What do a sprawling Coruscant apartment of royal standards and a pokey, durasteel bunk on a Resistance base (or, more often than not, the kicked back seat of an X-Wing for a ten-minute nap) have in common?
A pilot. This pilot, in fact. And it rendered him severely out of his depth; ambling the vast floor space with a dropped jaw, like nothing he'd ever seen in his life. If he thought dinner was out of his league, his new (if possibly temporary) chambers were a whole new level of plush. And BB-8 seemed to think so too. Which he imparted via a low whistle when his master entered, several hours after seeing him last.
"I know, pal… It's uh… It's not what we're used to." Poe had seen so much, been places many hadn't, done things many hadn't; nothing caught him off guard anymore. Then he bade goodnight to his cousin and entered the door she'd left him at, where she promised his droid would be waiting and felt himself winded with awe. The abundance of silks, velvets (and the occasional fur) in the carpets, curtains and (excessive) furniture screamed luxury; absolute luxury, the likes of which he had never experienced. It proclaimed royalty and announced the superiority of the occupant; not that Poe would ever dream of putting himself above anyone else. "But let's make the best of it, huh?"
Dirty boots stalked the expansive floor space (and the rug worth thousands of credits) to the window overlooking the city; watching the hovertaxis and hoverbuses carrying the people of the capital going about their business, knowing their place in the galaxy while now Poe struggled with his. He found the liquor cabinet by accident; feeling around for his com to take a holo of the city at night, nudged something with his elbow and boom: a selection of bottles Poe could never even afford a shot from, or some so rare he'd never heard of them at all.
"Well…? Did you meet him?" BB-8 asked in his trademark sequence of beeps and boops.
"Ho, boy, did I!" He might have had wine with dinner, but Poe was not passing up the opportunity to sample some of these beauties before he retired; after all, a few glasses might help him relax. Because if the living area was like something out of a period holodrama, Poe was in for a whole other dose of opulence when he finally decided to check out the bedroom. Naturally, he started with the one that sounded the poshest. "Yeah, I met him. He's like every other Imp we've ever come across: a grade A asshole. I dunno what she sees in him."
"Do you think you could-?"
"It's not my place, B. I mean, sure, I'd rather- Goddamn, that's smooth, what isthat..?" Bottle checked and second sip taken just to make sure, Poe smacked his lips and felt the fire hit him almost immediately. "I wish you could taste this, buddy, it's insane… Where was I…? Oh yeah. Luce and General Hugs…"
"Oh! By the way! Not a General anymore!" The pilot pointed to his droid, almost in a "heads up"; the rest of the hand of the pointing finger wrapped around his glass. "Yeah, 'cause he needed more fucking power going to his head. He's Grand Marshal now." BB-8's worried whinny sparked sympathy in Poe; he felt that. "I hear ya, I'm not too pleased either. About that or that she's with him but… I dunno…. maybe there's politics at play now when there wasn't before. It's a show of strength for the head of the military to be married to the head of the people, isn't it? Symbolic? Makes 'em one?"
"The kid though… The lil girl… Lily…"
Parking himself on one of any number of seats, Poe sat back and mulled it over; how Lucilla had carefully handed Lily to him, not out of dubious trust, but to ensure comfort for both himself and the child. How she watched her with the utmost devotion, not unlike the kids she cared for after Starkiller. How she sat back with her tea and enjoyed their interaction with the purest, proudest beam he'd ever seen. Like mother, like daughter; it was all Poe could remember thinking at the time. The infant had gazed up at him with the most heart-melting endearment and maybe, just maybe, all hope wasn't lost for the galaxy.
"It's like she's not even his…" He rattled off, staring; exhausted and maybe a little bit drunk. "She's sweet, she's happy, she's… she's loved. That's the best way I can put it. She's like a mini Lucy."
He found her where he knew he would. The study adjoining her chambers, at the writing desk by the window; bathing in the sunlight pouring in and illuminating the room. It caught the shine of the raven kinks streaming down her back and coating her shoulders. And not just hers; those of the five-month-old princess sitting propped up against her chest too.
Just like the apartment back on Supremacy, Ren did not knock.
"Your Grace."
Lucilla did not need to turn around to know, despite her early protests, that the Supreme Leader (in all his power and strength) had sunk to one knee and bowed that dark, shaggy head in utter reverence.
"Ren…" Semi-immersed in her task, the Empress did not look up but addressed her counterpart, one of three heads of power, with patience in abundance. "I thought we had established-"
"With respect, Your Grace…" The Knight cut across cleanly, with as much veneration as one can possibly do that with; firm but placid and having reclaimed his full, substantial height. "It's in my blood. Would you have me abandon what little I have of some scarce belonging to my heritage?" Ren picked and chose his heritage though, what he chose to acknowledge and what he opted to ignore. More to the point, he knew it intrigued Lucilla enough to get away with it.
It worked. Whatever occupied her became secondary and Lucilla (with Princess Lily in tow) half turned in her seat; enough to take the Supreme Leader in but not enough to disrupt the exalted Lily's position; they were working on the infant's balance.
"In your blood." The inclination of Ren's Umbaran head solidified the confirmation. "And what does that mean?"
"It means…" Indulging both himself and her, Ren took to a leisurely, exploratory saunter of the Empress' study; taking in every painting, ornament and the contents of the bookshelves as one booted foot pressed the carpet in front of the other. "That the last time the throne was occupied, my grandfather served it. In about the same proximity of position as I am to you; in a position of great trust and loyalty." Palpatine had many advisors (not that Ren was a mere advisor), how would she guess he meant Vader? It would suit him for her not to. When (or if) he wished her to know, she would know.
"He served the Emperor with pride; as a vocation, as a calling. So much so, his allegiance to the Jedi fell by the wayside." An embellishment, an abridgement, if too large a hint, but the black-clad male felt a stirring in his dark inclinations just by uttering the words alone as his tentative prowl continued. Or was that her? Passion stoked the spirit of the Sith and she radiated it, whether she meant to or not. "So, Your Grace, I would ask you that allow me to observe the same customs my grandfather did, the last time the throne was more than just a decoration and there was balance in the galaxy."
What could she say? True, it had taken her by mild surprise, but she would have had to have been blind not to see that Ren was… different… since their arrival at the palace. Sedate, in a constant state of awe… Perhaps this sauntered monologue was her explanation, the reasoning behind why he insisted on defying her humility with such fervour. It also gave her a much-craved peek into the enigma that is Kylo Ren.
"Very well." Lucilla conceded genially after a moment of self-consultation and therefore, arriving at the decision to let him have his way; an unconscious reward for giving her an insight to him? Only she could know that or not. "If you wish. I suppose I can respect the old ways as well as moulding some new ones." Almost like a silent gesture of thanks, Lucilla was relieved. Well… Her lap was relieved, and she was given more room and breathing space to continue her endeavour.
"Lily." Came the devout murmur of a mass-murdering monster, adjusting the tiny princess with the utmost care and gentility before securing her to the solid grounding of his shoulder: a very common occurrence. That's not to suggest that Lucilla did not follow it, she did; with well-hidden endearment.
The hulking form of Kylo Ren resumed his amble, the pace slowed, and his heed heightened to her comfort; something that Lucilla noted and, as with every time she noticed it, brought her back to the same trail of musing. Lilia and Ren gelled so flawlessly with each other that it made the child's mother question the bond; like they were more than the pity-granted token of Hold-Daughter and Hold-Father. In fact, since she had thrown him the title as a bare scrap of commiseration, he had quietly relinquished his claim as Lilia's father and never mentioned it again; much to her own relief that her ploy had worked. Or had it? He still managed to royally piss Orion off with his near-constant presence.
Maternal concerns satisfied; Lucilla returned to the scratch of her signature onto what looked like an aid decree.
"What are you doing?"
"Signing aid decrees…"
"I can see that… Why are you signing them? Surely the data transfers suffice?" Lucilla's scratching decreased to an agonizingly slow and almost silent stroke; Ren recognized it for what it was: reflection, meditation. How many times had he done it himself? When the others had scoffed at him, when Luke turned from him to hide the apprehension.
As it happened, Ren admired it over her shoulder; the feather quill, the beautifully stained parchment, the curls and sweeps of her handwriting. It harked back to the calligraphy set he left behind when he abandoned his Jedi training. These would serve as a thoughtful formality for the leader of whoever the aid was intended for, there would be a holo version distributed as well but the personal touch of her own signature, yielded by her own quill… Surely that was to be appreciated?
"Because… Now that I'm here, and I have the power to do these things, it reminds me of when I was one of those people. It would be a waste for me not to acknowledge these things by not signing them myself." Did that strike a nerve in the Knight? He knew, of course, of her suffering and her tribulations though not in any great detail (they were equal in that footing), which is why his brow creased just then.
"I don't-"
"I was six when I was abducted and taken to a slave compound. Here on Coruscant." Perhaps Ren was not prepared for the intensity of the steel of that gaze when the little Empress looked up and immediately seized his eyes with hers; he felt the jolt of her purpose in his stomach. Matter of fact. To the point. Determined. Not to mention the personal nature of the seemingly passive remark coming seemingly from nowhere. "When the lights went out, the older girls taught me how to read and write. They're all dead now; a direct consequence of what they couldn't control but I can. To that end, I'm here and I'm going to thank them for what they did by signing these myself."
The pile still to be sanctioned lay right by Ren's right hand and with curiosity fizzing, he bowed to it without disturbing the cherished princess in his grasp. Handwritten by the Empress, he should have known she would be meticulous in her wording and her phrasing, so it made sense when she lay them aside to be scrutinized before she added the final touch: her signature.
"This is to authorize another Death Squad."
"Yes." She replied, unfazed by the taint of perturbed seriousness in his tone and went on with the task all the same. "Yes, it is."
"Why do you need another Death Squad?"
"Because, Ren, it has come to my attention that our aid shipments are being intercepted before they can reach a remote region of Nantoon called Kivas." There she went again with her crusade and, dare Ren think it, the stroke of the quill carried a weight of righteous aggression. "It seems the Guavians are taking it upon themselves to ambush the shipments before they can be distributed and are selling them to the locals to turn a one hundred percent profit."
"I take it that doesn't sit well with the Empress."
"You take correctly. The Death Squad is to escort the shipment to the distribution centre and, if necessary, eliminate any interference. I will not tolerate this kind of bullying." The Supreme Leader, despite severing as many ties as possible from his previous life, recalled the scourge of the Guavian Death Gangs from his father's ramblings; once upon a time. Was it enough to volunteer himself? Apparently so.
"I'd prefer to head that operation myself."
"That's very generous of you, Ren." Lucilla's kinked eyebrow was just about visible with the half-turn of her head; her chin meeting her shoulder to spy him, and her daughter nestled trustingly to his collarbone. "It touches me that an aid shipment would be so important to you." Before he could clarify, she interjected. "But alas, you are Supreme Leader and a figure of authority in your own right. You are not an attack dog for the Throne nor are you obligated to involve yourself in any such mercy mission that I deem necessary." When Lucilla was satisfied with that particular physical document, it was laid aside and the next quickly followed. However, the little Empress' was conscious of sounding and seeming ungrateful; after all, without Ren, her power would be non-existent.
"That's not to say, of course, that your input or your interest are unwelcome; of course not. You are not obligated to be here; to live here, to eat or sleep here. You are welcome to return to Supremacy if and when you choose. But you choose not to out of loyalty to the Throne and your Hold-Daughter, not the everyday citizen. Your responsibility is of an entirely different and far more complex nature, Ren; no one expects you to concern yourself with the comings and goings of trivial matters like aid shipments."
He could accept that, despite knowing it was little more than pawning off. And really, who could blame her? If the notorious Kylo Ren was seen or heard of escorting an aid shipment to Nantoon, that carried all sorts of implications that Lucilla would (probably) rather avoid. That said, she was right about his motives. Lilia and the Throne (as embodied by Lilia's mother) were the sole reasons for his indefinite stay at the palace; he had already proven that the good citizens of Coruscant and beyond were of little consequence to him. They were Lucilla's concern, not his. As a matter of fact, it brought him back to the initial purpose of his visit.
"I know palaces, with their politics, can be rife with gossip." The Supreme Leader opted to break the silence a few minutes old; the one that had formed like a skin on cooling soup when the Empress returned to her stack of aid decrees. "That aside, something has come to my attention. Something disturbing."
"I'm intrigued to hear what you consider disturbing, Ren."
Ren glossed over it, brushed past it; whether she meant it (without looking up) in a demeaning or mocking sense or not. Another document was scrutinized until it met her impeccable standard, laid aside (once the ink had dried, of course) and another quickly took its place.
"I heard a former Resistance agent is among us." For the most part, Ren remained calm and collect; save for the little bite of irritated urgency that he could not quite hide. The Resistance had scattered; disappeared like smoke in the wind and despite the Knight's best efforts, he had been able to find a lead on none of the larger players. So, if one of them was to turn up under his nose and darkened the doorway of the palace without his realization, well… That might cast doubt on the concept of an all-seeing, all-knowing Supreme Leader, wouldn't it?
"I need you to confirm it isn't true."
"It is true, Ren." Came Lucilla's mellowly distracted reply; so taken up, in fact, that the stony seriousness didn't quite register. "The agent you're referring to is a pilot by the name of Commander Poe Dameron, and yes, he is among us."
Perhaps he couldn't help but grit his teeth, and the flare of his nostrils was automatic. Those little gestures of frustration may not have channelled the bubbling fury very well but to break something would have a number of consequences. The direst of those (to Kylo Ren, at least) was upsetting and frightening his beloved Lily. Still, she shifted on his chest, reading the vexation, and that in itself kept him level. Somewhat. By Ren's standards.
"Why?!" He hadn't meant to spit it; he certainly hadn't meant for her to whip challengingly in her chair to stare him down like she had done to Orion the night before but surely, she should have known this would be a bone of contention? And not just with her husband?
"I am taking advantage of an opportunity." She rebuked fiercely and Ren swore he hadn't felt his knees buckle under that harrowing glare. "With Poe, we can reach more planets that are slower coming around to the idea of a new Empire, planets that still cling to the phantom of the Resistance even though they're long gone." The latest document met the "approved" pile, probably with more force then necessary and Ren took it as a warning. Lucilla, having found her feet, did not stand tall or broad but that previously meek and obedient creature was imposing nonetheless.
How long had it been since that tea tray was brought in? An hour ago? Two? Was it cold? Only one way to find out and the little Empress did just that as an outlet for her annoyance. Naturally, the much bigger male kept his cautious distance.
Lukewarm. Ugh.
"Besides." After an irked mouthful and pretending the temperature of the tea (that she preferred steaming) did not trouble her, Lucilla rounded on her companion(?) once more; teacup and saucer in hand like she wasn't berating the most powerful man in the galaxy. He held Lily close and dear, his cheek guarding the top of her ebony crown while the simmering of her mother's indignation gradually withered him. He was not afraid of her; far from it. She would not strike him or attack him. But he did understand the consequences of upsetting her, a conversation he had had with her husband when she first took the throne. He knew ruffling her would equate to dancing on the sparks of his lightsaber but... it was better than relinquishing that clawed power which they would not have gained without her. And she knew it, which made her all the more dangerous. "You speak of family and honouring yours and the traditions they observed? Well, I want to keep what I have left of mine close. Useful or not."