(TW for those who need it: Chapter contains descriptions of death, blood and violence along with self inflicted bodily harm)

Chapter 1 - At Least You're Still Breathing

'No one here gets out alive'

Jim Morrison

-o-

In her dreams, she drowns.

The mere concept of it is absurd. Naboo's children are not known to fear the sea. It's even more illogical for her. As a child, she stripped off and skinny-dipped in the blue with her mother by her side, diving into rock pools, plunging as far into the depths as their lungs could take. There is currently a fountain that stands outside her palace that rinses children's worries away and replaces them with squeals and shrieks of laughter. She had buried and soaked her worries there for many summers until she turned thirteen. Once, she had free fallen out of a ship into a river from such an immense height that her lungs had refused to help the second she crashed against the surface. She had cried for a week from the agony of the burning in her lungs and the bruises that welted on her ribs. Her father had tutted and, instead of sympathy, gave her the reminder that she was their future Queen, and 'Queen's do not cry'. She had only been sixteen, but she had not been afraid. If anything, breathing for her had always been easier underwater. For not once when she was falling had she feared what lay beneath the blue.

Anala Janren does not dream, but when she does, she must always drown. There is no change; the rivers she thrashes in forever weigh her down, the lungs she calls her own continue to fail, and the sheets she wakes in suffocates.

This time is different. Instead of waking in tangled sheets, there is a burning in her wrists. It's a cold flame that bites its way from the shackles on her arms to underneath her dress.

As Queen, she's given the 'luxury' from the First Order of not having to be tied down against those hellish devices in the other cells. Instead, she's given the floor. She has space to move around, however, it is no longer than five steps before the shackles yank her back. There is no point in fighting, for there's nowhere she can go on this ship. An advantage she does have is that she's small and lithe enough to possibly hide upon the Super Star Destroyer without being detected. Although, her crown and ensemble are not the most inconspicuous gear. She resorts to kneeling, knowing that at least she looks poised and elegant, even if it may be her execution.

She stays like that for two hours. Legs cramped and unable to feel her toes, yet she refuses to move. Refuses to break if they storm in, refuses to let them see beyond the crown atop her head. 'Deathlike' would be the word to describe her current appearance. The raven black robes swaddled around her drowned out her painted face even more, contrasting again with the blood drenched upon her. The worst part?
It wasn't hers.

The doors hiss.

So, Anala kneels there, hands folded, and head raised as a tall, dark figure enters. She awaits the troopers to shadow in after him, to her surprise, he enters alone. She does not shrink. She does not bow. She looks ahead, never meeting his eye.

She is alone with him.

'Queen Janren,' His voice is distorted, inhuman. Yet, she's able to make wind of the sarcasm that edges its way through. 'I had no idea we had Her Highness aboard.'
'Did you not? I would have thought your crew were competent enough to at least alert you when abducting others.'

There is no response. Instead, he lingers to her right side. Waiting, no, surveying? She cannot tell against the barrier between them. Silence remains her answer. Curiosity seeps through her, a nagging in the back of her head that forces her to look upon him.
An ebony helmet glares back in greeting; the crawling of her skin almost sends a convulsion at the sight of its slitted forehead and snout like bottom. You have seen worse, she reminds herself, you are the Queen of Naboo, you must be strong when you face him. You will speak with strength, never fear.

Nevertheless, she is uncomfortably reminded of knowing what this man has done. She remembers what he has taken away from her and many others(more specifically, who he has taken). Not that he would remember. Monster. It takes a step forward, almost as though her fear could be smelt. She strives to take that fear back.

'When word gets out that an unarmed Naboo ship was attacked along with its Queen, there will be uproar.'
'Your ship was armed,' he draws in closer, yet she remains stone-faced. His hand inches towards her scalp. 'Apparently you kept a tracker in your hair.' His hand freezes above her right shoulder, before lifting a thick snake of hair off her gown. It's dropped to the floor in disgust as she suddenly begins to sense the throbbing bald patch on the side her head. His troopers are to thank for that.
'Yes,' a scoff was her reply.

'We know your course was headed to Hosnian Prime.' It is her turn to stay silent until his vocoder shudders again through the air. 'There are rumours of the creation of Resistance alliances being formed there.'

'Naboo knows nothing of the Resistance.'
'Curious,' his footsteps echo off the hard floor as he circles her. 'Then what was the purpose of your journey?'

'Personal matters,' her throat tightens, she can't be sure if it's down to him or her own nerves. 'I own something belonging to General Organa. Something I should have given back long ago.'
'And that is?' He doesn't know, she realises, he does not remember the mother of the boy he helped slaughter.
'Destroyed, by your troops. I have heard rumours also, that you plan to form First Order bases on my planet. Naboo has seen peace for nearly thirty years and will not see that peace disrupted. My planet will not become home for your troopers and sieges.'

'Then you are a traitor.' His steps halt and his arm lifts towards her. She knew this trick, hell, she had been taught this trick. A stabbing tightness grows in her chest whilst a scalding heat begins to roar through her body.
'Now, tell me everything you're hiding.' Her hands snake up to her head, as if cradling it would ease the fury he was about to unleash upon her. Her body no longer stings, she doesn't realise that her cries have replaced the burn. She tugs again and again on her own hair, anything to cease the pain in her skull. Get out, get out, get out, get out.

'Don't fight it, it's easier if you give in.' She tries, she tries so hard.
Yet, she fails, and he crushes right through her.

'Tell me,' he murmurs.

-o-

When Ren's done, he lets her body crumble against the ground. Black stars swarm her vision and she can barely keep her eyes open as she attempts to watch him storm out.

'We were wrong, she knows nothing,' she hears him inform another as the door remains open.
'You were wrong,' the red head corrects him with an irritated tone. Their eyes lock and she hears him curse under his breath. 'You do realise she's Queen, Ren? Or did that detail evade your inept mind?' He nods to a trooper, signalling them to enter, the conversation fading as the doors hiss behind them.

Two troopers hoist her up, checking her vitals and giving the attention she should've received upon arrival.

"My crew?" She whispers as they shine a torch into her eye. "Are they alive?" The first trooper does not answer and continues to ask her to look left, then right and then left again. In the reflection of his mask she can see her translucent painted face. The two dots on either side of her cheeks like bleeding suns. The second trooper pricks her finger (which she is sure she has the right to say no to, but that isn't what's important right now). They're new, she can tell that by the way they shake when touching her. Far too nervous to notice her inch her gown over the scalpel mistakenly discarded to the side. It isn't until she's bandaged up does the first leave whilst the second hesitates.
"No survivors," they declare before promptly leaving straight after.

-o-

A positive is that the shackles aren't nearly as cold as they once were. On the other hand, however, the floor she's curled up on doesn't seem to rid her of the pain throbbing so violently around her skull. She marvels at how it had not yet cracked open. Despite this, the pounding does nothing to block out the names of everyone she had just lost.

Anaïs, Léa and Alia had been at her side for her entire reign. 'They swore to protect you,' she tells herself. 'They have done their duty and served with pride.' Yet, their names still burn her tongue. Captain Durand had served three monarchs before her, she's sure he put up the biggest fight of them all. Aldric on the other hand had been new, unprepared and the first of her pilots to die.

At least you're still breathing, she told herself, at least Naboo is safe.

For now.

With each thought the pain amplified. She could barely think, her thoughts fumbled by the ache in her head. Two guards stand by her door, making sure there is no attempt at escape. Not that she has anywhere to go, there is nowhere aboard to hide. She wondered where the other trooper from earlier was, it was not the one guarding her, for when she had voiced her opinion of the cell, he had told her to 'shut up' and to not bother him again.

As Queen, she was almost offended. Almost.

-o-

Solitary confinement had not been the worst experience of her life. In fact, she's pretty sure she was beginning to prefer being alone rather than having fifty people barking down her neck every day. Her consciousness ebbs and her dreams wander into an oblivion of crashing waves. She dreams of tides dragging her beneath the surface for the remainder of what she assumes to be that day (she has no track of time).

He returns when she next wakes. There is something different in the air, this time she feels as though there is a reason for her to be afraid. The scalpel twists underneath her sleeve, pressing into her wrist. It is the solitary confinement that causes her to begin questioning her sanity. For she senses a presence she had not felt in a long time that roughly jolts her up.
'Get up.' Her stomach churns. A ringing vibrates through her ears and the overwhelming thump of her heart causes her to not hear him the first time.

'Where did you get this?' He repeats as a clang hits the floor, and silver flashed as it rolls towards her. A lightsaber lays at her knees.
'It was given to me.'
'It was not yours to keep.'
'How do you know it's not mine?' Even through the dreadful mask she can feel his eyes on her. 'But you are right, that's why I was returning it.'
'It's owner is dead.' His words splinter inside her, causing more pain than the scalpel she currently digs deep into her palm.
'I know, I'm returning it to their mother.' She does not believe for a moment that he knows who she's speaking about. His life must be worthless to him, just another on the list of people he's destroyed.

'Ben Solo is dead, I killed him.'

She can feel her own face wash blank with confusion. Ren remembers. She blinks, once, twice, three times. It is her only response, as if her tongue could not move fast enough to take in the information from his masked self.

'I'm the one who killed him.' He repeats, as if he is the one who needs convincing.
'I know,' she whispers as wet crimson drains down from her wrist. 'I'm the one who mourns him.'

A/N: this is being written at 3:30am rip me lmao. Hello again old and new readers! Here's what's happening; all my fics are being updated and edited including plot changes. I explained in the previous update why so I don't feel the need to repeat myself other than I outgrew what I had wrote. I

I may also contain trigger warnings at the top of chapters contain sensitive material, if you don't want slight spoilers then please skip that in future. Might also move this over to other ff sites as well.

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