This was written early 2016, shortly after TFA was released. The track "Farewell and the Trip" of the Force Awakens score basically wrote this thing for me. John Williams, man. I don't know where I was going with this at the time, but the music put it in my head, so here you go!
A Mercy, Tolerant
He was the Master of the Knights of Ren.
On his knees.
At the hands of her.
The bright blue blade singed the underside of his chin as he was restrained.
Doubt snared a distant certainty within him. At the moment he rose to his feet at the insistence of her lightsaber, he felt it in the Force. And yet, it was somehow more disturbing to see it burning in her eyes - an irreversible shift in the Resistance's favor.
Fifteen months and four days passed.
Victorious. The Resistance was victorious.
The day he arrived on D'Qar a prisoner, he was yanked to the tarmac.
Even then, when Leia Organa was the furthest thing from a mother he could acknowledge, when he wanted no mercy, when he wanted to be treated as nothing but her worst enemy, a horrifyingly miniscule ripple of betrayal unexpectedly tore through him when that was exactly what happened.
And it grew.
And it broke him.
Suffocating in the darkest recesses of the Resistance base, enduring excruciating hours of silence, endless days of hunger, and weeks of self-war; his will shattered with a loud crack, a soft murmur, and he answered to his given name.
He called her "mother".
Months of artificial light left him blinded by overcast skies.
Cooperation came with the privilege of sunlight: above-ground quarters, tracking implant, heavily armed escorts, a lighter-neutral wardrobe, and the eventual opportunity to attend meals in the mess hall. Soon, monitored use of facilities. Silent, somber exchanges at meals with scowls, sneers, and the occasional softening frown.
Successes attributed to his consistent information earned infrequent half-smiles from passersby, access to common areas, a curfew. Finn taking his side in an intelligence briefing. Poe Dameron accepting his sympathy for the loss of Wexley.
Rey's ever-defensive stance in his presence waning as her eyes searched him for ultimatums he no longer harbored.
Each time he saw her in the corridor, or eating a Corellian apple on the wing of Poe's fighter, or resting her elbows on her pitched knees in the harsh sunset, her eyes snapped at him, throwing up barriers he had no interest in invading anymore. He let her wordlessly speak to him, unable to understand how yielding he'd become in the months he'd been Ben Solo.
But the darkness was still there. He knew.
When he was summoned to spar with her in Luke's time off-base; when he showed up in a sleeveless black tunic; when he'd referenced the same page of a holobook from over her shoulder; when she was breathlessly released from his arms in hand-to-hand – and didn't move away – she was terrified of him all over again.
Then she left for Morabond.
And he was terrified.
D'Qar's sky was the same thick overcast it was as they day he was moved above-ground. X-Wing fighters scorched through the grey veils overhead in a triumphant flyover, but they were unable to fully dominate the choruses and cries from below.
Morabond was destroyed. The First Order: eradicated from the galaxy.
Face impassive, he made his way to the tarmac. The hurried surge of people passed him with claps on the back, celebratory chants, and unsolicited praise. Beneath his feet, the distinct whirs and chirps of Dameron's droid rolled by, and he parted a pair of analysts to follow it. BB-8 led him straight to Poe, the pilot beaming as he jumped from the fighter's cockpit, arms outstretched to receive the comradery of his crew.
Standing in wait of their reception's end, the small orange-and-white droid returned to him, blipping enthusiastically. His droid-speak was rusty, but he awkwardly humored the little droid with raised eyebrows and, ultimately, the carefullest of responses: "…Good."
BB-8 bleeped happily.
Shifting his eyes, Ben looked up, Poe finally meeting him with a crooked smile. As the Resistance's famed pilot approached him, Ben's mouth went dry. He swallowed.
"A fine job done."
Poe thankfully saved him from having to say more; he gave Ben a firm handshake, grasping his elbow. He looked into his once-enemy's eyes with disarming sincerity.
"We couldn't have done it without you. Thank you."
Ben opened his mouth to dismiss his thanks when the pilot Jess took it upon herself to leap at his cheek with a loud kiss and ruffle his hair. Body seizing, he whipped his head to the side and shot daggers at her unabashed smile. Throwing her fist to the air, she gave a loud "Whoop!" and darted off toward Ackbar. Poe was tight-lipped, not sure if he was legitimately afraid for Jess or trying to bite back a laugh, when Ben's black eyes flicked to him.
"I should hope," he said, slowly wiping his cheek, "you have better control of your crew in the air."
Poe nodded quickly with a stern look in Jess's direction, trying to play it down. After nearly a year and a half knowing this guy as a prisoner and informant, he was close to finding neutral ground and would rather keep it that way.
But then, that ground fell out from underneath him.
"Where is Rey?"
The corridors of the underground medical bay were dark, save for the gentle glow of diffused light radiating from each room in varying strengths. Hers was the weakest.
Once, he would have been the darkest shadow cast on this black wall in his heavy, billowing layers. He longed for their comfort for the first time in months, something he had long-since tolerated life without. But even now, standing on the threshold of her room in ivory half-sleeves and browns trousers, he was ashen.
A large gash crested along her eyebrow, bruises peppered around it. Hideous eruptions of misshapen mauves, mosses, and midnight blues blossomed over her upper arm and clavicle, and her chest and abdomen were wound tightly with bacta gel bandages.
Her Force signature was faint. But he could not decide if it was because of her physical state or he himself.
He had never felt so much.
Several yards to his back, Leia trapped the tears behind her eyes. All of the walls that had come down since his arrival were being thrown up again in self-preservation, though crumbling as they were erected. She stood at the edge of his mind without intrusion, letting him sense her presence. His eyes dropped to the ground, acknowledging her with the slightest inclination of his head over his shoulder. His jaw set in exposing a partial silhouette of himself to her, eyes blinking with muted impatience.
Tentatively stepping forward, Leia sensed the despair in her son; phantom grey plumes rolled off him in such a way that she needn't invade his psyche to see them. With humble eloquence, she stood in the pall of uncertainty and fear beside him.
"Luke is treating her with Force healing. With enough sessions, she should recover."
Rey's pain resonated through him, from him. Bound him in ways that darkened the blacks of his eyes to dying embers. He wanted to know who did this. He wanted to know if it was one of the faces flashing through his memories or a nobody in stormtrooper armor trying to make it back to his transport at the end of the battle. He could have choked on this budding rage once, but there were some things he'd relearned after all, and Leia was grateful for it.
Trusting him to navigate his emotions once more, Leia pulled away from his presence with a gentle reminder: "She needs all the Light she can get. Clear your heart and your mind before you go in there."