He would never forget his last holiday at the palace.
The bright ballroom was cheerful, the floors shining and reflecting jeweled dresses as various nobles danced, the royal family among them, deities among mortals. That night, he was the old man who looked on from his seat, graying beard neat, his military garb immaculate, as if his dear wife had helped him get ready tonight, as if he still was the reigning monarch.
As a royal, Ben Kenobi found few things in life that were as joyful as the holidays. During the holidays, the public put aside their troubles and celebrated. Politicians would begrudgingly keep quiet so as to remain on the invite list to the palace's celebration. No matter the tragedies or troubles the nation had endured throughout the year, they tried to forget about it for the twelve holy days' celebration.
And despite this year, with the unrest and the tension still tinging the air, lips tight with unspoken grief, whispered thoughts of the battles taking place in the towns around the capital, the violence slowly but surely creeping its way to the palace, the former king was intent on enjoying the holiday, glancing out at the dancing crowd, eyes casually searching. There was a speck of blue amongst the many white and silver gowns, and Ben grinned despite himself, hearing the whooping laughter, an ensuing scolding as his little granddaughter, Reyna, ran through skirts and legs to get to the old man. She was nine-years-old, unaware, or perhaps uncaring, of how a princess was to act at royal functions, her older sisters looking on with rolling eyes and indulgent smiles.
"Grandpapa! You came!" He threw his arms wide to catch her as she barreled into them, her face smudged by pastry icing, her kiss sticky on his cheek. Reyna scrambled up onto his lap, perching herself on his knee and chattering as she always did. Despite his daughter's complaint that he spoiled his youngest grandchild too much, Ben didn't care—Rey was charming and had her grandmother Sabe's looks.
"Of course I came, Rey." The child giggled at the nickname, jumping down and dancing around her grandfather. "Mama said that you would dance with me if you came—and you did!" He smiled back, chuckling despite himself.
"Your mama just wants to see me trip over my feet…but I will dance with you, soon." One hint of a pout had him correcting himself, and Ben had to admit that perhaps he did spoil the little girl, her attention quickly drawn to the prettily wrapped parcel at his side.
"Is that for me? Oh, grandpapa!" Her exuberant little crow turned heads, lips turning up into smiles at the youngest princess's joyful prancing, the sight of the two family members perhaps bringing a bit of hope, despite the dark circumstances around the palace.
"Open it for me—I'm too excited. Oh, grandpapa, thank you!" Ben chuckled as he unwrapped the ornate silver and gold paper, watching his granddaughter tuck it away carefully, declaring it too beautiful to toss away. Out of the corner of his eye, the royal could see a curious onlooker, dark hair and a dirty face befitting that of a kitchen boy. In a moment, that quiet audience didn't matter, the boy being called back to the kitchen, his lanky frame scuttling away from this lavish world.
Rey's eyes were wide, her mouth a perfect 'o' as her grandfather lifted the small jewelry box out, the smooth round edges snugly fitting into her waiting hands. "Grandma's pretty box…oh grandpapa…" The old man swallowed thickly, watching the little girl's fingers dance and explore the box, finding the clasp, her eyes finding his, inquisitive. His hands shook as he retrieved the delicate chain from around his neck, his wife's crest sitting small and flawless at the end, waiting to unlock the little box, as was custom.
"The family lullaby…you're giving me the family lullaby." Her wondrous breath almost made him sob, his hands trembling a little more now as he looped the chain around her neck, watching her study the little pendant, mouthing the words written in curling script: Together in Paris.
"She wanted to give it to you herself, but…" The little girl gentle tugged at his hand, quieting him. The loss was still to fresh, and despite her youth, the girl understood as much.
"It's beautiful, grandpapa. Thank you." Her thin arms circled his neck, holding on tight as he fought back a tear. When she pulled away, she carefully tucked the music box to its container, to remain safe until the party's end. He patted her head before pulling himself up with a groan, his joints reminding him that he was aging, no longer the powerful king he had once been. "Now, I owe you a dance, don't I?"
The question made her giggle, and for the moment, he smiled, letting her pull him along to the middle of the floor. The court musicians looked at the former king expectantly, but it was Rey who nodded at the conductor to begin, shyly smiling up at her grandfather. "I learned how to dance by myself, without having to stand on anyone's feet!"
He chuckled at the accomplishment, stepping in time with the waltz. "Did your mother get a dancing instructor for you girls?" Rey shook her head, glancing down at her feet. "No, I made a kitchen boy practice with me. His name is Ky—"
Her words were lost in a deafening screech as the music silenced, as the ballroom's doors crashed open, a sweeping wind snuffing out the candles, the chandeliers dimming. Ben immediately swept his grandchild behind him, pushing her off, into the crowd, the little one running to her older sisters who cowered by the throne.
"Snoke." Queen Kira brushed past her father as she approached the dark figure in the door way, her glare focused on the wrinkled face, the dark beady eyes. A shudder traveled up her daughters' spines, recognizing the name as the man stepped forward, thin lips twisted into smirk, eyes unblinking as he sized the monarch up. In his hand there was a relic, the glass glowing green as something swirled within. Ben felt his veins flood with ice upon glancing at it. So this was the sorcerer the nobles had whispered about the prior year. This was the man who murdered his son-in-law.
"Your majesty." He glanced about the room, taking in the many nobles, the aghast faces. There was that mocking bow, the sweeping motion setting the queen on edge as she threw her shoulders back with a scowl.
"How dare you show your face here!" The man looked nonplussed by the hiss, walking around the royal, watching her follow his movements as he sighed, almost disappointed. "I thought that perhaps you missed my company, your highness. Me, your closest confidante, your best general… I sold my soul for your happiness."
The queen sputtered for a moment, rage choking her tongue. "You sold your soul for power, you filth! My husband trusted you and you lead him to his death! You, with your black magic…" There was a gasp and a murmur around them, and Snoke finally frowned, almost as if annoyed as the queen continued. "You are not fit to be near my family—go to hell."
His eyes narrowed, and his gaze travelled past her, looking up at the girls who huddled together at the feet of the throne. Ben flinched as the dark man smiled, raising his hands as if in defeat. "Very well, your highness—but only if your family accompanies me."
He cackled at her paling face, her petrified eyes locked on his relic as he lifted it, his voice calling out above the rising screams and shouts outside the palace, above the dull thuds as a battering ram crashed against the mighty doors, waiting for it to fall. "Mark my words: by tomorrow's first light, you and your family will be dead." He fixed his eye on the queen, smile cruel as the shouting outside grew louder, the violence swelling and waiting to burst in.
From the corner of his eye, Ben could see the dark haired kitchen boy again, this time whispering, motioning to the princesses, trying to get them to move. Trying to convince them to escape. The old man drifted back into the crowd now, silently making his way to the throne as the party stood, transfixed, mouths agape with Snoke's next words.
"I will not rest until your line is wiped from this earth. This is my curse—there is no escape."
Ben could see that the kitchen boy had gotten Rey's attention, his hand waving her forward as she crept into the shadows, and for that he was thankful as he heard the roar of splintering wood, as the traitorous general's troops poured in. He broke out in a run, trying to block his ears of the horrific screams, of the chaotic pandemonium lacing the air.
The kitchen boy had now scooped the princess up, and Reyna knew better than to protest, burying her face into the rough shirt to silence her tears. The thundering footsteps behind them had her jerking her head up, and the girl sobbed in gratitude at the sight of her grandfather. But now she gasped, attempting to break loose from the boy's hold.
"My music box! I left my music box!" By now they were in a back hallway, further away from the slaughter in the ballroom, but still too close to danger. Ben nearly snapped at the little girl, her concern frivolous in these fading moments, but the servant simply passed her over, jerking his head to the hall behind him.
"There's a door under the tapestry—there, at the end. I'll get the music box."
"But Kylo!" "JUST GO!"
The little girl whimpered as the teenager snapped at her, but Ben knew it was for the best, nodding at the boy and running. Reyna peeked over her grandfather's shoulder, seeing her friend hesitate before turning and sprinting off in the opposite direction. He would bring it back to her. He had to.
The boy knew that there would still be soldiers in the ballroom, but still, he snuck back, attempting to keep to the shadows as he crept to the throne. He kept his eyes focused there, on the little box, feeling his stomach churn at the smell of death that was beginning to seep into the air. His masters were dead—all but two, and he could only pray that the princess at least stayed alive long enough for him to return the gift. He was within reaching distance, and he scooped the prized possession up, glancing to his left, now his right.
Kylo knew that it he'd be too lucky if he escaped unscathed, the back of his head burning with the harsh blow, the butt of a rifle knocking him flat, the fall stealing his breath. He could see the bright red hair of the soldier who now stooped to examine him, and his vision clouded, darkness greeting him as he started to slip into unconsciousness. As he blacked out, he could hear the private call out, suddenly unsure: "Where's General Snoke?"
Beyond the palace now, Reyna ran, attempting to keep up with her grandfather on the iced over river, the usually harsh waters silenced by winter. Her legs burned, and she shivered in the cold, hand clasping tight to the pretty piece of paper she had saved from her present. She kept repeating the words her grandfather had whispered to her before they took off: "If we can get to the train station, we will be safe. We will be on our way home."
She wasn't sure where "home" was now, but she would take it—as long as she was with her grandpapa, she was safe. The sharp pain on the back of her head seemed to disagree, and Reyna shrieked as she tumbled forward into the snow, clamping down on the hand pulling at her hair.
"Snoke! Let her go!" The princess could see the fear that hung in her grandfather's eyes, and she flailed, panicking as the sorcerer laughed, his grip on the cuff of her neck pinching. The ice below them crackled, and Reyna looked up at her grandfather, suddenly afraid of the murky depths below, wondering if the madman holding her realized they would sink into a watery grave.
Ben only could nod at the child, hoping that she understood what he was about to do. She nodded back numbly, trying to ignore Snoke's snarling rant in her ear: "You will never escape—your sisters didn't. Your mother didn't."
"I will." Her calm words caught him off guard, and he glanced down at her, realizing his mistake too late as the old man lunged at him, knocking him flat on his back. Snoke lost his grip on the princess, and he clawed at the ice near her foot, feeling the freezing waters starting seep into his robes, weighing him down.
His wrathful scream didn't deter Reyna's foot, now as she kicked his head, trying to get away from him as his hand came to close to her once more. In a moment, she was unaware of the man's shrieks, the sounds muffled as her grandfather scooped her up and ran. She didn't look back this time, only focusing on their forward motion, only focusing on the heavy pants of her grandfather.
As far as she knew, they were safe now. The train platform was bright and suddenly they were on it, sprinting now. Reyna didn't know how far they had come, how far the palace was, only that she had just a little more to run—they had a train to catch, and then they would be home. She felt her legs grow heavy with exhaustion, and she attempted to keep up, falling several paces behind her grandfather.
The platform was crowded, and with the crush of bodies, the old man didn't realize that the child was no longer at his side. The caboose was in sight, and several arms reached out to Ben, pulling him aboard. He glanced about, eyes wildly searching, hoping that someone had pulled Reyna aboard with him, growing desperate when he didn't see her.
"Grandpapa!" She was still running, arms outstretched, and he reached, catching her hand. "Don't let go, Reyna!" His large hand enfolded hers, but her grip was loosening, her eyes rounding with terror as she felt herself slipping, unable to keep up with the train, her legs collapsing under her.
She let go, afraid of dragging her grandpapa off the train with her, tears forcing themselves from her eyes, wind biting her cheeks. She could feel herself falling, her head bouncing against the wooden platform with the force of it. Her grandfather's bellowing never reached her ears as she laid there, crowd gathering around, the train growing smaller in the distance.
Later, Ben Kenobi, once a great and powerful monarch, quietly considered the scenery racing by his window. His throat was still tight, but he knew that he didn't have any more tears. Not right now. Everything that he had once had, that he could have found happiness in, was gone. Perhaps there was still hope—but he knew that it would be too foolish to hope that his little Rey survived that fall. He could never go back to make sure, the country now in ruins, a price on his head. The train's whistle howled in the winter wind as the former king wept silently, without tears, his head in his hands.
No, he would never forget his last holiday at the palace.