Chapter Text
Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have's mine own,
Which is most faint. Now 'tis true
I must be here confined by you
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands.
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant;
And my ending is despair
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so, that it assaults
Mercy itself, and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardoned be,
Let your indulgence set me free
Prospero's Speech by Loreena McKennitt words by William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Epilogue 1-20
A hand taps her shoulder and she wakes with a start. The wavering late afternoon sun is still warm, and light stretches off over hills covered in tall, coarse grass into a blank horizon. She is shaded where she sits on her wide balcony in a deep chair, head tilted to nod off once and again.
“Your Highness,” the droid says. “Your son is here.”
She feels him in the Force then and her head lifts. He is already bowing gracefully at her side, looking down at her with his father’s eyes. Always so solemn, even as a child. He holds his black helmet with stiff fingers. She has not seen him for a year or more, not since the last time she met with her daughter on the neutral ground of some Imperial ship.
“Your Highness.” He allows himself a small smile. “Mother.”
Her heart twitches in her chest. His smile holds everything of his father, nothing of her. Of all her children, he hurts the most to see.
She turns away to stare at the hills. “I don’t sense anyone with you,” she says finally. Her son has a name, given to him in love and fear, but he’s known now only by his title: Taral Ren, the Imperial Protector, and his place is at the emperor’s side.
“The emperor and heir are well guarded. Orelia permitted me to come for you.”
This gets her attention, and her eyes fix on the gleaming hilts of the two lightsabers at his waist. One was hers once. She is not sad to be parted from it.
“Come for me,” she repeats.
“The emperor is dying.”
They find their master reading in his library. “My lady,” Snoke greets her, and his lips curl in his crooked version of a smile. He is always pleased when she seeks him out.
Her back and knees have grown too stiff to allow her to bow, so she merely nods her head in respect. “Master.”
He turns to Taral, standing silent and tall beside her. “Taral Ren. You are far from your duties.” It’s a rebuke, if mild.
“Forgive me, Master. The emperor has taken ill, and the heir asked if I would bring our mother to him.” His voice is perfectly controlled, revealing nothing.
She watches Snoke’s face. He knew already; about the emperor, about Taral coming for her. One day she would like to see him surprised.
“Do you wish to go, my dear?” he asks her. His dark eyes are cool as he stares at her, and the fingers of one hand tap on the wooden arm of his chair. She bows her head under the weight of his gaze.
“It will look odd if she does not. The heir needs her presence to remind the people there is already tradition in the Empire. Rumours of another rebellion swirl. There have been two attempts on Orelia’s life in the past year alone,” Taral interjects.
“All the more reason for Taral Ren to remain at his sister’s side.” Snoke’s face is grim as he leans forward.
“I’ll go,” Rey says, tired of being spoken of as if she is not there.
Snoke sits back. It appears that he will let her go, and a tightness in her stomach she had not noticed eases. “Go prepare your ship then, Taral Ren.” Taral bows and leaves. “Your things are being packed, my dear,” he tells her.
She would really, very much, like to see him surprised one day.
He rises from his seat by the fire and takes her hands in his large dry ones. “I will miss you,” he says quietly.
She doesn’t know what to say, can never give him what he wants. He slowly pulls her into an embrace, and she lifts her arms to loosely wrap them around his waist. His bones are twisted, and he curves awkwardly around her. As it always does, his hand creeps up to stroke her hair. She rests her forehead on his chest and sighs a long, shaky breath.
She had already been a grandmother when she came to him the second time and had thought his affection would dim as she aged. Yet he still holds her as carefully and lovingly as he did that first time, Luke dead at their feet, blue eyes staring forever in horror. She had been held twice over, once by Snoke’s power and again by his long wiry arms.
“Shh,” he’d said to her rage, to her agony. His fingers had tangled in her hair and she had put her face in the roughness of his robes and wept.
“The consort thinks we should move the Imperial capital out of the Core,” Orelia says as they make their way slowly to the emperor’s chambers. Hux had started his reign on Coruscant, the historical seat of power for both republic and empire. Unlike Palpatine, he had no need to pretend at democracy, so he had the old Republic Senate building torn down and a new palace constructed on the site.
Taral is trailing behind them at a distance, speaking in low tones with her first son, Julion, who serves as chancellor to his father.
“A sensible suggestion,” Rey murmurs, not really listening or caring.
Not much has changed here in the last twenty years. The same endless hallways stretch off in every direction, rich red carpet muffling their footsteps. Large windows look out to the streams of traffic in the distance, bright sunlight flashing off transparisteel skyscrapers. As their shuttle came in to land she had been given a quick glimpse of the gardens at the back of the palace. The only outward sign of how much time has passed here are the trees, now grown tall, their graceful branches ready to receive the first leaves of spring.
Rey is tired, even though she has done nothing but sit on a ship piloted by someone else. It’s late morning here though, and she is disoriented, thinking that it’s almost time to sleep.
Orelia senses Rey’s weariness. She's not strong in the Force, which was a relief. But she has enough sensitivity to alert her to the moods of others and to know when someone is lying. Useful abilities for a politician.
“Mother, are you sure you won’t rest before you see him? He’s stable now, the doctors say. You have time.”
Storm-green eyes watch her face carefully, with gentle concern. Rey feels that twitch in her heart again. Orelia takes after Hux, with her porcelain skin and slim build. But her hair is Rey’s chestnut with a slight wave. Grey weaves through the strands, and there are new lines of strain between her eyebrows and by her mouth.
Her eldest daughter, the Imperial heir, Rey counts as her secret defiance. She has always been under one man’s thumb or another, from Plutt to her first master and then to Snoke. When Hux is gone this tall, upright woman will rule the galaxy. She has a firm sense of duty from her father, and his sharp way of thinking. But Rey gave her a gift that is far more precious: she made certain her daughter would never be left alone.
Orelia’s consort comes from the Hapan Royal House. It was a wise alliance with an ancient power, one that Hux insisted on. The Hapes Consortium is ruled by a queen mother, and the title passes down the matrilineal line. Rey had hidden her pleasure; Hapan men did not rule. She chose a sweet, smart boy for Orelia, and knew he would not be jealous of her power.
“Are you happy with your husband?” she asks, suddenly unsure.
Orelia’s eyes widen, but she answers smoothly enough. “Yes, Mother. You chose well.”
Rey relaxes. “Good.”
When they arrive at the emperor’s apartments, Orelia says she will go in first, to prepare him. He has been told Rey is coming, but he is somewhat confused and may not remember.
“No,” Rey says calmly.
“Mother,” Julion says. “He’s weak. Not ready for a confrontation.”
She turns to look at him. He is a reflection of his father, with cool green eyes, copper hair. The tight set of the lips and the clipped voice are all too familiar.
“There won’t be a confrontation unless he wishes to make one.” Tired of her children’s disagreement, she Force-holds the three of them in place and enters the room without knocking. She senses rage from Julion, frustration from Orelia, but only wry amusement from Taral. So like his father.
The room is unchanged, frozen in time like the motes of dust that hang suspended in the bright sunlight streaming through the windows. A heavy hush weights the air, sound and movement swallowed by the richness of the furnishings. The walls are hung with real wallpaper in a shade of pale creamy gold, and touches of gilt and red accent the furnishings. The white marble floors remind her of mornings when the three of them had to drag themselves from the large bed and she would dread that spike of cold when her bare feet landed on the cool stone.
Hux is propped up against some pillows in bed, on the side nearest the door where he always used to sleep. Her throat catches as she looks at him. His eyes are closed and he is dozing, but she can see one side of his face is slacker than the other. When she left his hair was already fading. Now it's a bleached out yellow-white that has only the memory of the flaming brightness it used to carry.
He is thin, his arms little more than sticks. His hands are clasped gently in his lap, and she can see them tremble from time to time. He has grown so old, so shriveled and wrinkled. He reminds her of Snoke now, a pile of collapsing bones. Snoke, who is far older, has not aged in the years she has known him.
It's something of a relief to see that Hux does not have that magic. He always gave the impression he would live forever by sheer will alone. She never saw him ill, rarely tired even. But it seems he is human after all.
Taral explained to her that the doctors can do no more for him. His neurons are frosty neighbours now, refusing to speak to one another over some tiresome grudge. They glare at each other across fences of leaking blood and forget that they were once friends. Even bacta has its limits.
Hux twitches in his sleep and opens his eyes. She takes a step forward into the shadow of his bedside.
“Armitage,” she says.
He turns his head. His breath stutters, and he makes a small noise. He shrinks in confusion, then slowly, his eyes clear. “Rey,” he exhales, drawing the word out. He frowns then and slurs out something from between lips that will no longer meet and a tongue that no longer knows how to shape words. “I must be dying,” it sounds like.
She nods. “Yes, this is the end.”
She has a nap after leaving him to his rest. At dinner they discuss attending the opera that evening. Julion insists, Orelia persuades, and Taral smirks at them. Then her youngest daughter Maritae arrives. Mari is studying under yet another great artist, still trying to find her muse.
She simply asks Rey to come with them. “Please, Mama,” and Rey relents.
It’s for the good of the Empire that she dresses in a dove-grey silk robe and arranges her long silver hair into a low bun. Over dinner they talked of the need for a Regency while the emperor is ill; they are at a key stage of negotiations with several important parties, and Orelia needs the power of the Empire behind her. Rey offered no comment, glad that she was not in the line of succession. She no longer cares about the Empire, is long past the bitter arguments with Hux over policy and treaties.
She had left him all those years ago filled with that bitterness. The treaty with the slaver Zygerrians that allowed them to continue their trade had been the final straw. “Kylo would never have allowed you to do this,” she had thrown at Hux. He had been incensed. Kylo’s name was never invoked in their arguments, the ghost of him never used against one another.
Mari holds her hand through the performance. Mari’s hands are rough and strong from hours spent sculpting the harsh edges of durasteel. Her art is made of reclaimed metal from the last war, or the one before that; it’s difficult to remember as they run together in a stream of death. Rey tries not to be insulted by the irony of her privileged daughter scavenging from the skeletons of ships for her art, tries not to be envious of her freedom.
Mari is lucky in her Force-blindness. She declined to marry, declined to take a position in government, was not required to protect as Taral and his twin are. Instead she travels the galaxy mostly anonymously, taking famous artists as lovers and learning what they will teach her. She inherited Rey’s hunger for education. Mari can cook for herself, speaks half a dozen languages, is a decent pilot, and has lived and been everywhere. To the great scandal of the court, she has even taken non-human lovers and dared to bring more than one home.
The music is bold and bright, but Rey feels the press of eyes on her, the weight of lives in the Force. Her reappearance in public after so many absent years causes a minor sensation. She dampens her power, ensures her eyes are hazel, not gold. The old empress, rumoured to be dead, creaks on. She smiles benignly at everyone, clings to Mari’s hand, and thinks of sitting by the fire with Snoke in silence, his darkness wrapped around her like a comforting blanket.
When the hall lights are dimmed and everyone is in bed, she goes to Hux again. A masked knight stands at his door—one she doesn’t know. It takes only a tiny flicker of her power and the knight neither sees her nor hears the door open beside him.
Hux is asleep, but wakes by the time she stands by the bed. He blinks at her slowly, and she feels him open his mind. It’s been so long since he allowed her in.
Armitage, she whispers in his head.
His mind was always as crisp and cool as an autumn afternoon, copper leaves hanging over an upright trunk. It’s still the same, if vaguer now. The leaves are falling, ready to be crunched underfoot.
He’s out of practice in forming his thoughts into direct communication. She senses her name and a rush of emotion. He is pleased she is here, but afraid. Too long… he thinks.
You never came for me, she tells him without meaning to. It still stings. No matter what happened, she knows Kylo would have come for her. He would not have abandoned her to rot, away from her children and with only Snoke and droids for company.
He closes his eyes again.
“Pretending to sleep won’t work with me,” she says out loud. Her voice is sharp in the quiet.
His emotions are a morass, pulling her in, showing her his memories. Nights spent alone in the enormous bed, missing both of them so much; a dark shadow guards his back who paces just like his father—sometimes Hux turns his head and catches a quick glimpse of a tall form in a mask and his heart pounds; staring out the window during council meetings, dreading how she will react when he tells her the latest developments, then a stab of pain when he realizes he doesn’t need to dread anymore. His loneliness and guilt burn her.
Never wanted you to go. He forms the words in his head carefully and projects them to her hard.
She isn’t sure if he means to be so loud or if he is just rusty. You never came for me, she repeats, never asked me to return.
Tired, he sighs into her mind and closes himself off.
It would be a simple matter for her to force herself back in. She could do it without hurting him, without him knowing she was there. That was never her way, though; only Snoke thought such actions normal and innocuous. She has always measured herself against what Snoke would do and has almost always done the opposite.
You will come again? Hux projects.
“Yes.”
Her bed is the same one she slept in for the first years of her marriage, when she barely saw Armitage or Kylo. She had been too absorbed in trying to learn how to love her new children. Too empty inside to notice how the two men watched her when she walked alone in the gardens.
She thinks she was thirty-one years old when she came to the palace as a bride and an empress, though her birth date remains uncertain. Five years she had been with Snoke, and for six years before that with Master Luke. A third of her life spent training; more, if the grinding struggle of Jakku counts. It was a sort of training, in loneliness and sharp metal and mute rage.
Snoke took those things and honed her to a many-edged blade, all shattered nerves and angles. The power he gave her rests in a dark pit, a black hole at her centre.
Inside her mind there are two distinct versions of herself. Before: she is balanced on the lip of the pit, trying to ignore the muffled cries that escape its gaping mouth. She is fear wrapped in thin bindings of peace and serenity. Her hope still sparks. She is arrogant in her righteousness, certain that she and Luke will prevail. Light will chase away the dark.
After: on the other side of the pit everything is stripped away, subsumed into darkness. She is a brittle shell, hollowed out by Snoke. She is looking away from the abyss, but the power throbs behind her.
The marriage was a kindness to her, he said. She had been turned and she was completely his, but her darkness was unsteady, flawed at its heart. When her training was complete, he named her Rey Ren, and sent her out with her fellow knights to slaughter their enemies. She didn't fail him; that wasn't possible. But afterwards, she was a broken thing for too long, and it made him impatient to have to pull her out of the pit again and again.
This was a better choice for her. She never had to sleep with her husband; technology could do the job much more efficiently. She would be safe, could love her children in peace. So she was sent to be a wife and mother, still twitchy and bursting with the power of the dark side. She had been too thin, and the wedding and coronation holos all had to be retouched so her golden eyes did not show.
It had been Hux who began to bring her back. He was there in the garden one day and offered his arm. It was solid despite his slenderness. They didn’t speak, only walked. It was autumn, and the leaves were turning. His hair glowed in the light, and her hand trembled on him.
Kylo walked behind them, and she felt the weight of his eyes even through his mask. During the years with Snoke she had seen Kylo on and off when he came to train or to report. They ate dinner together once or twice during her training period, when she was judged to be in a human-enough condition for it. She remembers eating ravenously and Kylo looking away in embarrassment.
She smiles in the dark. She will share the memory with Armitage tomorrow. Perhaps he will be amused.