"Yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness visible"
- John Milton, Paradise Lost
CHAPTER 36
They leave the Jedi temple via a different route, exiting on the surface. Ben takes her hand and leads her through the labyrinth of Coruscant, down narrow alleys and along darkened streets. Their steps are giddy, almost drunken in their joy. Rey's Force cloak fluctuates; she cannot concentrate long enough to control it. Ben must cloak her too. He grins and she is smiling like an idiot. They reach the tall walls of the palace, draped in thick and heavy vines. There is no hidden doorway. Rey starts to climb but he stops her.
"Follow my lead."
He runs for a few short steps and then, guided by the Force, he is leaping up to land on the edge of the parapet. Rey stares at him then closes her eyes. She is determined. The Force is around her. She runs and she can do this. She is powerful.
Maybe too powerful, she thinks. She stumbles, almost overshooting the wall. Ben pulls her back from the ledge, as he has done once before. He retakes her hand. They look at each other then down into the darkness of the palace grounds. Another jump, joined together this time, and they land like stealthy cats, never making a sound.
Through dense foliage they emerge onto a small landing pad. The Falcon waits for them. Rey thinks her face may split in half at the sight; it is like something out of a dream—her old and new lives merging together in this strange and unexpected but no less perfect harmony.
Seeing Ben in the pilot's chair is a revelation. His control, his utter mastery of this craft. She has flown the ship enough to feel like she knows all its secrets, but he knows more. She feels flustered watching his hands flip switches and dials with practiced ease, in the whisper-soft way he takes off and they break orbit without disturbing so much as even a petal of her wedding bouquet.
She asks him where they are going but he refuses to tell her. They fight playfully for access to the nav screen when her husband glowers and asks in a deep and exasperated voice (that makes her feel every moment of the decade spanning between them) if he will have to use a Force sleep to convey her to their honeymoon destination. Rey gasps in shock but even as she does, arousal spikes within her. All of a sudden it feels like they are in the woods in Takodana again, her immobile and waiting to be carried away, and him the masked creature who will make it so. She can tell that his interest is also piqued, not through any magic of the Force, but in how his breathing quickens and his pupils dilate turning his eyes almost to black.
Yes, she tells him. He may have to do exactly that.
His lips hover above hers in the ghost of a kiss. Then the last thing she sees is the movement of his hand and she is lost to his Darkness.
She awakes cocooned in the familiar vinyl padding of the bunk, wrapped in her husband's thick cape. Her husband. It is a strange and wonderous thought and it does not yet seem real. But it is. She can tell just by looking at her arm—the black strip of fabric he used as a bandage has been replaced by a bacta pad dressing and the pain is almost gone. Rey scrambles to her feet, anxious to find him.
Moving through the ship, she can feel he is no longer on board (even without the bond she knows his Force signature enough to sense this). They have landed. Where are they, she wonders. What is the surprise? Is it the rainforest planet again or somewhere new, richer and greener than before? Somewhere secret to him. Somewhere that means a great deal.
She reaches the open gangplank. Smoke rises through the air, hot and thick with a sulfurous stench. Rey drops his cloak. She does not need it. There is so much heat. Somewhere warm, she thinks. Somewhere warm but not the desert. She descends the metal ramp.
She steps out onto a black landing platform. Everything is black, dark like night but she has no sense of the time of day. Smoke rises either side because the platform is a bridge. Red glows at its edges. There is lava. A river of molten liquid. They stand on a raging stream of it. They stand at the base of a tower. Black too and so vanishingly tall. it disappears to a point she cannot see, lost to clouds of darkness. A terrifying tower built on the edge of a volcano. What is this place, she thinks. It feels so Dark. It overwhelms with a menacing silence more potent than all the screaming voices she heard down in Plagueis' tomb.
Ben stands a few yards ahead with his back to her. Another tall, black tower and just as powerful. He smiles as he turns towards her.
"Welcome," he says.
Rey feels shy under his gaze, nervous in these new surroundings. "Where are we?" she asks.
"The planet is Mustafar. An ancient Sith stronghold. It is heavy in the Dark side."
"I can tell," Rey says, pressing a palm to her forehead. She blinks. The stench and smoke make everything foggy. She feels dizzy from it. "What about the—?"
"Rey?" Ben is at her side in an instant. One arm holds her close by the waist, his other hand tilting her face up towards him. "Are you okay?" He sighs, and she sees his expression turn angry, not with her but with himself. "I didn't think. I am sorry—"
"It's fine. I am fine," she says.
"The Darkness hurts you. We can go."
"No." She rests her hands on his chest, feels the strong and desperate throb of his heart. "This is important to you. Tell me why," she says.
"You are not in pain?"
"No," she says."Just a little lightheaded." Apparently a little is still a little too much for her husband; he sweeps her into his arms.
"What are you doing? I can walk."
"Not that I believe you, but even if I did, it is custom in many systems for a man to carry his bride over the threshold of their home."
Her arms wrap around his shoulders as she watches the Falcon grow smaller. "This is our home?" she whispers.
"It is my grandfather's castle."
Darth Vader, she thinks and looks up, the black metallic teeth of a huge sliding door hanging overhead.
The view shifts and they are inside now. They stand (or Ben does as he carries her) in the center of a black circle, a towering space surrounded by black all above and the red of lava below. One path leads back to the where the Falcon is and the other leads into the castle, as if they cross some kind of moat. Rey rests her head against Ben's. She breathes him in, his scent replacing that of the cloying sulfur. The Dark side surrounds him but it surrounds them both; he coats them in his unique armour. She is protected here with him, she knows. She is safe in his Darkness.
They climb a low ramp and pass through another gaping doorway, entering a sparse black hall, more bare and impersonal than his rooms in the palace ever were. Rey thinks she sees droids, but Ben ignores them and they ignore him. There is an elevator and he boards it; they travel up. Doors closed, it is silent, save for their breathing. The Force feels far away from her now.
The elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open.
"Here we are," he says.
He walks inside and sets her on her feet. Rey looks around. They are in a large black room with a polished black floor and dull black wall panels. A proportionally large bed stands in the center and behind it the far wall bears vertical slits that form windows. At the right angle they merge into a complete view of outside. She can see a landscape of barren mountains covered in swirling gray clouds and lit by veins of bright lava that spill down into vast orange lakes below. It is like living in the mouth of a furnace, she thinks, in the heart of a star. She is shaken by the strangeness of this place. But one look at her husband, at the uncertainty on his face mixed with the smallest hint of hopefulness, and she forces herself to be strong.
"Come here," she says, and he does.
"How are you feeling?"
She leans into him and breathes him in again. "Better." She is weak and tired but there is a hunger inside her; the bed is so near. It does not matter where they are when he is with her and this is what they are here for. She presses a kiss to his jawline and reaches for the fastenings of his tunic. Ben takes her hands in his.
"There will be plenty of time for that," he says. "Rest first."
"I am fine!"
"You are a terrible liar." He guides her to the edge of the bed and lays her down. "Do you trust me, Rey?"
She nods.
"The Dark weakens you; you need time to acclimatize. I must let you sleep." He kisses her—long and sure and deep. She is lost to the feel of his mouth, to his taste, so when he pulls back she does not see his hand move like before. "Rest now, my love," he says, and she falls into blackness once more.
When Rey awakens, he is gone.
She sits up. She has been tucked in beneath a soft black sheet and her outer layers of clothing have been removed, along with her boots. Her pants and chest wrappings are still in place, and she feels irritated by this, though she cannot say why. She is also irritated by Ben's absence, mostly because the hunger has returned. She is refreshed, like he promised, but now she is ravenous for him. It is as if she is starving and he is the only sustenance in existence. A noise from the hallway disturbs her; it is the elevator opening. Rey jumps out of bed to greet him.
It is not her husband but a droid that emerges. A dull gray machine with a humanoid head and torso and thin metallic limbs, she had seen it earlier running away from them. It approaches her now.
"Oh, hello," Rey says. "Have you seen Ben—I mean, the Emperor?"
The droid nods politely. "He bids that you join him for dinner when you are ready," it says in a pleasant feminine voice. "He asked me to show you the facilities." It leads Rey to a nearby doorway. "The refresher is in here."
Rey runs a hand through her mussed hair and looks down at her rumpled clothes. "Yeah," she says, "a shower is probably a good idea. And what is your name?"
"I am C4328, my lady. Please call on me if you need any assistance."
"Thank you, C4328. I'm sure I will."
The droid backs away and Rey enters the refresher. It consists of two rooms. The first is an odd outer chamber containing what looks to be a large bacta tank, though it has been long-drained. Rey is drawn to it. She touches the crystalline surface and feels a loud echo through the Force. Pain and despair and so much longing; it nearly knocks her over. The Force signature is strangely familiar, she thinks. Like Ben's but not quite. Is this Vader? She knows only the legend of the bogeyman who terrorized the galaxy for decades until his son returned him to the Light. It all seems too simple, she thinks. His blood flows through Ben, and she would not turn him. They are the same but they are different and she senses it; it is a most curious feeling.
Recovering, she ventures further until she finds the more standard amenities and takes a long shower. Upon getting out, she rifles through the bags brought up while she slept (even her wedding bouquet from Princess Elsa has been retrieved and placed in a vase on one of the room's rare side tables). The palace droids had packed under Ben's instructions, which had not been heavy on detail. The contents of Rey's bags are not so heavy either, containing only lingerie and a few other suggestive pieces. So this is what packing for a honeymoon looks like, she thinks and eventually decides on something. Then an idea occurs.
"C-4?"
The droid soon rounds a corner and Rey smiles as she sees it. "My Lady?" it says.
"How much do you know about cosmetics?"
An hour later, Rey follows C-4 down the elevator and through a long series of hallways, feeling almost unbearably self-conscious. Thanks to the droid's help, for the first time in her life, her body is completely hairless. Her skin has been scrubbed and smoothed to unusual softness, and the only significant portion of hair that remains on her head has been teased and curled and piled into something beautiful and very elaborate. There are cosmetics on her eyes to make her lashes and lids look darker, on her cheeks to give a hint of rose, on her lips to make them dewy and red.
But that is nothing compared to the dress.
Or nightgown, she thinks; she cannot imagine anyone wearing something like this outside. It is black and long and not unlike what she wore so misguidedly to do Plagueis' bidding. It has a deep, sweeping neckline that ends just above her navel (nowhere near her neck, she muses) and is held together by thin gold chains that link together and form a trail down her sternum. Her breasts are almost bared; just the slightest nudge would reveal them. She does not know why this is the dress she chose, but the hunger inside her told her to do so.
"In here, my Lady."
C-4 hands her over to another droid, this one squat and black. It leads her into a medium-sized chamber with glowing red walls from the vents along the floor that lie over the lava seas. Despite her wearing so little, the room is wonderfully warm, and upon its dark shiny floor that reflects her pale skin she finds a long, lacquered table. There are only two chairs, one set at each end, and the far one is occupied by Ben.
Rey stops to survey him. He has showered and changed too, wearing the full uniform and cape that comes with his rank. He is at home here, she realizes. In his element. In total control. Her self-consciousness only intensifies at the revelation and she blushes; it is as if this is the first time they have met.
In a way, she thinks, it is.
He stands. When he sees the full measure of what she is wearing, he goes perfectly still, and yet he gives away nothing. She only blushes further. He is wholly contained and she is a well read and open book.
The droid seats her at the opposite end and begins to serve dinner. There are a dozen dishes on offer, but Rey hardly notices. She cannot take her eyes off her husband and he cannot take his eyes off her. After a few minutes of attempting to eat, Ben snaps his fingers and the droid leaves. There is only the sound of her breathing; it feels unnaturally loud in her ears. Rey is poised on a knife's edge, teetering in anticipation and also a little bit of fear. She has been scared of this man before but now there is no danger, only the heightening of desire, a surge in her hunger.
"You are too far away," he says. "Come here."
Rey obeys. Her limbs are made of liquid but somehow she makes it. She stands next to where he sits. She looks down at his untouched plate.
"Aren't you hungry?" she says.
"Starving," he tells her, and the look he gives her makes her knees give way.
She is aware of plates and dishes being swept off the table. Large hands lift her by the waist and sit her where his meal should go.
"You are beautiful," he says. His expression has turned feral; Rey feels her heart striking like a fist inside her chest. "What do you think of this place?" he asks conversationally.
"I…" she struggles to find the words, to think of any words at all. "It… does things to me."
"What things?"
"I feel weak. Strange. It makes me want you."
"Is that so strange?"
No, she thinks. "I always want you. I want you so much that sometimes I think it will consume me."
"Will you let me?"
"Let you what?"
"Consume you."
"Yes," she says. "Please."
He stares at her for a long time. First her eyes, and then everywhere else, his eyes skimming over her like fingers and she can feel his touch burn through her, as if a trick of the Force. The weight is heavy and warm and overpowering; she feels drunk off his power. She has never sensed him so powerful before.
After what might be an eternity, he takes his gloved finger and pushes the fabric covering one breast to the side, displaying the smooth pink of her areola and the hard nub of her nipple. He does the same to the other until both breasts are exposed. His hands slide under her ass and pulls her to the edge of the table. Her breasts hover before his face; if he wanted he could lean forward and brush the tips with his nose, but he stays unmoving. Just looks at her, eyes dark and intent. His breathing deepens, becomes stronger. She squirms with arousal, desperate for some kind of pressure between her legs, but his fingers dig into her ass to still her.
"Shhh," his voice is so soothing. "Do not move unless I say. Understand?"
She whimpers a yes.
"Good girl," the sound of his voice causes her wetness to flood, so much that she can smell it.
With his eyes on hers, he leans forward and takes a nipple into his mouth. Just enough to allow the heat and the moisture of his lips to rest against her.
Then, without warning, he sucks.
Her hips buck off the table and it takes both his hands to hold her down. He draws in deeply, as if he could drink from her, and she feels it in her core. Rey moans. She gasps. She is going to die and she wants to. She wants him to stop and keep going and it is torture and it is perfect and she never wants it to end. He switches sides and she has the same reaction, even more so. The pleasure is brutal and unrelenting and she is scooting closer to him until he squeezes the tops of her thighs to a point that is sweetly painful. His voice is rough when he speaks.
"You promised not to move." She stills herself but is trembling, sure the effort is going to kill her; right now she would do anything to make him start again.
He does. He works her tits until she fears she is losing her mind, until her cries become pleas, until there is a damp spot visible through the silk between her legs. Still he does not stop, taking his pleasure long and slow. Impatient, she grabs his head to hold him closer, to thread her fingers through his thick, beautiful hair, but he untangles them and with an iron grip splays her palms to the table.
"Lie down," he commands.
She does. She braces herself on her elbows and watches as he slides her gown up, his hands caressing the lengths of her legs as he does so. She watches him briefly taste the wet place she has made and moans again loudly, her head falling back and thudding against the tabletop. She does not mean to be so vocal but she is a siren, an echo chamber; she is only noise and friction and a billion atoms colliding, a supernova exploding.
He spreads her thighs wide and lowers his face between them, his eyes never leaving hers. He watches her even as he begins to lick. Rey is lost. He probes inside with his tongue and drags it up to suck at her most sensitive spot. Rey is unraveling, she is crying, she is begging for release, for his dick in her cunt or her mouth or anywhere he wants to put it, for every filthy thing she can imagine. For him to set her free.
Mouth still devouring her, he reaches up a hand and wraps it around her airway—not enough to hurt and far from enough to suffocate, but enough to reduce her screams to needful whimpers. After a few moments she realizes that he's slowing her breathing so she won't hyperventilate. It changes the sounds she makes into something lower and more breathy, a deeper pitch that begs him, a voice laced with nothing but sex.
You enjoy this, she thinks, and it is almost as if he can hear her for she feels him—she godsdamned feels his mouth curve and smile against her. She can hear the squelch of moisture, a visceral primitive sound, and feel his gloved hands come up to play with her already over-sensitized breasts. It all is too much and she comes apart with a sudden, noiseless scream, her body rigid as he drinks from her her every last drop she has to give. Until she has melted to the surface of the table, until she is nothing at all.
Fuck me, she thinks.
"No, not here," he says, smiling as she realizes she has spoken out loud.
He scoops what is left of her off the table and carries her back to the bedroom. He lays her upon the bed and she watches as he strips off his clothes. His deliberate controlled movements, the fixed order that he works, makes her want to touch herself until she comes again. She wants to touch him too, to mark him, to suck him off until he begs for mercy, but she cannot move. She is as pliable as the ragdoll she fashioned for herself back on Jakku, something to possess and play with and care for, to do with as she pleased back then; she is unresisting as he slides the dress from her body and positions her as he wishes, his great body crowding over her and she spread out beneath.
When he enters her, it is as if for the first time. And when he comes, hours later it seems, after her body has been used and pleasured and fashioned only to hold his cock—when he finally cries out with a power that shakes the floor and spends himself inside her—she feels as if she will never be cold again.
"My love?"
"Yes?"
She is humming the song again, the one she used to sing to herself in sweet, precious moments of contentment, when the sands were hot but still, the winds silent, the sun low and friendly. She is a sated pet draped across the solid bulk of her master. She hums and strokes his skin, drawing her fingers over jagged ridges of scar tissue, smooth undulating planes of muscle, the dark responsive circle of a nipple. His hisses and she kisses him there, nips; he growls but it is a purr from him. She knows his sounds, his wants, his sights, his smells. She knows how to please him. She would please him forever. She would be his faithful servant, his favorite toy. She thinks she almost forgets who she is.
"Feeling better?" he says.
How does she feel? She is married. She, a discarded orphan of Jakku, forgotten scrap that shriveled and hardened in the desert, salvaged now and soft and wanted again. She is the wife of a prince. Her husband. Dark and strong and beautiful. He has chosen her. She does not understand but she is grateful, oh so grateful for this fate. To be with him. To be completely his.
"I feel consumed," she confesses. "Not weak like before. Just overwhelmed, I guess."
"I know."
"How can you tell?" She sits up, elbow digging into his breastbone as she watches him. He snatches her arm and kisses her wrist.
He smiles. "You are quiet."
"Ass!"
She swats his face, curls up atop his body as he wraps his arms around her. She is safe amongst the Darkness, in the heart of this volcanic star that is his home; like his heart, she thinks. Something too dangerous to be close to but he lets her live here. His grandfather's castle. She thinks about the memory of Vader. There is no monster here, just her monster; her loving monster of a husband.
"Can I ask you something?"
"You can ask me anything," he says.
"Why is there a bacta tank in the refresher?"
His body shifts. He lies behind her, pulling her back to his chest; she can feel he finally grows weary. "It was where Grandfather slept," he says. He draws the sheet over them with the Force and Rey wants to ask, she has so many questions: who is Vader? Who was this man? How did he live? Just what is he to you—?
"Rest now," her husband says, and his words are a command; she must obey and she yawns.
"Ben…"
"Ssh."
He whispers words of love, of reassurance, of the promise of dreams where he is always with her and she is never alone. Her eyes close and she can cling to consciousness no longer. Only to the man that holds her in his sacred kingdom.
Rey sleeps like the dead with Death by her side.