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Chapter 6: Fear and Loathing
Oppression. Greed. Even if he had stopped actively listening to the Force, he couldn't ignore the darkness that festered in every grain of sand under his feet. He knew darkness. He had spent the last seven years in it, pledging his life.
(The title of this chapter was inspired by the song, "Fear and Loathing," by Marina and the Diamonds)
Kylo — Tatooine
His eyes burned in the light of the twin suns as he scanned the desolate landscape.
Back on a wretched desert planet. And this time, he couldn't blame it on a murder plot. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck and soaked his dark robes, the heat smothering the will to move his body.
No water. Only heat. Heat that reminded him of Gethen and his mother. Heat that brought back images of what he had failed to stop all those weeks ago.
Anywhere. He could have gone anywhere.
Bringing a canteen to his lips, he took a drink of tepid water and reached into the Force, running his fingers over the scrap of cloth in his pocket. He hated this part—this letting go of his senses and will and simply listening. The pressure of Luke's baton on his back still lingered in his brain, a phantom feeling he could never quite shake. Stop! You're letting your anger fight for you. That is the path to the Dark Side.
"Tatooine? Not gonna lie, kid. Didn't see this one coming."
He startled and choked mid sip, a snarl rising to his lips. "Do you ever shut up?"
"Always so pleasant," Luke said, smiling.
"Yes. I'm a complete failure. Now, will you go away?"
He continued surveying the landscape, trying hard to look anywhere but in Luke's direction.
Yet, as always, Luke wasn't so easily disposed of. He walked ahead of him, sunlight shining through his body. "Anakin Skywalker was born here. Did you know that?"
"Of course. Because you talked so much about him," he replied, rolling his eyes. "You all thought I couldn't handle the truth."
Luke considered that for a moment, then said, "Well, now you know."
"That's it?" he said incredulously. "You're not going to ask me why I came here?"
Luke tilted his head to the side, pursing his lips. "A word of advice, kid. Watch out for the Tusken Raiders. They'll skin you alive."
His hands curled into fists. Why did he feel the need to justify himself to Luke? Luke had turned his back on him. Ben Solo had given everything to become a Jedi. It had been a chance to prove his father wrong—to prove them all wrong—to show them he wasn't the monster he saw in their eyes, that he could do something good, be of some use to the universe, and not the cause of the fear burning in their concerned glances. But, in the end, Snoke had been right about Skywalker, about his entire family. And he had killed him...for her. For someone that didn't care if he lived or died.
His jaw ticked. He needed answers. Would Tatooine provide that? He didn't know. But he had to try.
It was the former home of both Anakin and Luke. There had to be something here, anything that could point him on the right path, tell him where to go, what to do, how to live. He couldn't do it anymore while Hux schemed and destroyed by his side.
He reached harder into the Force, his brow creasing.
East. Go east.
He opened his eyes. Luke was gone.
Breathing in, he turned toward the black sandspeeder behind him and jumped in. This time, he had been able to acquire one much more comfortable than that stolen contraption on Gethen.
He looked back at his ship once more before pushing the sandspeeder east, his hands shaking. What would he find? What did the Force want him to see?
The heat waves danced along the sand dunes, blurring and blending together—a disorientating mirage of silver that blinded him and made it difficult to focus. But still, he persisted. Still, he quieted his thoughts and listened.
East, that soft voice urged him. Stay east.
Then, eventually, he saw it—a speck of tan ahead, the detail unfolding with every mile gained. Sand walls without a roof, like an ancient relic barely clinging to existence. Whatever it had once been was nearly unrecognizable.
Reaching the hovel, he got out of the speeder and willed his shaking legs to move.
But before he could take a step, screams flooded his head. Blasters firing and firing again and again until the life flew from their eyes. Fire—ruthless fire peeling away at flesh until only bones remained.
Owen. Uncle Owen. Aunt Beru. The names—he had never heard them before. And yet, they felt so natural, so much like a part of him. His eyes wandered towards the side of the ruined building to where two stone markers stood in solidarity.
He walked to them, screams continuing to swirl and beat against his skull. He could almost feel the heat and see the terror in their eyes as the flames lulled them into eternity.
The names...the names were correct. They glared at him in crude handwriting, the strokes weathered and faint.
The throbbing in his chest worsened. Turning away, he walked down the stairs of the entrance and ran his fingertips along the scorched, blackened marks branded into the orange walls. What weapon could have caused that?
Luke suddenly appeared and mirrored his movement, splaying his palm against the stained wall. "Your great uncle and aunt were murdered here by Imperial Stormtroopers looking for a droid that carried the stolen plans for the Death Star." He sighed, looking away. "I was too late."
He didn't respond, pondering Luke's words. His family had kept so much from him. So many secrets for so many years. Why? Why hadn't they trusted him even with this minuscule knowledge?
Navigating over debris, he walked into what was once another room, and his eyes widened. Even after decades of sand and decay, he could clearly make out a broken moisture adapter sitting on an old desk, the metal impossible to ignore.
"You don't know how many hours I spent at this desk wishing I was anywhere else," Luke said with a smile, his hand passing through the broken piece of machinery. "But now..." He laughed. "What I wouldn't give to go back one more time."
"Why didn't you tell me about this?" he said, hurt coating his voice.
"Leia thought it best to start over. No more talk of pain or the Empire. And you were her son. She wanted to shield you from all of that. It wasn't my place."
He turned away, trying to block out his mother's voice—trying to block out the memories that always brought nothing but pain. Snoke had twisted each and every one, and he still couldn't decipher what was tangible and what was only a phantasmal shadow of the truth.
The screams returned. He gripped his head, images from a year ago flooding his brain—the ones he told himself didn't matter every night like a somber lullaby.
You cannot deny the truth that is your family.
Silhouettes scattered across the floor, their eyes appearing to be closed in sleep. Then, he took a closer glance and realized.
They weren't sleeping.
They were—
Bodies. Bodies stacked and stacked on top of each other, lording over him, mocking him. Look what you've done. Look at the pain you've caused. Look, look, look, little Ben Solo. The villagers. Tekka. His...his father.
He looked down at his shaking hands, slowly turning them over.
They were dripping with crimson. Covered in—
Blood.
His stomach contracted. Quickly, he stumbled from the hut and retched into the sand, his meager breakfast from earlier violently spilling from him. The images hounded him again and again as his body heaved and emptied until there was nothing left to expel.
It didn't matter what the Force wanted. He couldn't do it. He couldn't face it.
He wiped his mouth, picked himself up from the ground, and jumped into the speeder as fast as his churning stomach would allow.
Damn it all. Skywalker. Solo. Leia. Rey. Let it go. Kill it if you have to. Kill it. Kill it.
He engaged the engine and didn't look back.
Kylo — Mos Eisley, Tatooine
Orange clay. A town made entirely from the same orange clay as Owen's hovel.
His eyes roamed the dirty faces of the citizens around him—people who didn't look up when he guided the speeder through the narrow pathways, their clothes threadbare and stinking.
Oppression. Greed. Even if he had stopped actively listening to the Force, he couldn't ignore the darkness that festered in every grain of sand under his feet. He knew darkness. He had spent the last seven years in it, pledging his life.
He stopped the speeder in front of what appeared to be a cantina, his mouth dry. He had run out of water a few miles back, and the taste of bile was still strong and persistent.
Covering his face up to his eyes with his cowl, he walked into the building, looking for a place to sit at the bar. One drink. I just need one drink, he thought, panting. Thankfully, he spotted an empty spot towards the end of the counter and hurried to it, falling into the chair with more force than he intended.
The creature working behind the counter instantly walked to him, his bloated belly pressed against the metal. "Ain't seen you in these parts before. Not that I can see much of you. What'll you have?"
Without removing his makeshift mask, he slipped a handful of credit chips to him. "Twistler."
"What planet you think you're on? You ain't on Corellia. We don't have that here."
How could he have said that? "Then just give me a shot of whiskey. Whyren's Reserve if you have it."
"What do you think this place is, rich boy?"
"Ale. The bitterest and most impure ale you have. I'll have that," he replied through gritted teeth. "And there's extra in it for you if you ensure I am not disturbed under any circumstances."
The creature sucked in his lips. "How much you willin' to pay?"
"Five hundred credits."
"One thousand."
"Done. Now, I want my drink," he said, narrowing his eyes.
When the creature came back, he slid an amber-colored liquid to him in a cheap glass bottle.
Ardees. He shuddered, but lowered his cowl and took a swig anyway. For a few moments, he sat at the bar, gulping down his petrid drink and listening to the sounds of the cantina around him.
Smugglers. Thieves. All traitors, all liars. He shuddered again, struggling to swallow. Coming to Tatooine was a mistake.
Then, he heard it.
"Camie was back last week. Old man Marstrap finally kicked the bucket."
Camie. Camie Marstrap. Surely, it couldn't be the same Camie—the one he had searched the galaxy endlessly for since the burning of the Jedi Academy?
"Shame you couldn't hold her down. She was lookin' pretty even for an old hag," another voice said.
Suddenly, he stood and turned toward the direction of the first man, raising his cowl to conceal his identity again.
"What did you say?" he choked out, his heart pounding.
The man jumped slightly. "You talking to me?"
He stalked to him, his hand hovering over his sheathed lightsaber. "What did you say? The name."
"Mind your own business, princess. I wasn't talking to you."
Faster than the man could react, he pinned him to the dirt wall and brought the glowing blade to his neck.
Someone fired a blaster at him, but he rebounded the shot with the Force, his attention never wavering from the scum under his arm.
"Kylo...Kylo Ren," the man whispered, his eyes wide.
And at the sound of his name, the music stopped, conversations ceased, and he felt everyone's eyes lock on his back.
He removed the fabric covering his mouth, fully exposing his identity. "The name. What did you say?"
"We don't want any trouble," another said. "Loneozner here is sorry."
"I'm sure he is," he spat. "Camie Marstrap. Where is she?"
"You're not gonna hurt her, right?" Loneozner said.
You'll just have to find out, he wanted to say.
But then he thought of it, the memory of her blue eyes filling his head. What would he do once she was in his grasp? Throughout his life, he had only found kindness and compassion in her gaze. Where Luke had found fault in him, she had always found strength. Her hand on his, the way she placed it so delicately on his skin. You did well today, Ben.
"No. Just tell me where I can find her," he said, desperation lacing his voice despite his every effort to control it.
Perhaps at one time, their meeting would have ended with her death.
This time, however, he needed something only she could give.
"I can't do that," Loneozner said. "I pro-pro-promised."
He grimaced. "Get comfortable then."
Raising a hand over Loneozner's face, he delved into his thoughts, meticulously slicing through his brain, bypassing every personal, irrelevant bit of his weak mind until he found it, and his memory of Camie's salt-and-pepper hair turned to grey.
"What happened to you, Camie?" Loneozner's voice said. "Why'd you come back? You never cared too much for your old man."
Camie was silent, her eyes locked on his. Finally, she sighed and said, "Fixer...Do you remember the days when we were younger, before it all?"
"Yeah. Before you ran off after Luke." He laughed bitterly, smiling. "Don't tell me you came back just to see me."
She returned his smile, her eyes teary. "Luke's dead. He's been gone for a year."
"What?" He had heard gossip about Luke's death, but a part of him had thought it was only a rumor, only speculation. After all, there had been no mention of a body.
Suddenly, Luke's ghost appeared beside him. "You have to stop or you're going to kill him!"
"Go away," he hissed, trying to return to the stream of memories.
"Yes. It's true. I felt it the minute he faded into the Force," Camie said.
"You loved him. Even when you were on my arm, huh?"
"Ben, stop!" Luke continued to urge. "He's old. You're killing him!"
"Get out of my head!" he yelled, tightening his grip on Loneozner's mind. He was so close to the information he needed. So close he could almost feel his lips begin to form the name.
"It doesn't matter. Luke was on a planet called Ahch-To. I'm going there now." She reached over, inputting the coordinates on his datapad. "I just wanted to tell you...and see you one last time...in case I don't make it back."
He could do it. Just one more push, one more assault on his weak mind, and he could end his life for good. Do it. Kill him. Give into your anger. Give into your hate. Do it.
No. It was wrong. He had what he needed. He knew where she was. All he had to do now was find her, confront her, and figure out why she'd sided with him—why she too had left when he needed her guidance the most.
Abruptly, he pulled himself from Loneozner's mind, reeling from the images still dancing behind his eyelids.
Then, he looked down.
Loneozner convulsed beneath him, his eyes snapped open, two blank saucers fixated on the ceiling while the other patrons of the bar stood and watched with a mixture of fascination and horror.
Gently, he laid him on the floor, his heart lurching. Loneozner weeped and moaned, hands gripping his head. He had almost killed him. He had almost—
He shook his head.
Ahch-To. So that's where Skywalker had gone to in exile.
He scoffed, throwing a handful of credits onto the counter. "I wasn't here," he told the barkeeper, walking away.
A year ago, he would have killed anyone—anything—for that information, even after he had wrenched it from their mind. And he wouldn't have bothered with petty bribes of silence. No, he would have cut the throat of every witness without another thought. But now…
From the doorway, he looked back at Loneozner still crumbled on the floor. Why couldn't he do it? This man, this creature they called Loneozner, was nothing more than a dirty criminal. A dirty criminal like Han Solo. Kylo Ren would have done it. Kylo Ren wouldn't have hesitated.
He reached into the Force, focusing on those that had deserted him—Solo, Skywalker, Camie, Rey—trying to find the hate, the anger that had burned and fueled every course of action he took since the destruction of the academy.
But...it was gone. As if it had never existed. As if the last seven years had only been a daydream, a warning vision from the Force and nothing more.
He swallowed, studying his hands. What was happening to him?
Author's Notes
What do you think of Kylo's internal struggle here?
Also, if you have not seen it yet, I added an "In Medias Res" to begin this story. It features Reylo and will occur in a later chapter.
Thank you to my main beta editor, SilverStarwolfe, and my second beta editor, Way-of-the-pathfinder. I cherish you both more than you know. It feels so wonderful to have two supportive beta editors that care about this story as much as I do. They both write SW fan fiction. Please check them out! Their fics are listed under my favorites on my profile.
— Bee
