Chapter Text
‘Bring Ren to me. It is time to complete his training.’ Hux ran the Supreme Leader’s words through his head as the shuttle slid noiselessly through the velvety black of space, carrying Kylo Ren and himself to Object 3472-c, Snoke’s domain. The General wasn’t one to question orders, but something about this particular phrase rang odd. If Ren’s training was far from completion, why send him to such a vital object as Starkiller, the base they just lost at least partially due to Ren’s incompetence (Hux didn’t believe in chance circumstances and having someone to blame for the foiled plans made the defeat a little more bearable)? Alternatively, if the Knight was sufficiently apt, why pull him out of the action when their strength was depleted and every ship in the fleet could do with a Force-user. What skills could the Supreme Leader possibly impart on the Knight that would change their dire position? What training would be useful to a mauled boy, who was out of breath after walking five paces and refused to meet Hux’s eye, let alone talk to him?
Ren had sustained severe damage in his fight with the girl, something even bio-gel and intensive surgery had trouble amending; now he was a husk of his former self, tucking himself into corners like some wild thing. Everything about him was wrong, but then everything was wrong to begin with: this whole Force malarkey, the destruction of Starkiller, the map to Skywalker, Snoke’s orders. Hux felt as though his carefully ordered world was unravelling around him, like his own skin no longer fit. And the Knight’s obstinacy did nothing to alleviate his anxiety.
They wound in and out of hyperspace, to avoid being tracked, skirting populous routes and developed systems. The shuttle housed Ren, the General and two unfortunate Stormtroopers, doubling as pilots, who generally tried to make themselves scarce. Hux held no illusions on their account, but then they would help keep up appearances when Ren returned to whatever training facility they were currently approaching. It always looks good to have a pair of troopers trailing you as you walk down a gangway. Somehow, after the fiasco of the preceding weeks, Hux doubted appearances would help him.
“General, exiting hyperspace in thirty.” A Stormtrooper’s expressionless voice snapped Hux out of his reverie. They were approaching their destination.
“Yes. I will ensure Lord Ren is ready.”
He could almost hear the Stormtrooper sigh in relief – no one in the First Order would willingly interact with Ren and since the incident with the girl he was avoided like the plague. Hux did not care by this point; their brief silent interactions gave him something to do, taking his mind off the urge of scratching itself raw. Sometimes he wondered if the Knight appreciated their time together as much. He occupied a cabin in the rear of the shuttle, opposite the General’s own, and that is where Hux made his way, tapping on the door before waving it open anyway.
“Ren, touch-down in half an hour.” Used to the silent treatment, the red-head didn’t look at the room’s occupant immediately, choosing to pick a crumpled shirt off the floor. These small actions of tidiness calmed him. “You might want to…”
Hux’s gaze skimmed the bed and the figure curled up under the standard-issue blanket. Kylo Ren was asleep, his face half-buried in the pillow as if he was trying to subconsciously hide the scar that blazed across it. This was the first time he’s seen Kylo asleep, the General noted with faint surprise; usually Ren would be sitting on the floor by the cot, knees drawn up to his chest, glaring at the door. Up to this moment, Hux doubted his charge did anything else for the duration of their journey, but there he was, curled up and oddly vulnerable in his sleep. The Knight did not look peaceful – little frowns and twitches passed along his brow, already creased by the scar – but at least he wasn’t projecting hate at every living and mechanical thing in the vicinity. Kylo looked young, too, and innocent for the sadistic killer that he was.
Hux caught himself staring and turned away hastily. Then, cringing at his nervousness, he forced himself to approach Kylo’s prone form and shake him by the shoulder. The softness of his touch was dictated by the caution against disturbing Ren’s wounds, nothing more. Definitely nothing more.
“Ren…”
Kylo’s eyes shot open, his breathing picking up pace as he saw someone encroaching into his personal space. Hux promptly stepped back, his hand dropping to his side.
“What is it, General?” his voice was still husky with sleep or with disuse and the red-head did not immediately notice that Ren dropped his silent protest.
“We will be arriving soon. I suggest you get ready.”
“Yes.” Kylo sat up on the narrow cot, placing his feet on the cold floor gingerly. Like a cat testing water, Hux noted despite himself. “If that is all, you may leave.”
Why, that insolent brat! His face uncomfortably hot, the General strode out of the cabin, feeling like an utter fool. He made it to the cockpit before feeling calm enough to stop. But then again, the little embarrassment would keep his mind occupied for a while, as would the careful mental filing of Ren’s features, the soft lines of his sleeping face. Anything to alleviate boredom and the sense of hopelessness.
“Exiting hyperspace now. Destination at forty degrees starboard.” One of the Stormtroopers informed him helpfully. The ship shuddered and the darkness around it resolved into constellations and a greyish-blue moon obscuring most of the frontal screen. They started their descent.
Object 3472-c had no other name, nor did it need one, since its only inhabitants (as far as Hux was aware) were the megalomaniac leader of the First Order and a bunch of homicidal warriors known as the Knights of Ren (if Kylo was anything to go by). Largely covered in deciduous forest, with a band of planes along the equator, the moon was a damp chilly place with minimal climate variation from pole to pole. The grey colouring was due to the thick sheath of cloud that encased the atmosphere, dousing the forests in sleet. The Object was, according to Hux, an embodiment of apathy. He had a hard time envisaging what enlightenment could be gained there.
As the shuttle slid through the cloud layer, Ren appeared in the cockpit, glaring down at the approaching ground much to the pilots’ discomfort. They exchanged guarded glances, trying to guide the craft as smoothly as possible, but still skipping a little on the unfamiliar landing pad. The bay door hissed open, letting in a damp wind and the cold light of early morning. Or maybe this was how light always looked in this dismal place. Before the engines shut down completely, Master Ren and General Hux were striding side by side onto the landing pad, the Stormtroopers scrambling to keep up with them. In front of them, beyond the guiding lights, two lines of figures were lined up at attention – the first glimpse Hux had of the fabled Knights of Ren. Clad in grey, as drab and uninviting as the scenery around them, coloured sashes crossing their chests – the only bright spots in vicinity, the warriors stood with statuesque stillness, men and women alike, some no older than fifteen. The General had time to examine the rows as he passed down their length towards a wide granite staircase leading up to what he could only describe as a castle – a squat structure with hexagonal towers at its corners and long slits replacing windows in the upper levels. As the commanders ascended the staircase, the knights behind them turned in unison and started filing up as well, all in complete silence. A little alarm bell went off in Hux’s head. This was not the return of a leader to his squadron. Phasma got more admiration from her regiment, who were terrified of her, than these knights offered their master. It almost seemed like they did not recognise him. Ren did not seem to pay them any attention either, hood pulled low and, in the absence of the helmet that was blown to smithereens along with Starkiller, rough cloth covering the lower half of his face. Or perhaps he was focusing on walking in a straight line and not clutching his side, where the burn no doubt still throbbed painfully.
The massive doors to the ante-chamber stood ajar, letting gusts of wind blow rain across the grey floors. In the wall opposite to the entrance a projector was set, emitting a sickly green beam of light that resolved into an all too familiar seated figure. Hux rolled his shoulders, all too aware of how his skin stretched and hung uncomfortably, like an ill-fitting uniform.
“You have done well, General Hux,” Snoke’s voice echoed through the cold air, “in delivering Kylo Ren to me you have partially excused the setback that was the loss of Starkiller Base. Now that your objective is complete, rest here for several days. There will be more for you to do in due course.”
Hux nodded tersely, hoping that no other response was expected from him.
“Master, I…” without waiting to be spoken to, Kylo tilted his face up to the towering hologram; but Snoke waved him silent impatiently.
“You have nothing to impart that I am not already privy to, Kylo Ren.” The Supreme Leader looked beyond him, to where the knights still stood as a living wall between the newcomers and the only escape route, “Lorna, escort Lord Ren and General Hux to their quarters.”
A woman with a short functional haircut stepped out of the row, her grey robe crossed by a red sash. She bowed to the Supreme Leader before motioning the newcomers to follow and disappearing down a side corridor that snaked to their left. Hux and Ren also bowed, the latter a little stiffly, and followed Lorna. Hux’s mind was screaming, bubbles of nonsensical observations doing somersaults inside his cranium. Nothing was right: the placid knights, who apparently had nothing better to do than to parade in front of their returning leader, but betrayed no emotions, no reaction at all to said leader’s return or to the changes in him; Snoke outright commending him for his ‘good work’, that was a definite first; and didn’t he need to discuss the training with Kylo instead of refusing to speak to him? The feeling of ill-fitting skin was back, tugging at the nape of his neck and shoulder-blades.
Was this what it was like to be Ren?