Chapter Text
To my dear General Organa,
My congratulations on your success in destroying Starkiller Base. It’s always the accomplishment when one can scrape together the dregs of the garbage pile and call it a fleet, so I must put my pride aside and commend your skills as a military leader. I’d heard of them when I was small, heard that underestimating you would be a deadly mistake to anyone that stood against you. Unfortunately pride has always been my worst sin. Consider the lesson learned, I shall not make the same error twice. The next time our forces meet there will be no small openings for your men to slip in and destroy what I built so lovingly with my bare hands.
There will also be no Han Solo to distract our best fighter from his duties.
Does it wound you to see me use a name you’ve held to your heart for so many years now in such a dismissive manner? Forgive me as I use another, because the real reason for my message is mutual acquaintance of ours. I believe you know him as Ben Solo.
I’m no Force user, General, but I can almost feel the way you tighten your fists upon me writing his given name. You think me unworthy to touch it with my gloved hand, to look at him with my cold, callous eyes that have destroyed so many lives with a casual order and a nod of my head. Allow me to make a concession and call him by his chosen name rather than the one you saddled him with at birth. Kylo Ren.
At this point you’re surely wondering why I’ve sent you this message, and Lord Ren himself is that reason. You see, Lord Ren and I have developed a very interesting bond in the past few months. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not a creature of freely given affection. My childhood was not what I assume his was; my father - I’m sure you’ve heard of him, Commandant Brendol Hux - was a cold and ruthlessly efficient man. I was never encouraged to form bonds with others, as any romantic or familial attachments would simply weaken me and come between me and my sworn destiny. While I’m not overly sentimental I will admit that it was rather lonely sometimes.
When I met your son he was - pardon the expression - a massive pain in my ass. Short tempered, wild, unwilling to listen to reason. Was he always like that, General? Did little Ben Solo throw impressive tantrums when not given sweets before dinner? Did he get on poorly with the other children when they wouldn’t give him his way? Was he always sullen and withdrawn? I hope to ask you some day, it’s an amusing thing to imagine. The curious thing is that over time I came to admire his passion. That is one thing my life has always been - passionless. But in those days I knew the heat that came from standing too close, the violent anger he could inspire. I became fixated on him, obsessed with keeping him under my thumb.
And then your Jedi scavenger struck him down and your pretty boy pilot destroyed my beautiful weapon.
I’m sure you're curious to know my reaction upon losing the Starkiller. It isn’t what you think, my dear General. Above all else I felt a cold, blind panic. I knew Kylo was somewhere on that crumbling planet and I knew without my intervention he would be lost. I stumbled through the snow like a man possessed until I found him and I took him to safety. And in that terrible afternoon I learned the true extent of my passion for him and what I am willing to do to see to his safe keeping.
You see, he’s confessed his love to me before. I admit that I strung him along for quite some time, as our relationship has been volatile at best and violent at worst. I gave him small scraps of affection and watched him eat them from my palm, and when he was desperate for a smile or a kind word I drew away and left him bereft. I see my mistake now, General. I see what an asset he is, how our temperaments balance and align to create one destructive force both cold and aflame. I point my finger and he runs to destroy, and in return I give him the attentions he is so hungry for.
Do you despise me for this? For treating your beloved son as my attack dog? You’ll be pleased to know my affections for him are the highest that I am capable of possessing, if nothing else brings you solace then hang onto that one small scrap of comfort.
He has asked me to join him in marriage. Isn’t that a funny little thing, General? Two monsters such as us, undertaking the important bond of becoming a family and combining our lives into one. At first I balked at the idea, dismissed it as foolishness. But it truly does mean something to him, and so it began to mean something to me. And so I let him whisk me away in one of the few rare weekends we have to ourselves and I attached myself to him legally in front of an officiant on Coruscant.
I suppose I should start calling you mother, though I doubt we’ll be stopping by to spend Life Day with the family any time soon.
When we meet again it will not be as family, and you will never have the peace of having your prodigal child returned to your fold. He is mine in every sense of the word and I will burn the galaxy before letting anyone take him from me. Take that as you will; a promise, a threat, an assurance to an old woman that her son has made a clever match and will be taken care of. I do not see us having the benefit of growing old together, but we will at least go out together in the heat of battle. I promise you, General, that our bond is unbreakable and I warn you not to make an attempt.
Ben Solo is dead. He is never coming home. Long live Kylo Ren.
Yours,
General B. Hux