KYLO

Five days had passed.

He had given Rey time and space, let her keep up the fiction that she would escape. If she needed to believe that to make her situation acceptable for now, he understood.

Eventually, she would see. She would accept the truth, and she would come to him.

He ignored the apprehension at the back of his mind, the sense of time slipping away, the persistent feeling of impending doom. It would be alright. It would be fine. He would show her what the dark side really was – passion, strength, freedom. The chance to use all her power, to be the person the Force meant for her to be. True, there were sacrifices, but when you felt it, that blissful freedom from the constraints put in place by the Jedi, from guilt, from conscience…it was transcendent. She would see, she would realize that letting the dark side in would free her, not corrupt her. She would see and it would be fine. It would all be fine.

He had spent the last hour going over tonight's menu with Four-three. Rey had especially enjoyed the peppery stuffed pod-poppers and the fodu in green fire sauce (a spicy Melahnese delicacy Four-three said had been served on the Death Star), so he had chosen another highly-seasoned dish, jerked dewback, for tonight, along with a decadent dessert and a bottle of rare, teal-colored Toniray wine he had procured. He carefully avoided thinking about the fact that it came from his mother's home planet or why it was so very rare. He thought Rey would like the brilliant color and the bubbles.

This was how he had started every day since bringing her here – meticulously planning his evening with Rey. After menu planning, he gave Vaneé a selection of gowns, jewels, delicate underthings – he wanted his love to get to choose, but he also wanted to pick things out for her.

Next, he spent time in the Sith cave below the castle, meditating, letting the dark side seep into him – although it seemed to get more difficult with each day, the dark energy present, thrumming with intensity and passion and promise, but muted, distant, as if it was content to wrap around him but not possess him.

Then he trained. The castle's first floor boasted a large training area – primitive, with rock walls and torches for lighting, but supplied with all the latest training droids and weapons. He couldn't wait to bring Rey here, to face her again over the glow of a lightsaber, not as an adversary but as an equal, perhaps as an apprentice. He wasn't sure what Snoke would allow. But he hoped, yearned, longed to teach her, not as just another of the Knights of Ren, but as his own. He pushed away the nagging doubt and anxiety that tried to surface.

After that, he walked the perimeter of the castle, checking on the Stormtrooper guard detail and turning over each moment with Rey in his mind:

The black dress – his favorite – and the buffet of her favorite foods and the taste of her.

The blue velvet and the forest-honey cake; his fingers sliding up her thigh until her touched her just there, those high, desperate sounds she made, the way her fingernails dug into his shoulders and left little crescent-shaped indentations…

The delicate cream and gold lace gown, ethereal crystal mushroom soup and Bespin cloud meringue cake; her fingers twined in his hair while he pressed her against the sleek wall and pounded into her, grunting and gasping, both of them out of control.

The purple satyn with the multiple layers of skirts edged with black velvet, and the fierce Cortyg brandy they had sipped, sitting on an enormous maroon velvet sofa in the library looking at holobooks together. Slowly unbuttoning the bodice of her dress, like opening a gift, and teasing and sucking her perfect pink nipples until she was squirming and pleading and clawing at his clothes. Her soft creamy breasts bouncing as she rode him, her head thrown back in almost-painful ecstasy. She was so wild and free and uninhibited – everything he had never been able to be – and he adored her for it, adored the way she simply lost herself in need and lust and hunger – for him. For him. She had been so needy that night, so demanding, taking what she wanted (his mind drifting back to that particular idle threat; it was her, always her, who could take whatever she wanted), her whole body tensing and contracting around him as she nearly convulsed with pleasure, sending him over the edge with her. And after - holding her with her back against his chest and talking into the night until they finally drifted to sleep in each other's arms.

She was gone when he woke up, of course, but he wasn't worried. He would see her that night. He stood, slipped on his trousers and gathered up his scattered clothing. His love had tossed it all over the room in her urgency to undress him. A small smile played across his lips. Perhaps they would end the evening in the library again. It was far more comfortable than the dining hall. He would have Vaneé serve the Toniray here. It could be kept in a bucket of ice so it would stay cold, and they would drink it out of those delicate cut-crystal glasses with the gold rims…

A piercing pain lanced behind his eyes, blinding him for a moment and sending him to his knees. He clutched his temples as a familiar voice hissed into his mind. "I have been awaiting a report from you, boy. My patience grows thin."

His whole body jolted, his blood burned and froze in his veins as adrenaline pumped into his system. His heart pounded against his chest and his breath came in shallow gasps. His mind went to Rey – he couldn't let her feel this. He slammed the bond closed. Whatever was about to happen, she didn't need to know about it.

He gritted his teeth against the throbbing, pulsing pain behind his eyes. The pain wasn't necessary; Snoke could whisper into his head without it hurting. In fact, he could make it feel so very good, soothing and silky and comforting. The pain meant his master was displeased. But…he had been doing as he was supposed to, he had brought Rey here, he was slowly winning her over…but he felt his master's disapproval, thick and heavy and suffocating, so he had obviously blundered.

Kylo slumped forward, catching himself with his hands; the jewel-tone patterns in the rug swirled together as pain pulsed through his mind and his vision tunneled.

"Report to my audience chamber immediately. It is time we had a conversation."

The pain was gone, leaving only a faint throbbing and bursts of brightness at the corners of his eyes. A wave of nausea hit with each flash. He stood, reaching for his shirt.

"I said immediately," the voice hissed.

He dropped the shirt and hurried down the stairs to the room Snoke had insisted be converted to a holo-chamber. While his master could speak directly into his mind, and pull his thoughts from him, it was, thankfully, not a Force bond like he shared with Rey; it didn't allow for free-flowing conversation. For that they had to communicate in more traditional ways.

Dread washed over him. What had he done? Was it the credits? He had been told he could spend whatever he needed to, and he had enjoyed the idea of Hux fuming as the expense reports came in, but perhaps he had been too extravagant? Or maybe it was his failure during meditation. His master would be displeased that he was not able to allow the currents of the dark side here to completely infuse him – but would he know that? Of course he would; the Supreme Leader was wise, he always knew. Or was it because he had let his thoughts be so utterly filled with Rey? Had he neglected his duty to his master? Looking over the past week, he realized he had. He had barely given the Supreme Leader or his mission a thought, his head was so full of Rey. He knew better; Snoke demanded total commitment. He had only been allowed to bring Rey here because he had argued that she would be an asset, not a distraction, that he could convince her to join them, and really, he hadn't even tried.

The holographic figure of his master was already present when he hurried into the audience chamber and dropped quickly to his knees. He felt terribly exposed, with his chest and feet bare. Silence stretched on, but he knew better than to speak first. Finally, Snoke spat out a single word, his voice dripping with disgust, "Well?"

"Master, I…I have been doing as you commanded. All is proceeding as planned."

"Indeed? Did it not occur to you that I would like to know how your little pet project was developing?"

Of course, of course he should have reported in, should have kept his master informed of his progress…

"Or your lack of progress," the voice taunted. "The girl prowls around, gathering trinkets while you spend hours deciding whether to feed her cake or candy. You are no closer to bringing her to the dark side than you were when you brought her here."

"No! I am winning her over. Please. Forgive my lapse in updating you. It will not happen again. I was focused on…the mission…"

"I am aware of what you have been focused on, boy."

His ears and cheeks burned. "I am trying to woo her, win her, as you said…you said I…I was allowed to…"

"You are supposed to be convincing her to embrace the darkness, not courting her like a boy seeking a bride. Have you even taken her to the caves below the castle? Allowed the darkness itself to entice her? Have you shown her the power she could wield?"

"I…"

"No. You have not. You have neglected your responsibility to me, your vow to make her one of us, an asset, a weapon, and have instead been playing house, serving her fancy food and dressing her up in beautiful clothes and indulging your baser desires. That is not how it is done, my apprentice. Do you need a reminder? Have you forgotten your first days with me?"

Kylo shuddered. No, he had not.

"Perhaps I should take over this task. Show you how to bend someone to your will. It is clearly a skill you have not yet learned…"

"No! Supreme Leader, I've made progress. She is already closer to giving in, I can feel it, I just need more time…"

Strands of energy – dark and painful - tightened around his naked chest until his lungs could barely expand, sapping his strength. He felt his own energy, his connection to the Force itself, slipping away.

"DO NOT lie to me!" Snoke's voice was like thunder as the tendrils of darkness coiled around him, tighter and tighter, slicing into his pale skin. He struggled not to scream, because that would show weakness, and that inevitably made it worse. He closed his eyes and did his best to keep his breathing even, despite barely being able to suck in air. He shouldn't have tried to excuse himself, he had been ignoring his mission, he had failed, it was best to admit it and do better. He would do better, he wouldn't fail again, he would show his master that he could please him. He would make him proud, bringing Rey to him as the powerful warrior she could be, and he would see, he would see that Kylo was capable of training her.

Then as quickly as the net had surrounded him, it fell away, and Snoke's voice was soft again, almost gentle. "My boy, you know deceiving me is pointless. It will only bring you suffering. I know your thoughts, your feelings, your deepest desires – and I want to give you what you crave. But I can only do that if you are obedient."

Kylo clenched his fists to keep his hands from trembling. "My apologies, master. You are correct. I have been neglectful of my duty, I have been indulging my own desires at the expense of your orders. I see my mistakes now. Please, forgive me. Allow me to continue with the girl. I will bring her to our side."

"We shall see. You have three weeks left. At the end of that time, she will kneel to me and swear her loyalty, or you will dispatch her."

Three weeks. Three weeks three weeks three weeks. It was such a short time. Could he do it, could he make her see, that quickly?

"Not with sweets and gowns and kisses, you can't, boy. Perhaps if you had years – but you do not. Three weeks. Stop wooing her. Bend her, break her, and bring her to me, a willing servant. Or dead."

He kept his eyes on the ground, clenched his fists even tighter.

Snoke laughed, a sibilant, sinister sound. "Still you rebel against this order, even with your recent correction fresh in your mind. Why? Because you enjoy rutting into her pretty little body? I never understood the human urge to…mate, but you have always been obedient, denied your impulses in order to channel your passions into more productive endeavors. I find your current behavior trying."

He drew in on himself in humiliation. It wasn't right for Snoke to know about that, to talk about it like it was something base and dirty, when it was special, sacred. His master tilted his head and he felt the familiar intrusion into his thoughts. He didn't resist – it would be pointless, and would only make it hurt more.

"Ahhhh." Snoke exhaled. "I see. It isn't about copulation. You're in love with her."

There was no point in denying it.

"And since you love her, you cannot imagine killing her." Snoke sighed, like a disappointed parent. "Perhaps you are right. You never will be as strong as your grandfather."

This change of subject surprised him, and he looked up, eyes wide. "What do you mean?"

"Do you know how your grandmother died?"

He was utterly confused now. "In childbirth." That, unlike his grandparents' identities, had never been a secret: his mother had always told him she was adopted by Bail and Breha Organa after her mother died in childbirth; her father was assumed to have been lost in the war. That part, of course, was another lie.

"Childbirth. Of course they would have told you that." Snoke snorted. "No. She came here, she and the Jedi, Kenobi, pursued your grandfather here in an effort to make him give up the power of the darkness. But he was strong; he had already embraced the darkness, let it in fully. He would not be swayed. But he still loved her." He said the word as if it might be a disease that was catching. "He asked her to join him, to rule the galaxy with him. He would have made her his queen. But she turned him down. She loved the Republic more than she loved your grandfather. She chose them over him. So he did the only thing he could do. He killed her."

Kylo blinked. He felt dizzy, his mouth was dry, the room seemed to tilt and spin. That…surely that wasn't true. It didn't fit with what he had been told, what he had read once he learned his true heritage. He had inhaled everything he could find about his grandfather once he knew who he was – holobooks and recordings, official records and word-of-mouth accounts. Snoke had encouraged his obsession. After all, it was Vader's legacy he wanted him to claim. Among the myriad lies and legends and contradictions, the one consistent fact was that his grandfather loved his grandmother. That he could have killed her – he couldn't believe that.

He knew all his thoughts were written on his face. He couldn't help it.

His master gave an almost sad smile. "You do not want to believe it. Nevertheless, it is true. You see, your grandfather was strong enough to do what was right, even when it hurt. Even when it meant he had to give up something he cherished. Think on that, boy. Now go."

He had gotten dressed in a fog, wandered through the castle's halls blindly, and had ended up in his grandfather's personal quarters.

He rarely ventured here. There was something foreboding, some energy that seemed to not want him there. But now…he needed to come here. His grandfather had never come to him in any sort of spirit form, had never spoken to him in words, but he had felt his presence in the melted helmet, had gained strength and courage from it. Perhaps here, where the man had lived, he could sense him, commune with him somehow.

He placed his hand on the long-unused bacta tank. "Is it true?" he asked. "Did you…did you kill her?"

He simply couldn't reconcile that idea with what he knew – Anakin Skywalker had loved Padmé Amidala, truly, deeply, perhaps madly. But he had loved her. He couldn't have killed her, he couldn't have. And yet, his master was wise. He had always been right about things. He was the one who had told him the truth about who his grandfather really was, the truth his family had lied to him about for years. Still, there was something, some nagging doubt.

"Grandfather, please." There was only silence and a deepening darkness, a weight that pressed down around him, as if whatever lingered in the room was inimitably sad. "Did you do this thing? Is it truly what I should do? If she refuses? Because if so…I'm not strong enough. I'm not." His voice broke as he pleaded with a ghost that wasn't even there.

"Grandfather, please, speak to me. Send me a sign, something, anything. Supreme Leader is wise but I think…I think he cannot understand what it means to be in love. You do. You were in love once, I know you were. As I am now. All I want is to have Rey by my side, but…she is so strong, the light in her is so bright, and I'm afraid I will fail. That she will refuse to join me, as Padmé Amidala refused to join you after you became who you were meant to be." He swiped a hand across his eyes, which had gone blurry with gathering tears.

"Supreme Leader senses my defiance, he knows I cannot carry out this order. I can't kill her. I cannot and I will not. And I know…I know what the penalty for such disobedience would be." Death was the best-case scenario. "But I just…I can't bring myself to even contemplate it. Especially after…Han Solo." He didn't know what he even wanted from his grandfather. A push toward the darkness that would allow him to see the order as a necessary sacrifice? Permission to disobey? If his grandfather appeared right then and said he had killed Padmé and that it had been the correct course of action, would it matter?

No, he realized.

He remained, leaning against the bacta tank, until his muscles ached from being in one position. There was no answer. There never was.

"My Lord?"

He jumped and spun around at the sound of Vaneé's voice. How the old man managed to appear and disappear undetected, without the aid of the Force, Kylo would never know.

"My Lord?" Vaneé said again, and Kylo realized he had just been staring at him.

"Yes?"

"Lord Vader often meditated there." Vaneé inclined his head toward the bacta tank. "I assisted him, with his armor, helped him get in and out."

Kylo nodded, unsure what the point was, embarrassed that Vaneé might have seen his tears.

"It helped, healed his body and eased his mind, especially when he remembered…her."

Kylo leaned forward. "My grandmother? He spoke of her? To you?"

Vaneé nodded. "He spoke of Padmé Amidala rarely, but always with intense love and deep regret."

"Regret?"

"He felt such guilt – not even the dark side could eliminate it. You see, he Force choked her in a fit of anger."

So it was true. Kylo's shoulders slumped, his head fell forward and his eyes slid closed. It made no difference; he couldn't do it. He was too weak, the light still clung to him.

The old man gave a dry cough, as if he had more to say.

Kylo looked at him. "Go on"

Vaneé rubbed his dry lips together, wrung his gnarled hands, finally spoke. "The Emperor told him he had killed her, but Lord Vader insisted that when he was taken from this planet, he could still sense her, alive." The old man walked into the room, the worn hem of his robe making a soft rustling sound against the floor. He reached out, ran his wrinkled fingers over the surface of the bacta tank, his eyes far away.

Kylo waited. Vaneé almost never spoke so much, certainly not about his grandfather, and he was afraid if he moved or spoke he would frighten the man away.

Finally Vaneé went on, "I believed him. I cared for Lord Vader. I feared him, as well, but I cared for him. Thinking of her, knowing he had hurt her, thinking that he had killed her – it tore at him even when nothing else could. I often wished I could reassure him that he had not been the one to kill her." Vaneé dipped his head. "But there was no way to prove it. Ironic, that now that proof is right in front of my face."

Kylo cocked his head. "I don't understand…"

"Your existence, my Lord."

He let out a frustrated huff. That didn't make sense. He wished the old man would stop talking in circles. "How am I proof that he didn't kill her?"

Vaneé's lips curved up in what must have been a smile. "Although it is no longer observed, everyone knows the date of Empire day. It was celebrated for decades."

He nodded. Of course, every school child could tell you that date.

Vaneé continued. "That was the day Chancellor Palpatine was proclaimed Emperor, the day Order 66 was carried out, the day your grandfather and Kenobi dueled here. The day he choked his wife."

Kylo nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"Leia Organa is a well-known public figure."

Kylo stiffened.

Vaneé gave a small, apologetic bob of his head, but went on. "Her date of birth is easily found. It is…"

"Two days after Empire day, yes."

Vaneé's smile broadened, showing several missing teeth. "Without extensive medical intervention of the sort not available on this planet now, and certainly not almost six decades ago, a human fetus can survive for about four minutes after the death of the mother."

Four minutes.

Two days.

Kylo's eyes widened. That was it. That was what didn't fit. If Padmé Amidala had died here, on the day the Empire began, how could his mother and uncle have been born on Polis Massa two days later?

Darth Vader had not killed his one true love. The Emperor had lied. Snoke was wrong. Or…had the Supreme Leader lied as well? Kylo was reeling, the world shifting under his feet. He was…furious, relieved, confused, betrayed.

Kylo stumbled out of the room, down the stairs. He wanted to cry, rage, destroy. His saber was in his hand before he knew it and he was slashing at the obsidian walls in the hallway, all control gone.

Why would Snoke lie to him? Why would he want him to murder his Rey, his perfect, precious love? If Snoke had lied about that…he shook his head. It was too much, too monumental to contemplate.

He sliced deep gouges in the durasteel walls, watched the melting metal through a blur of tears, but it didn't help. He realized what he needed wasn't to rage and destroy. What he needed was Rey.

He switched off his saber and hurried toward the guest wing.

He nearly collided with Rey on the stairs. She was wearing a soft oatmeal-colored bathrobe; her hair was wet and her feet were bare. "Kylo? Are you…are you alright? I felt…you were afraid. In pain. Then the bond slammed shut and I couldn't find you. I've been looking all over and then I…I heard a commotion." Her eyes went to the saber still clenched in his hand. He clipped it to his belt. She had been worried about him. She had been looking for him.

If Snoke thought he could ever kill her, his Rey…

He grabbed her and pulled her against his chest. The places the Force net had seared his skin still stung, but everywhere she touched him, even through his clothes, felt like a balm, cool and soothing. "Rey, Rey, Rey." He held her tightly, so tightly, his arms wrapped around her. "I will never hurt you. You know I would never hurt you, right?" he whispered into her damp hair.

"Of course I do, Kylo," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. "What happened? I felt pain. Are you injured?"

He let her go, leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, tried to calm his breathing. His mind was still reeling. "I have neglected my duties recently because I was preoccupied with, well…" he managed a small, weak smile as his eyes roved over her face. "The Supreme Leader was…displeased." He couldn't tell her the rest. Not now. Maybe not ever. He wasn't even ready to accept the implications of what had just happened himself yet.

Rey's brow furrowed and her lips pursed. "I don't understand. Did he hurt you? Because of me?"

He studied her face, her lips, her eyes, her little turned up nose. Force, he loved her so much. He shook his head. "No. Because of me. I should have reported in. It was my fault. I should have known."

She leaned closer, placed a hand on his cheek. Oh, her hand, so soft and warm and gentle. He realized how unaccustomed he was to gentle touch, how long it had been since he had been touched softly. His eyelids fluttered closed and he inhaled. She smelled so good, like soap and water, so fresh and damp in this hot dry place.

"I was so worried," she said.

"There's no need. Please, love, don't let it distress you."

She bit her lip and nodded. "Okay. Well, I'll…I'll go get dressed then. But, umm, do you…do you want to maybe come with me? I don't want to leave you."

"I'm fine," he said, not meeting her eyes.

"I know. But maybe I'm not. That frightened me. Please, come with me."

His eyes found hers then. "Alright. I would like that."

She smiled, and leaned in, pressing her rosy lips to his in a delicate kiss that ended with just the tiniest flick of her tongue against his. It was one of the most arousing things he had ever experienced.

All foods, wines, fabrics, etc. from Wookieepedia. 'Satyn' is the SW spelling of satin...it feels like it's just misspelled.

I checked and double-checked the timeline for when the Mustafar duel happened and when Luke and Leia were born – two days passed, although it doesn't seem like it watching ROTS, so I hope all that makes sense. And the part about a baby being able to survive 4 minutes after the mother dies is plain old Googling.

So many thanks, and wine and chocolates, to Perry Downing for her beta skills and comments.

And more wine and chocolates for anyone who reads, reviews, comments, kudos, favorites, follows, bookmarks, likes or reblogs…I appreciate all of it so much!