In all his dreams he hunted her, sometimes through the new green meadows of spring, but usually through the ice fields, dodging boulders and crevasses with unerring steps. Always he chased, and always he caught her. In the good dreams, he slammed her to the ground and throttled her, watching the life drain from her eyes, heart full of vengeance – finally, finally. In the bad dreams, he kissed her.
In these dreams, she didn't fight him. She laughed as if the chase was nothing but a game, as if she'd known he would catch her, as if she wanted him to and there was no place she'd rather be than beneath him. She was welcoming and perfect in his arms. He kissed her, buried his face in the sweet hollow of her neck. Her curls brushed his cheeks, and he felt that if he could just hold her a little longer, every wound, every hurt, every bad thing would melt away.
- Leigh Bardugo, Six of Crows
Her footsteps echo off the stone walls of the dungeon. The guards nod to her and stand aside. Back straight, head held high, Rey passes at least a hundred cells before reaching the end of the corridor.
She stops in front of the last cell. Kylo Ren leans against the far wall, heavy fetters around one ankle, still swathed in yards and yards of black cloth. His eyes find hers through the gloom.
"Lady Rey," he says. With a silent, heaving effort, he gets to his feet, as if he's in the presence of royalty. He doesn't go so far as to doff an imaginary hat, but the feeling is there. "To what do I owe this honour?"
"The date of your trial is set," she says, "two days from now."
"Oh? And why not sooner?"
"The efforts of your mother. She put it off for as long as possible."
His mouth slants into an almost smile. "How cruel of her."
"She means to save you," Rey says coldly. "So just – try not to get in the way."
"And what about you, my lady? What do you mean to do with me?"
"Nothing. You're not my problem anymore." She looks away. "I won't see you again after the trial."
"No," he says ruefully. "I don't suppose you will."
Then his smile fades.
"Did you think of me at all, Rey? Did I trouble your sleep?"
"Goodbye, Ben."
"I didn't often sleep in the First Order. It was a weakness. But when I slept, I dreamed of you."
Rey goes motionless, her back to him in the darkness.
"That's right," he says softly. "Every time I closed my eyes."
Walk away, she tells herself. There is nothing he can say now that should matter to you. But she doesn't move.
"We duelled each other on Starkiller Base," he says, an odd hypnotic note in his voice. "Over and over, you struck me down and left me to die in the snow. Even then, you were so bright I would've blinded myself to stare at you a little longer."
She says nothing.
"There were others, of course. A meadow, where I knew you lay hidden somewhere with my grandfather's sword in your hands. And when I found you, you'd give me a choice: I could have the sword, or you could grant me a wish. Anything I wanted. Like a djinn in the fairy tales." His voice is so low it's almost a purr. "Sometimes I found you sleeping. The fairy tales came in handy then, too."
Her hands have tightened into fists. "You chose the sword."
"Sometimes."
She turns back to face him, curious despite herself. "What else?"
"I dreamed you were queen." He steps closer to the gleaming silver bars. "You sat the sun throne like one of the old gods, wearing a coronet of stars. You fashioned my chains from golden harp-strings and declared you would have me for supper."
I would have been hungry again before morning, Rey thinks.
"I dreamed I found you scratching those tally marks into the wall. I dreamed you traded me in for portions, heap of rubbish that I am. Other times you tried to repair me" – he presses a fist against his chest – "gave me a new heart, and fresh hands without bloodstains. I dreamed you held a saber to my throat and made me repent for everything I've done. Everything I've ever asked of you."
You need a teacher!
Tell me about the droid.
Join me – please …
… don't be afraid …
You're delusional, she always wanted to shout at him; you're a monster, you're my enemy, I would never ever ever.
Oh, but he's not delusional, is he? jeers a cruel voice in the back of her head. You dreamed of him too, after the duel. You dream of him still.
(Of course, it's the snowy landscape of their first battle that replays in dizzying loops. But in between, Rey dreams of a black direwolf stalking her through the forest, his growls reverberating down her spine. She dreams of dancing with a masked partner, the same hand that had gripped her wrist in a contest of strength now fitted to the curve of her waist. She dreams of standing on that red bridge with the Skywalker saber in her hand, and Kylo Ren before her, begging her to put it through his heart.
Sometimes she does and sometimes not, but always, always she asks him to remove the mask first.)
"And I dreamed of your island." There's an awed hush to his voice now, the kind reserved for secrets and sacred things. "The one you imagined on your loneliest nights on Jakku. These were the strangest dreams of all, do you know why?"
She waits, silent.
"Because you came to me." There's a strange look in his eyes, something almost like yearning. "On the island there was always peace. On the island, you sought me out in return. You touched my face," he says suddenly, almost tenderly, reaching up to tap the scar she'd bestowed on him, "called me kinslayer, monster, mirror, mortal enemy. You had many names for me, Rey …"
His lips tilt into a bitter smile, and she thinks she knows why. She has only one name for him, now.
"… but never beloved. Not even then."
Rey forces her voice to stay even.
"And now what do you dream of?"
"Still," he says, "you. Just you."
Monster, mirror, mortal enemy. She exhales. My beloved.
"Tell me," she says quietly, so her conscience can't hear, "what you did to me in your dreams."
Kylo Ren looks at her with a ravenous hunger.
"Everything," he whispers. "Everything."