III. GRIEF
Me miserable! which way shall I fly
Infinite wrath, and infinite despair?
Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell;
And in the lowest deep a lower deep
Still threat'ning to devour me opens wide,
To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heav'n.
JOHN MILTON – Paradise Lost
1.
As it turned out, General Hux needn't have worried about nightfall, because Kylo Ren returned much, much later than that. Hux had made a point of waiting for him on the bridge – if he was to be killed for his decision to execute the leader of the Resistance, he wanted every officer of rank to witness this and draw their own conclusions! – and was deadly tired already when Ren's TIE-fighter turned in at last. He braced himself for disaster – and waited. And waited some more, until it finally dawned on him that Ren had gone straight to his quarters. A quick examination of the respective technical logs confirmed it – the Supreme Leader was in his rooms, sealed and sound.
Well, maybe Hux had overestimated the power of the Force. He had actually expected Ren to somehow feel his mother's demise, but that was the whole problem with it. You never knew what it could do and what not.
When he was finally summoned to the presence in the next morning in order to report, he took his two adjutants along, as much as witnesses as for moral support. Strangely enough, Ren hadn't changed his office after his ascension to power – Hux had expected him to occupy the principal office (which happened to be his own, incidentally), but the man had showed no such inclination, which annoyed his general almost as much as being chased out of his office would have. So the much anticipated confrontation was to take place in Ren's own comparably small office. It offended Hux's sensibilities to possibly die in such mundane surroundings.
"Our attacks on Greatry, Gharmar and Yashta were comprehensively successful, Supreme Leader," he reported curtly, forcing himself to keep his eyes straight ahead in the military fashion. Upon coming in, he had caught a brief glance of Ren, and he had looked awful, even worse than he had with a lightsabre wound gashing in his face. So he must have got wind of his mother's death after all, uh?
"Confirmed casualties?"
Mechanically, Hux recited the names of known Resistance supporters and actual members, keeping the best – or worst – for last. "And – well, we actually chanced upon their leader, too, it appears. Our reports from Yashta confirm that General Solo was there."
He could feel how Ren closely studied his face. "Yes. I noticed she was nowhere near Nevo Kall."
Nobody spoke for a couple of excruciatingly long minutes. Eventually, Hux gave in and looked at Ren directly. He almost physically recoiled. The always pale countenance was sheet-white, dominated by these burning black eyes, enhanced now by dark circles around them. His entire face seemed to have caved in, with prominent cheekbones, hollow cheeks and a dangerously accentuated jaw line. Even the teeth looked somewhat longer. Had the man lost twenty pounds overnight?!
Ren returned his gaze with flaming hatred until he spoke at last, perilously calm. "I want those last Resistance members hunted down. Vanquish them from the face of the galaxy for good."
Hux no longer much cared for the sorry bunch of remaining Resistance fighters who posed no more serious threat to anyone, but his secret conviction that Ren was a traitor received a deep blow. Was this the same man who had so vociferously tried to save the Hosnian system? But then, as Hux knew from personal experience, losing one's parents had this wondrously liberating effect on people. Perhaps Ren was finally coming into his own.
He returned to the soldierly stance. "Yes, Supreme Leader. Anything else?"
"Yes. The girl – I want her alive."
"That might be difficult, Supreme Leader, seeing how she was capable of defeating Supreme Leader Snoke, the Praetorian guards and yourself."
Ren raised his brows, which enhanced his present resemblance to a skull. "She did not defeat me. We were hit by a bloody MC85 star cruiser at the speed of light."
"Yes, sir. Supreme Leader."
"That is all for now, General."
Hux and his men saluted, turned on their heels and marched out. Only when the door was sealed behind them he realised that his tunic was soaking wet with cold sweat.
x X x
2. Ghosts of the Past
The bonds of family bind both ways. They bind us up, support us, help us, and they are also a bond from which it is difficult, perhaps impossible to extricate oneself.
DESIRE – Sandman
Being his mother's son, Kylo Ren thought little of drowning one's sorrows in alcohol (Leia had been of the clench-your-teeth-and-get-on-with-it variety). However, he did allow himself a little snifter now, counting on the soporific effect of the unfamiliar substance.
To say that it had taken all his will not to murder Hux would have been a lie. Obviously, he would have been on his thankful knees if some divine intervention had struck the bastard with lightning there and then, but he himself was too drained of all energy to lift a single finger to that purpose. There would come a time for retribution, oh yes, there would. But not now.
Perhaps because he was a little tipsy, he strolled over to the alcove where he kept his grandfather's helmet, or what was left of it. He stopped before the large urn on which it was placed which did not – as First Order legend had it – contain the ashes of Kylo Ren's enemies (weird idea, really!) but just maybe some remains of Darth Vader and his funeral pyre. Both helmet and ashes had been gifts from Snoke once. More importantly, they were the source of guidance and wisdom.
"She's dead, grandfather," he told the charred mask in a broken voice, "your daughter is dead. Your son, too, is dead. I am the last of your descendants."
The mask stayed silent. For a minute Kylo wondered if his grandfather might be offended because he hadn't consulted him in – gosh, how long? Three weeks? Ever since destroying his own mask at any rate. Gingerly, he reached out and touched it, frowned, then took off his gloves and repeated the move. Still, nothing. No reproof nor advice, no subtle pulsating in the Force, no screams of the defeated enemies of Darth Vader, no surge of energy. Nothing. He must really have affronted the old man – or was he, too, in mourning?
Realisation came only slowly, but when it did, it had the certainty and inevitability of a supernova going off right before your face. This was not the mask of Darth Vader. These were not his charred remains. Most assuredly these were not the means of reaching out and communicating to his dead grandfather. It was all a lie – and a very transparent one come to that, one you had to be a total laserbrain to ever fall for just for one minute!
A gift from Snoke indeed! He was stumped by his own naïve gullibility. For years he had truly believed that his grandfather's spirit was talking to him, guiding him, instructing him in the ways of the Dark side, chiding him when he wasn't giving his best, or wavered in his resolution. It must have been none other than Snoke himself, of course – as proven by the fact that his grandfather's 'spirit' hadn't stirred the slightest bit since Snoke's death.
And thinking of it – not only his dead grandfather had been suspiciously silent since then. Even his own thoughts had been much – quieter. No strange ideas, no dissenting choir of whispers, no 'follow your destiny' flashes of inspiration, no stern admonitions, all of which had felt like his own at the time, but…
How stupid he had been to trust that snake! Seriously! He wasn't credulous by nature and experience, how come he had never once doubted him?! Ah yes, because the spirit of Darth Vader had told him so. Honestly, he ought to have his head checked. In that one instance, Snoke had been right after all; twenty-five he may be on the outside, but inside he was nothing but a child, a child believing in heroes and monsters and ludicrous stories. And why? Why had Snoke dished up all this rubbish, only to lure him in? Because he had been scared of fragging Luke Skywalker, that's why; he had needed a Skywalker to defeat a Skywalker, it was really that simple, wasn't it?
'Snoke is using you for your power. When he gets what he wants, he'll crush you.'
He winced back from the memory of his father's warning and whipped out his sword almost automatically, ready to slice through the burnt helmet before him. It wasn't piety or hesitation that made him refrain from striking though. It was the simple fact that he felt too bloody exhausted to destroy that silly piece of gimcrack. Instead he sheathed the sword and lurched to his cot, dropping down in full armour, and dared not hope to finally, finally fall asleep (he had spent the remainder of the night wide awake), but that was what happened almost as soon as hitting the horizontal. Sleep didn't bring relief though, but yet more agitation and agony.
Predictably, he dreamt of his mother, but even in the dream he was only-too-painfully aware that she was dead. Still, he saw her in all her glory. As a child, little Ben Solo had believed his mother to be the most beautiful person in all the galaxies. Later he had found out that every child felt this way about their mothers, but that didn't diminish her loveliness in his eyes one bit, least now. Even so, her beauty had been nothing compared to her grace, her kindness, her fire and wit. It tore him apart as he dreamt of her indulgent smiles, her caresses, her voice, her laughter, her humour, her obvious pride in him, and how it had rattled him whenever she had left him for yet another urgent mission, yet another important cause. 'Darling, I'd much rather stay here with you,' she had assured him while wiping away his tears, 'but there are things more important than me and you and what we want.'
He saw his father, too, though rarely in the same frame as his Ama, and if they were, they were arguing. They had been a singularly mismatched couple; both young Ben Solo and adult Kylo Ren had never ever fathomed what had made these two believe they should marry, and often thought that their very incompatibility was the chief reason for his own muddled personality. Ladies and gentlemen, in the right corner we have Princess Leia 'the Choobies-Crusher' Organa, cultured, educated, steeped in political discourse, highly disciplined and not suffering any fools. And in the left corner we have Han 'the Perpetual Underdog' Solo, a cocky, unreliable petty criminal and hedonist who thinks 'Discipline' was a planet in the Devoran system and that rules apply only to other people, has a knack for gambling away the rent and claims to fight for 'liberty' by which he means his own personal freedom to come and go as he pleases.
Han Solo had been annoyed by his wife's near constant absence, which hadn't kept him though from getting away as often and as far as he could, too. When he had been at home, he had been crabby and short-tempered like a caged animal; the fun-loving smuggler of legend was not the same man that his son had known most of the time. Yet there were tender memories as well. The secret winks to his son behind his wife's back, the great tales of criminal – oh yes – pursuits, their rides together on the Millennium Falcon, or shooting at bottles put on the balustrade of their balcony far over the clogged streets of Hanna City.
Hanna City. Ben Solo had loved their home there, the only real home he'd ever known (after those first five years there, they'd been on the move every damned year). But nothing had ever compared to Hanna City, with its bustling streets full of people of every conceivable race (and then some, making you wonder if they were even real), so crowded, so noisy, so unruly and malodorous and ugly, and yet so ineffably great. Leia had been continuously annoyed by the sheer bedlam, but Han Solo had cherished it for what it was, and taken their son along to explore its wonders, the amazing shops selling fragrant spices from every corner of the universe, the tiny itinerant food stalls offering delicacies whose origin you'd be well-advised never to ask about, the carnivals, the zoos and circuses, the story-tellers and street artists, who'd paint anything you liked, or sing or dance or juggle not only for money, but sometimes a mere smile – and, yes, also the gambling dens, and race tracks, and drinking joints, in short: all the places you really shouldn't take a four-year-old to.
The recollections were sweet and immeasurably painful. Let the past die! But it was dead now, irretrievably gone forever – yet the pain was even sharper than before. He managed to keep his thoughts at bay while he was awake, that was: ban every remembrance of his last few minutes with his dad, but now they broke over him with full force.
'Come home. We miss you.'
He woke up panting, only to see himself surrounded by the ghosts of dead men, his father in the middle flanked by Snoke on the left and Luke on his other side. All three sneered down at him in unison.
'Told you, kid. You cannot kill the past,' Luke rasped.
Han Solo chimed in, 'Well, here we are. You got all you wanted. Are you happy now?'
'Traitor,' Snoke said simply.
Han Solo glanced over to him. "He may look like a skinned snake that's been lying in the sun too long, but the man does have a point.'
'Traitor,' Snoke repeated dispassionately.
"Where – where's Ama?"
Han Solo shook his head. 'She won't come, Kylo. You've hurt her too deeply.'
'Also, technically she's the only one you did not kill,' Luke threw in.
"I didn't want her to die! I wanted to save her!"
The ghost of Han Solo looked offended. 'Soothes my heart to hear that, it really does, Ama's boy.'
"I didn't – grandfather said – Snoke said I had to kill you!"
'Traitor!'
'Oh, grow up, will you! I really wish you'd for once take responsibility for your own actions.'
"That's rich, coming from someone who always insisted nothing was ever his fault!"
'It was you who murdered me. And broke your mother's heart.'
"And how often did she break mine!"
'He's always been a traitor.'
This was when he finally woke up for real, bathed in sweat and panting. His eyes swivelled around the room, which in his dream had been dark, but was brightly lit now. No ghosts there. Of course not.
x X x
3.
Never think of pain or danger or enemies a moment longer than is necessary to fight them.
JOHN GALT – Atlas Shrugged
"I am happy to see you survived," Captain Phasma remarked when she sat down opposite of Hux that day. Technically, they were very early for a 'nightcap', but Hux had been in dire need of a drink after what had felt like a near-death experience.
"It wasn't even close. For all I can see, he hasn't even destroyed a single instrument so far," he quipped weakly.
"Well, maybe he's bottling it all up. Should we send him a couple of Stormtroopers with some vexing matter, you think? So he can work it off before he snaps while you're around?"
Hux could never tell whether Phasma was joking or not.
"What news? No, don't tell me. I'm so tired, I couldn't withstand him for a minute if he tried to probe my mind."
Phasma didn't voice her opinion that no matter how well rested, Hux could never withstand that – nobody ever had, as far as she could tell. But leave the man his illusions, he was pitiful enough as it was. "Ahead of schedule, actually."
"Good. I'm glad." He took a long swig, looking pensive. "Incidentally – I believe I might have been mistaken in regard to Ren's loyalties."
"Oh?"
"He wants the last rebels annihilated."
"But that's plain stupid. Without Organa, they're no longer a danger. He ought to seize the opportunity –"
"Yes, yes. But don't you see? He really hates them –"
"Where does that even come into it? Hatred is blinding, as evidenced by this decision to go after the last few rebels, rather than take advantage of the situation as it is."
"I always said he'd make a terrible leader."
She gave him a meaningful smirk. "Because you hate him, too."
"He's an idiot! I bet you, when we carpet-bomb a place, he wonders where's the actual carpet."
"And the more bad decisions he makes, the more you are willing to accept him as your superior? You really need to get some sleep, old boy. And so does our Supreme Leader."
She said the last bit with such cunning that he shot her a curious smile. "Did you poison his sleeping medication?"
"Does he take any?"
"I doubt it, the way he looked today. Do you think it possible for a man to lose thirty pounds within as many hours?"
"Sure. If he takes off his armour."
She winked at him, and the mild innuendo made him laugh out loud. "Or maybe that's what he usually looks like, and why's he's always been wearing that frightful mask…"
She sighed. "You ought to stop obsessing about him, Hux. I kinda got it when you were still competing for Snoke's favour –" She ignored his indignant gasp. "But at this point it is useless. Proceed with your orders and squash the Resistance, establish the First Order's rule, use him as a figurehead – and if there is a chance in between somewhere, get rid of him as unobtrusively as you can. But don't waste your time and energy analysing his every move."
More than once, Hux had asked himself why Phasma wasn't a man. She surely had the built and height (she easily dwarfed him, and he was 6'2''!), but what was more: she had the indomitable spirit. The pragmatics. The farsightedness.
He sighed regretfully.
x X x
4. The Last Men Standing
Poe didn't need Chewbacca's occasional yelps of alarm or warning to know that he was taking too many risks when flying these days, all the more in a – let's call it vintage – ship like the Falcon. He couldn't have helped it though. He knew he was overly tetchy since losing both his leader and his home town within twenty minutes, both of which had been their most promising hopes for getting new ships and troops. Now their best bets were Chewbacca's compatriots, who were mighty fighters but sadly lacking in hardware, and whoever D'Acy might be able to rouse. For all intents and purposes, she was the new leader of the Resistance by simple seniority, a job she was not at all qualified for if one asked Poe (no one did, but he told them anyway on a regular basis). Larma D'Acy was no leader, she wasn't even a fighter. By training as much as by personality, she was an administrator; she had been Leia Organa Solo's right hand even in her Senator days and – Poe was certain – superb in that position. But the ability to write concise memos and organise large amounts of data didn't win wars.
Matters were further complicated by a short-lived and ill-judged dalliance between them a couple of years ago (he still cringed with the memory, and knew that so did she), which made it extremely uncomfortable for both of them to be in the same room (it was enough to picture her saying 'this is an order, Commander' to make him blush to the roots of his hair, and he wasn't easily embarrassed). Well, he'd find out soon enough, because with Yavin 4 gone, they had been forced to change plans and were going to meet her on Warlentta.
He didn't quite understand how this had all gone downhill so disastrously within such a short time. Two months ago, the odds had actually seemed ever so slightly in their favour – now they were down to less than a dozen active fighters, a leader undeserving of that title and the First Order had declared its hegemony over the galaxy without any further protest from anyone, even though they, too, had lost their leader and their most sophisticated weapon. What a mighty ally fear was after all. Now Larma D'Acy was supposed to deal with what Leia Organa had not managed?! Larma D'Acy was to give those inspirational speeches about kindling hope and passing on the spark?!
He thought he knew what he was talking about. These kids here, Finn and Rey and Rose, seemed to look to him for guidance, and how utterly absurd was that? In terms of corps spirit and manoeuvring, he could scarcely hold a candle to Stormtrooper-trained Finn (say what you would about them, but those guys were trained superbly), in terms of power he was nothing compared to young Rey, and Rose surpassed him in the department of sheer brains and thinking ahead! He only was in this position because he was a little bit older than they (and none of them could properly understand the true senior, Chewbacca), because he had a couple of stripes on his arm, and been in the Resistance for more than six weeks.
And he couldn't lead even this small group properly. Where Leia's natural authority had managed to reconcile an entire army with members from every part of the galaxy, he failed to bring cohesion to the Falcon's crew; he couldn't even convince his faithful BB-8 to leave its fellow astromech alone.
As for the humans – oh well. They were a sorry bunch, alright, with poor, timid Rose having lost her formidable sister, young Rey being an orphan practically raising herself, and the crisis of conscience personified, Finn. That was all very tragic, still they had to get over it and focus on what was at hand if they wanted to stand the slimmest chance of survival. But they were too young to fathom that. Rose was a trooper and more like her sister Paige than she knew; she'd manage if she ever came out of her shell.
But Rey and Finn? Heaven knew what was wrong with that girl and her weird visions of Kylo Ren (Poe would have blamed Ren's interrogation methods for messing the kid up, but then again, Poe had been subjected to them too, and he didn't spontaneously see the guy!). She was all charming sociability, but underneath, Poe could tell she was seething – understandably, for she had really gotten herself into this impasse by sheer bloody accident, and every single mentor she'd found for herself, first Han Solo, then Skywalker, now Leia, had been killed just after meeting her. Finn on the other hand had joined their cause with great reluctance (again, understandably so), and while he seemed genuinely committed to it now, there was a resentment in him that was palpable, and it seemed to zoom in on Rey, because otherwise, they got on splendidly. He had an obvious crush on the girl (even the droids sensed it, and made jokes in binary about it behind his back) and for reasons that Poe couldn't begin to imagine seemed to regard himself as a rival for her affections.
As if! If there was one lesson his fated relationship with D'Acy had taught him, it was to abstain from meddling with fellow soldiers (or crew members) – you still had to work with these people afterwards. What was more – both Rey and Rose were much too young for him. Sometimes he wondered if he should just talk to Finn and clear this up – but then, he really sucked with that kind of conversations, it was none of his business anyway, and he had enough on his hands already.
So this was the state of things. And between them, he and Larma D'Acy were supposed to lead the Resistance in its most existential crisis? Preposterous!
x X x
5.
Some people want to argue. Some are content to just let it go.
DEATH – Sandman
Sometimes Rose wondered if the First Order need even bother to persecute that last remaining members of the Resistance. The way it looked, they'd manage to eliminate themselves without any outside assistance.
How, how were they supposed to bring back peace and harmony to the galaxy if they couldn't even get through an entire evening among themselves without fighting?! And such useless fighting, too! It wasn't as if they disagreed over the proper next step of a strategy or other.
For reasons best known to themselves, BB-8 and R2-D2 were bickering all the time. Rose tried her best not to listen to their exasperated beepings, but reckoned it had something to do with poor C-3PO having switched off after Leia's death which in turn upset his old buddy R2-D2 greatly, who was still in mourning over Luke Skywalker and almost as aggravated by BB-8's apparent lack of respect for his elders. Furthermore, they couldn't agree who of them was actually responsible for the communication to the ship. R2-D2 had done the job for ages, long before BB-8 had even been built (as he didn't tire to point out), but the latter argued that ever since first rolling on board, he had been in charge because R2-D2 had just 'stood around like a broken trash can'. Oh well, droids, right?
Sadly, the sentient beings weren't any better. Rose was the only one not really partaking and watched the other combatants in woeful dismay. For all she could tell, it had all started with an innocent, if slightly outlandish remark made by Rey, some sigh about 'poor Ben' mourning his mother.
This had not gone down well with Chewbacca and Poe, who had laid into Rey like maniacs and Finn had defended her as usual – and as if she couldn't manage it herself, which had set her off against him as well, demanding not to be 'patronised', which of course had upset Finn, who had next upbraided her for being 'deluded' not to understand his – Finn's – genuine concern for her while at the same time making all kinds of excuses for 'bloody Kylo Ren!' That had pretty much chimed in with Poe and Chewbacca's tune, so Rey had accused them of ganging up against her.
"We're not ganging up on you," Finn defended himself heatedly. "But doesn't it make you wonder how it can be that all your friends try to caution you while you insist on flirting with the dark side?!"
"I am doing no such thing!"
"'Oh, poor, poor Ben'," Poe imitated her in a mock high-pitched voice.
"What good are we even fighting for, if having compassion for someone else suddenly becomes treason!" she snapped back.
Chewbacca roared something, but Rose wasn't fluent in Shyriiwook and only understood the words 'father' and 'murder' in that irate scream of a reply. No matter. She could easily fill in the blanks.
x X x
6. Nightmares
"Dreams. What are Dreams? Dreams are nothing, my brother."
"Dreams are 'nothing', sister?
Without dreams there could be no Despair."
DESPAIR and DREAM – Sandman
It was a wild mix of anger, resentment and stubbornness on the one side and heartrending pity on the other that made her tick that night, hidden away in the bowels of the ship with a torch and flipping through the ancient texts. She was looking for the short mention she remembered about wilfully making a connection to someone in their mind – so far, they had only ever met by accident, at least on her part – but in her impatience, she couldn't find it again and instead stumbled over the exact opposite. So there was a way to keep him out after all! Interesting! Unfortunately, she for once wanted to talk to him, so she browsed on.
He radiated dark waves of despairing sadness over half the galaxy that touched her heartstrings, her restless frustration grew by the minute, so when she came across a section that had only a partial overlap to her real aim, she jumped at it without a second thought. It was a kind of manual how to get into another person's dreams, possibly to influence them on a subconscious level – the idea of which would have scandalised her under different circumstances; it seemed such a sneaky thing to do and quite unworthy of the noble Jedi way! But at least it would get her there for a start. Surely, she could then wake him up, right? Right.
The actual description was elaborate and, she suspected, deliberately convoluted, she didn't understand half of it, yet when she settled in the pose Luke had shown her, she found it much easier than she had suspected. With closed eyes, she reached out to him through the Force, and somehow ended up in a small room whose very design told the political persuasion of its designer, all surfaces were made of matt steel and shaped in that peculiar First Order trapezium. On a narrow steel cot lay Kylo Ren wearing a very strange apparel of loose-fitting black trousers and a – shirt? Frock? – made out of the same soft-looking fabric. She vaguely wondered if this was a Sith costume, but she really had no mind to ponder, as the man was thrashing around in fitful sleep, haunted by nightmares which she could actually see like a sort of translucent three-dimensional projection in the background. There was a small boy, four or five perhaps, with a shock of black hair, one of his front teeth missing and sobbing desperately while clinging to the hand of Han Solo, who was dangling down from the bridge she recognised at first glance. The boy begged his father not to leave him in a manner so reminiscent of Rey's only memory of her own parents that it brought tears to her eyes. Han Solo though, obviously far from feeling any danger, admonished the boy to 'be a man' and let go of him, all the while trying to wrench his hand free. He succeeded and dropped into the fathomless pit, arms and legs flailing while the child threw his head back and screamed and screamed. And in his sleep, the man on the cot did the same, but no sound would come. Hastily, Rey stepped forwards and put her hands onto his shoulders but found she couldn't touch him.
'Shhhh, shhhhh. It's alright,' she whispered helplessly. 'It's only a bad dream. Shhh.'
"Traitor!"
She swivelled around in shock, but no one was there, and even if there had been, they would probably not have been able to see her. She wasn't even a projection, she was a mere guest of Kylo Ren's subconscious.
"Traitor!"
The voice was barely audible, yet easily recognized. It was Snoke's. She wondered if he could have survived, but swiftly discounted the idea. Not only had his body been split in two when she had last seen him, she had also checked his vital signs to make really, really sure.
Meanwhile the dream had changed and a glowingly beautiful, highly pregnant young woman was standing on a balcony high up over a noisy street. It took Rey a minute to recognise Leia Solo in her twenties, and another to figure out that the ruggedly handsome man next to her must be Han Solo. Out of nowhere stretched out a spindly, blue-veined hand and touched Leia's swollen belly.
"Traitor!"
Once again, she was startled and turned around, and when she looked back, the hand had grown and gripped Leia like a doll and driven its claws into her, while the man on the cot coiled up in agony.
Good heavens, this was dreadful! She tried to shake him in order to wake him up – but then, she wasn't really there and could shake him from here to eternity in vain.
'Ben,' she said urgently, 'wake up, please! It's just a dream!'
The dream changed again and now Rey saw herself – or a version of herself, but much fiercer, clad in brilliant white and radiant like illuminated by the Force or something. She was standing over Kylo Ren in some landscape resembling the snow-covered forest on Starkiller Base; he was badly injured, his face, shoulders, stomach bleeding heavily and staring up at her in fear and supplication, but she just laughed at him, raised her lightsabre and slashed at him – and again – and again –
'Wake up, Ben!' she cried, perfectly horrified, 'You must listen to me. Listen to me. Wake up. You must wake up, do you hear me?'
But he didn't and all Rey could do was being a silent, helpless witness to the horrors enfolding the sleeping man.
x X x
7.
He's humiliated me. He's been rude and boorish. He's stuffy and stupid and thinks he knows everything. And there's just something about him that gets on my nerves. But I can't help feeling sorry for him.
DESIRE – Sandman
When she could take it no more, she returned her mind to where her body still was – Han Solo's favourite smuggling hideaway. The torch had rolled away and cast eerie shadows as she clasped her throat and tried to calm herself. Gosh, that man was troubled! If she had dreams like these, she'd stop sleeping altogether!
Her pulse only slowly went back from 'close to heart attack' to normal, but when it did, her practical common sense returned. No use in worrying oneself sick when one could do something about it.
She settled with crossed legs, straightened her back and closed her eyes, confident that she could make contact with Luke Skywalker through the Force and eventually succeeding by sheer blind faith. Once she could see his face in her mind, she instantly spilled out a torrent of wild pleas that it would take a Jedi master to make sense of. Luckily, he was one, but it took even him a while until he could make her slow down and listen.
'As honourable as your intentions are, as misguided are your actions, Rey,' he said with quiet urgency.
'Not you, too! I thought at least you would understand that we have this connection –'
'I understand it is there, though I cannot understand for the life of me – pardon the pun – why it exists in the first place.'
'It was Snoke, he –'
'He may have amplified it, enforced it, but he surely wasn't the one to create it. And he is dead now, yet it is getting stronger all the time. Which is why you must not abuse it –'
'I don't –'
'You can't break into his mind while he's asleep!'
She stared at him, not voicing her thoughts that this was rich coming from a man who had once done exactly the same and not in a spirit of moral support, but he seemed to hear her as if she had said it out loud.
'It was a mistake, and the entire galaxy is paying for it dearly. I know you want to help him. But good intentions alone are not enough, if the consequent action is wrong. Imagine just for a minute it was the other way round, imagine it was he getting into your head while you're asleep. How'd you like that.'
She bit her lip. 'I… I didn't think… You're right. But… Look, you said you made a mistake, so maybe now you can remedy it and help him.'
'I've seen my nephew twice in the last eight years, and both times he would have killed me.'
'But he couldn't kill you any longer, and he really needs your help now.'
'Granted. What I'm saying is he won't accept it.'
'But there must be something you can do.'
'I don't see what. How am I to ward off his nightmares, do you think? And even if could – which I can't, believe me – but even if I could, I think it is more important for him to get through them by himself.'
'But –'
'I can feel that you still have a spark of hope for him and it humbles me. You may very well be the only person in the universe alive or dead that has not given up on Ben Solo, in spite of everything. So listen to me now: If there is to be any hope for him, he must battle his demons on his own. You know what he is now. What he has done. Aren't a few nightmares a cheap price to pay for all this?'
'It is cruel!'
'Sometimes you've got to be cruel to be kind.'
'And that is a cheap truism.'
The apparition frowned. 'Fancy vocabulary you picked up there on Jakku.'
'What?'
'Actually reminds me of a conversation I once had… A long, long time ago. And with Ben Solo, incidentally.'
'What are you talking about?'
'Nothing. Now listen to me – steer clear of him. Let him find his own way. He has all he needs for that.'
'But –'
'Do not repeat my mistakes, Rey. I lost him by trying to force him to be someone he wasn't. Have faith in him all you want, but leave him alone to figure out who he is.'
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