How many times had Lucilla breathlessly watched that horrendous footage? The footage of her father's battered freighter purposely colliding with the bridge of Quietus and pulling her loyal crew out into the glacial oblivion? Killed instantly in the impact or not?
The Little Empress did not need to replay it on the hologram display, it would already haunt her each time she closed her eyes; the bodies, the debris, the immediate clamour of those rushing to help or pick the vessel clean of valuables.
With that in mind, it still baffled Lucilla that the excavation team (mostly comprised of droids to sift through the mess without specialized suits or equipment) was able to recover Orion's body intact.
But there he lay. Still. Pale. Cold.
The cruel frost that clung to the blue of his skin had receded and that same blue had faded not long after entering the warmth of the palace. The love of her life, effectively, defrosting in the heat of his own bed; too late. With the lights low and the room warmer than normal, it served a dual purpose of intimacy and the practicality of Orion seeming less… corpse-like. To take the chill off him, so to speak.
Lucilla, in her bittersweet disbelief, had perched herself at the side of an unfamiliar bed; a bed that had been just as alien to husband as it was to wife. Naturally enough when Lucilla's chambers were unofficially that of the Grand Marshal as well and his own had been left to gather dust. Until now.
She had flinched when her hand first inched forward and enveloped his; resisting the urge to jolt back at the sharp bite of ice into her delicate skin that had already consumed his. Did she think that the devotionally heartbroken caress of her thumb or the devastated press of her lips to his knuckle might warm him? After all, had that not been her initial purpose? What felt like a lifetime ago? Keeping him and his bed warm at night? That dynamic had become little more than a memory.
Master.
Lover.
Husband.
Soulmate.
"Oh, my darling…" The distraught sniffle was barely distinguishable from the umpteen others she had shed in the past twenty-odd hours. The only thing that set it apart from the rest was solid, damning realization; coming to terms with the fact that, after so much straw-grasping hope, the irrefutable proof lay before her. The proof that her beloved had not miraculously survived when the odds were stacked in mountains against such a miracle. The universe won out and, Empress or not, Lucilla was just another military widow. "My darling, my darling…"
Poe and Evelyn stood back and exchanged the occasional antagonized glance. Despite their doubts and sneers the night previous, General Pryde had indeed achieved what he had set out to do: Comfort the Empress by scouring the crash site for her husband's remains, any remains, for the closure of funeral and cremation. To add insult to injury (if only Poe and Evelyn's), he returned with the whole fucking Grand Marshal without a scratch. And a heartbeat.
"I'll bet you ten thousand credits her next charity project is gonna be for the wives and families of First Order personnel killed in the line of duty."
"Shit, Ev, time and place." Poe hissed out of the corner of his mouth; thankfully, Lucy appeared too preoccupied to notice. One beat of silence. Two beats of silence. Three beats of- "'Sides… I wouldn't take it anyway."
"Stakes too high for you, Hotshot?"
"No. I'd lose the kriffing bet." The pilot-turned-advisor watched his cousin, his gut churning with sympathy for her and her alone; maybe Lily as well. The random kisses, the way her nose aligned with his bony cheek, the grip of her hand on his that, if he could feel it, would probably hurt. Why wouldn't it sadden him? A member of his nearly depleted family enduring anguish like this?
One Promise ring of Goroth platinum covered the other half of the set as Lucilla's sniffles began to evolve into the soft sobs that had become typical since the news broke earlier the evening previous. Heart crumbling, chest heaving and breath shortening, she could not help herself. And why should she? Or even try? The Empress should be dignified and focused, yes, but she should also be passionate and Lucilla, now having swung her legs onto the bed to cling to her dead husband's neck for somewhere to put her tears, was all of those things.
To make matters worse, she adjusted herself, barely sitting up, and motioned to the woman standing anxiously in the corner: The nanny. Obedient and loyal, the young woman approached the bed and handed the baby princess (less than two weeks shy of her first birthday) to her grieving mother. In a move that was ever so natural to the Little Empress (and wife and parent), Lilia was laid on her father's motionless chest where Orion's steady breath under her would once have lulled the tiny princess to sleep and the heat radiating from her father's body would keep her snug while Lucilla herself curled into his side. An eerie reflection of their bedtime routine.
"Say goodnight to Papa, sweetheart." The blue-eyed beauty sniffed, forcing her lungs, her brain and her tongue to work together to form the words; the hand draped across his shoulder getting lost in Orion's fiery strands to finger them sentimentally. "It might be some time before you see him again. But he loves you, angel. He always will."
Aside from Lilia's oblivious coos, Lucilla's sob-strained breath and the fire crackling in the hearth, there was little else to hear and distract. Until someone, a palace watchman, entered and leaned towards Evelyn's ear from behind to utter something that Poe did not hear. But by the way it creased his companion's brow and the look of pure apprehension that he directed towards the bed; the pilot could deduce it was not good.
"We have a problem." Evelyn murmured, turning his head and reducing his voice to little above a breath; it piqued Poe's attention anyway. "Ren's back. He's dripping blood all over the palace and he won't let anyone tend him."
"But... The only one who he'd let anywhere near him is-"
"Exactly. We're going to have to drag her away because that selfish fuck is being a child. Again."
"Can't we just send a droid in to stun him? I mean, look at her, Ev, we can't-"
"I know, Poe. It shouldn't be and it's not fair. But she knew this could be asked of her in some capacity and it is now."
"What, in the glorious heat of all seven hells, were you thinking?!"
Beaten. Battered. Bruised. It only took one rotation for the wounded ego of Kylo Ren to return to the palace; the same rotation as the Grand Marshal's body.
He returned with neither a trophy or revenge satisfied and retreated sullenly to the sanctuary of his chambers. Had it not been for the violent extent of his injuries noticed by a night watchman, said injuries would have gone unnoticed and untreated and the Little Empress would have gone uninformed of his surly arrival. All they had to do was follow the macabre breadcrumb-trail of blood with Lucilla at the forefront; the only one capable of negotiating treatment. And berating him without physical retaliation.
The medical droid had been delegated to treat Ren's wounds; it left less room for an unfortunate human medic acquiring similar injuries out of their patient's sudden, volatile temper. Pouting like a child, the notorious monster had parked himself half naked (to the shyness of neither himself nor the Empress) at the edge of a bed he only occupied to be close to his Hold-Daughter. And her mother.
"I was serving my Empress." The shirtless brute answered through gritted teeth that had nothing to do with the installation of bacta-stitches in his shoulder; rather a grappling with patience (and perhaps embarrassment) during his scolding. "I went where I was instructed-"
"I never told you to go anywhere!" Exasperated but unsurprised, Lucilla's silk-wrapped arms flopped uselessly in her frustration, clapping at her sides, and searching for some bare scrap of sense in the whole bloody thing. Being ripped from her husband's corpse when her time would be short with him anyway was bad enough, but thison top of it?!
"Dameron-!" Came the indignant, blame-shifting bark that the Little Empress retaliated to with a sharp, swift snap.
"I wanted you to get a location where we could send a squad; not go off, half-cocked, on your own!"
"I wasn't half-cocked!"
"Yes, you were! You would not be in such a cruel condition if you were prepared!"
Ren fell into the same sulking silence that had greeted her arrival to his chambers. Significantly brighter and cooler than the ones she had come from, Lucilla felt the prudish need to draw her night robe of the most exquisite black silk (yet another gift from her doting, if guilt-ridden, husband) closer to her dainty form; the temperature and eyes of a (previously) interested male intensifying the need. Although, to give him credit (accidentally and all as it might have been), the dark-haired darling found herself so immersed in this utterly ridiculous (and unnecessary) situation, that her weakness and melancholy had taken a back seat to impatience and irritation.
"How bad is it?" The Little Empress inquired of the droid, addressing it with significantly more gentility and kindness than she did Ren.
"There are several deep lacerations, Your Grace." The medical machine replied with the usual rigid, computerized tone one could expect from a droid. "But the bacta-stitches should reconnect the tissue in a matter of hours. Some wounds have already been cauterized; I deduce this to be have been the result of a lightsaber." Cue Lucilla's pained exhale and a pursing of her lips that willed patience while Ren remained brazen; injured in more than just his body. "The Supreme Leader has also lost a concerning measure of blood."
"I'm right here, bolt bucket! I'm fine!"
"Enough, Ren! MD 1316, can you treat him here or does he need to be moved to a hospital? Does he require a transfusion?"
"As of yet, no transfusion is required if the severity of the injuries remain stable." If the idiot doesn't irritate them by getting ahead of himself and thinking he's invincible, Lucilla accurately assumed. Even the bloody droid knows it. "I am confident his treatment can continue here with rest, pain relief and regular cleaning and re-dressing of the wounds. Provided an acceptable level of sterility can be achieved and maintained."
"Of course. Thank you."
The droid excused itself with the promise of returning in a few hours to re-assess the Supreme Leader's condition and to change the dressings on some of the more extensive traumas; the more pressing ones. In a bid to lessen the overpowering smell (to her delicate nose, at least) of gore and disinfectant in the room, the Empress took it upon herself to slip the panel of the window overlooking the fountain in the courtyard; a feature that probably went unappreciated by Ren.
He watched her, she could feel it; every movement, every breath, even things she had no consciousness over. Perhaps pulling her night robe closer had been a beneficially early response. The atmosphere had tensed with the departure of the droid, but Lucilla did her best to pretend otherwise; pottering the room, doing small, menial things that Ren would probably assume were normal things that normal, functioning people did. Tidying unused towels, gathering slashed, bloodstained clothes, disposing of scraps of bandages and clean-up rags.
Eyes of deep, intense chocolate followed the coveted Little Empress, and when it appeared her interest in him had dried upon the droid's exit, he felt the need to renew it with common ground.
"Where's Lily?" Lucilla did not answer immediately, seemingly lost in securing a sack of bloodied bandages with a stiff knot; in truth, with the excitement over, the urchin-turned-queen had begun to regress into fresh despair.
"She is with Poe and Evelyn." The soft murmur could just about be deciphered over the nearby crackling of the fire as her movements slowed; one of the few things Ren liked about these quarters, something he could identify with, the flames in the hearth. "She's saying goodbye to her father."
"You can bring her up here." The brute hopefully offered, unfazed by the potential of his injuries, with the usual gentility that he only reserved for Lilia, and sometimes Lucilla herself. "If you need time-"
"I think now is when we need each other most. Besides, you are in no condition to care for a child."
Before Ren could boldly refute the sentiment with an affronted drop of his jaw (and typical of his short temper), the Empress' commlink started to vibrate; sending silent but tickling waves into the bones of her dainty wrist. It was with a dejected sigh that Lucilla clicked the affirmative button and brought the com call to life.
"Yes?"
"Luce? You gotta get down here. Now."
"No, Poe." Another sweet, defeated sigh roused invisible concern from the bed and even if Lucilla had lifted her heed from her wrist, she still would not have seen it. "I'm tired. I have had enough of everything. I really don't think I can-" Her cousin's urgent fluster on the other end of her commlink did not care.
"No, Luce, seriously. You need to get down here now. They've… They've found a heartbeat."