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Chapter Text

Calligraphy and a Lazy Afternoon in the Emperor’s Private Garden

***

***

In the garden, two boys, too young to be called men, yet old enough to be prematurely given the responsibilities and trust due adults, were sword fighting.

Not the sort of sword fights that determined life or death, victory or defeat. Nor was it a play fight either. Both boys wielded their instruments and their own bodies with force and grace. Practice blade clashed against practice blade, hard enough to bruise, but the wooden edges too dull to cut and slice.

With quicker footwork and stronger arms, the boy dressed in rough grey robes feinted, blocked his opponent’s strike with his secondary short sword, and with a thrust and a twist, sent his sparring partner’s weapon flying into the bushes.

“Not fair! Again with your short sword! And you used the Force didn’t you!”

“No I did not! Not my fault you spent more time buried in books than practicing the sword, and never grew the arm strength to duel wield against me. And come on Raf, let me win at this one thing at least. You already trounce me at all the Shah-tezh games and engineering competitions.”

Raf Sloane puffed in mild annoyance. Hux had once said the Apprentice and Raf were evenly matched, each groomed for their future stations to complement the other’s weaknesses and strengths. Swordplay was fine for self-defense and as a form of exercise to maintain physical fitness, but the mastering of it should be left to laser sword waving, Force sensitive brutes, while a general’s ward should follow more worthwhile pursuits with his time. But it still stings sometimes, to be reminded that he had not been his friend’s equal in the more martial arts for years. The Force and the differences in their physiques had widened that gap so much, that there was no hope to even try catching up. At least he was still the superior in mental exercises, even when the other boy occasionally cheated with the Force.

**

After the death of Snoke and the full inauguration of the new Supreme Leader, after the recovery rally of Republic systems finally shaking off their stupor at the horrors wrought by Starkiller Base, the First Order and the remnants of the New Republic circled each other, like two wounded fighters still equally matched. Circle, strike, circle, and strike again, a repetitive and futile dance.

They’ve fought so long and so fiercely, each holding onto their version of truth and justice like sword and banner, yet the peace and change both sought only got further and further away from them with each fresh bloodshed, each struggling planet drained of resources.

The deadlocked parties drew back in exhaustion, looked internally in reflection, and ironically, each had found prosperity in their own way during the uneasy truce which had followed.

To let the past die, you do not kill it.

You look forward to the future.

**

If Light always rose to meet the Dark, then what happens when the New Empire’s Force users are neither, but rather something in between? What will rise to meet them in the Force’s murky gray waters then?

The boy was never suited fully for the Dark anyway. No, not someone who was so beside himself with open joy to meet another with the same powers. And Kylo Ren would do better than his own elders. Just look at how well pouring a boy into other people’s molds had worked out for Ben Solo.

With an ironic laugh, the dark Emperor realized he had never forgotten his Jedi trainings after all. Despite all his faults, Luke was a good teacher.

**

So strange to pick it up again, this old Jedi meditation.

The Emperor’s Apprentice was eager to learn, less impulsive and more confident than the Emperor ever was in his own youth, and would one day be powerful enough to inherit his Master’s mantle. But power blinds without the serenity to see, and traditional calligraphy, though outdated, cumbersome, and expensive too for the tools required, had always brought some sense of serenity to the boy who was Ben Solo.

And who better to teach the Apprentice calligraphy than the Emperor himself? And how better to be a teacher than with some practice beforehand? After years of reviewing reports on glowing screens, dictating decrees via either a voice recognition system or through Hux, one would think the pen with its bristly brush, the wet ink and soft mulberry paper would feel strangely organic and unfamiliar. But once Ren laid out all of his instruments, newly commissioned and crafted by the best artisans (the old set from his boyhood was long lost in the flames of his own panicked rampage), the weight and grip of the bamboo stalk felt more like a long lost friend found again.

**

The young Supreme Leader had no friends at his inauguration, only subjects who were awed and afraid, only vipers with their envy and resentment, their venomous agendas.

The General had feared him then, feared and loathed him, the Force, and what he could do with it, what he had done with it.

Little did he know, Kylo Ren had feared The General too. A rabid cur backed into a corner, ready to bite the throat out of its tormentors should they even show a moment of weakness, should they ever let down their guard.

Yet it was this mad dog who held the First Order together while the fleets were still reeling from their losses (even while he was falling apart himself from sleep deprivation and shock). It was this spitting mutt who would help hold back the circling jackals and vultures cut from the same cloth too. Besides their salivation over the Supreme Leader’s well-coveted throne, the competitors in high command also wanted Brendol’s upstart bastard dead. Ren was in no hurry to give up his dead master’s (tormentor’s) seat, and having the First Order’s most vicious bastard son alive but on a very short leash could only be beneficial.

And so a very small tracker coupled with an even smaller explosive charge was made to the Supreme Leader’s precise specifications. The tracker itself was a work of art. It was light, non-intrusive, designed with the patient’s comfort in mind, and should not be felt after its implantation. Hux used to chide Ren about the meaning of responsibility. Now as a responsible owner, it was only right for Ren to chip and collar his dog. Should the cur run, it won’t get far, and Ren won’t even have to use the Force to euthanize it, should it ever decide to bite its new master.

Oh how Hux had protested vocally, begged pathetically, then when both tactics failed, raged and cursed Ren’s name in his head. Yet the veneer of servitude remained on his pallid face, even as he was marched into the operating room.

The surgery was quick and done under full anesthesia with one of the Knights presiding. Hux had a smooth recovery afterwards, with no rejection issues, no side effects reported in the annual physical after. And the unspoken threat of the chip, the physical reminder of this collar, was much more convenient than choking Hux each time he stepped out of line (what if his control slipped in anger, and it went too far? Who would run their army then? The flash of Hux’s thin pale neck over his stiff high collar still reminded Kylo of weeks alone on the bridge with no General to accompany him, the washed out lights in the sick bay, all the little bone fragments lighting up the med-scans, the wary emptiness surrounding the sedated patient like a funeral shroud, the sudden realization of just how human and brittle Hux actually is, and the unpleasant feeling clumping like thick tar in the pit of Kylo’s stomach).

After a few mind wipes and convenient air lock accidents for people who did not need to be in the know, as far as anyone was concerned, the young Supreme Leader had finally gained General Starkiller’s full loyalty. But Ren knew he only had Hux’s bitter resignation and forced cooperation.

And what cooperation! What an Empire they had built!

**

The Emperor put down his brush and looked up before his visitor could rap on the door frame to announce himself. Instead of reprimanding the man for intruding upon his scheduled meditation time, he smiled and waved him inside.

The man standing before him was a shadowy blot against the backdrop of the vibrant garden outside. Austere in his customary greys, the man’s pale face was lined by age and too much sneers and snares, his hair so streaked with grey that it could no longer be called bright and fiery, but those familiar cold eyes were clear and piercing still, and his posture was military perfect despite the cane in his hand.

The General always walked with a slight limp after the last and final time the Supreme Leader had thrown him across a room. Oh he tried to compensate, and those who did not know him well, those who were unobservant and awed by his title and presence never noticed anything amiss with his strides. But Ren saw how Hux had dragged one leg when he thought no one was watching, shifted around uncomfortably to take weight off his badly mended hip. Later, Ren also sensed the brace Hux wore under neatly pressed uniform, a new addition to the carefully crafted armor of appearances and ceremony.

After the New Empire became more established with an actual capital, and the majority of Hux’s tasks better done planet-bound than aboard a Star Destroyer, the Emperor had sent surgeons and physiotherapists and rehab specialists by the droves, but the injury was too old, the patient never did take care of himself properly in rest or nutrition until recent years. Added to a myriad of even older injuries and a long history of stim abuse, the limp became more pronounced year after year. And all that wear and tear finally caught up with The General in the form of a cane, carved from long extinct Kriin wood by the Emperor himself. Given what a paranoid man The General was, the cane became an additional place to conceal yet another hidden blade. And the paranoia became quite justified when he had to defend himself and the Emperor’s then young Apprentice with both the blade and its hard sheath on several occasions.

Given how much he cared for appearances, figures Hux of all people also managed to make the cane into a trendy fashion statement instead of a sign of disability. Nobles and officials from both the Capital and far-flung Empire worlds spent fortunes on exotic wood, making poor attempts at imitating The General in vanity, when they had perfectly healthy bodies.

But while the fussy nobles of the Capital and self-important captains at their military outposts can pick up and put down their canes anytime they liked, Hux was stuck with his, just like how he was stuck with the chip in his cranium. Ren had summoned the Empire’s best surgeons and ordered the kidnapping of the Republic’s own top medical authorities to consult them on safe removal procedures. Alas, The General was not entirely hale of health and no longer young. It was not worth the risk.

(The line-up of surgeons, hospital department chairs, researchers, and professors had looked fearful, frustrated, pitying, resigned, vindictive, or full of bitter glee. Ren wiped the myriad expressions from their faces, and sent them all home at Hux’s urging. “Professionals like these are difficult to come by, and they may still prove useful yet, Supreme Leader.”)

Yet despite it all, The General who stood in front of Ren now was more at ease than he ever was in his younger days. When had they started to trust and rely on each other more than any other person? When did their mutual distain turned hatred mellow out into something neither could fully describe?

“General, it is good to see you this afternoon,” nodded the Emperor in greeting.

“Here to drop off the three years forecast reports with my commentary and recommendations, and to pick up young Sloane, whom your Apprentice had apparently stolen yet again from his lessons. And we have just seen each other this morning.” Instead of bowing, The General threw a datapad onto the Emperor’s writing desk, his expression utterly unimpressed.

“Work meetings don’t count. And come now General, physical fitness is just as import as mental acuity. Let young Raf have his fun.”

**

The Apprentice craned his neck to look into his Master’s study. He was promised a new meditation practice today. But since The General is here, he expected any lessons with Master Ren to be postponed.

General Hux always did have the Emperor’s full attention. Look at how quickly the Lord of over half the civilized galaxy had paused in his own tasks to receive his visitor. Said visitor had loosened the short traveling cape around his shoulders, and was gesturing animatedly with one hand as he talked, the four white stripes denoting his rank flashing at his dark sleeve edge.

Although instead of direct military command, which The General was ironically never that exceptional at anyway (though he’d likely murder anyone who was not the Supreme Leader for daring to suggest so), for as long as the two boys could remember, the man had been far more involved in civil matters, politics, and what both the Apprentice and The General’s own ward suspected to be his first and greatest calling, engineering projects.

For even though most civilizations started with blood, they must be built on much different things. Pretty promises, some of them even kept. Prosperity, or failing that, the bubbly dreams and hopes of prosperity. A smooth infrastructure grid, to facilitate the movement of resources, both people and material. And much needed civil projects after decades of neglect and the ravages of several galactic wars, to show the benevolence of the Empire and keep the masses employed.

The Apprentice loved the civil projects. After all, it was one of these projects that had brought him to his current family. The boy was attracted there by the then much coveted salary of clean drinking water and one free meal a day for child laborers. The General was scheduled for official inspections and a public speech at the future water detoxification plant, all standard procedures, only to be surprised by a snotty brat lifting durasteel beams with Ren’s Force tricks. A snotty brat who was easily lured away from his home planet by the promise of clean bathing water and three free meals a day.

“Why was General Hux never promoted past his old military post?” The Apprentice asked of his sparring partner.

“I don’t really know either.”

“Eh? But you are The General’s ward! He’s practically your dad, and he’s never told you either? The Director of Communications thought it was out of nostalgia to his most notable achievement, the Starkiller Project. It was the rank he held then.”

“No don’t think that was it. The General… Hux was never quite comfortable bringing up Starkiller or the power transitions after that whole mess in private. Probably a bad idea to talk to him about it too,” Sloane lowered his voice as he gave his friend this sound advice, as if fearing his guardian would overhear them from the Emperor’s study.

“Hmm. There were some buzzing around the court years ago, saying The General retained his old title to show fealty to Master Ren. But there was really no need for that. Everyone knows he is Master’s most trusted right hand, instrumental in the founding and building of our empire,” the Apprentice remarked as he looked at The General’s familiar back, as ram rod straight and proud as the day he’d first met him.

**

“What were you writing, Supreme Leader?” asked The General of his Emperor.

The Emperor looked down at the paper before him and the singular symbol splashed on it in quick confident strokes, “Ren.”

“Ah, writing our own name now are we?”

“No Hux. ‘Ren’. Humaneness. The tenant upon which to build a stable Empire.”

“Ah yes, that ‘Ren’,” Hux’s voice held a hint of mockery. “Excuse me if I cannot recall humaneness as a quality of the Knights of Ren, nor how the Empire was won.”

Instead of taking offense, the Emperor felt relief. Today must have been a good day, for The General to be loose and free with his sharp wit and sharper words.

“Yes, we were forceful because it was required. Myself, the Knights, you, the Order. But to keep what we have taken for ourselves, the traditional definition of ‘Ren’ would have to be applied. You had said so yourself first Hux, to gain an Empire we needed a conquering king, but to grow the Empire, we needed a finer and gentler hand. And you have been indispensable in guiding both the forceful and gentle hands of the Empire, my General,” Ren turned towards his Grand Marshal and Prime Minister in all but name, gave a crooked smile, and patted the cushion next to himself in invitation.

Hux laid his cane on the ground, and lowered himself with slow, deliberate care to sit at Ren’s left hand with a tisk, “Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear Emperor.”

Ren rolled his eyes in a most un-imperial manner and poured Hux a cup of Tarine tea.

**

The boys have finished with their practice. They’ve put away their swords, wiped clean their hands and faces, and sat down to talk.

First of their respective studies. Both their training regimens had intensified again over the past year, the Apprentice ready for the next stage in his mystical journey, and Sloane introduced to Empire high society formally as an ‘adult’ instead of a child on his last birthday. He was finally receiving an actual pay check for all his steadily increasing work as parliamentary aid too. No more free child labour, he had joked.

Then the conversation turned to their enemies. Master Rey’s own Student grew in power daily. The Apprentice sometimes caught a glimpse of the older boy in the Force, Lighter than his own Dark, yet Darker than the Light ever was. The New Republic grew too, slower than the New Empire, as agreements requiring the consent of multiple parties were sometimes impossible to reach, but the growth was steadier too, for when the Empire’s singular will erred, there were no opposing voices of reason to correct it before it was too late. The cold arms race between the two competitors was ever steady, spurring inventors and profiteers alike.

(The Apprentice thought maybe he should try talking with the Student. Ask about his day, favourite colour, favourite foods maybe. Does the Jedi lady let him keep any pets? Does he know he was the reason why The General had rescued the Apprentice from poverty, and introduced him to Master Ren? Does he also not know when his birthday was? Raf thought the plan madness and both a possible security breach and a complete waste of time.)

At last the two talked of their elders. There were some rumours of General Hux’s possible retirement, given the factors of age, old war wounds, increasingly frequent migraines, failing health and all. Although the ward laughed at the absurdity of such notions. Sure the man’s work days are shorter, and Sloane was finally allowed to assist instead of simply observe Hux in some of his tasks. But that was only expected. For a growing young man, with age came more welcomed responsibilities. He was the grand-nephew of Grand Admiral Sloane and the sole ward of The General, and by nature and nurture the unofficial successor after all.

Hux still had so much more to do, and Sloane cannot imagine the man’s straight back bend for anything. The man did not bend before the adversities of his youth, before the Republic, not even for the Emperor beyond what was required by ceremony, and he would not bend to age so easily either. As for the medical leaves and vacations that The General was finally taking, well they were forced upon him by the Emperor through formal decree. It wasn’t as if anyone in the tiny Hux household of two wished to keep away from their first and most intense passion, work. A pity remote access from the hospital was revoked, again through the Emperor’s meddling. But there was nothing to stop Hux from logging on to work from home or a resort on his private secure connection. And vacations to exotic locales always turned into surprise audits for the unsuspecting local officers.

The General would soldier on, for order in the galaxy, for the Empire, for his own work ethics and stubborn pride, and Sloane would gladly march with him and carry his bright torch forward.

**

Kylo Ren looked into the garden. The Apprentice and The General’s ward sat on a stone bench, their heads, one mousey brown, the other topped by thick dark curls, bent close together as they whispered and laughed amongst themselves, sharing an easy companionship that was hard to find amongst the Empire’s higher ranks during its earlier days.

Kylo Ren put aside the first sheet of paper with the character for ‘Humaneness’ soaked into its fibers, and lifted his brush to start on a short stanza about one of the many aspects of ‘Ren’, the proper and ideal relationship between two human beings. Hux sat by his side, sipping at his tea slowly as he browsed incoming messages on his holo-pad.

The Force which was in all things was calm around Kylo, like the sweet fragrance of spring buds, like pitter patter rain drops in summer time, like a gentle breeze carrying away autumn leaves. And Hux’s aura was rested and tranquil too on this slow and lazy afternoon, so unlike the tightly coiled stress and suppressed white hot anger from less peaceful times past. His cool presence in the Force more like freshly fallen snow than the frigid winter winds howling across the surface of Starkiller Base.

Kylo Ren looked into the garden, past the boys who would one day sit where he and Hux are now, and up to the clear sky above. He too was at peace. Yet there was a nagging voice at the back of his head, sounding strangely like Ben Solo, who lamented all the wrong steps taken, important people lost, relationships destroyed, broken, unfulfilled. Lamented all the could-have-beens.

***

Extra 1:
Hux: What is it Raf?

Raf Sloane (hesitant but curious): General Hux, is it true…?

Hux: Is what true?

Raf Sloane: The new rumors around the Imperial grounds, are they true, of you and Emperor Ren?

Hux (sneering): Ugh truly now, are you my ward and future Prime Minister candidate in training or a gossipy schoolgirl? Of course they are not true. What makes you think I would have the constitution and energy to get up to… to such carnal gymnastics? Just because I’ve rested overnight a few times in the Emperor’s quarters... Back in the days the maids would have all been sent for Reconditioning!

Extra 2:
Raf Sloane (with great surety): So the gossips are completely unfounded. The servants mistook a massage session for Hux’s bad hip for something else. Hux had said so himself.

The Apprentice (with great relief): Oh thank the Force. Otherwise what a horrible mental image! Elderly parents having kinky sex!

Extra 3:
The Apprentice: Why did we enter unofficial ceasefire with the New Republic, if both of you still hate them so much?

Hux: The Fleet was unfortunately short on funds and raw material towards the end of the Post Starkiller war. We could not increase enforced material requisition without alienating our allies and bolstering the ranks of Resistance insurgents. And no one wanted to lend to the Order after A Certain Someone ‘accidentally’ choked a few credit agency representatives. In the end the council had decided to pull back and focus on building up Order territory economy and push for far Outer Rim expansion instead.

Kylo: We ran out of money and planets to loot, and Hux got distracted by infrastructure projects. And I had to choke them, Hux. The little rats were catching onto your insurance fraud scheme.

--

Raf Sloane: Emperor Ren pursued Skywalker for years only for their confrontation to end like that on a planet of salt? How is such a projection even possible within the laws of physics? If Force users are such a threat, what of the new Jedi, that scavenger woman? Why do we not have any active engagements against her?

Hux: His Imperial Majesty was, to put it politely, unfortunately outmatched each time he tried to engage the Jedi Witch. It is strategic avoidance, to prevent any further embarrassments and tarnish our Emperor’s otherwise regal and fearsome image.

Raf Sloane: So Sir, should I just grab the Apprentice and perform a standard strategic avoidance maneuver if we ever encounter her?

Hux: …yes…

Extra 4:
Kylo: Are you mine, Hux?

Hux (sneering lightly): Don’t be ridiculous Your Imperial Majesty. Did my repeated pledges of allegiance fall on deaf ears? Did my stabbing of an Admiral for your precious Apprentice count for nothing?

Kylo (mumbling): ‘M not ridiculous…

Kylo (pouting): ...you will always be here right, Hux?

Hux (sneering some more): Move your giant snuffling head off my lap. And yes, as long as I could, as long as the Empire still needs me.

But Kylo Ren was not happy with The General’s response. As long as he could? How long would that be? As long as the Empire still needs…? Is that why he was shuffling his most trusted staff, evaluating regional governors, grooming Raf?

Yet what more could he ask of this man, after he took and took and took of whatever he’d wanted, only to suddenly realize what he took and what he truly desired were such different things.

Chapter Text

Mad Dogs

***

***

Raf grew up with a passing familiarity with dogs.

He remembered the large, snarling, aggressive things at the planet-side junior Academy grounds. The older cadets had joked about whether the animals were there to keep intruders out, or the cadets in. The Academy director favoured these beasts though, and scrounged up spare funding just for them.

One of Raf’s roommates had tried to pet one once and lost a finger for his efforts. The four years old had screamed and cried with a bleeding stump while their class instructor looked on with distain on her face, muttering to herself how her charges got more idiotic every year. Raf was never that stupid, and got along with the dogs just fine by staying well out of their way.

(The roommate was reassigned to the civilian labour track in a different Academy a year after. Raf later learned the boy eventually entered the specialization for animal husbandry.)

**

Half a year after his roommate’s reassignment, Raf’s personal ID was transferred from the war orphans registry to The General’s estate, and his person was relocated to the Capital to be under The General’s private tutelage.

Slightly lost and awed, Raf stood with his tiny backpack in the Capital space port terminal. The General of course was far too busy to take a day out of his tight schedule to personally receive a mere child. Instead Raf was met and escorted by six Imperial police, two security droids, and K9-1700, a public safety and services canine unit.

Well-trained, silent and stoic creatures, the K9 units were given serials numbers as homage to the old Stormtrooper designation system, which was phased out in favour of personal names. The change had caused a lot of administrative headaches for the population registry office and the fleet’s human resources department, and had the unanticipated consequence of too many ridiculous nicknames becoming legal last names for the New Empire’s populace for generations to come. But the Supreme Leader had foreseen the necessity of such a move through a vision sent by the Force, and insisted in his wisdom that such changes (also better food, more shore leave, the Supreme Leader himself curbing his demonstrations of the Force, etc. etc.) were necessary to prevent further Trooper desertion and defections. The General had objected so (to personal names and more shore leave, not the food or reduced assaults on staff and property courtesy of Ren), but eventually even he had relented.

Raf would see different K9 service dogs occasionally when he went about the Capital. They were perfectly behaved and rarely barked, but their bites were no less deadly than the guard dogs of his early childhood.

**

When General Hux took Raf along with him to the first of many high society hunting parties (“An obligation one sadly could not escape. Networks and alliances are built or broken in parties like this, young Sloane.”), Raf realized how ridiculous some dogs can be. Yippy little things with short stubby legs, the ancient wolf all but artificially bred out of their looks.

Yet after witnessing the hunt with bloodied preys and mad glinting eyes on the faces of both hounds and hunters, and observing the no less vicious back and forth filled with double meanings between other guests and Hux himself (armored in finery with all of his medals sparkling across his thin chest, armed with the polished Kriin wood cane, a symbol of the Emperor’s favour), Raf realized just like the so-called Imperial gentry with their colourful coats and flashy jewelry, blood lust remained in these disarming looking little dogs. Base beasts with base desires all of them.

(There were plenty little girls all dolled up in lace and ribbons playing at host and guests, in their little girls’ secret and vicious social games, but there was sadly only one other boy around Raf’s age at the party. He had looked very out of place in his plain gray robes amongst all the glint and glitter.

Raf spent the latter half of the indoor gala hiding under a table with this boy. They shared snatched snacks and made snide observations of the adults. Raf contributed with perfect recall of the intelligence reports Hux read to him as bedtime stories, and Raf’s new tentative ally gave his own eager inputs by ripping even juicier tidbits straight from over-inflated egos and drunken minds.)

**

Raf’s perception of dogs was turned upside down upon meeting the unfortunately named Millicent 2, when The General finally took him for a private audience (afternoon tea and playdate) with the Emperor and his Apprentice.

It was a great shaggy drooling beast. Stupidly trusting with a trustingly stupid expression stuck permanently on its great doggy face, wagging its tail in happy thumps and slobbering all over Raf’s hair and new uniform shirt. A salivary menace.

The Apprentice talked to it as if it was a baby and called it a “good boy”. Raf wondered if the Emperor had acquired the dog to mock General Hux with the mutt’s bright orange fur, given how turbulent the personal relationship between the two men can be at times.

(The boys played fetch with Millie 2 and rolled around on the grass all afternoon. The maintenance droids beeped at the trampled Imperial garden with dismay.)

**

Raf was incensed when That Jedi Witch’s Student called Emperor Ren and General Hux “That Mad Dog and His Personal Bitch” during their ill-fated first meeting. Why had he agreed when the Apprentice insisted on sneaking out his “best friend” to meet his new “Force friend” in secret? What a terrible momentary lapse in judgement!

Whatever the two men had done in the past, whatever sort of terrors they were, Raf looked up to them both for the men they are today (Hux had raised him, told him all about his great-aunt. Emperor Ren may not be the most logical or cool-headed ruler, but the man tried his best every day. They gave him a stable childhood, a safe world to grow up in). And to defame The General so! All those from the filthy Republic were indeed filth themselves!

Raf fumed even more as his searches dug up maliciously manipulated old images from the New Republic holo-net, pictures of feral dogs with bloodshot eyes superimposed on recruitment posters featuring the then young Supreme Leader and his right-hand General. Propaganda articles decrying Kylo Ren as a kin slayer and betrayer without any mentioning of how he was first betrayed by his own saintly kin. Sordid tabloid tales laughing at Hux’s parentage, questioning the virtues of his mother despite their righteous talks of rights and respect for women from the working class in other publications, making veiled insinuations on how the favourite General of the First Order had climbed so high so fast so young.

How Raf had wished he could wipe these slanders from the holo-net, and wipe away the slanderers themselves from the galaxy.

But Hux brushed off the Republic’s offense with a dry smirk, when he noticed Raf’s browsing history, “Do not let your opponents rile you with words, Sloane. After all, here I am steering an Empire with my own hands, fulfilling my great destiny. And where are the authors of these propaganda drivel now? Dead or scribbling away their pathetic lives in their inconsequential jobs. Beside, I’ve been called far worse by Ren himself.”

(The Student and Raf had agreed to disagree, after the Apprentice had begged and pleaded with them both to get along. He no longer called the Emperor and General dogs, and he no longer referred to Master Rey - that frightening woman, who had bested the Emperor himself many times - as a witch.)

**

Kylo Ren was more angry about what the New Republic was calling Hux than himself.

He knew what he was, and the New Republic’s assessments of him were not wrong. A lost beast with a useless pedigree, unwanted, given up by successive owners before he gave up on all of them too. Tearing the hands that once fed him to shreds in his escape, devouring his old keepers until no one wanted to keep him anymore (she had slammed the door in his face).

But Hux was more than a bastard mutt. Kylo would dare any of those so-called journalists and political analysts to get up and move forward after they’ve been kicked and beaten down as much as Hux had (Kylo would know. He’s done his fair share of the kicking himself).

And so what if Hux is a rabid cur? Kylo would be happy to be two mad dogs together with him, finally free of all their past masters and their abuse.

(Ren hoped Hux no longer thought of him as his master. Ren was not Hux’s master. He was not! Was not! He didn’t want to be Hux’s master anymore. He never really did master that fierce, stubborn, and prideful soul.

Ironic that Ren had spent the entirety of their co-command trying to prove himself Hux’s superior, then half a year forcing Hux to call him Supreme Leader, another half gloating about his success when he was not pulling his own hair out in frustration over bureaucracy, tactical blunders, the budget, and cut-throat Order politics. No more than three years after he was sick of never hearing anyone calling him by his own name. And he would spend the remainder of his reign trying to get Hux to call him anything but Supreme Leader, Emperor, Sir, Your Imperial Majesty.)

**

Some New Republic news outlets tried to recycle the rabid canine imagery with the Apprentice and Imperial Youth League Chair Sloane with mixed success.

While Sloane was indeed an Imperial bloodhound raised and bred, he lacked the harsh edges of a military man. And though filled with both passion and fervor, he never did manage to inherit his adoptive father’s absoluteness and fanaticism.

And the Apprentice came from common stock, a literal street mutt with a friendly wag and friendlier eyes. It was extremely difficult to equate someone like that to a dangerous guard dog, attack K9, or tenacious hound of the Empire. At most he might be compared with Millicent 2, happy with a pat on the head plus three square meals a day. His greatest ambition no more than wanting every other child in the New Empire to be able to enjoy the same.

(And what great ambition it was, that Raf Sloane would spend the rest of his life working towards helping his friend realize this simple yet lofty goal.)

***

Extra 5:
Kylo Ren: I’m sorry Armitage.

Hux: I know.

Extra 6:

After discussing future transition plans for the throne and government office in a private hospital room.

Hux: … and with all the foundations we’ve built for you in place, the years of rest and growth to gather the Empire’s strength for war, promise us that you will one day take the loathsome New Republic and fly the Order’s banner across this galaxy.

Raf Sloane: Yes Sir.

The Apprentice: Eh of course, General, Sir.

Hux: Good… And you, wipe that undignified wibble off your face, Ren. I am not on my deathbed yet!

Extra 7:
Years and years and years have passed. The New Empire and the New Republic gradually merged, with far less fanfare than when they first announced open trade way back when. That particular endeavor was worse than pulling teeth, with monumental efforts from both sides, especially First Minister Rafa'el Sloane and Senator Finn Dameron.

But just like how a pulled bad tooth was good for overall health, so did the slowing economies of the Empire and Republic receive a much needed boost after trade relations and travel were finally reestablished. Populations mingled, businesses extended across borders, and the two people discovered they were after the same things after all: a paying job, a full stomach, and a warm bed to share with a friend at night, all better achieved together instead of apart.

Some attributed the birth of the new Galactic Alliance to bilateral trade, others to increased diplomatic efforts as children born in peace time forgot the old hatred of their elders, and yet more gossiped about the rumored friendship between the Grey Jedi Master, the Second Emperor who might have been Grey as well, and the most famous First Minister Sloane himself, all figures of the past now, and the tales of their supposed adventures no longer verifiable. But they did make great holo-flick material. And speculations into their motives, deeds, and personal lives kept many a historians and pulp fiction writers fed.

Hux and Kylo, acknowledged in history books as remorseless war criminals, horrible dictators, and founding fathers of a great empire, weren’t sure if they should be rolling over in their adjacent graves.

The End

Chapter Text

The Emperor and General Hux, corrupting the next generation. Of course that's not what the state sponsored magazine said for this rare publication of what some had affectionately dubbed "Emperor Ren's Family Photo". A few of the older admirals had expressed their disdain and dismay at the scruffy dog and scruffier apprentice child. Where had Ren dug them up from? Some remote scarp yard? (Pretty much the truth, but don't let young Sloane catch you saying that. You will regret it.)

The Emperor and General Hux, who was never officially promoted any further, but rumored to hold the sovereign’s ‘special’ favour despite his biting tongue and frigid demeanor.
Their Ward and Apprentice, who are debating the pros and cons of dropping one of the draperies on the head of one Peavey Jr.
And Captain Peavey (Jr.), off screen, who is cursing that old bastard Hux for making yet another mandatory vacation into a surprise inspection.

Extra heavy cape and extra heavy jacket, for fashion. Ren is holding up just fine. Old muscles are still muscles. The General on the other hand...

Take your kids to work day.