Chapter Text
Luke Skywalker had cut himself off from the Force.
Well, mostly. Nearly. Sometimes, admittedly, curiousity got the better of him. Wandering the craggy cliffs of Acht-To, he’d suddenly close his eyes, just for a minute, and take a peep.
That was how he new certain things. He knew, for example, Luke Skywalker was a legend throughout the galaxy. He knew his sister, Leia, was furious with him – for all her sweet talk of bringing him back to save the Resistance, she chiefly wanted to whip his ass for his complete and utter fuck up with Ben. The last time Luke had taken a Force peek, he’d seen Leia’s very clear mental image of just where she wanted to shove his lightsaber (he’d been so frightened he’d slipped in porg shit, almost slid straight off a cliff). Since then, well, he’d strictly adhered to his Force-free lifestyle.
Today was different. Today the girl – Rey of Jakku – had arrived, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and brimming with youthful optimism. Luke didn’t like Rey of Jakku so far. First she’d immediately annoyed him by holding out the old lightsaber, instantly reminding him just how inconvenient it had been to go without a right hand all these years (especially when he got very “lonely” on the island, and his decaying cybernetic hand was increasingly sharp and unforgiving). Next were the endless lectures on his duty to Leia and the Resistance. She had followed Luke all around the island, the nagging quite spoiling his special green milking time with Silky. And then, Rey had the nerve to turn out to be massively Force sensitive, called to the Sacred Jedi Texts themselves! Against all better judgement, he was impressed.
And finally – the nail in the no-Force-for-me-thanks coffin – was Rey revealing Han was dead. Han! The news sent Luke spiralling from Rey and Chewie (who seemed as happy to see him as he knew Leia would be) mentally and physically, staggering up the many stair by starlight to his special thinking rock (the Caretakers had told him the proper name for it on his very first day, and he’d promptly forgotten and always been too embarrassed to ask). Luke was devestated. He’d spent the last 14 years imagining, and practicing, the aloof and awesome person he’d be around Han when they reunited one day – no ‘kid’ or ‘junior’ anymore thank you very much, he was a world weary Jedi Master, steeped in tragedy and wisdom. That a big part of said tragedy came from his..mismanagement…of Han’s son, Luke chose not to think about. Hopefully Han wouldn’t either, would file it away with other things like the time his wife had stuck her tongue down Luke’s throat before anyone new they were very, very-much related…Anyway! Moving on.
Han dead. What had happened? He hadn’t let Rey finish the story. The Force would tell him. Luke crossed his legs, closed his eyes and reached out…
“NO KRIFFING WAY!” the old man opened his eyes and yelped. Ben?! That moody, spotty little git had killed Han Solo, his own Father?? Or not ‘Ben’ anymore, it was all ‘Kylo Ren’ and Dark Side black these days. Luke snorted, remembering the gangly teenager skulking around the school, dark hair covering his eyes that he refused to put in a ponytail (“Be kind to him Luke, he’s self conscious about his ears,” Leia had chided when he’d complained, Han snickering in the background).
Oh dear. Han. Leia must be even more mad...
Luke pushed the thought away, dipped back into the Force (he couldn’t stop now, it was like opening Space Pringles and trying to eat just one). This time he saw the girl fighting his Emo-fied nephew in snowy forest. It was immensely satisfying to see Rey cut and slice her way through the Force with his old lightsaber, especially when she slashed it across the patricidal bastard’s stupid face. Luke decided he liked Rey of Jakku a bit more. Which was why the next vision-
“NO!” Luke barked, and smacked his cybernetic palm against the rock. A flock of Porgs squawked and flapped away at the outburst as Luke gritted his teeth. What he had seen- he’d seen-
Rey of Jakku and Ben Solo running along on a beach, hand-in-hand, faces alit with ridiculous soppy smiles. They paused for Ben to encircle bare arms around Rey’s slender waist, lifting and swinging her in a circle, quieting her squeals with a swift drop of his dark head to hers, their lips pressed together. His once gawky nephew was tall and ridiculously shredded, while Rey looked angelic in a flowing white dress fluttering in the wind. It was nauseatingly romantic and sweet, and Luke felt quite ill. He steeled himself as the image changed again…more abstract this time. It was Rey again, and Ben, together but apart – and all around them Force energy sparked and hummed. Luke realised (thanks to his dutiful reading of the Sacred Jedi Texts, unlike others he had actually READ them) what he was being shown – that very strangest and rarest of phenomenon – a Force bond. Between a lightsider and darksider no less. This…this was almost unprecedented.
It was dawn by the time Luke Skywalker finished meditating on the Force vision. He opened his eyes. Spread before him, the Island was waking up – porgs screeching and flapping from nests, Thala sirens cooing (Silky!), the sun lighting the dark carpet of rolling hills an emerald green. In the beehive domed village, directly below, he also saw Rey, frolicking with four fat little porgs. She was force-lifting their chubby little bodies, her laughter mixing with the (rather stupid, in his opinion) little birds’ clucks and chirrups of excitement. The Jedi Master both gagged and half-smiled at the pure syrupy, sweetness of it all, even as Rey – who had turned to lightsaber practice – mis-judged a swing and accidentally vivisected all four of her new little friends.
The vision weighed heavily in Luke’s mind – of this sweet (if at times quite deadly) girl locking lips with his idiotic, Father-murdering tit of a nephew. The half smile from Rey’s inadvertent porg slaughter vanished. No way. Not after everything Ben had done – burning down his school (Luke had just cement rendered the east wing it had cost a fortune!), joining the dark side, murdering his Father. But a Force Bond was a powerful thing. It was bound to reopen, in a matter of days, hours even, allowing Rey and Ben to speak, see, and even – Luke grimaced – touch eachother.
“Over my dead body,” he announced to the sky. Ben Solo had taken away Luke’s school, his best friend and brother-in-law, his second-best calligraphy set (‘just borrowing’ my ass!) and, he feared most of all, the love and respect of his twin sister. No way was Ben also going to get the girl.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On the other side of the galaxy, in deep space, Supreme Leader Snoke also experienced a Force vision.
The old darksider opened his eyes and sighed, tapped his long, withered fingers against his throne. Behind him he could hear the scrape of plastoid on steel as various members of his Praetorian Guard shifted in their uncomfortable red armour. Tough. That would teach them for sniggering (albeit in their heads, but it was still hurtful) at his original design. They would have looked lovely, but it had been ruined by Hux pointing out they’d be cold in deep space and that the red and gold assless-leather chaps provided little in the way of actual armor and, subsequently, an appropriate level of security.
Snoke considered himself a simple being. He took pleasure in the beauty of the universe – the velvet darkness, the twinkle of the stars, the flash of the Hosnian System blown to space dust. The click of a hundred First Order officer boot heels meeting in salute, the typically ill-concealed terror on the face of Hux and…well, pretty much everyone. Old wars had left his body scarred and tired, he reasoned his gold threaded dressing gown and matching slippers were a necessity – not an indulgence. And beauty helped him think, thus the golden rings and plush red curtains were essential. A simple being with simple pleasures, that’s what he was – sparkly dressing gowns, terrified First Order underlings, and an emotionally unstable Skywalker boy to mould in his image.
The Supreme Leader frowned. His Force vision had clearly shown trouble brewing in this department. It has started off great fun – a replay of Ren murdering his Father as prompted, and then getting his ass kicked by the very girl he fancied (Snoke had actually come out of the Force meditation to arrange for popcorn). But the second half was more concerning: he saw hands (and other fresh young body parts) touching, eyes locked in passionate gazes, a long red ribbon curling through time and space to entwine blue and red lightsabers. The Force – both dark and light sides – were clearly shipping the scavenger girl with his emo apprentice. An unexpected development requiring careful consideration.
He should have seen it, after the girl resisted Ren’s interrogation– no, before that, when Ren had ditched looking for the droid for the far less practical (but more delectable, he supposed) tactic of extracting the map from a pretty girl’s head. He’s seen the holos of Ren hurrying to his shuttle with Rey in his arms, like a groom tenderly carrying his wasted bride from a wedding reception. But Snoke had been too busy editing a Starkiller fanvid to his favourite Jatz tunes (in hindsight he regretted not paying a bit more attention to Hux’s military management back then, given how things turned out) to think about Ren’s love life. Really, he preferred to think about the latter as little as possible. The old being shuddered. He was aware many in the galaxy considered his invasion of a young boy’s mind the ultimate act of evil. But THEY hadn’t been stuck connected to said mind when Ren hit puberty and began-
No more of that. Snoke closed his eyes to mediate deeper on the vision, after smirking briefly at the uncomfortable chafing sounds he knew emanated form one or more of his guards’ thighs. Focussing on the girl. Rey. No lineage – an abandoned orphan with daydreams of family grandeur. A random bestowment of immense force powers, as had been the case with Anakin Skywalker (Snoke sincerely hoped no one in the galaxy was stupid enough to believe the born-of-the-Force twaddle, clearly Shmi Skywalker had just forgotten to take her pill one morning). Snoke frowned. If he hadn’t invested years in turning Ben Solo into Kylo Ren, Rey of Jakku would have undoubtedly made an excellent apprentice darksider.
The question of what to do remained. The force bond between Rey and Kylo Ren would shortly open, encouraging all kinds of soulful gazing and whispered confidantes in the dark. The last thing Snoke needed was for the pair to form an alliance, for Ren to bring her to the throne room on the pretext of presenting a prisoner, turn on him, cut him in half with a lightsaber in, and then work with Rey to murder all of his uncomfortably clad guards (in many ways it would be putting them out of their misery). Snoke frowned, slightly concerned at just how detailed that last musing had become.
So. The solution was to make sure Ren stayed loyal. If the Force had bonded him to the scavenger there wasn’t much he could do to prevent it happening. Perhaps he could, though, twist it to his favour. He would pretend to be supportive of the blossoming young love affair, employing what he understood was known in some worlds as the ‘cool Dad’ strategy. And then, perhaps, he could have them both for the Darkside.
“Send for Ren,” he boomed, his nearest guardsman starting and scrambling to the commlink. “Tell him…” Snoke paused. He’d planned on giving the boy hell, and using the the you’re-no-Vader-you’re-a-child-in-a-mask line he’d thought of in the shower last week (he’d been itching to use it ever since). But from the interplanetary culture research stored within his vast memory, Snoke knew Cool Dads didn’t tell their sons they were failures before blasting them with force lightening (it was a pity, he’d been looking forward to it). No...Cool Dads called their sons champ and sport, and gave them advice on how to treat girls. Inwardly Snoke shuddered, then steeled himself.
“Tell Ren- it’s time we had a very special talk.”
He would help Kylo Ren get the girl.