how heartbreaking it was, to see how desperate Owain was for even that little attention. A fresh stab of guilt swept through him as he realised this was his fault.
What had resisting this done? He'd convinced no one, in all these years. Had saved no one. All he'd done was ensure that Owain was raised alone. All he'd done was make him feel unwanted. Lon'qu and Lissa's son, and this is what he'd done.
He dragged in a hard breath and let it out again, just as controlled, as he pulled his hand up to cup the side of Owain's face.
"That between us - that's not what we are. The rest of the world-- I can deal with the rest of the world, Owain. But when it comes down to - to the two of us - you matter just as much as I do. You must promise me that. If we're doing this - we're doing it as equals. Even if we have to- pretend otherwise, outside."
And again, as he's always done, as he always will do, he leans into Poe's hand. There's a moment of realization that hits him where he notices what he's doing and he thinks he should stop, because this isn't how a Pledge should act--
But he puts that thought aside. The first thought he's willingly put aside, so far, in a way that isn't just incidental or an action he doesn't fully comprehend. He decides, fully and completely, he would rather do something a Pledge absolutely shouldn't do than follow the orders instilled into him. He shuts his eyes, raising one hand and placing it over Poe's, holding it to him.
"I don't... think I can promise that."
The words catch in his throat, but he gets them out. He curls his fingers over Poe's and holds even tighter onto that hand, scared that it's going to leave him if he doesn't. For a second, it sounds like that's all he's going to say, but then the next words fire out of him with a quick, terrified sadness.
"I-- I don't know what that means. I don't know how to be-- equal." He swallows. "I don't know how to be-- like you. I don't know how to promise something like that when there's so much I don't understand."
Poe's expression breaks apart, the sorrow washing in from every side. He squeezes Owain's jaw, thumb brushing over the skin of his cheek.
"I know I'm asking the impossible," He whispered quietly, his voice dropping even further. "But this is what I - This is the problem, Owain, because you don't actually understand what being unequal is, either. You don't know what you're - what's already been done."
He lowered his head, raising his free hand to run through his hair, frustrated and angry and sad at the world and not able to do a fucking thing about it.
"Just- promise me you'll try. To learn. To understand. I can't... I know I can't ask for more than that." He raised his eyes again, weary. "And if you need to make a decision, you make it on what's best for you."
Even if Poe was being a fucking hypocrite about that, right now.
Owain grins, despite it all, when Poe squeezes his jaw. Lights up, for a moment, but then it fades and he's left just--
Frustrated, now, more than anything. Everything Poe is saying keeps hitting some kind of invisible wall made of smoke in his head, like all of this should make sense on some level and it almost does but in the end it doesn't. He feels dumb, for not knowing how to be the way Poe wants him to be. Angry at himself, despite the conversation, because Poe is miserable and it's his fault and he's an awful Pledge, the worst of the worst.
He meets Poe's eyes, looks deep into them. He's so, so fucking beautiful. Not as an unattainable savior, not as a man thousands of miles above him - just as a person Owain is blessed to have in his life. He gently lets go of Poe's hand.
"I... can promise that, I think. If you can be patient with me while I learn. And if you don't-- leave me. If I do something wrong."
Poe let out a long breath that he hadn't realised he was holding, and then nodded. He squeezed Owain's jaw one more time, then let his hand drop too.
"I'm not going to leave you, okay? Even if we weren't - I'm not just going to drop you somewhere and make you fend for yourself, alright? Even if I was only your friend, Owain, I wouldn't do that."
But footsteps down the hall make his back straighten, as he remembers where he is. "- Okay. We should go." An unreadable expression crossed his face. "... We'll have to formalise your pledge, if that's what you want."
It's hard to vocalize everything he's feeling. A sickly acid in his throat makes him second guess everything. He knows he wants this, it's what he's wanted his entire life, but so much of that dream was based on Poe wanting it too. It doesn't feel right, forcing the Captain into something - if he'd had a little more time, a few more chances for Poe to talk to him about why, exactly, being a Pledge is such an awful thing for a person to be, he might have taken the chance on staying his own man. For Poe's sake, more than his own.
But he just hears Kes's voice, sternly telling him what a great dishonor it would be to turn his back on the Dameron family. He sees Lon'qu serving with utmost loyalty, and imagines what he would look like if he heard his son had shed his identity. It's hard, wanting to meet every one of Poe's expectations and work with all the fear and the rules instilled in him. I think is all he can say.
Arms at his side. Head down. He walks in step behind Poe, subservient, at a respectable distance, in silence.
He feels stiff and worried when they get to the hall where Pledges are formally registered, far towards a wing of the palace that's more administrative than strictly militaristic. There are signs that other Pledges have been here - it's impeccably clean, the marble floor devoid of scuffmarks or boot prints, and Owain flushes when he realizes he hasn't kept Poe's boots as immaculate as they could be. His appearance reflects entirely on Owain, now, and he needs to make absolutely sure every part of him is spotless before they leave their room in the morning.
"Are--" The great oak doors to the room are imposing, and Owain stands closer to Poe than he perhaps should, just outside of them.
"I'm fine," Poe assures him, though his discomfort is more than obvious. He can't actually stand still, so he fidgets even after they stop, pacing a few steps. It wasn't like he had done this before, either. But he knew what was coming, as well as Owain did. The vow, the blood. And Poe would just have to stand there and receive it.
"I'm fine," he repeats, more for himself than for Owain, the itch in his step and at the back of his mind causing him to just go fuck it and throw open the doors, straight in. No hesitation, no turning back. If this was what they were doing, he was doing it. The administrator was a very lean, elderly man with long grey hair and tired, bored looking eyes who glanced up as they approached.
"Ah, Captain Dameron. Yes, I was told to expect you." He stood, in one graceful motion, and stepped out from behind his desk. "I admit I was surprised."
"Really? Because I'm pretty sure you and my father will have been talking about this for a long time," Poe said, the words sharp, but he cut them off, turning his head away in an effort to control himself. "Forgo the lecture. Just do it."
The man offered a thin, cold smile, and gestured to Owain to approach him.
"You deserve better than this," He said to Owain while clearly speaking to Dameron. "A pledge should be a sombre, celebratory affair. But I will officiate, regardless. Come here."
"That's not true. Being with Poe is more than enough for me."
He says it quietly, so quiet that the administrator doesn't even hear him, but it's Owain's first real act of rebellion, even if he doesn't yet see it as that. Saying Poe to someone in such a high position of authority, instead of Captain Dameron. Saying it right in front of his owner, who, at least, definitely would have been able to hear it. It's the kind of disrespect that might get him truly, dreadfully punished, if he were under the hand of a different master.
The old man takes him to the center of the room and reads out a long, long list of obligations. Poe has to stand there for a solid ten minutes as Owain nods, obediently, to commands like you vow to forego your safety and your comfort for the sake of the man who claims you and you swear an oath to lay down your base wants and desires for he who has taken you in as his charge. He promises, explicitly, time and time again, to strip himself of every individual right he has, vocalizing in almost clinical, systematic terms the fact that he's barely a human. Poe gets to hear him say things like I acknowledge I'm his hand and nothing more, I acknowledge my complete and total fealty to the nobleman above me, I acknowledge Captain Dameron's right to change and strip everything about me until I suit his needs in a Pledge.
Everything short of explicitly saying that all he has is his name, something Poe can still completely tear away from him, if he so chooses.
By the end of the reading, Owain is sure, more than ever, that he's just a slave, hidden under a silk veil of honour and respect, treated like more than he is by society at large. He's downcast but obedient, eyes distant and glassy. He didn't think it would hurt so much.
There's nothing careful about the knife that plunges into his hand. It's a test, to see how Pledges react to pain - they're supposed to let go of such base reactions, after all, unless their owners specifically enjoy seeing them hurt.
He winces as the silver blade cuts a line across his palm, and he's led back over to Poe in silence. His arm is trembling slightly, but Owain's dignity is still held together with a steel tight jaw and the hard eyes of a man far older than he is, far older than he's seemed until now.
With his good hand, he unfastens Poe's cape, and the old man does the kindness of taking it, but a flash of anger hits Owain's eyes - this is his job, he should be holding onto Poe's clothes during all of this. He unbuttons his shirt next, just enough to expose his bare chest, and a drop of blood rolls down his fingertips onto the floor. The old man tuts at Owain's carelessness.
He puts his sore and bloodied hand over Poe's heart, the cut stinging at the contact. There's too much blood, because it's fucked up to cut someone's hand, it's violent and if it heals wrong it can be permanently damaging, it's the kind of wound that can kill, but that's why they still do it. Owain doesn't really listen to himself as he says the vow - something practiced and rehearsed that he's said a thousand times in the mirror, my body is yours, my mind is yours, my spirit is yours, my life is yours - poetic waxing about his blood being the core of him and how the core of him belongs to Poe both inside and out.
There's a lot of blood, so much of it dripping down past Poe's heart and over the rest of his body under his clothes, staining them with him. When he's done, he hesitates, then brings his hand to Poe's lips. Blood for him to take.
The core of him belongs to Poe both inside and out.
He wouldn't have been able to get through it. He barely did, as it was, almost just swearing a blue streak and grabbing the damn thing out of the administrator's hands and tearing it to shreds in front of him. The only thing that stayed him - the only thing that kept his jaw set and his feet planted - was the word Poe.
That was all he needed, to know how to make this right. Or, if not right, to make it better.
His heart hammered, hard, despite himself, when Owain's pressed the bloodied hand to his chest, the wild beat probably more than obvious to Owain himself. His expression is hard, but his focus is on Owain, only, as the hand is raised to his lips. He pressed them against the wound, the taste of copper blooming on his tongue. When he pulled back, his expression was dark, his lips smeared red.
"Good," the Administrator said. "And here I thought you would never go through with it. It is complete, you may--"
"No, it's not." Poe interrupted, stepping abruptly toward the Administrator and grabbing the knife from his hands. The man was so surprised he didn't even try to stop him, gaping like a fish as his eyes flicked to the silver knife that Poe was now wielding.
"Captain Dameron--"
"Say another word, and you'll bleed as much as Owain has," Poe warned him, his voice dark. The Administator looked terrified, but the threat had it's effect, and his mouth shut. Poe kept glaring at him for a few more seconds, before finally pulling back, turning to face Owain.
He took a deep breath, and then met Owain's eye, utterly solemn.
"I forgo my rights to strip you of yours," he said, voice firm and unwavering. "I vow to forgo my own safety and comfort to protect yours. I return to you your wants and- desires-" The tiniest hitch in his voice on that word, but he carried on without acknowledging it. "I give you your body's autonomy, and take only what I give to you, in return."
Without even looking down, he pulled the silver dagger against his palm. The blade so sharp that the pain took almost a full half second to register, and Poe grits his teeth together, eyes unwavering. His clean hand - still gripping the dagger, moved to undo the clasps of Owain's sweater, pulling it open clumsily, but effectively, before he reached out, pressing the bloodied hand to Owain's chest, just above his heart.
There's so much blood.
"My body is yours," He continues, conviction in ever word. "My mind is yours. My spirit is yours. My life is yours. My blood bears the signet of my conviction, the core of me belongs to you, inside and out."
It still stung, gods it stung, but he raised his hand, pall open, to Owain's lips. He didn't blink.
The red on Poe's lips is beautiful, in its own way, but so much different to how Owain always imagined it would be. He watches a drop of it fall down the corner of Poe's lips and roll down his jaw, and he wants to wipe it away to keep his perfect form unmarred by the filth of Owain's body. He doesn't, but he looks to his feet and holds the wrist of his bleeding hand when the Administrator sends them on their way.
And then Poe has the knife.
It's a distant kind of panic, the thing that flutters in his chest. A skip of his heart, the only signal he has under a layer of cloudy apathy and a desire to just go back to yesterday and sleep. He looks nervously to the Administrator, as if he might know what to do, but he doesn't, of course - but then Poe meets his eye and Owain holds it.
"Wh--"
He comes to life again with each word.
It hits him. It fucking hits him, all at once, what a fucked up life he's had. It's just a flutter of a thought, there at the corner of forming into something real, but it's there. To make a vow like this to a man he's only ever been told about - the Poe in his dreams never would have done something like this, but the Poe in front of him is so, so much better. He doesn't know what to say, other than stare, shocked, his heart beating faster and colour coming back to his face with every passing syllable.
The blood on his heart meets a racing, pounding pulse that rivals the anger he felt in Poe. This is what it feels like, he thinks, to fall in love.
There's a second, the shortest of seconds, where he thinks this is wrong, don't do this, but he drowns it out. He does more than just drink the blood from Poe - he kisses the wound, licks his hand clean with his tongue, just lovingly fucking dotes on this, even as the foreign, metallic taste of it fills his mouth far too strongly. When he's done and Poe is still bleeding, he tears off his sweater with his good hand and wraps Poe's wound in it, pressing his own cut into one of the layers to stop the flow of it. Their blood meets in the middle. He swallows, and he's smiling, and he's laughing, and he gets it. Poe won't leave him. He wants to be equal. Equal.
It's not going to last, this realization. Not when Kes's lessons come back and hit him. But it's here, for now.
"Poe."
Louder, this time. Loud enough for the Administrator to hear.
Poe doesn't laugh, he can't bring himself to. But Owain's laugh cements a few things for him, erases any lingering question or doubt. He swallows, at his name, and nods, firmly.
"Owain." An acknowledgement, before he turns back to the Administator and hands him the bloody knife.
"Now we're done."
The thin man's lips were pressed thin, even paler than he was before, glancing nervously between them.
"Captain Dameron, you must know that there is absolutely no legality to what you just--"
"Owain gave me his pledge, and I have full legal right to do whatever the hell I like with it," Poe replied, the anger back in crisp, even tones. "Just sign the damn certificate. I don't need your approval for my own vows."
The man glared at them, but then nodded, stepping back to his desk and fetching the parchment. He signed it, and then held it out for Owain.
"Your thumbprint, in blood." He said, pointing to where it should go.
What he does next doesn't come from spite. If he was asked why he did it, he wouldn't be able to give a solid answer. But--
He brings his thumb to his chest, mixes his own blood with Poe's. Prints his thumb where it needs to go, staring the Administrator dead in the eyes. He's shaking like a leaf, holding his bloodied sweater in his good arm, and he's terrified, worried about what this might mean - if it voids the legality of their relationship, or - or, fuck, fuck, this'll definitely get back to Kes, fuck, what will Kes say, fuck, he can't lose another father figure, even one that always kept some professional distance - but.
It's done. Poe's blood with his. Marked on paper. Done.
All the confused, too-new-to-have-an-aim resolve he felt melts away with that action, and he looks to Poe for help.
He'd been planning to press his own thumb into it, after Owain, but the surge of pride that swells in his chest as Owain plants his rebellion on paper stops him. No. That one is his. He grabs his jacket and throws it over himself, as well as grabbing a piece of cloth that was meant to bandage Owain's hand. He breaks it in two with his teeth, wraps part of it over his palm, and the other half over Owain's.
Then he reaches out with his good hand, clasping Owain's tightly in his own.
"Yeah. Yeah, we can go."
And without another word, pulls him out and into the hallway.
He keeps his silence as they beelines back through the complex to the military wing. Doesn't seem to notice the glances in their direction, the confused looks that people give when they see two men smeared with blood. He doesn't give a shit about anyone else, right now, but he needs to tend to Owain's hand. So back to the rooms it is. As soon as they reach them, he let's go, pushing open the door and going straight for the water basin. Damn it. He'd forgotten to fill it in the morning.
"Sit down, I'll get some water," He said, throwing the basin under his arm and heading immediately back out the door before Owain could stop him. He was back only three minutes later, the heavy basin wavering as his cut hand couldn't quite hold the weight that it needed to, but he got in and set it down with only a slight wince. "Okay, come here, let's get you cleaned up."
Owain, contrarily, notices each and every one of those stares as harshly as he noticed the knife through his hand.
He shrinks in on himself further and further as they walk, only standing to his full height again when they're back in the privacy of their own room, the sunlight filtering through the lone window. He realizes, quite out of nowhere, that he didn't bring any books with him - he wouldn't have been allowed, because they belonged to the estate, but he spent such a long time wanting to write one of his own. Yesterday, he would have wondered if Poe would allow him to write something, if he asked. Today, he knows without a doubt he would buy him all the stationary he needed.
He goes to the basin when Poe's back with it, wanting to help him lift it but deciding it might mean more to let Poe take care of him without rushing to bend to his knee for him. He's silent still as he holds out his hand, wincing as he gets a proper look at the cut - the Administrator really was unnecessarily rough with him, the whole thing starting from the thin gap between his index and middle finger and cutting diagonally down past the heel of his palm and getting dangerously close to his wrist. It's going to hurt for a while, and this is the hand he uses to fight with.
He wonders, maybe, if this was a punishment.
He leaves his hand in the water for a second before meeting Poe's eyes.
"It's official now? It's official on paper that I'm yours? If-- your dad-- wanted to take me back, after he hears about all of this-- he wouldn't be able to?"
Poe swears, lowly, as he gets a look at the wound. He remembers Lon'qu's scar- it wasn't nearly this long. "Fucking bastard," He mutters, taking a soft cloth and gently dipping it in the water before he very carefully ran it over Owain's hand. He doesn't look up, all his attention on tending to Owain's hand.
"Yeah. It's official. Only you, me, or the King could annul it, now."
He dipped the bloodied towel back in the basin, the water turning red, before continuing.
"Obviously I can't - there's nothing to prove that mine meant anything," He says, his brows furrowed so deeply that lines creased his forehead. "But I meant every one of them. As solemn an oath as yours. I doubt anyone will bring it up. Renlow is a coward, and he'd be in more trouble than me, if word got out. So he'll keep it to himself."
Even though they've both been swearing a fair bit, his heart still feels a weird, stupid thrill every time Poe curses. It's still hard to separate the image of this noble, cleancut military man in his head to the rebellious, spitfire Poe in front of him. It's...
He really does like the real Poe better.
He watches Poe clean his wound, keeps his hand steady every time he feels like flinching and pulling away because of the pain. His first real scar, other than the brand on his bicep he's kept hidden away under a red bandage. He listens, and he absorbs, and he watches the water run darker and darker with blood.
"There's no part of me that doubts you." It's the truth, and he means it, but he also knows he can't just leave things at that. Nine years of conditioning - of course he'd trust Poe implicitly, Poe would never question that. That's not what this is.
"I don't know why you want this... or why you would go to such lengths for me. I know you said - a lot of this has nothing to do with me, specifically. I'm a symptom of something you hate. And maybe - maybe that's the only reason you fought so hard? But it..."
A long pause. He breaks contact with Poe's eyes, even though they never looked back.
"But that's not important. You fought hard. You're fighting hard. For whatever reason. You're dedicated and you're brave and you want us to be equal. I still don't know if I can promise I'll always be good - but I want to be someone who can live up to the oaths you vowed to me in there. I want to be someone worthy of being saved, as you already are to me. I think maybe... that's... something."
"My hating the institution has nothing to do with you," He corrected, his voice low as he finished cleaning the wound. Without letting go, he reached back to his things, where a med kit lay, and fished out a proper bandage.
"Today?" He turned back, his eyes still on Owain's hand as he began to wrap the bandage tight. "That was about you. Specifically." When he's done, he ties it off, wincing as he has to use his own still-bleeding hand to do so, though he's careful not to get his own blood on the fresh bandage. He turns back to the basin and starts to wipe down his own hand.
"I owe it to you. And your parents. I owe them a hell of a lot more than this, but it's a start." He pauses, and finally turns his head to look at Owain. "You're already worthy of it, Owain. I'm just trying to prove that to you."
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She looked up, finally, catching Owain in a sharp look. "Do I make myself clear?"
"He doesn't belong to any--" Poe started to interject, a heat rising in his voice, but Holdo raised a finger and glared him down. "Just because you have difficulty with Authority, Captain, does not mean I don't expect obedience from you or your pledge. So you will let him confirm, himself."
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Owain knew it was coming, and there's a brief, panicked second where he spirals. It shows on his face, which might make things worse - might show how inexperienced he is actually dealing with this kind of behavior without Kes's love for him as a safety net beneath it - but he takes a deep breath, resisting the urge to grovel on his knees.
"No, yeah, of course," he says, stuttering more than once. "I didn't-- I mean, yeah. Yes. Yes. Just yes. Confirming. Yes."
He looks to Poe out the corner of his eye, full of fear - is he fucking up too much? Is Holdo going to find a way to pull some strings and separate them? - and then he's back to staring at the floor, as he should be.
"I'm-- very sorry. For-- my behaviour. For not-- for not-- I'm sorry."
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"Then it's settled. Captain, here are your written orders," she added, holding the envelope out to him. Poe stepped forward, briskly, and took it. He didn't lip off again, but it was obvious how much he wanted to - his shoulders drawn as taut as his throat. It was an effort, standing where he was, but the last thing he wanted was to be stuck in the Capitol for months on end.
"Is that all, sir?"
Holdo waved the off. "Dismissed."
As soon as they left the office, Poe clicked his tongue derisively. "I'm sorry for that."
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"What was that? I'm not-- I was trained, I know how to talk to people, I was trained-- short, one word answers. Short. One word. She didn't-- have-- enough time to spend on-- on thoughts, or--"
He's embarrassed, taking this as a blow that hits him far harder than it should. He stands up straight again and lightly claps his hands to his cheeks a few times, as if trying to wake himself up. He stumbles back to Poe's apology, raising an eyebrow, hands still pressed to his own face.
"Why are y-- I'm sorry. I embarrassed you. She was in the right to admonish me, I just-- what if she blackballs my recruitment? Can she do that? Does she have that kind of power?"
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"Normally I'd say you can talk to anyone any way you damn well please, but she will go out of her way to make our lives miserable, if she can. She thinks I need to be brought down a peg, or five." He scoffed, lightly, then bent down to meet Owain's eyes.
"But she can't do anything to you. Since you're here as-- as my pledge-- she can't do anything." The words were very hard to get out, and he ground his teeth as he said them. Hated it. Hated, hated, hated it. "I was hoping I could just-- enlist you under my squadron- but that whole fucking display was to make sure I had to do it as a pledge or not at all."
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But -
He doesn't want to be enlisted under Poe's squadron.
"I... want to be here... as your pledge," he says, carefully. "I want to protect you. I want to fight for you. You alone. Every priority I have is you. Even if we're--"
He drops his voice. Sooner or later, they're going to be overheard. He'd rather it be later.
"Even if we're redefining some things about how I should act around you, you're still... mine. I still see you as mine. I wouldn't be able to follow any orders if they weren't "stay beside the Captain". I'd get discharged pretty much right away."
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You're still... mine, Owain said, and it made something inside Poe's chest flutter, painfully.
He let out a hard breath and wet his lips, his brow pulling tight between his eyes. The gears turning so painfully obviously in his head as he tried to figure out what he should do.
"It's not... how you act around me, Owain," he said carefully, his voice very low. "It's-- I should not be the entirety of your universe. You- you need more than that. You deserve more than that. But I don't--" He sighed, his palm pressing a little heavier into Owain's shoulder.
"... Okay. Okay. I'll - I'll make it work. Somehow. The-- pledge. But only if you promise me something."
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He swallows, leaning into Poe's hand again, so much of his weight in it. Touch-starved and begging for it, like last night, when Poe roughed his hair and he craved it like the sad, hugless orphan he is. Like this morning, when all Poe had to do was feel him while he was asleep and it fucking ruined every part of him.
Owain lets his eyes shut just to take in this moment of Poe being here before he finds it in him to ask the question.
"What do you want me to promise you?"
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What had resisting this done? He'd convinced no one, in all these years. Had saved no one. All he'd done was ensure that Owain was raised alone. All he'd done was make him feel unwanted. Lon'qu and Lissa's son, and this is what he'd done.
He dragged in a hard breath and let it out again, just as controlled, as he pulled his hand up to cup the side of Owain's face.
"That between us - that's not what we are. The rest of the world-- I can deal with the rest of the world, Owain. But when it comes down to - to the two of us - you matter just as much as I do. You must promise me that. If we're doing this - we're doing it as equals. Even if we have to- pretend otherwise, outside."
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But he puts that thought aside. The first thought he's willingly put aside, so far, in a way that isn't just incidental or an action he doesn't fully comprehend. He decides, fully and completely, he would rather do something a Pledge absolutely shouldn't do than follow the orders instilled into him. He shuts his eyes, raising one hand and placing it over Poe's, holding it to him.
"I don't... think I can promise that."
The words catch in his throat, but he gets them out. He curls his fingers over Poe's and holds even tighter onto that hand, scared that it's going to leave him if he doesn't. For a second, it sounds like that's all he's going to say, but then the next words fire out of him with a quick, terrified sadness.
"I-- I don't know what that means. I don't know how to be-- equal." He swallows. "I don't know how to be-- like you. I don't know how to promise something like that when there's so much I don't understand."
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"I know I'm asking the impossible," He whispered quietly, his voice dropping even further. "But this is what I - This is the problem, Owain, because you don't actually understand what being unequal is, either. You don't know what you're - what's already been done."
He lowered his head, raising his free hand to run through his hair, frustrated and angry and sad at the world and not able to do a fucking thing about it.
"Just- promise me you'll try. To learn. To understand. I can't... I know I can't ask for more than that." He raised his eyes again, weary. "And if you need to make a decision, you make it on what's best for you."
Even if Poe was being a fucking hypocrite about that, right now.
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Frustrated, now, more than anything. Everything Poe is saying keeps hitting some kind of invisible wall made of smoke in his head, like all of this should make sense on some level and it almost does but in the end it doesn't. He feels dumb, for not knowing how to be the way Poe wants him to be. Angry at himself, despite the conversation, because Poe is miserable and it's his fault and he's an awful Pledge, the worst of the worst.
He meets Poe's eyes, looks deep into them. He's so, so fucking beautiful. Not as an unattainable savior, not as a man thousands of miles above him - just as a person Owain is blessed to have in his life. He gently lets go of Poe's hand.
"I... can promise that, I think. If you can be patient with me while I learn. And if you don't-- leave me. If I do something wrong."
And then-- very quietly--
"-- Poe."
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"I'm not going to leave you, okay? Even if we weren't - I'm not just going to drop you somewhere and make you fend for yourself, alright? Even if I was only your friend, Owain, I wouldn't do that."
But footsteps down the hall make his back straighten, as he remembers where he is. "- Okay. We should go." An unreadable expression crossed his face. "... We'll have to formalise your pledge, if that's what you want."
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It's hard to vocalize everything he's feeling. A sickly acid in his throat makes him second guess everything. He knows he wants this, it's what he's wanted his entire life, but so much of that dream was based on Poe wanting it too. It doesn't feel right, forcing the Captain into something - if he'd had a little more time, a few more chances for Poe to talk to him about why, exactly, being a Pledge is such an awful thing for a person to be, he might have taken the chance on staying his own man. For Poe's sake, more than his own.
But he just hears Kes's voice, sternly telling him what a great dishonor it would be to turn his back on the Dameron family. He sees Lon'qu serving with utmost loyalty, and imagines what he would look like if he heard his son had shed his identity. It's hard, wanting to meet every one of Poe's expectations and work with all the fear and the rules instilled in him. I think is all he can say.
Arms at his side. Head down. He walks in step behind Poe, subservient, at a respectable distance, in silence.
He feels stiff and worried when they get to the hall where Pledges are formally registered, far towards a wing of the palace that's more administrative than strictly militaristic. There are signs that other Pledges have been here - it's impeccably clean, the marble floor devoid of scuffmarks or boot prints, and Owain flushes when he realizes he hasn't kept Poe's boots as immaculate as they could be. His appearance reflects entirely on Owain, now, and he needs to make absolutely sure every part of him is spotless before they leave their room in the morning.
"Are--" The great oak doors to the room are imposing, and Owain stands closer to Poe than he perhaps should, just outside of them.
"Are you going to be okay doing this?"
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"I'm fine," he repeats, more for himself than for Owain, the itch in his step and at the back of his mind causing him to just go fuck it and throw open the doors, straight in. No hesitation, no turning back. If this was what they were doing, he was doing it. The administrator was a very lean, elderly man with long grey hair and tired, bored looking eyes who glanced up as they approached.
"Ah, Captain Dameron. Yes, I was told to expect you." He stood, in one graceful motion, and stepped out from behind his desk. "I admit I was surprised."
"Really? Because I'm pretty sure you and my father will have been talking about this for a long time," Poe said, the words sharp, but he cut them off, turning his head away in an effort to control himself. "Forgo the lecture. Just do it."
The man offered a thin, cold smile, and gestured to Owain to approach him.
"You deserve better than this," He said to Owain while clearly speaking to Dameron. "A pledge should be a sombre, celebratory affair. But I will officiate, regardless. Come here."
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He says it quietly, so quiet that the administrator doesn't even hear him, but it's Owain's first real act of rebellion, even if he doesn't yet see it as that. Saying Poe to someone in such a high position of authority, instead of Captain Dameron. Saying it right in front of his owner, who, at least, definitely would have been able to hear it. It's the kind of disrespect that might get him truly, dreadfully punished, if he were under the hand of a different master.
The old man takes him to the center of the room and reads out a long, long list of obligations. Poe has to stand there for a solid ten minutes as Owain nods, obediently, to commands like you vow to forego your safety and your comfort for the sake of the man who claims you and you swear an oath to lay down your base wants and desires for he who has taken you in as his charge. He promises, explicitly, time and time again, to strip himself of every individual right he has, vocalizing in almost clinical, systematic terms the fact that he's barely a human. Poe gets to hear him say things like I acknowledge I'm his hand and nothing more, I acknowledge my complete and total fealty to the nobleman above me, I acknowledge Captain Dameron's right to change and strip everything about me until I suit his needs in a Pledge.
Everything short of explicitly saying that all he has is his name, something Poe can still completely tear away from him, if he so chooses.
By the end of the reading, Owain is sure, more than ever, that he's just a slave, hidden under a silk veil of honour and respect, treated like more than he is by society at large. He's downcast but obedient, eyes distant and glassy. He didn't think it would hurt so much.
There's nothing careful about the knife that plunges into his hand. It's a test, to see how Pledges react to pain - they're supposed to let go of such base reactions, after all, unless their owners specifically enjoy seeing them hurt.
He winces as the silver blade cuts a line across his palm, and he's led back over to Poe in silence. His arm is trembling slightly, but Owain's dignity is still held together with a steel tight jaw and the hard eyes of a man far older than he is, far older than he's seemed until now.
With his good hand, he unfastens Poe's cape, and the old man does the kindness of taking it, but a flash of anger hits Owain's eyes - this is his job, he should be holding onto Poe's clothes during all of this. He unbuttons his shirt next, just enough to expose his bare chest, and a drop of blood rolls down his fingertips onto the floor. The old man tuts at Owain's carelessness.
He puts his sore and bloodied hand over Poe's heart, the cut stinging at the contact. There's too much blood, because it's fucked up to cut someone's hand, it's violent and if it heals wrong it can be permanently damaging, it's the kind of wound that can kill, but that's why they still do it. Owain doesn't really listen to himself as he says the vow - something practiced and rehearsed that he's said a thousand times in the mirror, my body is yours, my mind is yours, my spirit is yours, my life is yours - poetic waxing about his blood being the core of him and how the core of him belongs to Poe both inside and out.
There's a lot of blood, so much of it dripping down past Poe's heart and over the rest of his body under his clothes, staining them with him. When he's done, he hesitates, then brings his hand to Poe's lips. Blood for him to take.
The core of him belongs to Poe both inside and out.
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That was all he needed, to know how to make this right. Or, if not right, to make it better.
His heart hammered, hard, despite himself, when Owain's pressed the bloodied hand to his chest, the wild beat probably more than obvious to Owain himself. His expression is hard, but his focus is on Owain, only, as the hand is raised to his lips. He pressed them against the wound, the taste of copper blooming on his tongue. When he pulled back, his expression was dark, his lips smeared red.
"Good," the Administrator said. "And here I thought you would never go through with it. It is complete, you may--"
"No, it's not." Poe interrupted, stepping abruptly toward the Administrator and grabbing the knife from his hands. The man was so surprised he didn't even try to stop him, gaping like a fish as his eyes flicked to the silver knife that Poe was now wielding.
"Captain Dameron--"
"Say another word, and you'll bleed as much as Owain has," Poe warned him, his voice dark. The Administator looked terrified, but the threat had it's effect, and his mouth shut. Poe kept glaring at him for a few more seconds, before finally pulling back, turning to face Owain.
He took a deep breath, and then met Owain's eye, utterly solemn.
"I forgo my rights to strip you of yours," he said, voice firm and unwavering. "I vow to forgo my own safety and comfort to protect yours. I return to you your wants and- desires-" The tiniest hitch in his voice on that word, but he carried on without acknowledging it. "I give you your body's autonomy, and take only what I give to you, in return."
Without even looking down, he pulled the silver dagger against his palm. The blade so sharp that the pain took almost a full half second to register, and Poe grits his teeth together, eyes unwavering. His clean hand - still gripping the dagger, moved to undo the clasps of Owain's sweater, pulling it open clumsily, but effectively, before he reached out, pressing the bloodied hand to Owain's chest, just above his heart.
There's so much blood.
"My body is yours," He continues, conviction in ever word. "My mind is yours. My spirit is yours. My life is yours. My blood bears the signet of my conviction, the core of me belongs to you, inside and out."
It still stung, gods it stung, but he raised his hand, pall open, to Owain's lips. He didn't blink.
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And then Poe has the knife.
It's a distant kind of panic, the thing that flutters in his chest. A skip of his heart, the only signal he has under a layer of cloudy apathy and a desire to just go back to yesterday and sleep. He looks nervously to the Administrator, as if he might know what to do, but he doesn't, of course - but then Poe meets his eye and Owain holds it.
"Wh--"
He comes to life again with each word.
It hits him. It fucking hits him, all at once, what a fucked up life he's had. It's just a flutter of a thought, there at the corner of forming into something real, but it's there. To make a vow like this to a man he's only ever been told about - the Poe in his dreams never would have done something like this, but the Poe in front of him is so, so much better. He doesn't know what to say, other than stare, shocked, his heart beating faster and colour coming back to his face with every passing syllable.
The blood on his heart meets a racing, pounding pulse that rivals the anger he felt in Poe. This is what it feels like, he thinks, to fall in love.
There's a second, the shortest of seconds, where he thinks this is wrong, don't do this, but he drowns it out. He does more than just drink the blood from Poe - he kisses the wound, licks his hand clean with his tongue, just lovingly fucking dotes on this, even as the foreign, metallic taste of it fills his mouth far too strongly. When he's done and Poe is still bleeding, he tears off his sweater with his good hand and wraps Poe's wound in it, pressing his own cut into one of the layers to stop the flow of it. Their blood meets in the middle. He swallows, and he's smiling, and he's laughing, and he gets it. Poe won't leave him. He wants to be equal. Equal.
It's not going to last, this realization. Not when Kes's lessons come back and hit him. But it's here, for now.
"Poe."
Louder, this time. Loud enough for the Administrator to hear.
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"Owain." An acknowledgement, before he turns back to the Administator and hands him the bloody knife.
"Now we're done."
The thin man's lips were pressed thin, even paler than he was before, glancing nervously between them.
"Captain Dameron, you must know that there is absolutely no legality to what you just--"
"Owain gave me his pledge, and I have full legal right to do whatever the hell I like with it," Poe replied, the anger back in crisp, even tones. "Just sign the damn certificate. I don't need your approval for my own vows."
The man glared at them, but then nodded, stepping back to his desk and fetching the parchment. He signed it, and then held it out for Owain.
"Your thumbprint, in blood." He said, pointing to where it should go.
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He brings his thumb to his chest, mixes his own blood with Poe's. Prints his thumb where it needs to go, staring the Administrator dead in the eyes. He's shaking like a leaf, holding his bloodied sweater in his good arm, and he's terrified, worried about what this might mean - if it voids the legality of their relationship, or - or, fuck, fuck, this'll definitely get back to Kes, fuck, what will Kes say, fuck, he can't lose another father figure, even one that always kept some professional distance - but.
It's done. Poe's blood with his. Marked on paper. Done.
All the confused, too-new-to-have-an-aim resolve he felt melts away with that action, and he looks to Poe for help.
"Can we go?"
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Then he reaches out with his good hand, clasping Owain's tightly in his own.
"Yeah. Yeah, we can go."
And without another word, pulls him out and into the hallway.
He keeps his silence as they beelines back through the complex to the military wing. Doesn't seem to notice the glances in their direction, the confused looks that people give when they see two men smeared with blood. He doesn't give a shit about anyone else, right now, but he needs to tend to Owain's hand. So back to the rooms it is. As soon as they reach them, he let's go, pushing open the door and going straight for the water basin. Damn it. He'd forgotten to fill it in the morning.
"Sit down, I'll get some water," He said, throwing the basin under his arm and heading immediately back out the door before Owain could stop him. He was back only three minutes later, the heavy basin wavering as his cut hand couldn't quite hold the weight that it needed to, but he got in and set it down with only a slight wince. "Okay, come here, let's get you cleaned up."
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He shrinks in on himself further and further as they walk, only standing to his full height again when they're back in the privacy of their own room, the sunlight filtering through the lone window. He realizes, quite out of nowhere, that he didn't bring any books with him - he wouldn't have been allowed, because they belonged to the estate, but he spent such a long time wanting to write one of his own. Yesterday, he would have wondered if Poe would allow him to write something, if he asked. Today, he knows without a doubt he would buy him all the stationary he needed.
He goes to the basin when Poe's back with it, wanting to help him lift it but deciding it might mean more to let Poe take care of him without rushing to bend to his knee for him. He's silent still as he holds out his hand, wincing as he gets a proper look at the cut - the Administrator really was unnecessarily rough with him, the whole thing starting from the thin gap between his index and middle finger and cutting diagonally down past the heel of his palm and getting dangerously close to his wrist. It's going to hurt for a while, and this is the hand he uses to fight with.
He wonders, maybe, if this was a punishment.
He leaves his hand in the water for a second before meeting Poe's eyes.
"It's official now? It's official on paper that I'm yours? If-- your dad-- wanted to take me back, after he hears about all of this-- he wouldn't be able to?"
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"Yeah. It's official. Only you, me, or the King could annul it, now."
He dipped the bloodied towel back in the basin, the water turning red, before continuing.
"Obviously I can't - there's nothing to prove that mine meant anything," He says, his brows furrowed so deeply that lines creased his forehead. "But I meant every one of them. As solemn an oath as yours. I doubt anyone will bring it up. Renlow is a coward, and he'd be in more trouble than me, if word got out. So he'll keep it to himself."
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He really does like the real Poe better.
He watches Poe clean his wound, keeps his hand steady every time he feels like flinching and pulling away because of the pain. His first real scar, other than the brand on his bicep he's kept hidden away under a red bandage. He listens, and he absorbs, and he watches the water run darker and darker with blood.
"There's no part of me that doubts you." It's the truth, and he means it, but he also knows he can't just leave things at that. Nine years of conditioning - of course he'd trust Poe implicitly, Poe would never question that. That's not what this is.
"I don't know why you want this... or why you would go to such lengths for me. I know you said - a lot of this has nothing to do with me, specifically. I'm a symptom of something you hate. And maybe - maybe that's the only reason you fought so hard? But it..."
A long pause. He breaks contact with Poe's eyes, even though they never looked back.
"But that's not important. You fought hard. You're fighting hard. For whatever reason. You're dedicated and you're brave and you want us to be equal. I still don't know if I can promise I'll always be good - but I want to be someone who can live up to the oaths you vowed to me in there. I want to be someone worthy of being saved, as you already are to me. I think maybe... that's... something."
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"Today?" He turned back, his eyes still on Owain's hand as he began to wrap the bandage tight. "That was about you. Specifically." When he's done, he ties it off, wincing as he has to use his own still-bleeding hand to do so, though he's careful not to get his own blood on the fresh bandage. He turns back to the basin and starts to wipe down his own hand.
"I owe it to you. And your parents. I owe them a hell of a lot more than this, but it's a start." He pauses, and finally turns his head to look at Owain. "You're already worthy of it, Owain. I'm just trying to prove that to you."
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