Chapter Text
Rey is surprised none of them have tried to kill her yet. All twenty five of them are staring at her, so she knows they want to. It sets her on edge as she takes slow, measured bites of rice and native vegetables from the wooden bowl. Her stomach is tight, uneasy, but as always, she forces herself to act and think in terms of survival. Who knows when she’ll have her next meal? She has to keep herself strong and healthy for when they decide to try and kill her.
Back on Moria, the staring doesn’t last this long. Mostly just a brief glance to size you up, gauge how much of a fight you’ll give. It might be an intimidation tactic, this tense observation from their respective tables. What a waste of time. Just get it over with already, she grouses to herself. If they’re searching for a weakness, a sign of fear, they’ll be disappointed. I’ve been told I run colder than the average Acolyte.
A flash of movement stirs in her peripheral, and she’s relieved. Finally. Rey sets her spoon aside and lifts her eyes as one of Skywalker’s Padawans drops into the seat across from her. The air twitches with nervous energy, awaiting the inevitable. She’s healthy, well-fed, all sinewy limbs and lean muscle. The Padawan eyes Rey like she’s something small and repulsive, a fly in her drink or a leech on the sole of her foot. Rey’s muscles are coiling, her mental shields are fortifying, every inch of her body and mind anticipating her attack. Will the young Jedi leap over the table, wring my neck with her bare hands, or will she strike out with the Force and pin me to the wall? Will her fellow Padawans join in or will they spectate?
Rey nearly jumps out of her skin when the girl opens her mouth. “Why are you here?” Her voice is flat, juxtaposing her eyes, which are charged with intense scrutiny. A long moment passes in which Rey waits for her to move but she just stares. A small crease forms between her eyebrows and then it dawns on Rey that she is expecting her to say something. Rey’s lips part. She firmly closes them. Then Rey takes a short breath through her teeth.
“Why are you talking to me?” She finally manages to respond. Her voice is hoarse with disuse and sounds foreign even to Rey’s own ears. The question was asked with genuine confusion, but from the way the Padawan’s face hardens and her eyes flash, she has taken it offensively.
“You’re in our territory now, Dark-sider,” she spits. “You’d do well to remember it.” A threat. That’s something familiar, something Rey knows she can handle. The Padawan goes on: “Master Skywalker has taken pity on you. He has compassion even for evil wretches like you. Be grateful he is allowing you the chance for redemption.”
Redemption. That word catches over and over again in Rey’s mind like a fingernail snagging on a loose stitch. “Do Jedi usually talk this much?” Again, a simple, straightforward question bereft of malice and insult, yet the Padawan seems to think otherwise. She’s absolutely seething.
“Is it common practice for you Sith to be such undignified savages?” The barb in her question isn’t lost on Rey, but she doesn’t see why she should waste her energy on engaging in an argument with the Jedi. Rey has always much preferred the direct approach of physical confrontation. The only answer Rey supplies is a noncommittal shrug. The Padawan snarls, actually snarls at her. So much for the “peaceful” and “compassionate” nature of the Jedi, Rey muses.
“Then perhaps you should be treated like the brute you are rather than a welcomed guest.” With a flick of her wrist, she lashes out with the Force and upends the rest of Rey’s dinner onto her lap. Rey’s black garb is thoroughly soiled with rice and sauteed veg and sauce. Rey looks down at herself as the silence of the room is breached with chatter from the observing Padawans. The girl has ruined her dinner, her clothes, and aimed to debase her in front of everyone, but hasn’t physically harmed her.
Rey raises her eyes once more, appraising the opposition’s triumphant countenance with bewilderment. “Is this what your Master teaches you?” She wonders aloud, disturbed by the conduct of these young Jedi. Does Skywalker really think these strange, passive aggressive tactics are enough to defeat the dark side? “Have you ever been in a real fight before?”
The Jedi raises her hackles. Her dark eyes narrow, her muscles tense, her nostrils flare, all tell-tale signs of an offensive maneuver. The corner of Rey’s mouth turns up in an involuntary imitation of a smile, only because this is familiar. She knows, perhaps even before the Jedi herself knows, what comes next. With an enraged roar, the Jedi hurls herself over the table in Rey’s direction, teeth bared.
“Your concentration has improved greatly.” Ben doesn’t startle at his uncle’s intrusion. He continues to focus his energy into suspending a metal ball in the air, manipulating the Force, honing his skill. He has long since mastered this exercise, but endeavors to strengthen his control by floating objects for an extended period of time.
“That’s enough of that now, Ben,” Luke tells him. “Walk with me to the Mess Hall. Dinner has already started without us.”
Sighing, Ben uses the Force to draw the ball into his hand. “Yes, Master.” Falling into a leisurely pace side by side, Luke studies his nephew for a long moment. Ben passes the ball between his hands.
“I’ve brought a new student to the Academy,” Luke mentions casually. Ben spares him a sidelong glance, still juggling the ball, and nods. It’s been a little while since Luke recruited new Padawans. Force-sensitives seem to be dwindling, but Luke had set out on his latest journey with determination. Luke had sensed a strong Force signature just a few planets over and had gone to investigate.
“She is not a traditional student,” Luke continues. He seems to be watching Ben for a reaction, but Ben has also been working on keeping his emotions in check as a true Jedi must. He focuses on the ball, back and forth, catching and releasing. “She already has some prior training with the Force, actually.”
Ben sort of hums in the back of his throat, surprised. All of the Padawans, besides Ben, had come to the Academy with little to no control over their Force.
“She was training to become a Sith before I found her.” Ben drops the ball. So much for composure. “I see I’ve finally caught your attention,” Luke observes, infuriatingly level-headed.
“You brought a Dark-sider to the Academy?” Ben asks, more shocked than upset. “Why? Who is she?”
“Her name is Rey. You can meet her for yourself. She has already started dinner with your fellow Padawans.” Luke makes a sweeping gesture with his arm, and Ben realizes they’ve already reached the Mess Hall.
Ben feels her Force signature reaching out to him, almost like a physical presence, almost like she is tugging on his sleeve, drawing him in. He is on the precipice of some great understanding, she is on the tip of his tongue, her name, her face, her voice, but he can’t be sure until- Ben rips open the double doors with the Force. Ben’s world is suddenly quiet and very still, he can’t see her surroundings, just her. He wonders briefly if she can see his surroundings, if she too can feel their strange bond cleaving the air between them to form a path, a tether.
From the way she’s staring at him, as if he’s some bright, unexpected thing, he can only imagine what must be going through her mind- No. He can do more than imagine it. He can hear it. Just one word, whispered like a secret through their connection. His name.
Ben.
He’s so fixated on her and this freshly opened wound of a bond bleeding between them, and oh she has freckles, she is real and she has the finest smattering of freckles like the night sky littered with stars- Indeed, he is so enraptured he can scarcely notice the total pandemonium that has befallen the Mess Hall.
“Master Luke! She has attacked Caljen-”
“Please, help us, Master, before she-”
“The ceiling, Master-”
Ben blinks and swallows thickly. Her eyes track the movement of his Adam’s apple. He can form exactly one coherent thought, which filters through the bond in a shaky susurration:
Rey.