inappropriately timed force bond moments (both nsfw and humor approaches)
dream-sharing
emotional bleed/transference (from rey, involving other parties)
inappropriate force bond voyeurism on rey/poe or rey/finn
mid-conversation force bond interruption
The Rise of Skywalker- Cross-galaxy chase of the Resistance
anything related to ben solo, but especially:
snoke confessionals with family or friends of family
returning to the light
smuggler life style
jedi knight ben
resistance-fighter ben
The Rise of Skywalker- Force Ghost communications w/ Rey
anything related to supreme leader kylo ren, but especially:
fall via coup
resistance fighter reconditioning (gen or nsfw)
force ghost visits from anakin/luke/rey/leia/snoke
defeat by the resistance, and subsequent aftermath
The Rise of Skywalker- Mole Discovery w/ Hux
canto bight:
shady weapons deals
picking up prisoners
recruitment
obligatory dinner party
general casino shenanigans
beach party
basically any reason you can think of to use canto bight as a setting piece
A note on romance: I will ship all of the new trilogy characters with Kylo Ren (except Snoke/Family). But I have no interest in exploring domestic-style takes on them. Thank you for understanding.
[Prisoner or no prisoner. But as for the other two — well, most of his guard was made up of drunkards. He did not begrudge them for it. It only meant that they still respected his authority when he was not around, and it seems to comfort him some. He’d expected that she would try to endear herself to them somehow while he was gone, but he hadn’t speculated much. Now that he’d witnessed how quickly she fell into the fantasy, he had thought about it again.
But it didn’t matter all that much, he supposed.
Ren takes the lead up the stairs to their room after dragging his soaked cloak off the table to hand to the barkeep for laundering. The room is minimally decorated: two beds on opposite ends of the room. He does not doubt that she is glad for that. But, as for insurance, he closes the door behind her, and begins stacking his armor there at the door. It would make a racket if she tried to move it at all. By the time he has finished, he has left himself with a damp tunic and pants.
And then he turns to test the mattress. Hard, but better than a tent outdoors.]
[ His clothes were as drenched as hers. Only once they were up in the room and he was barricading the door, that fucker, did she notice that he hadn't found something fresh in a saddlebag. But, of course, he hadn't planned on a long ride when he'd come out into the Kingswood looking for her. None of them had. That was why he'd had his dogs to send back.
She watched him remove each piece to add to the tower, a terrible pit forming in her stomach. There was the window to consider — a tiny thing that only opened outwards and probably had no ledge. She might break her arm worse going out that way, but it would be her only option if she didn't want Versio and LeHuse to wake up after she'd stuck their master like a pig. ]
Given you're not a prisoner, I'll wager no ravens had arrived for Lord Hux. [ She took a seat on the bed, holding her sling carefully to her chest so she didn't let the knife slip free awkwardly. She didn't want to lose it while she stripped off her boots with her one free hand. ] So what was the bad news?
[He communicates that easily, even as he removes his tunic with his back to her in order to wring it out on the floor. A sizable downpour comes forth. Pieces of his back show old signs of lashings -- at least several months old, joined by other marks of war. Slash scars, arrowhead piercings.]
I dislike him. Very much.
[And then he is slipping his tunic back on before she can digest anything she'd managed to see and climbing onto the bed. His pants aren't quite as wet, but he's also not going to strip down in front of Rey -- prisoner or not.]
Without meaning to, Rey found herself staring up at the too-pale plane of his back. They were almost drowned by the plethora of other scars, but no. Rey knew the signs of them because she had felt them. Her uninjured hand came up to rest at her shoulder in silent thought, but as soon as he shrugged his tunic back on, she had dropped her hand, unwilling to give herself away.
It didn't matter what they had in common. Their differences were a wide valley, quite substantial enough to make up for them. She didn't have a chance to do anything with the flicker of doubt about whether he planned to do the same with his pants before he was getting on his bed.
Rey relaxed visibly, though she couldn't say why. ]
Why do you dislike him?
[ From that alone, she suspected she might like Lord Hux if she met him. She settled down onto her bed on her uninjured side, which meant staring across the room at him instead of at the wall. The rain had made the night chilly — chillier — so she pulled the blankets up around her despite the damp of her clothes. The innkeeper might just forgive her. ]
[It comes out like snake venom, hissed on his tongue under a barely restrained temper. A short exhale comes after as he tries to silence his opinions on the good Lord Hux. She did not need this information, and he did not need help being incriminated. Lord Hux held a prestigious military position in the Crownlands -- if it came down between him and Lord Hux, the King would choose Hux and find a new Lord Commander.
He doesn't need Rey to know that. He's certain he hasn't endeared her that much -- she's just as soon turn him over in hopes that she'd have an easier time getting away from Hux than himself.]
It does not matter. You hardly need any help disliking nobility yourself.
[He'd seen plenty of the looks that she'd thrown all of them, after all. The attitude she carried, like she was noble-born herself.]
It was just a question. No need to get defensive, m'lord.
[ Narrowing her eyes at him made her feel worse, somehow. If he chose to conclude that she simply disliked nobility, let him. For tonight, at least, she could bite her tongue. ]
I'm tired.
[ And she was. Her legs were sore from riding, and though she was glad for the chance to make the most of the inn's bar downstairs, she probably should have foregone it to rest in the first place. Ren's mood would undoubtedly only grow worse with his own fatigue, so she was ready to say goodbye to this sour conversation.
To this sour man.
She shut her eyes, ready to feign sleep for long enough for him to drift off. ]
[It isn’t necessarily a bitter reply, even if everything that comes out of his mouth sounds bitter in one way or another. Ren lays down not long after she does, but he takes ages to fall asleep. There is quite a lot of tossing and turning involved — the bed is too small for him, among other more common problems.
It is not the sleep of a man with a clear conscious.]
[ It was hard to know when he had actually fallen asleep because of all his shifting. But after a while, Rey had to settle. If she didn't take her chance, she wouldn't be able to keep her eyes open much longer. Worse, she'd lose her nerve.
Her eyes opened, and she exhaled slowly, watching him.
He didn't seem to stir at that, so she sat up, pulling the knife from her sling. It wasn't sharp. Too old, not intended for this purpose. She'd have to hit hard.
How hard? She'd never stabbed a man before. Sitting up in the dead of night, knife in hand, staring down at his restless form, she decided it'd have to be the neck. It would be the easiest, the most likely to kill him quickly and quietly. Right? She thought of that slaver she'd been riding with. The way his blood had gurgled bright and red out of his throat.
She wanted to cry. He hadn't been innocent, either, but it had still been horrible to see. It had still been wrong for them to do. But this wasn't wrong — it's the only choice she had. She got up off the bed and walked for his. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet, and she stood over Ren's bed.
By now her hand was shaking on the knife, and she pulled off her sling so she could steady it with her injured arm too. She had to get it right the first time. The second, at the very most. He was larger than her and stronger. If he woke up, he would kill her, and she would be forgotten. Probably not even buried, but cast into the sea for convenience's sake. Treated like garbage.
Not for the first time.
She gripped the knife in both hands, raised it over him and drew a deep breath. But she stopped before completing the motion. Her arms didn't want to budge.
She couldn't kill a man in his bed, in his sleep. Maybe the redcloaks could forget their oaths and their honor, and maybe in dealing with them, she ought to. But she couldn't. She didn't have that kind of evil in her, no matter what the world around them called for. ]
Fuck. [ She hissed it out, dropping the knife and backing off one, two steps. ]
[The knife drops on top of him and startles him out of slumber, so hard that the entire bed shakes as he cracks his head on the headboard. He swears violently and reaches up to clutch his skull, vision swimming as he comes back around. The silver of the knife catches his eye and his heart all but stops beating. He gropes for it and holes it close to his face to make sure he isn’t hallucinating. And then he looks up, to find Rey backing away from him.
She was going to kill him. Of course she was.
His grip tightens fiercely on the hilt as he sits up, pursuing her until she is within reach and grabbing her good arm defensively.]
You—
[His snarl is practically draconic, chest heaving with murderous intent as he points the knife at her.
—but he had expected this, hadn’t he? He made the grave mistake of leaving her alone where she had access to a weapon, and then trapped her in a room woth him. He had set up his own murder and was now somehow surprised by it.
His hand trembles briefly before the knife slips out of his hand, but he does not release her.]
—lost...your nerve.
[He breathes it out, trying and failing to wrangle his anger.]
[ She was shaking before he grabbed her, teetering on the verge of frustrated tears at her own impotence, at her own uselessness and failure. Until she could do this simple task, she would be trapped with him, but still she could not bring herself. Some part of her knew that if she did that, she would be too far gone, she would have let the world and all its pain ruin her, but— But wasn't she already? What did she have to call herself? A craven who gave up the information on Skywalker at the first threat on her worthless bastard's virtue.
Whatever other self-flagellation she had prepared had no time to take hold of her. Rey watched as his eyes snapped open, glinting in the dim moonlight that filtered through the window with a murderous fury. He was dazed. She almost got out of his grip, but — A yelp made its way from her as his grip closed around her uninjured arm.
Her good arm. Not the one that would bring her down, screaming in agony.
The knife thunked against the floorboards as he dropped it too. Reason and observation shouted for her to calm herself, to look at the fact, to see that he was not going to kill her but instinct drove her on anyway, wrestling in his grip. She even brought up her bad arm to try and pry his grip loose. All the while she thought of the Kingswood. She had lost her nerve there too. If she had killed herself then ... But she hadn't done that either. Because she was an idiot. A brave idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. ]
[Now what was he to do? He hadn't brought the cuffs in with him because he had thought -- stupidly -- that she would appreciate the freedom he had offered her enough that she would not try to retaliate against him. Something twists in his chest as he drops her to pick up the knife. For a long moment, he just stands there, looming over her.
And then, he strides to the window, forces its lime-ridden hatches open, and throws it outside. When that is done, he shuts the window with a hard sound of metal on stone. His men would ask him about it in the morning, no doubt.
Ren offers her one last baleful, venom laced stare before he stalks back to his bed to return to sleep. In no universe would she be able to lift anything heavy enough to bludgeon him to death, and she had no chance of wriggling out of the room with her arm in a sling.
Sleep would not come, too sick with rage and paranoia, but he did not speak to her again.]
[ He wasn't the only one to spend the night feeling sick. Self-loathing and disappointment churned Rey's stomach. She'd finally had the chance, stared her freedom in the eye, and she hadn't been able to do it. He'd said it best: she'd lost her nerve. How humiliating.
She couldn't help but think he had no right to his anger and surprise. Never had she masked her hatred for him, her desire to escape. What did he think she would do? And what would he do, now that he had apparently misplaced trust in her supposed willingness to be in his company? Back to the way he had been that first day, she supposed. Dragging her around by the throat and threatening her and refusing to hear anything she said.
All she'd done was make things harder on herself. She'd never be able to kill him while he was conscious, and she didn't have it in her to kill him while he was sleeping. Where'd that leave her? Stuck. With him, leading him on his merry way to Luke Skywalker.
She sat back on her bunk, numb and disconnected. It took a few moments' silence before she tried to instigate some explanation for herself. ]
I thought, perhaps, that you were smart enough not to make this more difficult for yourself.
[His answer is an impatient growl from the other end of the room. He shifts, but does not emerge from the woolen blanket to look at her. He is still deciding how best to punish her come morning — or if it was best to try one last time to encourage her to give him the benefit if the doubt.]
What exactly was your plan, had you succeeded? You would have woken my men, and they would have come in here and killed you before you could say “uncle”.
[Now he sits up to look at her, squinting in the darkness.]
It wouldn't have been more difficult if I'd succeeded.
[ If she'd had the gall to go through with it. Those words, she can't say; she's too ashamed of herself for her failure. It's too fresh. She draws her legs up onto the bunk in front of her, curling up like a scolded child. ]
I'd have been out the window and gone.
[ Broken something, maybe. Her shoulder would certainly be worse for wear. She'd survived worse than this. Much worse. She has the scars to show for it, and it's a miracle of mercy that he doesn't have that he hasn't seen them firsthand to know that. She can't bring herself to trust that mercy because it's so at odds with everything else she has seen. So tenuous.
Or maybe they would have found and killed her, and then it would be over too. She had failed to do that for herself too. ]
[Ren sniffs and stares at the way she curls up. It occurs to him that he doesn’t know how old this girl even is — or anything else about her. He didn’t really care to know, since this was meant to be a quick getaway where he would extract the information and release her unto the wild. Apparently, that wasn’t going to work. She was going to hassle him every step of the way.]
You best get used to the idea of me, girl.
[The malice leaves his tone, even if he is still bitter.]
I’m the best shot you’ll have getting anywhere.
[Nobody had more freedom to move than a Redcloak, let alone their captain.]
[ The warning sinks in. This time, and not any of the others, because she has seen it firsthand. Even given the chance, she does not have it in her to do what is necessary to get herself away. She's seen her failure. It's threatening the fleeting hope that she had managed to cling to after all this time.
She stares at him, resolve and disappointment writ plainly across her face alongside the grudge she bears against him. He is in some ways a kinder captor than Unkar Plutt, but she will not forget what he represents. There is still Skywalker to consider. ]
I have a name. [ She snaps this because it's the only reply she has. Plutt called her 'girl.' Plutt treated her like property. ] And I don't think you're my best shot of anything. You're a traitor. [ This is a bold accusation in the dead of night, but there's no use holding back anymore. She'd tried to kill him. Calling him a traitor to his king is nothing next to that. ] If I get caught with you, I'll burn with you. And when the King learns of it, he'll give you nothing. I'll never see Dorne or my parents or anything you've offered me.
[He fixes his sleeve out of habit, despite being swaddled in a blanket. Snoke would not see it that way, but by all letters of the law...he had not done anything wrong. Yet.]
By the time the King’s learned of anything, we’ll be out to sea, and it won’t matter.
[And it seems like that is where he is going to let the conversation lie before:]
Rey. [ She churns it out before begrudgingly adding what will only confirm an assumption, in her experience — ] Sand.
[ With that out of the way, she digs her teeth back into the technicality he clings to. Why? She still can't puzzle it out, can't make sense of him. He had gone to a lot of effort to become the King's dog, as she understood it. Why risk throwing it away because he could not wait for further orders? ]
Getting out to sea to find Skywalker won't help me get back to Dorne to — [ She bites down on her tongue, caught in a paradox of her own frustration with the way her frustration at him has loosened her tongue. What she's really getting at, instead: ] You can't promise to deliver anything except a chance to watch you die on our return.
[ She could stay in Essos, but considering the allowances made for slavery there, she's sure she'd never buy out her contract and get to Dorne. At least in the Saltpans, she had the illusion of a chance promised by Plutt. ]
What are you getting out of this? Why not help me if you have such disdain for the King's orders? We could bring Skywalker back. [ It's a long shot. Rey feels stupid even putting it out there. But he isn't denying his intent to betray Snoke, and isn't that the same thing House Organa is doing? Rebellion is rebellion. ] House Organa would protect us.
[ It demonstrates shocking naiveté for a girl who had to grow up in the Saltpans, a slave in all but name. That things would be so simple. But there's conviction there — she believes this fairytale of the good rebels and the evil king. It comforts her. ]
You are perhaps one of the most short-sighted people I've ever come across.
[He's half-mumbling now, prepared to drift off to sleep until she mentions bringing Skywalker back, or that House Organa would protect them. He snorts in an effort to suppress his amusement. Oh, the ignorance of the lowborn. He'd take pity on her if his goal were not so clear.]
House Organa does not care about you anymore than Skywalker does. Put those fantasies out of your mind. When I finish my work, I will sail you to Sunspear, and you can do as you please.
[He's not under obligation to do that much, unless honor meant anything to anyone. It doesn't mean much to him, but he also half-plans to die in Essos or on the shores of King's Landing. All of that will happen after he delivers Rey. Maybe the Gods would favor him if he kept his word.]
[ That he calls them fantasies brings a stinging sensation to her eyes. Mostly because she knows it to be true. She means nothing to any of them. To anyone. She could get swallowed up in the Narrow Sea and no one would ever know her name. No one but Ren, and to him, she was no more than the map she'd seen. ]
What work? It's not your King's work.
[ Always his king, never 'the' king. Perhaps the result of a child whose early years were spent in Dorne. Perhaps just a good measure of how the lowborn feel about Snoke. ]
Why are you chasing Skywalker if not for him? If you want me to bring you to him, at least tell me that.
[Which implies that yes, it is his King's work. He doesn't bother to point out the way she specifies that Snoke is "his" King -- its possible he doesn't even notice.
He's also not giving Rey the answer she's looking for. She doesn't know and more importantly, she hasn't earned it. Instead, he lays his large arm over his eyes after he rolls on his back.]
Get sleep, or you're going to be miserable tomorrow.
[ But despite grumbling this, she lies down on the bed, facing him. He's right, of course. It will be much worse if she hasn't slept. She doesn't have to have ridden on a ship before (sailed?) to know that. Were she with anyone else, she might have been up all night with excitement for the newness of it.
But she is with Kylo Ren. And she has failed to kill him. And so it is grief and regret and misery that keep her awake for another half hour starting at him across the narrow swatch of moonlight that comes through the window before sleep finally comes. ]
[The morning comes uneventful, and Ren is woken up by his body clock. He doesn't bother to wake Rey until he's strapped most of his armor back on. Somewhere in between tightening his greaves, he tunes into the sounds of the inn -- of which he notices there are none.
He frowns. It was early enough that there was a decent chance that nobody was hunting for breakfast as of yet -- or, perhaps the ravens had arrived early, and they were preparing for an ambush before he could reach the deckhand.
Either way, he decides in that moment that sooner is better than later.
Before he gets the rest of his armor on, he shuffles over to the other bed, resting one large hand on her shoulder to wake her.]
[ Though groggy — or perhaps because her mind is slow to rouse — Rey does not flinch away from the touch on her shoulder. Rather, it seems to bring her some comfort, despite touching her wounded shoulder. In sleep, her expression is softer, and it stays peaceful even as her light snoring cuts off and her eyes open to fix on his face.
He's close. Looming over her, but not as broad in figure as she has come to think of him. She pushes herself up slowly, the silence keeping her suspended as though still halfway in dream. She can't put her finger on why the bleak hours of morning in Storm's End, with the light barely visible through the dreary weather, persists in surreality for her. Only that it does.
Until her eyes land on his armor, still piled before the door. ]
What's wrong?
[ She can feel it. In the past, he had only approached her the moment of their departure, expecting immediate obedience. This demands preparation out of her. And the eerie tension lingers at the edges of her awareness. For that reason, her question comes out in a whisper. ]
[Well, so much for that. But at least she has good instincts. She is quiet and cautious, and that is what he needs right now. He lets her absorb the tension in the room, the permeating silence. Not even his men could be heard stirring.]
Could be nothing.
[His eyes moved to the window. Thr sun wasn’t high yet, but it was high enough to cast rays down through the rolling clouds. There was talk outside, but nothing that Ren could pick up on. And, if the ravens had arrived, why hadn’t they come upstairs and taken care of business?
He lets her draw her own conclusion as he stands and moves across the room to reattach the rest of his armor. He might need it.]
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[Prisoner or no prisoner. But as for the other two — well, most of his guard was made up of drunkards. He did not begrudge them for it. It only meant that they still respected his authority when he was not around, and it seems to comfort him some. He’d expected that she would try to endear herself to them somehow while he was gone, but he hadn’t speculated much. Now that he’d witnessed how quickly she fell into the fantasy, he had thought about it again.
But it didn’t matter all that much, he supposed.
Ren takes the lead up the stairs to their room after dragging his soaked cloak off the table to hand to the barkeep for laundering. The room is minimally decorated: two beds on opposite ends of the room. He does not doubt that she is glad for that. But, as for insurance, he closes the door behind her, and begins stacking his armor there at the door. It would make a racket if she tried to move it at all. By the time he has finished, he has left himself with a damp tunic and pants.
And then he turns to test the mattress. Hard, but better than a tent outdoors.]
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She watched him remove each piece to add to the tower, a terrible pit forming in her stomach. There was the window to consider — a tiny thing that only opened outwards and probably had no ledge. She might break her arm worse going out that way, but it would be her only option if she didn't want Versio and LeHuse to wake up after she'd stuck their master like a pig. ]
Given you're not a prisoner, I'll wager no ravens had arrived for Lord Hux. [ She took a seat on the bed, holding her sling carefully to her chest so she didn't let the knife slip free awkwardly. She didn't want to lose it while she stripped off her boots with her one free hand. ] So what was the bad news?
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[He communicates that easily, even as he removes his tunic with his back to her in order to wring it out on the floor. A sizable downpour comes forth. Pieces of his back show old signs of lashings -- at least several months old, joined by other marks of war. Slash scars, arrowhead piercings.]
I dislike him. Very much.
[And then he is slipping his tunic back on before she can digest anything she'd managed to see and climbing onto the bed. His pants aren't quite as wet, but he's also not going to strip down in front of Rey -- prisoner or not.]
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Without meaning to, Rey found herself staring up at the too-pale plane of his back. They were almost drowned by the plethora of other scars, but no. Rey knew the signs of them because she had felt them. Her uninjured hand came up to rest at her shoulder in silent thought, but as soon as he shrugged his tunic back on, she had dropped her hand, unwilling to give herself away.
It didn't matter what they had in common. Their differences were a wide valley, quite substantial enough to make up for them. She didn't have a chance to do anything with the flicker of doubt about whether he planned to do the same with his pants before he was getting on his bed.
Rey relaxed visibly, though she couldn't say why. ]
Why do you dislike him?
[ From that alone, she suspected she might like Lord Hux if she met him. She settled down onto her bed on her uninjured side, which meant staring across the room at him instead of at the wall. The rain had made the night chilly — chillier — so she pulled the blankets up around her despite the damp of her clothes. The innkeeper might just forgive her. ]
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[It comes out like snake venom, hissed on his tongue under a barely restrained temper. A short exhale comes after as he tries to silence his opinions on the good Lord Hux. She did not need this information, and he did not need help being incriminated. Lord Hux held a prestigious military position in the Crownlands -- if it came down between him and Lord Hux, the King would choose Hux and find a new Lord Commander.
He doesn't need Rey to know that. He's certain he hasn't endeared her that much -- she's just as soon turn him over in hopes that she'd have an easier time getting away from Hux than himself.]
It does not matter. You hardly need any help disliking nobility yourself.
[He'd seen plenty of the looks that she'd thrown all of them, after all. The attitude she carried, like she was noble-born herself.]
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[ Narrowing her eyes at him made her feel worse, somehow. If he chose to conclude that she simply disliked nobility, let him. For tonight, at least, she could bite her tongue. ]
I'm tired.
[ And she was. Her legs were sore from riding, and though she was glad for the chance to make the most of the inn's bar downstairs, she probably should have foregone it to rest in the first place. Ren's mood would undoubtedly only grow worse with his own fatigue, so she was ready to say goodbye to this sour conversation.
To this sour man.
She shut her eyes, ready to feign sleep for long enough for him to drift off. ]
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[It isn’t necessarily a bitter reply, even if everything that comes out of his mouth sounds bitter in one way or another. Ren lays down not long after she does, but he takes ages to fall asleep. There is quite a lot of tossing and turning involved — the bed is too small for him, among other more common problems.
It is not the sleep of a man with a clear conscious.]
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Her eyes opened, and she exhaled slowly, watching him.
He didn't seem to stir at that, so she sat up, pulling the knife from her sling. It wasn't sharp. Too old, not intended for this purpose. She'd have to hit hard.
How hard? She'd never stabbed a man before. Sitting up in the dead of night, knife in hand, staring down at his restless form, she decided it'd have to be the neck. It would be the easiest, the most likely to kill him quickly and quietly. Right? She thought of that slaver she'd been riding with. The way his blood had gurgled bright and red out of his throat.
She wanted to cry. He hadn't been innocent, either, but it had still been horrible to see. It had still been wrong for them to do. But this wasn't wrong — it's the only choice she had. She got up off the bed and walked for his. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet, and she stood over Ren's bed.
By now her hand was shaking on the knife, and she pulled off her sling so she could steady it with her injured arm too. She had to get it right the first time. The second, at the very most. He was larger than her and stronger. If he woke up, he would kill her, and she would be forgotten. Probably not even buried, but cast into the sea for convenience's sake. Treated like garbage.
Not for the first time.
She gripped the knife in both hands, raised it over him and drew a deep breath. But she stopped before completing the motion. Her arms didn't want to budge.
She couldn't kill a man in his bed, in his sleep. Maybe the redcloaks could forget their oaths and their honor, and maybe in dealing with them, she ought to. But she couldn't. She didn't have that kind of evil in her, no matter what the world around them called for. ]
Fuck. [ She hissed it out, dropping the knife and backing off one, two steps. ]
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She was going to kill him. Of course she was.
His grip tightens fiercely on the hilt as he sits up, pursuing her until she is within reach and grabbing her good arm defensively.]
You—
[His snarl is practically draconic, chest heaving with murderous intent as he points the knife at her.
—but he had expected this, hadn’t he? He made the grave mistake of leaving her alone where she had access to a weapon, and then trapped her in a room woth him. He had set up his own murder and was now somehow surprised by it.
His hand trembles briefly before the knife slips out of his hand, but he does not release her.]
—lost...your nerve.
[He breathes it out, trying and failing to wrangle his anger.]
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Whatever other self-flagellation she had prepared had no time to take hold of her. Rey watched as his eyes snapped open, glinting in the dim moonlight that filtered through the window with a murderous fury. He was dazed. She almost got out of his grip, but — A yelp made its way from her as his grip closed around her uninjured arm.
Her good arm. Not the one that would bring her down, screaming in agony.
The knife thunked against the floorboards as he dropped it too. Reason and observation shouted for her to calm herself, to look at the fact, to see that he was not going to kill her but instinct drove her on anyway, wrestling in his grip. She even brought up her bad arm to try and pry his grip loose. All the while she thought of the Kingswood. She had lost her nerve there too. If she had killed herself then ... But she hadn't done that either. Because she was an idiot. A brave idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. ]
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And then, he strides to the window, forces its lime-ridden hatches open, and throws it outside. When that is done, he shuts the window with a hard sound of metal on stone. His men would ask him about it in the morning, no doubt.
Ren offers her one last baleful, venom laced stare before he stalks back to his bed to return to sleep. In no universe would she be able to lift anything heavy enough to bludgeon him to death, and she had no chance of wriggling out of the room with her arm in a sling.
Sleep would not come, too sick with rage and paranoia, but he did not speak to her again.]
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She couldn't help but think he had no right to his anger and surprise. Never had she masked her hatred for him, her desire to escape. What did he think she would do? And what would he do, now that he had apparently misplaced trust in her supposed willingness to be in his company? Back to the way he had been that first day, she supposed. Dragging her around by the throat and threatening her and refusing to hear anything she said.
All she'd done was make things harder on herself. She'd never be able to kill him while he was conscious, and she didn't have it in her to kill him while he was sleeping. Where'd that leave her? Stuck. With him, leading him on his merry way to Luke Skywalker.
She sat back on her bunk, numb and disconnected. It took a few moments' silence before she tried to instigate some explanation for herself. ]
Did you expect me to rejoice in my circumstances?
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[His answer is an impatient growl from the other end of the room. He shifts, but does not emerge from the woolen blanket to look at her. He is still deciding how best to punish her come morning — or if it was best to try one last time to encourage her to give him the benefit if the doubt.]
What exactly was your plan, had you succeeded? You would have woken my men, and they would have come in here and killed you before you could say “uncle”.
[Now he sits up to look at her, squinting in the darkness.]
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[ If she'd had the gall to go through with it. Those words, she can't say; she's too ashamed of herself for her failure. It's too fresh. She draws her legs up onto the bunk in front of her, curling up like a scolded child. ]
I'd have been out the window and gone.
[ Broken something, maybe. Her shoulder would certainly be worse for wear. She'd survived worse than this. Much worse. She has the scars to show for it, and it's a miracle of mercy that he doesn't have that he hasn't seen them firsthand to know that. She can't bring herself to trust that mercy because it's so at odds with everything else she has seen. So tenuous.
Or maybe they would have found and killed her, and then it would be over too. She had failed to do that for herself too. ]
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You best get used to the idea of me, girl.
[The malice leaves his tone, even if he is still bitter.]
I’m the best shot you’ll have getting anywhere.
[Nobody had more freedom to move than a Redcloak, let alone their captain.]
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She stares at him, resolve and disappointment writ plainly across her face alongside the grudge she bears against him. He is in some ways a kinder captor than Unkar Plutt, but she will not forget what he represents. There is still Skywalker to consider. ]
I have a name. [ She snaps this because it's the only reply she has. Plutt called her 'girl.' Plutt treated her like property. ] And I don't think you're my best shot of anything. You're a traitor. [ This is a bold accusation in the dead of night, but there's no use holding back anymore. She'd tried to kill him. Calling him a traitor to his king is nothing next to that. ] If I get caught with you, I'll burn with you. And when the King learns of it, he'll give you nothing. I'll never see Dorne or my parents or anything you've offered me.
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[He fixes his sleeve out of habit, despite being swaddled in a blanket. Snoke would not see it that way, but by all letters of the law...he had not done anything wrong. Yet.]
By the time the King’s learned of anything, we’ll be out to sea, and it won’t matter.
[And it seems like that is where he is going to let the conversation lie before:]
What is it, then? Your name.
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[ With that out of the way, she digs her teeth back into the technicality he clings to. Why? She still can't puzzle it out, can't make sense of him. He had gone to a lot of effort to become the King's dog, as she understood it. Why risk throwing it away because he could not wait for further orders? ]
Getting out to sea to find Skywalker won't help me get back to Dorne to — [ She bites down on her tongue, caught in a paradox of her own frustration with the way her frustration at him has loosened her tongue. What she's really getting at, instead: ] You can't promise to deliver anything except a chance to watch you die on our return.
[ She could stay in Essos, but considering the allowances made for slavery there, she's sure she'd never buy out her contract and get to Dorne. At least in the Saltpans, she had the illusion of a chance promised by Plutt. ]
What are you getting out of this? Why not help me if you have such disdain for the King's orders? We could bring Skywalker back. [ It's a long shot. Rey feels stupid even putting it out there. But he isn't denying his intent to betray Snoke, and isn't that the same thing House Organa is doing? Rebellion is rebellion. ] House Organa would protect us.
[ It demonstrates shocking naiveté for a girl who had to grow up in the Saltpans, a slave in all but name. That things would be so simple. But there's conviction there — she believes this fairytale of the good rebels and the evil king. It comforts her. ]
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[He's half-mumbling now, prepared to drift off to sleep until she mentions bringing Skywalker back, or that House Organa would protect them. He snorts in an effort to suppress his amusement. Oh, the ignorance of the lowborn. He'd take pity on her if his goal were not so clear.]
House Organa does not care about you anymore than Skywalker does. Put those fantasies out of your mind. When I finish my work, I will sail you to Sunspear, and you can do as you please.
[He's not under obligation to do that much, unless honor meant anything to anyone. It doesn't mean much to him, but he also half-plans to die in Essos or on the shores of King's Landing. All of that will happen after he delivers Rey. Maybe the Gods would favor him if he kept his word.]
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What work? It's not your King's work.
[ Always his king, never 'the' king. Perhaps the result of a child whose early years were spent in Dorne. Perhaps just a good measure of how the lowborn feel about Snoke. ]
Why are you chasing Skywalker if not for him? If you want me to bring you to him, at least tell me that.
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[Which implies that yes, it is his King's work. He doesn't bother to point out the way she specifies that Snoke is "his" King -- its possible he doesn't even notice.
He's also not giving Rey the answer she's looking for. She doesn't know and more importantly, she hasn't earned it. Instead, he lays his large arm over his eyes after he rolls on his back.]
Get sleep, or you're going to be miserable tomorrow.
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[ But despite grumbling this, she lies down on the bed, facing him. He's right, of course. It will be much worse if she hasn't slept. She doesn't have to have ridden on a ship before (sailed?) to know that. Were she with anyone else, she might have been up all night with excitement for the newness of it.
But she is with Kylo Ren. And she has failed to kill him. And so it is grief and regret and misery that keep her awake for another half hour starting at him across the narrow swatch of moonlight that comes through the window before sleep finally comes. ]
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He frowns. It was early enough that there was a decent chance that nobody was hunting for breakfast as of yet -- or, perhaps the ravens had arrived early, and they were preparing for an ambush before he could reach the deckhand.
Either way, he decides in that moment that sooner is better than later.
Before he gets the rest of his armor on, he shuffles over to the other bed, resting one large hand on her shoulder to wake her.]
Come. Its time.
[No need to startle her with his paranoia.]
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He's close. Looming over her, but not as broad in figure as she has come to think of him. She pushes herself up slowly, the silence keeping her suspended as though still halfway in dream. She can't put her finger on why the bleak hours of morning in Storm's End, with the light barely visible through the dreary weather, persists in surreality for her. Only that it does.
Until her eyes land on his armor, still piled before the door. ]
What's wrong?
[ She can feel it. In the past, he had only approached her the moment of their departure, expecting immediate obedience. This demands preparation out of her. And the eerie tension lingers at the edges of her awareness. For that reason, her question comes out in a whisper. ]
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Could be nothing.
[His eyes moved to the window. Thr sun wasn’t high yet, but it was high enough to cast rays down through the rolling clouds. There was talk outside, but nothing that Ren could pick up on. And, if the ravens had arrived, why hadn’t they come upstairs and taken care of business?
He lets her draw her own conclusion as he stands and moves across the room to reattach the rest of his armor. He might need it.]
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