A/N: There is some potentially triggering content around pregnancy in this chapter.

The bed was awfully large without her husband. Jessika had begun sleeping in his place, along with Robbert laid out in front of the door for security, but it was hardly the same. Jessika did not have enough weight to make Rey sag towards the centre of the bed. She didn't radiate heat, not like Ren. She didn't occasionally let out a rasping snore and need to be kicked for it, and Rey absolutely could not believe that she had been reduced to a state of missing that.

Staring at the canopy, Rey replayed the events of Ren's arrest for what had to be the thousandth time.

Oh, she wanted to flay him. Absolutely shake him senseless for what he had done. But, then, she had been furious when she thought he had cursed the crown. Over the issue of the bedding. When he had punished the poacher. When Lady Net— that woman had arrived. Again and again, she had accused him, and later discovered that he was acting with good reason. For her own benefit.

Her thoughts looped back to the same point as they always did: perhaps, just perhaps, she should trust him? There had been a childish petulance to her acts before. But then he had proven his steadfastness, had he not? Surely she ought to hold that in consideration, no matter how insensible his actions appeared?

Shifting awkwardly around her stomach and trying to roll on her side without disturbing Jessika, she sighed. Yes, perhaps she should trust him. It didn't come naturally and it was much harder than being angry, but perhaps it was time for a new approach.

Of course, there wasn't much else that was within her power to do anyway. Not without potentially starting an insurrection.

The days seemed to drag, longer than Rey had ever known. The court was jittery, a tense and dangerous thrum in the air, the oncoming threat of war enough to make even the bravest men bolt their doors at night.

This was a country beleaguered by war. It had been going on intermittently for nearly seventy years. Thinking back to her early confidence about bringing peace made Rey almost want to cry.

The aching absence of Ren did nothing to help. He had firmly shut himself away and she couldn't feel a trace of him in her gift or in her soul, and it was enough to sap her strength all by itself. No matter how long she spent in prayer or in her garden, some part of her always felt empty. It was a numbing sort of exhaustion that made it hard to be too upset about anything.

But the state did not stop. So Rey walked through each of her days with her head held as high as she could manage, accepting petitions and overseeing disputes. To her great relief, her Council was absolute in their intention to support her and to punish any who did not, so she was less alone in this dispute with the Order of the First Saint than she originally thought. It helped that Lord Hux was widely mistrusted and disliked. Luke and Finn, as always, were ever present and there when she needed support.

Her ladies were a bit of a different matter. They were as kind as ever, but they treated her like she was barely a hair's breadth away from shattering, surely so distraught by the collapse of her marriage that she must be as fragile as spun glass.

Rey had never been fragile, and she did not intend to start now.

"Your nightly report, your Grace."

Rey blinked up at the Captain from where she had been staring into the fire until spots danced behind her eyelids. The exhaustion was worst at this hour, when night had long fallen and almost everyone was abed. She really ought to be asleep herself, but the report had to come first.

With a flick of her wrist, she waved Jessika and Robbert away. Jessika rose smoothly, setting her sewing aside, and followed the pageboy out of the room.

The Captain cleared his throat. "He received a visitor today."

Rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms, Rey tried to coax some focus back into her mind. "Who?"

He hesitated for a touch too long.

"Finn," Rey said slowly, narrowing her eyes. "Who was the visitor?"

"Lady Netal, your Grace." He said the words slowly, almost like he wished he could have avoided saying the name at all.

Of course. For the millionth time, Rey wished that she could simply reach out to him and ask for an explanation, but a tentative unfurling of her gift led to nothing. "Any other news?"

"Nothing. His health is fine, he received no messages, and there were no attempts on his life."

"And Dameron?"

"No word."

Pressing her fingers to her eyes again, Rey took a deep breath. Another normal day in this strange new version of her reality, then. "Please call Jessika and the Robbert back in. I would sleep now."

Even the pounding rain could not keep the councillors away, their cloaks dripping water onto the stone floor as they grumbled and made their way into the star chamber. Under the painted blue ceiling, they gathered as usual to first compare stories about their journey and the weather before moving on to matters of state. After Rey had entered and settled, everyone took their seat, ready for another morning of business.

It was Luke who first called everyone's attention, standing to give his report. "We have another update on the Order of the First Saint." He took a deep breath. "The False Prince has been crowned in York Cathedral, with his followers in attendance."

Cries of outrage went up in the room with Lord Han at the forefront, his hand beating down on the table in loud thumps. "The nerve!"

Rey waved her hand to quiet them. "Who carried out the coronation?"

"My sources report that Lord Hux threatened the Archbishop of York into fulfilling the role. It can, of course, be declared null by the Archbishop of Canterbury."

There were a series of murmurs of assent as Rey directed that this should be done, the scribe busily scratching away in the corner.

"We also have reports of their attempts to gather resources. With some of the Northern Lords on their side, they have had more success, but they are rapidly burning out each place that they reach. We may have to save some food to later be sent to the northern cities that they have ravaged…"

Although Luke was still speaking, Rey was gradually becoming distracted by a twinging pain in her stomach, rather like that from having eaten too many sweetmeats in too short a time. The throbbing became harder to ignore as the minutes passed, the cramps coming faster and faster even as Luke finished his report amongst dark muttering from all the other councillors.

Lord Richmond was standing now, speaking about port tariffs and plans for taxation in order to ensure that an army could be paid on time. Even as she tried her hardest to pay attention, the aching pain in Rey's stomach was still growing, drumming on the inside of her skin. She could feel some sweat starting to bead on her lip, her hands shaking faintly as she tried to listen with the appropriate amount of solemnity.

"— will no doubt be discontent, but the shipping vessels involved in the trade of Burgundian wool surely have enough profits to spare—"

"My Lords," she started, and every head in the room snapped towards her. She had already established a reputation for being a fair listener who heard even the most rambling of courtiers with respect, so it was out of character for her to interrupt. "I'm very sorry, but I believe I will have to retire from this sessi—" Her breath deserted her lungs when there was another snapping pain in her abdomen.

There was a rustle of worried noise as she lurched to her feet, away from the long table. Chairs scraped loudly as everyone jumped to not remain seated, and the noise covered the sound of her unwilling gasp at the next twinge. Perhaps she wouldn't show weakness if she could just get away from this room. She could get somewhere safe before she succumbed to the pain. Her mind fiercely latched onto this thought. Yes, yes, she must get away, as fast as possible.

She had just managed to step around the table, hand on her stomach, when there was a stilted gasp from Luke. "My God," he breathed, a horrified silence falling over the room as everyone else followed his gaze.

Craning over her shoulder, Rey tried to see what he had seen.

Blood.

There was blood on the yellow fabric of her seat cushion.

A roaring filled her ears. She was immediately drowning in the sensation of being sucked under, of fear and rage and grief not entirely her own, fiercely compounding the ache in her bones.

Before she could take even another step, she pitched forward and the world went dark.

Everything is ablaze. The world is burning and the earth is splitting and the sun is black as sin, the moon red as blood, mountains crumbling and skies falling while the stars recede, swirling into nothing—

And oh, she hurts, everything is pain, hail and blood and fire burning the trees and the green grass, everything gone—

She comes up for air but there is nothing but the deep void and the flames—

"— in the hell happened?"

"The physician is coming as fast as he can, but he had to pack his tools—"

"Tell the fool to hurry! We cannot afford to wait!"

Her mouth opens but there is no sound, and she tries to call for him, he could help, he would help—

"Your Grace?"

"God's bones, she's waking, quickly, where is the physician—"

"Quiet!"

"Your Grace—"

"Quiet, all of you, she's asking for something!"

There is a bottomless abyss and a star falls to it until there is darkness, and the rivers grow poisoned and smoke issues forth from the ground, and the armies are marching, marching, marching, onwards and onwards until she is crushed in their wake, pain sharp in her stomach but her screams are silent—

There is a blinding light and the demons are swept away by trumpets sounding in a riot of glory—

Then there was nothing. And she slept.

When she opened her eyes, Ren was bending over her.

"You…" Rey blinked up at him for a moment, wondering if he was a mirage, before she remembered what had happened. Her hands flew to her stomach and when everything was still for a moment, her heart stopped. "What happened? What—"

A little nudge kicked at her hand from within her stomach. As if to say Don't worry, I'm still here. Her heart lurched into movement once more, almost a little too fast for comfort.

Ren drew her attention back to him by gently touching his hand to her cheek. "The baby is well. All will be well." His eyes were rimmed red, she now saw, and his voice had something of a shake to it. The light was dim in the room so it had to be evening, the fire crackling in the grate.

She couldn't take it all in. "Why are you here?"

"You asked for me, in a moment where you were lucid."

That sounded vaguely familiar, though the whole incident was hazy in Rey's mind. "And they let you come?"

His eyes darkened. "You were apparently quite insistent. And it was a good thing. I was going to get to you in any case, and this way I didn't have to kill anyone in the process."

"What?"

"I had subdued two guards when the message came, I was in the process of stealing a horse—"

Another head poked out from behind Ren, revealing Jessika's pale and worried face. "Thank the Lord," she breathed, eyes wide. "Your Grace, everyone has been terrified that you wouldn't wake. How do you feel?"

Rey made a slow assessment of her body. All told, she only felt tired. "Mostly well, I believe."

"I will go and inform the rest of the court, if, um—," Jessika seemed to hesitate over Ren's official title given his arrest, "—if his Grace will stay and watch—"

"Of course," Ren said flatly. Jessika disappeared in a flurry.

Accepting Ren's help, Rey tried to sit, his hands firm on her arm as he propped her up. There was another little movement in her stomach as she shifted. "What happened to the baby?"

"Something was…" His voice grew rasping again. "Something was wrong. Very wrong."

"But you said—"

"I fixed it."

It took a moment for the words to sink in. "You what? How?"

He gently cradled her hand in his own, interlacing their fingers together. Suddenly, abruptly, she realised that their gifts are freely mingling, practically singing at their proximity and ease. It felt so natural to have that connection open again that she hadn't even noticed its re-emergence. The circles that he traced on her palm were soothing, gentle. "You once used my gift, do you remember?"

"I do." How could she forget? The Roman ambassador was possibly scarred for life by the experience.

"This time, I used yours."

The realisation was as startling as it was welcome. "You are able?"

"In the moment of crisis," he said grimly, "I reached out for you and found that tendril of light and I… Pulled. I don't know how to explain it."

He didn't need to. "That's exactly how I experienced it."

Blankly, they both stared at her stomach for a long and quiet moment. Someone had evidently changed her into her nightdress when she was asleep, the fabric pooling softly against her skin.

His hair shook over his forehead when he rocked his head back and forth, eyes clenched shut. "I was a fool."

As his wife, her role was no doubt to reassure him. She didn't. "Yes. You were."

"I thought I could save you and the child by taking the blame. But I didn't realise—"

"That we would still be in danger? That the army would march anyway? That your death wouldn't prevent mine in childbirth, or at the hands of invaders, or any one of the million ways that God sees fit to take me?"

The grip on her hand became crushing. "I only saw the risk of the Order of the First Saint." He swallowed loudly. "I thought it was for the best."

"I tried to trust you," she whispered softly. "I thought maybe you knew something I didn't."

"There have been some developments," he said hesitantly, "but... now is not the time. Soon. When you are rested."

She suddenly felt very tired again, the exhaustion sweeping over her like a wave on the sand. Closing her eyes, she slumped back against her pillows. "Next time, please, just… Speak to me first. We should be approaching these things together, should we not?"

The silence was so long that she eventually opened one sleepy eye to find him staring at her intently. It was with the same sort of awe from when she had rejected his confession in the throne room. It sparked something tender in her in return, their gifts singing happily in tandem. "Yes", he finally said. "Together."

"You do realise that I can't simply pardon you, and that you've done so much harm that retracting your confession won't be enough." The truth had a bitter taste in her mouth. "You'll need to be escorted back to the Tower, probably as soon as tomorrow."

He looked properly chastened. "Yes."

"Ah well." With their gifts intertwined again, it was hard to not be optimistic on some level. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "We'll find a solution. I've faced worse odds."

There was a strange sound and it took a moment for her to realise that he was letting out a disbelieving and strangled laugh. "You're impossible," he finally whispered, before growing serious again. "It'll take a miracle, you realise that. I'm willing to pay for my sins if I must."

She pulled him down for a kiss to make him stop talking before she nestled back down into the covers, ready to succumb to sleep once more. "Then we'll make a miracle."

Just as she was about to drift off again, she felt the baby kick, as if in solemn agreement.

Author's Notes: Not many history notes on this chapter! Rey's fever dream is all stuff from Revelations about the end times, a common motif in that era.

Remember Robbert (the page sleeping in front of the door)? The page who got introduced waaay way back during the first sword fight scene as Robbert, the eighth of his name in his family? That was my super lame allusion to BB-8, ahahaha, as "Bobb" is his nickname so it's "Bobb-VIII"... I think that one was maybe a bit too subtle.

Lord Richmond is right. If you wanted to be making money as a tradesman in this era, the wool trade was where it was at. Also, everyone jumps to their feet when Rey stands because it's incredibly rude to sit in the presence of the monarch when they are standing.