CW: blood, violence, gore
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As Luke took his leave, Kylo shifted on his feet, trying to loosen his joints and warm his blood in preparation.
While he knew Rey was fast and skilled, he was wearing armour. He assumed that when she had left the castle that morning, she had been wearing her usual tunic and leggings or similar, but the deep brown fur garment she was wearing covered her all the way to her calves.
He was aware of Hux studying him as he in turn studied Rey, there was barely concealed malice behind those frigid pale eyes, and he knew with a certainty that one or both of them would not leave here alive.
Hopefully, that would be Hux.
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"Kylo," Phasma greeted blandly as she joined him, "Luke said you needed a 'squire'."
Ordinarily in a duel, Kylo would draw his sabre and leave the scabbard with his squire, but his sabre blade had Trollskïr blood on it and he didn't want the Deyði-eta to learn of it yet; and he didn't want to unduly injure Rey, if he could help it.
Phasma had brought his shield with her, which he had left behind on Silencer, but he didn't want that either, "Can I borrow your swordbreaker?"
He watched as Hux and his companion eyed Phasma with interest while her gaze was pinned on Rey.
"Of course," Phasma answered and looked back at him as she unfastened the sheath from her belt and handed it to him.
"If anything happens to me, grab Rey," Kylo murmured, "Or if that proves impossible, get back to the others."
"I will not leave you or her," Phasma replied intractably, "Besides, the Knights are not far behind now, we will bring both of you back, or die trying." When Kylo moved his head to glare at her, she shrugged, "We are the Knights of Ren."
There wasn't really any argument he could make to that.
'
For this, visibility outweighed protection and he removed his helmet and pushed back his chainmail hood, hoping also that the more Rey could see of him, the more she would remember.
It was as he was adjusting his long knife when Phasma gasped "Helviti," and he turned to see Hux's second pulling the fur garment off Rey's shoulders.
Beneath the heavy fur she was almost nude, save for a golden chest plate that ended at her ribs and a gold belt hung low on her hips, attached to it was a dark red loincloth which at its longest didn't reach her knees. Along with the collar and chain, she looked every inch a slave, but that wasn't what had alarmed Phasma and made Kylo so horrified he almost forgot their audience, no, it was the bite marks and bruises littering Rey's arms and throat, it was the imprints of cruelty and restraint that told a tale of what must have been a thoroughly unwilling submission.
What had they done to make her biddable? How much venom had it taken? His tiny Trollskïr had obviously fought hard… Was it reversible? She had said they had done it to her before she had escaped them… he watched as her loose hair was swept off her shoulders, as the chain attached to her collar was removed, and still she did not move.
"Amê, ankuk-e."
It was clearly a command and finally, Rey looked up.
In the light of the strange torches and the red glow of Gandur, Kylo could see that her pupils had reverted to slits and the gold in her irises glowed in the eldritch light. She looked pale beneath her tan, but her bearing did not waver despite the amount of blood that must have been taken from her.
He didn't recognise the weapons that were handed to her, they were like small truncated tridents - a sharp metal prong with two sharp and curved side prongs projecting from the handle.
The swordbreaker, with its deep serrations along one side of the blade, was designed to trap and deflect weapons like these; he just hoped he was quick enough.
"Disarm her," Phasma advised, her voice calm but he could hear her underlying alarm, "Remember surface wounds will heal and whatever you do, do not let her bite you, or it will be over."
Even just the thought of Rey's teeth sinking into his flesh heated Kylo's blood, he welcomed it, letting it warm him, giving him energy, and he went to meet her.
A hiss was the only warning he got.
With a leap that could only be possible because of her species, Rey came at him and he only just got his swordbreaker up in time, the rasp and clang of metal on metal loud in the pregnant silence.
With a snarl Rey disengaged, but he caught her other weapon on his knife, pulling her up short and spinning her around, trying to force her to the ground, but she slipped away, reversing her hold on her weapon and angling it down.
They circled, feinting and blocking, he managed to nick her arm, earning a hiss from both her and the Deyði-eta, but it didn't change her demeanour, so he tried to talk to her.
"Kærur," he called her, when they locked weapons again, bringing his greater weight to bear, pushing her back, but she slipped away once more, attempting to stab him in the gap in his armour beneath his arm. He twisted his body at the last moment, wincing as the sharp movement sliced his own blade up her side, drawing a ribbon of red in its wake.
Rey snarled again, baring her teeth and leaping backwards before his knife could cut deeper, her eyes luminous as she crouched, hissing in response to whatever the Deyði-eta were calling out to her.
"Rey, mín yvirstaddur konufólk," he said quietly, knowing she would still hear him, "Come back to me."
He didn't know if he imagined it, but he thought he saw the barest flicker in her eyes, not recognition exactly, but something.
He watched as she shifted her grip on her weapons, rocked on her feet, and was ready when she came at him again.
This time, she didn't try for a chink in his armour, no, she put all her weight and force into stabbing into it, and to his shock, he felt it peirce his side. He gasped as the blade slid in, but it didn't go deep and became stuck fast.
Unperturbed, Rey used the leverage to reach up and slash her other weapon up his face, narrowly missing his right eye.
There was sharp, stinging pain and a flood of warm wetness and Kylo lost hold of his careful restraint. With a snarl of his own he dropped his weapons and ripped Rey's remaining knife from her grasp, flinging it into the night as he grabbed her throat with his other hand and squeezed.
Her hands scrabbled at his grip as she choked, but one of her feet managed to kick the knife still lodged in his side.
The sudden, sharp pain brought him clarity - their bond, the Force, his mate.
"Rey," he eased up on the pressure on her neck, and tugged on the golden twine that connected them.
There was another flicker in her expression and he irritatedly flicked his blood soaked hair out of his face so he could see her better.
Either he was bleeding more than he realised or the Force was involved because the motion sent a splatter of blood across Rey's face.
Rey's struggles slowed as her tongue darted out to lick the blood from her lips. For a moment, everything was still as her tongue withdrew into her mouth and her eyes closed, before they snapped open, and thank the Maker her pupils were larger, rounded, and there was the recognition that he had craved.
"Yesthar-ê," it was a pained murmur, but he heard it.
He quickly released his hold on her neck, his other hand steady at her waist when her feet stumbled on the ground, "Kærur Rey."
Before they could say anything else however, there were rage filled shouts from the Deyði-eta as Hux screamed an obvious command, "Mamahsalrûna! Adrâfhû! E agkâkh Mê d'adrâfhû!"
At the same time he heard Phasma yell, "Kylo, ware!"
And he looked past Rey to where the Uruk were charging towards them, he grabbed his
tiny Trollskïr and shoved her behind him as he drew his sabre, even as Ingalan's voice bellowed "Ráðagerð!" behind them.
To his, (and likely everyone else's) surprise, his sabre's blade glowed crimson. He didn't know if it was the blessing or if Rey's blood contained special properties that the Jedi Codex hadn't mentioned, but it was a disturbing sight; even the Uruk faltered a step before recovering, and then he had no more time to think because he was fighting for his life.
Up close, the Uruk were not only monstrous, but they stank, their armour was made of uncured hide and the stench of death clung to them like a heavy shroud. Their incisors appeared to be almost tusk like, protruding out of their mouths and their hands ended in vicious black claws.
But his sabre cut through them like a hot knife through butter. It sliced through leather and skin and bone, leaving behind the scent of burned flesh and the charge left behind lightning strikes.
He should have known really, that his kærur would not be content for him to shield her; she appeared next to him, wielding his discarded long knife, leaping onto unprotected backs and ducking under arms.
His instant fear for her evaporated when it became apparent that the Uruk would not harm her, indeed, they were making every effort not to, which she, almost callously, used to her advantage.
Around them was the sound of battle joined, screams, shouts, grunts, curses and cries, the concussive impacts of what must be the combustibles, the whine of arrows flying and the thunk of their impact. The pungent scents of blood, sweat and viscera joined the stink of smoke and burned flesh.
War was chaos.
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It was almost laughable, the way the Rakhâs would not harm her. They had never been gentle with her when she had lived in the Amddiffynfa. Rey didn't know if it was because the Ancient had claimed her, or if it was because they were from another clan, but she didn't care, nor did she let it lull her into a false sense of security.
She would be burned before she would go back, back to Ymerodraeth or back to that blank-minded, obedient state that had been forced upon her.
She would kill them all, or she would die in the attempt.
It was frustrating that her bite bore no effect on the Rakhâs, Kylo's knife was large and unwieldy compared to her usual weapons but the Sai she had been made to fight him with were lost on the ground somewhere.
Though nothing she was used to fighting with was very suitable for this battle - there were just so many bodies, all of them taller and broader than hers. But she did her best, she slipped in and out of gaps, stabbed into armpits and behind knees, sliced at wrists, all the while trying to keep anyone from treading on her bare toes.
That was another thing about which she was spitting furious - her lack of clothing, she knew Marwolaeth made mated Trollskïr wear special clothing, but she had never seen it before. It was highly impractical, though perhaps that was the point of it.
Suddenly, she was caught from behind, a thick arm wrapped around her waist at the same time as a foetid wad of material was pressed against her mouth.
She hissed and she kicked, but she was borne away, her knife gone and her bondmate out of sight.
The rukhs holding her was made way for, soon they were out of the fray and she struggled even more as she saw where they were headed - the Ancient.
Rey screwed her eyes shut and fought for all she was worth.
She could scent the Ancient and two others with him, standing back from the fighting, her lip curled and if the cloth hadn't been covering her mouth, she would have spat at them.
"Izrikruk!" the rukhs growled as it knelt, "The Trollskïr is safe."
"Open your eyes, salrûna."
Where the Ancient's voice had been cold and controlled before, now it was dark and icy in its wrath. Rey swallowed as her mouth went dry, as the venom still in her system tried to rise, but she resisted its command.
Harsh fingers gripped her chin, forcing her head up, yet still she would not look.
"Once I have killed him," the Ancient murmured close to her ear, "Once I grant his sobbing request for death, your filthy bond will be broken, and I will mate you the way only one of our kind can." Rey flinched and shivered as something cold and wet traced her ear. "And once I have broken you, once you are wholly mine," cold lips dragged down the side of her neck, "You will curse the day you ever laid eyes on him."
Before the teeth could sink into her neck, Rey snarled "I will die first!" then screamed as she reared back and rammed her head as hard as she could where she thought the Ancient would be.
There was an outraged snarl and then the sharp pain of a hand striking her cheek, the blow snapped her neck to the side and left her gasping and dizzy.
Teeth slid into her flesh and she whimpered, afraid of that forced, empty pleasure and the vacuous mentality that followed.
But then, there came a shout, no, a roar of unbridled fury, that ended in her name, and the teeth in her throat withdrew with an angry, frustrated hiss.
"Guard her," the Ancient hissed, "It seems I must deal with this interloper myself."
There was a dull sinister hum and snick, and she shivered because that sound was familiar. When she opened her eyes she saw that she was right, the Ancient had a sword of Naragrethel. The metal the weapons were made of was black, so black that it sucked in the light surrounding it, and they were so sharp, that only the blood of a Trollskïr could seal the wound shut. She had only seen a few in her life, but they had a distinctive sound as they cut through the air, or through flesh, and it was not a sound you forgot. Trollskïr called any weapon made of Naragrethel, Sugnwyrenaid - in basic that meant soulsuckers.
The weapon the Ancient held was long, tapered, with a gently curving blade and a hilt of Naragbuzraban.
Rey had seen Kylo's sword glowing red earlier, she did not know what that meant, but she was afraid even that would not survive a fight with Naragrethel - she had never heard of anything that could.
"Here sulralur, stand and watch your defiler meet his end," Hadis hissed as he turned her and gestured to the rukhs to move aside out of their view.
Rey watched in terror as the Ancient faced her mate, trying to decide the words she could use that would make Kylo understand the deadly danger. They had to be few, for she would likely be silenced swiftly, no time for sentiment then…
"Death magic blade!" she managed to scream before Hadis slapped his hand over her mouth, pushing so she was pinned between his hand and chest.
"Silence!" his hand migrated downwards and he wrapped his fingers into her jaw and throat.
Rey considered stamping on his foot, but with her own feet bare, it would be a wasted effort.
Her eyes went back and she flinched as Kylo's weapon met the Ancient's… but it held.
Above her, Hadis swore.
For all his youth and bulk, Kylo moved gracefully, yet with an economy that wasted no energy in any sort of show, he was purely there to deal out a merciless death. As was evidenced by his blood and dirt spattered black armour, by the dents and nicks and scratches, by the wound on his face… her wound, she thought with some shame and an odd sort of pride.
At first, the Ancient had flourished and goaded, as if he were playing to an audience and not surrounded by a battle, but once they crossed blades, he rapidly changed demeanour.
The other Knights guarded her mates back, Rey was relieved to see that they all were yet living. But when three of them cut down Kâltsat as he tried to surprise Kylo from behind, Ûjaitar, the other remaining Marwolaeth with her and Hadis, drew his own weapon, though it was of ordinary metal, and hissed, "I will deal with his hangers on."
Before he departed, Hadis called, "Leave the tall female alive, she looks like good sport."
If he meant Phasma, he was in for a nasty surprise, Rey thought, hoping that her friend survived and made him suffer before he died.
"Just you and I now, sulralur," Hadis whispered after a moment and Rey felt his free hand slither across her chest as his other bent her neck, "If Animhos is cut down, then you will belong to me," he took a breath in, "Even with the human taint you still made my teeth ache."
Rey swallowed, suddenly more nervous for herself than her mate, she flexed her hastily bound wrists and found that there was some give.
The hand holding her jaw had relaxed a little so she decided now was as good a time as any, and sank her teeth into fingers. As the hand jerked back, she dropped down onto the ground and swiped her legs to the side as hard as she could, unsteadying Hadis further, but before she could do anything else, he had a handful of her hair. His retaliation was cut short though because he was suddenly transfixed by three arrows in quick succession. They didn't kill him, but they made him move, and he didn't take her with him.
Rey crawled as fast as she could towards the nearest sharp looking stone and worked her wrist bindings until they were weak enough to snap.
Then she grabbed the first blade she saw, and ran straight at the Ancient.
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Kylo was tiring. The wound in his side from Rey was pulling, with every movement he knew it grew. His muscles burned, his mouth was dry and beneath his armour he was soaked in sweat, but pausing for breath was not an option, and he was pretty sure that if he stopped now, he would fall over and never get up again.
The blade that Hux was using made him feel ill every time he looked at it, a sort of queasy wrongness that was only compounded when it sliced through his left vambrace like it was slow cooked pork despite his armour being made of the finest tempered steel money could buy.
He was lucky Rey had been able to warn him.
He was lucky he had the Force to aid him.
But he wasn't going to be lucky for much longer.
Hux moved impossibly fast and the strength behind his blows was much more than his narrow build would suggest.
He also liked to talk. Kylo had absolutely no idea what he was hissing at him, no doubt it was less than complimentary. He didn't let it distract him and he saved his own breath for the fight.
But he was tiring.
He was young and in his prime, highly skilled and trained, one of the best swordsman and fighters in Tokuni, but he was tiring.
And tiring led to death.
And he didn't want to die, much less to the sword of this monster.
Their weapons clashed again, straining against each other, the pale eyes of Hux burned in his even paler face, baring his fangs as he bore down. Kylo snarled with effort, then licked his lip and spat blood in the Deyði-eta's face.
That earned him a hiss and a boot in the knee. His leg buckled and he went down, but managed to duck out of the way of the descending blade, spine prickling as he heard the baleful hum of it slice the air behind his head.
Standing back up in armour at the best of times is awkward, but when your muscles are trembling it is even harder, and when they are trembling and you are fighting off a demon with a magic sword, it is nigh on impossible.
In his desperation to not perish, he instinctively swept out his free arm, fist clenched and looked up in surprise when he heard a shocked choking sound.
Hux was clawing at his neck, his sword abandoned at his feet, eyes bulging in panic and confusion.
When Kylo tightened his grip, the sounds cut off and he watched in almost detached fascination as his skin began to turn a strange tinge of blue.
Hux's body jolted suddenly, and then Rey's face appeared behind his shoulder, and a knife blade thrust out of Hux's neck and began to saw through the flesh as she hissed "Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul!"
Remembering himself, Kylo impaled his sabre into Hux's abdomen.
The Deyði-eta finally fell, and Rey, ever practical, or perhaps just blood thirsty, picked up the black sword and severed his head from his still twitching body.
All the fight went out of Kylo at that moment, and he collapsed backwards, gasping as the dagger in his side scraped against something inside him.
The battle madness that had prevented him really noticing the pain of that and his other injuries drained away, leaving him breathless and dizzy. There was a fluttering darkness on the edges of his eyes, which soon leached away his vision completely and his mind went dark.
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Faroese (Gamal)
mín yvirstaddur konufólk = my superior mate/spouse/partner
Kærur = beloved/dear
Ráðagerð! = attack
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Neo-Khuzdul (Vampire)
Ankuk-e = look at me
Yesthar-ê = my supreme partner/mate
Mamahsalrûna! Adrâfhû! E agkâkh Mê d'adrâfhû! = Enslaved one (f) Kill him! I order you to kill him!
Izrikruk! = master! (more subservient than Uzrak)
Salrûna = slave (female)
Naragrethel = black metal
Naragbuzraban = black onyx
Sulralur = tiny slave
Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul! = I spit upon your grave
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Welsh (Trollskïr)
Sugnwyrenaid = soul suker