Chapter Text
For a moment, Hux is disorientated as his eyes acclimate to the absurdly ochre-colored sky. The carriage’s curtains do little to provide shade, and Hux can’t tell if the bright light scratching through the window is a true dawn, or if the sky is somehow reflecting the same yellow tinge as the sand. He is still so unaccustomed to natural light.
Lueitennant Mitaka remains asleep, his head lolling at an uncomfortable-looking angle, a dark patch of drool forming on his collar. He had insisted upon sitting facing backward, arguing that it was more befitting of his lesser station. Hux is, after all, on his way to becoming royalty. But then Hux had been forced to witness the young man’s face turning green with motion sickness until he had almost considered taking Mitaka’s seat just so that he wouldn’t have to stomach the sight of his subordinate’s queasy expression.
Hux must have fallen asleep before he could say anything. As uncomfortable as it is, there is something soothing about the motion of the carriage. Like being rocked as a babe, not that Hux would know anything about that.
A sudden jolt, violent enough to pop Mitaka from his seat like a cork from a bottle, makes Hux reassess his opinion. Mitaka flings his arms out by reflex, catching himself on the edge of the carriage as he startles awake, nearly kicking Hux’s shins in the process.
“Are we there?”
Hux pulls back the curtain and lowers the window so that he can stick his head out. Shielding his eyes against the sun, he glances at their surroundings. The endless landscape of rolling sand dunes has barely changed since he last looked out, however many hours that was ago.
“Not even close,” he tells Mitaka, closing the window and curtain again. His skin will surely start to crisp under all of this light.
“Oh,” Mitaka looks disappointed. Hux can’t say if he feels the same way. As much as he wants this farce of a journey to be over with, he has no desire to rush to the horizon point of their destination and the small new life that awaits him there.
“I’m sure Captain Phasma is doing her best to get us there on time,” Hux reassures him. But he adds under his breath, “though why we have to go through this ridiculous farce of a journey, I will never know.”
Mitaka has the face, temperament, and hearing of a mouse - so of course he catches Hux’s complaint. “It’s tradition, my lord. The path of the wedding train recreates the journey of the mother-snake as she carved the valley through the mountains…”
“And the sand dunes are said to be her eggs from which the cities sprang, thank you Mitaka” Hux finishes. He does not care if Mitaka can hear the ire in his voice. “And I’m not anyone’s ‘Lord’. Not yet.”
“My appologies… Sir…”
They sit in uneasy silence for a while as the anachronistic wheels scrape along the sand. His retinue is made up of guards on speeders, but they are having to ride so slowly to keep pace with the carriage that it’s a marvel none of their engines have stalled. This farce could have been avoided if he had been allowed to simply land their ships in the capital city, but the Court had insisted upon him completing the traditional journey of royal brides.
The whole thing is ridiculous, from the journey to the destination. Him? A bride!
At least the New Republic’s culture is advanced enough to recognize that humanoid sexuality goes beyond the binary. The only saving grace he has been allowed by the universe is that his husband-to-be is the same gender as his preferred partners.
He should be above sulking, and yet he finds himself consumed by thoughts of how unfair this farce of a political arrangement is. His mind seems to churn up new grievances like the carriage wheels churn up the dark orange sand. To have worked for so long to make peace with the career his father had picked out for him... To have fought to earn his place as his father’s firstborn, and not the illegitimate whelp of a kitchen maid... To have risen to General, to command, to finally have a say in his own destiny - only to have it ripped away by the whims of a megalomaniac leader who saw him as nothing more than a low-value piece on a playing board.
Snoke’s life-altering decree had come through on his datapad. A notification at the end of Beta shift, buried between the schematics for a new mine and the next budget report…
“Do you want something to eat?” Mitaka asks and, before Hux can even think about answering in the negative, continues, “I think there is some more of the meiloorun fruit in my knapsack…”
“I really can’t eat anything…” Hux offers only mild protest as he already knows that Mitaka is not listening to him. Instead, he is scrambling about the tiny space of the carriage, looking for his bag under the seat and on the shelf above his head.
“Maybe it’s with the trousseau…” he mutters as his search turns up empty. He clambers over, practically in Hux’s lap, as he pulls open the door of the carriage. Hux grabs onto him so that he doesn’t fall out as he reaches out to look toward the back of their retinue. Hux is just about to admonish him for being so careless when Mitaka hurls himself back into the carriage. His eyes are so wide with surprise that Hux can see the whites standing out in shocking contrast to the deep brown of his irises.
Something is very wrong.
“What is it?” Hux snaps, but Mitaka has no time to explain before the unmistakable sound of a blaster shot streeks past the just-closed door of the carriage.
“Bandits” Mitaka answers as another two shots pass by. There is a heavy thud of something, or someone, falling. “Four of them”.
“Where is my blaster?” Hux demands. If there are only four of them, he has a reasonable chance of taking them down.
“In the trousseau”, Mitaka admits. “Mine too.”
Hux does not shriek, “we’re unarmed?” but his voice does go shrill. It’s a foolish and fatal mistake. But as much as he wants to, there is no point in wringing Mitaka’s neck over it right now.
And it’s not strictly true; his vibroblade is still strapped to his wrist. Not that it will be much use against a blaster shot.
The carriage lurches and stops, throwing Hux and Mitaka together in a tangle of limbs. For a moment, it teeters on its archaic wheels, and Hux braces for impact, but it lands upright with a solid thud. Hux winces as his wrist jars against the carriage wall. There is a vivid bruise already blooming on Mitaka’s head, but he remains conscious, for all the help he is in this moment.
“Where is Phasma?” Mitaka cries.
“Probably trying to draw attention away from us”. That’s what Hux would be doing if their roles were reversed, in any case. The sound of scuffles and blaster shots is still clear over Mitaka’s hyperventilating and Hux’s panicked heartbeat. He tries to calculate their next move, but without blasters, there’s not much they can do. Still, they might be able to escape if the fighting has moved further away.
He risks a glance out of the window, pulling the curtain back as little as possible. He’s still seen, though, a guard turning his head back to uselessly warn “stay down, sir!” as he takes a blaster shot to the chest. It’s not clear if he’s dead or stunned and Hux can’t say he’s too sorry over it after the idiot has made such a drastic error.
For the assailant who has shot him has clearly heard his warning and is stalking toward the carriage.
A rush of primordial fear has Hux ducking back behind the curtain, even though his rational brain knows he has already been seen. He only has a moment to try to arm himself, flicking his vibroblade out of its holster and trying to get into an attack position in the cramped space. He takes a deep breath as the door is ripped from its hinges.
Mitaka, for all his faults, is loyal to the point of mindlessness. He flings himself in front of Hux, acting as a shield even though Hux is twice his side.
The sudden movement makes their attacker pause. Their face is obscured by a black helmet, but Hux could swear that the quizzical tilt of their head means that they are smirking.
“Take whatever you want” Hux tries. If their attackers are all masked, there’s no need for them to kill their victims, as no survivor could hope to identify them. Their attacker is dressed all in black, but the clothes are fine - cotton and leather and fur. Hux is willing to take a chance that their bandits are thieves, not torturers.
A gloved hand reaches out. The loyal and foolish Mitaka slaps it away and, for his trouble, is pulled by the scruff of his neck onto the ground as if he is as light as a cushion. A heavy boot goes to his throat, pinning him down, but while Mitaka struggles he does not choke.
A hiss escapes from the helmet’s vocoder - it could be a sneer, or perhaps a laugh.
The vibroblade twitches in Hux’s hand. His arm is hidden behind his back - all it would take is for the assailant to come within stabbing distance.
The hand reaches out again. Just a little bit closer…
He is picked up by his collar but then dropped again before he can lash out. Startled and confused, Hux doesn’t have the presence of mind to make sense of what is going on, let alone pull his blade. But then he sees something glinting in that gloved hand. The silver chain gives it away - his lapel has been ripped from his shoulder.
Another snort from his attacker, before they hop away, picking up a discarded speeder and revving the engine.
Mitaka coughs and splutters on the ground, his face red and orange from being pressed into the sand.
“What…?” Mitaka gives voice to Hux’s thoughts as he traces the empty spot where his lapel had sat. His fingers tangle with frayed black threads. His uniform was the one thing he had been allowed to keep…
Something compels him. Honor, pride, or (more likely) blind rage at having the last of his identity quite literally ripped from him. He jumps from the carriage, heavy boots sinking into the sand, and within three strides is next to a fallen guard and his abandoned speeder. He doesn’t bother to check if the guard is alive or dead; he just grabs the guard’s dropped blaster, hauls the speeder up, and slings his leg over, racing off in the direction of his attacker before the sheer stupidity of his actions can catch up with him.
His quarry is a league ahead of him. The rest of the bandits are still behind them, but this one has clearly got what he came for, if the speed at which he is weaving through the dunes is any indication. This is clearly bandit country - Hux has to concentrate so hard to stop himself from spinning out of control or crashing into a dune, but the bandit glides through them with ease. He even turns at one point, looking over his shoulder at Hux and seeming to laugh at his desperate perusal.
Still, Hux is gaining on him…
He’s close enough for a shot, so he takes aim, despite knowing that a hit at this distance is nearly impossible. Still, if he can distract the bandit, maybe that will cause him to crash, or at least slow down.
The blaster shot is bright blue against the sand and lands with a satisfying crash in the dune near the bandit’s left. He turns to look behind him again. Hux can see the silver patterns on his mask with greater clarity now. He must be catching up.
The bandit raises his arm and waves the torn lapel at him in a mocking salute.
“Give it back!” Hux yells.
The mask’s vocoder hisses and sputters but even over the noise of the engines Hux swears he can hear his mocking tease “... come and get it…”
Hux snarls and revs the speeder. How dare he!
Their path through the dunes opens up to a long ridge. The new lack of obstacles is an opportunity, and Hux seizes it. He fires two shots. Both miss, but only because the bandit swerves just in time. Hux checks his aim, looking ahead to the bandit's handlebars and predicting his next move. He still misses the bandit’s head, but the second shot clips the back of the speeder, causing him to spin the speeder around to a sudden stop.
They face off for a moment. Engines revving as they stare each other down. They are hunter and prey - though Hux can't help but feel that their roles have suddenly been reversed.
“Give it back!” Hux levels his weapon, aiming straight for the bandit’s chest. He knows he should fire straight away - any hesitation is an opportunity - but it seems like such a trivial thing to kill someone over.
The bandit simply leans forward on his speeder, revving the engine once more.
“What’s it to you?” the voice that comes through the vocoder is calm and unaccented. “What need has a wealthy man like you of this trinket?”
“What need have you!” Hux echos incredulously. “It’s mine. I want it back!”
The bandit throws the lapel up into the air and catches it again. It’s all the distraction Hux needs.
Hux had come top of the class in every unit of his officer training. He had to, of course; anything less would have been an unsurvivable failure. But his marksmanship score - his still unbeaten record - is a source of pure pride.
His injured wrist aches against the recoil as he fires. He watches the shot streek a path towards the bandit’s heart, as true and straight as ever. But at the last possible moment, the planet seems to tilt on its axis, rolling the bolt away from its destination like a marble in a toy maze. It streaks past the bandit’s helmet and into the sand.
“What the…?” Hux knows his aim is true; he could hit his target blindfolded. There’s no way he could have missed that shot.
Now Hux is the distracted one. Before he knows what is happening, the bandit’s speeder is racing toward him, engine roaring like a battle cry. Hux can’t react fast enough. All he can do is brace for impact as the bandit catches him around the waist and pulls him to the ground. He lands face first, sand and dirt stinging his eyes and mouth. Spluttering, he pulls himself upright, just in time to watch the bandit pull away, too fast for him to catch this time.
Hux lifts his eyes to the sky and curses. Now, forced to pause in the muck, his rational brain catches up enough for him to wonder at what he was thinking. What did he think he would achieve, running off after a bandit? And all for a stupid lapel. He could have been killed!
Unwilling to examine his reckless behavior further, Hux pulls himself back onto the speeder and heads back in the direction he came. His military training has instilled a good sense of direction and he is reasonably sure he can make it back to the retinue, whether he wants to or not. Besides, his assailant is nowhere to be seen. He is probably long gone, or else he is hiding somewhere between the dunes.
It is only now that Hux spares a thought for Mitaka, Phasma, and the rest of the guards. They’ve all had the same military training and so they should have been able to deal with a rabble of thieves. Though planetside in a desert landscape, weighed down by unnecessary goods and ancient technology, they were at a disadvantage.
He should have stayed behind and defended them…
As he weaves a path back through the dunes he is suddenly aware of voices, carried on the breeze. They sound close, so he follows the noise, quieting his engine so as not to alert them to his presence. Sure enough, as he slowly rounds past a dune he comes across a group of men pulling a trunk behind them. These are not the men who attacked him; their clothes are different, scruffy and unkempt, and their faces are unmasked. Yet the symbol of the First Order stands out clearly on their stolen goods.
“Halt!" Hux commands.
They take one look at him and drop their wares. These men do not look like fighters, but they are armed like them. They sneer at him and aim their weapons.
Hux has had enough today. He's too tired for diplomacy and he wants to fight. He to win. So, he aims his weapon and fires.
Nothing happens. The damn thing is out of charge.
Someone laughs, and with an angry cry, Hux throws the blaster at them, hitting him square in the forehead. The thief nearest him is distracted by the unintentional comedy, so Hux leaps down and punches him in the face, before remembering (painfully) that his wrist is injured. Someone grabs him from behind, but an elbow to the solar plexus takes care of that. A kick to the face and a knee to the groin deal with his next attackers. Someone else catches him in the face with their fist, but Hux grabs hold of them, spinning them by the arm and hurling them over his shoulder. Some of these men are twice his size but they fall to his attacks like discarded puppets. He hasn’t even needed to draw his vibrobalde.
A sudden whistle from close by. Hux knows he shouldn’t turn to face the noise and leave his flank exposed, but his curiosity gets the better of him. Sure enough, his masked attacker is casually watching them from a distance, still waving the stolen lapel at him.
“Leave them be; it's me you want.” Without even bothering to wait for Hux to respond, he drives off again, but at a speed where Hux is much more likely to catch him.
The cocky, insolent, bastard. Someone needs to teach him a lesson. Hux needs to.
So, Hux chases after him. He could be heading straight for a trap, for an ambush, but Hux doesn’t care in the slightest. He needs to take back what has been stolen from him - his last act of defiance before entering the gilded cage of a political marriage.
The bandit knows Hux is chasing him, if the way that he keeps slowing down and twisting to look behind him is any indication. Hux belatedly realises that without the blaster, there’s nothing he can do but follow. They climb high this time, following the ridge up until the soft and undulating dunes give way to sharp peaks and sudden valleys. The sky is pinker here, where the sand has given way to flinted stones and greyish moss. Or perhaps the sunset hue is the result of how long their chase has lasted.
Is he tired? Hux knows he can’t afford to be, so he kicks the gear on his speeder higher and revs until he has nearly pulled side-by-side with the bandit.
“You don’t give up, do you?” says the oddly clear voice.
Hux doesn’t dignify that with a response, he just reaches out to take a swipe at the bandit.
“Ha! Try again!” that flat, accentless voice says. Hux can't tell if it’s natural or distorted by the vocoder. He can feel his lip curl against his teeth as he sneers at the tease. His mouth is as dry as a rock.
“Come on,” says the bandit, “let’s get you some water. You can fight me after. If you still want to.”
It’s such a bizarre thing to say that Hux is momentarily stunned. What does this bandit want? Why offer him sustenance instead of just killing and robbing him?
The bandit suddenly tips his speeder down over a ridge and Hux follows by instinct. He almost loses control of the speeder at the rudeness of their descent - perhaps he is fatigued. The bandit seems to sense this, as he turns and shouts:
“Come on! There’s a freshwater stream down here. You can rest for a bit.”
Hux bristles at the suggestion that his needs should be accommodated. But his lips are sticking to his gums and he has little sense of how long they have been chasing each other. There’s no way he can turn back now; he’s too committed. The only thing he can do is follow.
The bandit slows down as they descend into a valley. Hux can see some dry sprouts of vegetation haphazardly sticking out of the stones. There clearly was water here once, but Hux cannot hear it flowing. Indeed, as they draw nearer to the winding path cut into the rocks, Hux can see that the river is completely dry. He had not acknowledged his thirst until he heard the promise of water. To have the chance to slake his need snatched away like this is cruel, and Hux can’t help but be disappointed.
The bandit pulls his speeder to a stop, “Ha. Well, there used to be a stream here. I must have been away longer than I thought…”
Hux stops his speeder as well. He tries to kick the stand for it into the gravel, but it just sinks unhelpfully. He hopes the bandit isn’t watching as he clumsily lays the speeder on the ground, trying to make his moves look as intentional as possible.
“Don’t worry,” the bandit says, seeming to ignore him, “I have water with me. You won’t die of thirst”.
“... You’ll die of something else…” is left unsaid.
The bandit pulls a large wineskin from a pack on the back of the speeder. He gives it a rudimentary shake and is clearly satisfied that there is enough for the both of them. The cork comes off with a wet pop that echoes around the valley.
The bandit offers it to Hux first, and Hux can’t help but marvel at his out-of-place politeness until he realises that it might be poisoned. Sensing his hesitation, the bandit pulls his mask off so that he can drink from it first.
It feels oddly intimate to watch as his assailant makes himself vulnerable as he exposes his throat. The bandit’s skin is surprisingly pale, for a desert planet dweller. As the mask is lifted past his chin, Hux sees a sharp nose, and cheekbones as high as any officer’s. There’s a mole under one eye and Hux is about to contemplate its colour when he is distracted by the dark curls that come cascading down from the helmet’s confines.
Hux wonders, almost hysterically, if he has strayed into a mirage.
“See - not poisoned,” the bandit says, before taking a long gulp from the wineskin. Hux watches the apple of his throat bob once and then once again. He must not be alone in his thirst. He has only a moment to contemplate the usefulness of this information when the bandit hands him the wineskin with an impertinent shake.
Hux could be proud and refuse the offer, but his self-preservation kicks in, and he takes a long swig from the wineskin. The water is so cold that it almost hurts his throat. But he gulps it down eagerly, still wise enough to keep an eye on the bandit - watching him as he watches Hux.
His features stand out in shocking contrast. Perhaps it is their size or their angularity that makes his features seem so bold. It is almost as if the man before him has been drawn by a child with a stick in the mud. But he is not ugly. He’s extraordinary.
Hux wonders, a little, what the bandit makes of him, with his ship-pale skin and petite mouth. He probably underestimates his stature and leanness. It would be good for Hux if he does; it’s the only opportunity he is going to get.
He throws the wineskin at the bandit’s face and while he bats it away with an annoyed huff Hux lands a punch right across the bandit’s jaw. He goes down, probably due to the surprise, rather than the force of the blow, but Hux can take this small victory. Hux’s pride does not last long, though, as the bandit takes one swipe at him and throws his feet from under him, knocking him flat on his back.
The bandit pulls him closer by the ankle and climbs on top of him, looking him right in the eye before landing an open-hand slap across Hux’s face.
“Some gratitude!” he spits, but his voice lacks venom. He almost sounds amused. That just makes Hux hate him even more. He struggles for a bit, working his leg free so that he can kick his knee against the bandit’s back. He falls to the side, and now Hux is the one on top, landing another punch against the opposite temple. The bandit’s eyes lose focus for a moment, so Hux clambers up to run back to the speeder to see if his lapel is there. The bandit tackles him before he can reach it, though, and they roll again, skin scraping against the rocky earth.
The bandit pins him down. “Give up!” he urges.
Hux’s head hurts from where he has been slammed back down but it only serves to make him more stubborn.
“No!” he insists, landing another blow against the bandit.
“Then stop - just stop!”
“I can't!” he twists once more, throwing the bandit off him. Hux’s escape is short as the bandit grabs his injured wrist, making him cry out in pain.
“I don’t understand…” the bandit murmurs. Hux thinks it is a strangely philosophical question to ask in the middle of a fight.
“Let me go!”
With one final twist, he uses all of his strength to land a punch under the bandit’s chin, forcing his head back and causing his grip on Hux’s wrist to go limp. Hux pulls himself up and makes a run for it, reaching the speeders before checking behind him to see if the bandit is pursuing him.
Dark eyes watch him, but the bandit seems to be catching his breath. Hux needs to rest as well, but he knows that he has to escape first. His head is pounding, wrist throbbing, and he thinks he might be dizzy with thirst. He reaches for the wineskin - he can take it with him after all - but he’ll stop and take one more gulp while he has the opportunity. He sits with his back against the cooling speeder, catching his breath, one eye on the bandit to make sure he doesn’t try to attack again. But he has rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, so that threat is neutralised for now.
Hux thinks he might follow suit and snatch some rest, just for a moment. He closes his eyes against the pinking sky and takes a deep breath, cataloguing the hurts that have been done to his wrist, skin, and head. He slips further into the darkness, remembering for a moment the danger that he is still in. It seems like such a small threat compared to the exhaustion that suddenly overwhelms him. He hears something shift beside him - steps, perhaps - and he tries to pull himself back to consciousness.
But a gloved hand cups his cheek - lingering, caressing even - and drags him, headlong, into sleep.