Chapter Text
Unknown Regions
22 years ago
“APOLOGIZE.”
General Brendol Hux’s voice was firm as he ordered his bastard son. His ruthless behavior had caused him a lot of trouble that could — hopefully — be saved with an apology.
To say he expected a heartfelt apology from a bastard child was too much. All Armitage Hux could muster were fake emotions and, therefore, a fake apology. Brendol did not expect anything else from the son of a cheap kitchen servant.
When all the unnerving teenager could muster was some sort of crooked and sick and bloody — he had shed so much blood and yet he could stand still, as if proud of what he did! — smirk, he lost his temper. If not for Rae Sloane, his fist would have connected his messy — bloody, there was so much blood — face. She held his wrist in a tight, commanding grip. Even though she had said nothing — she knew better than defending that worthless bastard this time around —, her brownish eyes conveyed her meaning.
Beating his son to a pulp would achieve nothing.
But if that wasn’t worth trying!
“Apologize,” he demanded once again, running his finger through his ginger — quickly turning white — hair. He moved away from Armitage and tried to center himself. Clearly, assaulting him with his fists did nothing to him. He wondered how the boy would react to the torture chair.
A small smirk curved his lips, but he gave up on the idea soon. Rae Sloane would claim it was a waste of resources, but the fact that Armitage was a breathing, living thing was a waste of resources in itself!
He hated that kriffing boy so much.
He hated that mother of his.
He hated Maratelle for not giving him a proper heir.
And he hated himself for ever thinking that letting a bastard boy live was a good idea. He should have killed him the first time he laid eyes on him.
It would spare the immense headache he felt right at this moment.
Instead, he heeded Rae’s advice and kept the boy alive. And for what? So that Armitage could get into a fight and merciless beat the son of a prominent family. A family so wealthy that they alone supported several huge projects inside the First Order.
He knew that leaving Armitage under the care of Gallius Rax was a mistake. Gratuitous violence often led to nothing but the destruction of those who inflicted it and Armitage Hux’s destruction at this point could led to his own destruction. Personally, he had nothing against violence as a tool — it was a powerful way of conveying a message —, but you either controlled it with a tight grip, or it controlled you.
Unless…
He destructed that worthless bastard first.
Brendol balled his fists, but his thoughts were cut short by Rae’s commanding voice, “You should leave, General.”
With a deep breath, he turned on his heels, but not before casting a cold glance at both his son and the woman helping him back to his feet. He saw as Armitage wiped the blood from his busted lip and with a groan put his nose back in place. The bloody scene should have brought some satisfaction to him, instead all he could think right now was that he had to find a way to say that such a sad occurrence was no more than a terrible misunderstanding. A mere fight between two teen boys — fighting over whatever boys fought these days — that unfortunately led to the death of one of them.
Before he left, he said over his shoulder.
“You’d better apologize.”
You kriffing bastard.
***
Today is the end of the Republic.
Your lips trembled as you heard these words for the umpteenth time. The tears stained your hands and sobs died in your throat, so raw from crying for what felt like a lifetime. You fisted the sheets and hung your head low as his voice echoed in the chamber once again.
The image of Armitage Hux delivering that hateful speech upon that wretched killing machine would be forever carved in the back of your mind. It would be the source of your nightmares for the rest of your life. It would be responsible for your endless guilt.
Not long ago you thought that whoever he killed would be on your consciousness. Now you knew that his past killings were your responsibility, too.
…will bring an end to the Senate…
His commanding voice — proud even; how could a human being feel so proud of such a monstrosity? — as he decreed the end of the Republic brought a massive cheer from thousands of stormtroopers and officers as the red light flung upon the sky towards the entire Hosnian System.
…all remaining Systems will bow to the First Order…
His bluish eyes, that once looked upon you with so much vulnerability and affection — the look of a man who sought approval and recognition and just a little bit of love, necessary for every sentient being — shone with rabid enthusiasm.
…and will remember this…
His hands, that once held you and offered you some comfort — or as much as a man who had been broken and mended himself a thousand times before could muster — abandoned that General posture of his as the next dreadful words were born on his lips.
…as the last day of the Republic…
In your mind, you had some trouble reconciling the two Armitage. The broken man with a terrible past that you have come to know and love and the ruthless dictator responsible for what was probably the worst thing to ever happen to the Galaxy.
How could you love a man like him?
How could someone in his past not have shown some love to him before? Some part of you — the naïve and believer — thought that if he had known love before, if he was loved in his childhood, that… monstrous… atrocious thing could have been prevented. The woman who had lived with him for the past few months knew better.
Armitage was in love with power.
And he would do anything to attain and keep that power.
No amount of love would — could — have prevented that…
…whatever that was called.
No amount of guidance — pedagogically affectionate or not — could have prevented him from becoming that…
…monster.
The words you told him, in a moment of comfort for what felt a long time ago, returned to you with full force and incredibly bitterness.
…I swear, you are not a monster…
It was one of the first time you had a breakdown in his presence, right in the beginning of your relationship. He was worried he had somehow committed the despicable act of tearing a child apart from its mother’s arms.
You had assured him that he was not one of those alien villains that parents scared their children with before putting them to bed.
I am not lying. You would never take my child away from me. Yours or otherwise. You are not a monster.
You had been so sure right back then… but, how could you? You did not even know him to begin with. He was just someone you could not let die. He was just someone you should have left for dead. But no matter what he did, no matter what he had gone through, he would never do that, right?
Because no sentient being — human or alien — would commit such villainy.
And certainly not Armitage Hux — your Armitage Hux —, a man who had been taken from his mother’s nurturing love against his will. How could a man who had been broken to thoroughly act against others in the same cruel way?
How could he inflict upon others the very same pain his own father had inflicted upon him?
He was a better man…
He was a better person…
He just had to see that.
Someone had to show him that.
There was… there was something in you that screamed at you to trust him, to hold onto him and not let go… to keep him and to mend him, because you were so broken and he was so broken that you two could fix each other.
But there was something in Armitage that could not be fixed.
…You are not a monster…
Armitage had no respect for life — his or otherwise.
He had certainly not taken your child from you, but he had taken several children from their parents, he had taken several parents from their children.
The pain he had not inflicted upon you, he had inflicted tenfold on others.
How many grieved now because of his actions?
How many were still grieving, months past that?
How many parents cried at night because their children — grown up or not — were in the Hosnian System in the very moment the Cataclysm took place?
Did he…
Did he know what he was doing?
…Not a monster…
You grabbed the pillow and muffled your cries in it.
It was with a mixture of pain and shame that you realized that the man you had come to know and love in the past few months was a man capable of something so… utterly…
Something no one could ever come up with words to describe.
Your heart ached as you thought of everyone whose lives had been so thoroughly affected — taken — by him.
You were filled with shame. Shame for ever feeling like he deserved something close to compassion and understanding.
Armitage deserved nothing good.
So how come the very idea of him suffering had your heart in tatters?
How come you could still so desperately love him?
How come every time you recalled that spark of despair in his eyes — recalled how he screamed his father’s name in a feverish state — and every time he looked at you like someone who did not deserve to be loved… like he expected to see a monster reflected on your eyes… how come every time you recalled those smallish moments made your heart ache so much?
…Not a monster…
You wiped the tears from your eyes as you heard that hateful speech for the last time.
The destruction of Alderaan had defined generations — had marked generations to come, had marked General Organa and your generation —, but the destruction of an entire System was something that you could bet not even the Empire back in their most impressive days could not begin to fathom.
…Not a monster…
How could you look at General Organa and tell her that the man you loved — the man who had given her data on the First Order — was the one who had probably made her relieve the worst pain of her past?
How could you tell her the man you had lived with for the last few months was the man who had made the destruction of Alderaan — who made her relieve the pain of losing her home world, her father and her mother — seem like a child’s play?
…not a monster…
Armitage Hux — the man you loved — was not a monster. Because even monsters knew better. What he had done was the work of a sentient being — and no other being could be crueler than those who plotted and executed their actions for the sake of none but themselves.
Do you even know the things he’s done?
You had chastised your ex-husband saying he always thought he knew better. You said that unlike Armitage, who made you strive to become your better self, Aquilla always decided everything for you.
Biting your bottom lip, you could not help but wonder if Aquilla was indeed right. Perhaps he did, in fact, knew better.
***
It took you a good half hour — which seemed like the longest and most excruciating hours of your life — to get yourself together. It was no easy task, all the time your mind — your treacherous heart — kept telling you that something was wrong.
Because that had to be some mistake in that entire scene.
Sure, Armitage was in love with power.
Armitage had no qualms about taking someone else’s life — mainly if they put his own life in danger. Some people deserved what he did to them —, his father included. Even though you felt unable to retaliate, you knew how gullible it was to expect that everyone would behave like you did.
The rational person in you knew that violence was not just a tool used to strike and inflict pain upon others, it could be used for protection as well. For someone who whished to sit upon the throne and rule the known Galaxy, violence was a necessary — and oftentimes imperative — strategy.
And Armitage coveted the position of Emperor like a drowning person covets air.
But honestly, in his place which person would not covet such position? Which rational person would not want to be on top — mainly someone who had been abused and humiliated so much in his past?
It all seemed so very logical.
What seemed illogical was the ruthlessness…
The cruelty…
The magnitude of his actions.
You removed the towel from your face and looked at your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes were swollen and red, and your lips were bruised.
Do you even know the things he’s done?
You did not know in the past.
You did not know till an hour ago.
How could you?
The image staring back at you was one of accusatory mockery. It was plain as day the words you should have known. Because the chances of someone like him being good were as flimsy as the chances of you disposing of a life willingly.
You should have known.
But what if you did?
What difference could it make? It would not erase Armitage’s sins. It would not give back the lives he had taken.
You had saved his life — you had saved him — when he should have died, but even if he died back then, that horrible crime would have happened already.
…You should have known…
Turning your back on the mirror, you let the towel fall to the floor and reached for your clothes, before you acted rashly and broke it into tiny pieces. Part of you was afraid you would not be able to look at your reflection without having those words thrown in your face.
Sure, you may have not known in the past.
But now you knew.
And you could not go on pretending like nothing had ever happened.
You could not go on pretending like you did not love someone who behaved worse than any monster.
***
Unknown Regions
22 years ago
A small hiss escaped his busted lip when Rae brought the bottle with water filled with nutrients to his mouth. In a fit of rage, his father had broken his nose and dislocated his jaw.
Rae Sloane would have been surprised — even shocked — if that wasn’t the umpteenth time it occurred. She had lost count of how many times Brendol father abused his son — both verbally and physically — for his actions.
This time, however, neither could not say the General was wrong in his rage.
He had indeed gone a bit too far.
But when Armitage saw his fellow cadet mocking his mother, he was taken by an incontrollable fury that manifested itself into rampant violence. He had never been shaken by such strong emotions, by such thirst for blood nor such desire for revenge.
While he busted open the skull of the son of a prominent politician, he did not see a boy — a frail looking teen boy, the very image of himself — looking back at him — screaming in pain, with blood pouring out of his mouth and nose and eyes, scratching his hands, scratching his arms, trying to scratch his face in a vain attempt of escaping Armitage’s vicious grip.
He did not see the other cadets calling for help.
He did not see the other cadets trying to pry him away from the fellow cadet.
He did not see the instructors calling his name.
He only saw a General of the First Order.
He saw Brendol Hux.
He saw his father…
He saw himself killing his father…
and the more he hit the boy, the more he saw his damned father begging his pardon…
…begging for his life…
…apologizing for insulting his mother…
…apologizing for taking him away from his mother…
…apologizing for doing Maker-knows-what with her…
…apologizing for abusing him…
…apologizing for letting his allies abuse him…
…apologizing for letting Enric Pryde abuse him…
…apologizing for letting Maratelle abuse him…
And once again begging for his wretched, pathetic life.
When he realized what he did, he was the one in pain.
Brendol Hux was over him. At first, he took his bastard son away from the bloody body disposed over the floor. Then, he was holding Armitage in place, who behaved liked a caged animal rebelling against his tamer. Next thing he knew, he checked the boy’s pulse just to come back and hit his son in the face, using him as punching bag, while screaming the worst obscenities.
Now, while Rae Sloane tended to him, the teen boy recalled his actions.
He regretted nothing.
If he ever came to regret anything it would be the trouble he caused Rae Sloane every time his father beat him and she had to nurse him back to health.
She seemed to know what he was thinking, for she scoffed as a meddroid prepared an antiseptic solution that should be applied to his external wounds.
“I’ve disappointed you,” he commented in a small voice.
All of sudden, he did not feel like the one who had just bloody killed a cadet of his own age, but a teenager in the very sense of the word: small, frail and terrified.
Afraid of losing the only person who had ever shown him a bit of kindness.
“It’s not me you should be worried about,” she commented while she cleaned the sides of his mouth with a light gauze. “He’s right.” She held his chin upwards while cleaning the dried blood in his jaw. “You should apologize.”
His bluish eyes looked back at her with some sort of accusation and hurt.
“N-No,” he replied, feeling suddenly fatigued. It felt as if a duracrete wall had fallen over him. His jaw was stiff, and his lips burned. The solution with nutrients he had drank earlier made him sleepy. For a brief moment, he closed his eyes while she opened the first few buttons of his uniform to let the meddroid scan his chest in search for any deeper bruise or broken bone.
“It’s the best you can do. You’ve caused too much of a problem today.”
His eyes snapped open at her words.
They stung more than his father’s blows.
“I-I d-don’t want to.”
Suddenly, his voice was coarse, his throat was dry, and he felt an immense and uncontrollable — unreasonable — need to cry. And he felt ashamed, because he could not remember the last time he cried. He did not want to cry — he did not want to be the weakling the others said he was —, and he did not want to apologize.
“No one likes to apologize, but sometimes that’s the best we can do, Armitage.” She discarded the gauze and sighed in relief when the meddroid finished its analysis. No broken bones this time. If Brendol continued to treat his own son so poorly, by the time Armitage reached adulthood, he would need to replace some of his body parts with a few good prosthetics. “Tell your father what he wants to hear.”
No.
He refused.
He did not want to.
He would do anything Rae ever asked of him — he loved her with every fiber in his heart — but he would not apologize.
“I hate him.”
A sound like a derisive laugh — of profound mockery — left her lips.
“You can hate him all you want, but right now you ought to apologize.”
He groaned.
In pain.
In rage.
In despair.
He loved Rae — and he knew she loved him back —, but she did not understand. He could not make her understand.
How could she understand?
No one could understand him.
“I thought you taught me not to lie.”
She scoffed.
“And I thought I taught you to be smarter.” She ran a finger over his ginger strands, removing them from his sweaty forehead. He looked back at her with his bluish eyes full of emotions that one could expect to see in the eyes of a much older and experienced — broken — person, not in a fresh teenager. “Truth is for those in positions of power, Armitage.”
She did not finish her sentence, or he did not hear the rest of it, for his eyes closed out of their own volition and he fell into a troubled slumber.
***
Rae Sloane was wrong.
Two decades later, the General of the First Order learned that truth was not for those in position of power. Rae Sloane could have taught him a lot, but she did not know everything.
She had been wrong when she said Brendol Hux would recognize his worth.
She had been wrong when she said he had a strength in him that few could match.
She had been wrong when she said he would be the one to unify the petty politics inside the First Order and lead it into glory.
As you stared back at him with your swollen, sorrowful eyes, he learned something Rae Sloane never taught him — either for lack of knowledge or for judging it unnecessary, it did not matter right now: truth is for those with strength of mind.
And right now, Armitage was the farthest he could be from a position of power.
He stared back at the horizon, at the sun firm in the sky. If the situation was any different, he would have shielded his clear irises, but right at the moment, he let the scalding morning sun blind him. He even thought he could hear your labored breath, as you tried your best to control the need to cry — in the past, he thought tears to be a sign of weakness, but personal experience and a few years taught him that those who cried usually found in themselves the will not to give up; he admired your strength, he had told you that, more than once —, but it was just an illusion — or he was just too much in tune with your emotions —, for the sounds of the busy city muffled any sound that did not relate to those of speeders running around.
Fishing his electronic cigarette from his pockets, he brought it back to his lips — he better smoke as much as he could right now, for as soon as he returned to the First Order, he would barely have time to sleep, let alone indulge in the pleasure and calming company of such vices.
“Do you hate me now?”
There was an intake of breath from your part, but he could not hear it over the sounds of the city — or the sound of his own treacherous heart. You bit your bottom lip and replied in your most controlled tone while staring at his back,
“Hate is not the opposite of love.”
For a brief moment there was only silence.
Or as much silence the background around you could provide.
“Then you still love me in spite of everything I did.”
The tone of his voice made you flinch. His inability to believe he was worthy of love even after everything you had gone through made you feel sorry for him — made you hate those who were in his past, those who had made him believe that love was something only a few bright people deserved, and not an universal need.
However, you knew you were past such discussion.
Armitage’s scars ran so deep he could not see what was right in front of his eyes.
He did not want to see it.
Because it was easier if you could hate him.
And, this time, you could not help but agree with him.
Because you knew your next words would hurt.
They hurt you already.
“I’m ashamed I do.”
His only visible answer was the set of his shoulders that went straighter. In the next moment, he brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled. His stance businesslike.
The most impressive trait about Armitage was that he was not always able to foresee what was coming his way, but his past — his father and his aggressiveness and Rae’s careful teaching — taught him to quickly adapt to the situations, whatever they may be.
“Say what you must.”
You braced yourself before you reached for him.
That impersonal conversation was killing you, but you knew he would not have it any other way — and you were honestly afraid of your own feelings.
Afraid of letting go of your ideals and embracing a man who had little respect for what you had the utmost respect: life.
Afraid of letting go of your firm beliefs and embracing a man who could say he loved you while shooting at the ones you held closest to your heart.
Afraid of letting go of everything you had been taught and embracing such a flawed and wicked man just because you loved him.
In the past, you thought that love was the most important ingredient in the recipe for a long-lasting relationship. It was ironic that, for the second time in your life, you realized that love alone did not hold a relationship together. In fact, a successful relationship did not even depend on it.
Both of your partners lacked respect for the essential.
Aquilla Syndulla lacked respect for you.
Armitage Hux lacked respect for life — his or otherwise.
“Please, stop acting like you can read my mind.”
This time he scoffed.
He turned on his heels to face you. His intense blue eyes set on your own. For a second, it felt impossible to breath, but you controlled your urge to look down.
“Then you will forgive me.” The words rolled off his mouth in a tone that was between a careful — hopeful whisper — and a smug provocation, as he approached you in measured steps.
You narrowed your eyes.
Whenever Armitage felt cornered, he either closed himself off or he used his overwhelming presence to coerce you into doing whatever he wanted. And right now, he wanted you to punish himself.
Did he realize that by punish him you were punishing yourself as well?
He invaded your personal space; his shiny boots meeting your own bare toes. When he reached out to touch your face — to place a strand of hair behind your ear — you held his hands between yours.
“If you need my forgiveness…” You gulped. “Then you must regret what you did.”
You felt very stupid when you saw the way the corners of his full lips tilted slightly upwards. The scene lasted just a moment, for he pulled you to his arms, holding your head against his chest.
In spite of your attempts, the tears ran down your face and stained his black dress shirt. You fisted the fabric between your fingers as he tightened his arms around you.
“Regret won’t change what I did.”
His voice was no more than a whisper against your temples.
…I swear, you are not a monster…
“B-But… do you?” You removed your head from his chest and stared at his face. The sharp lines in his expression did not soft as he wiped your tears away. You moved your own hands to trace his austere cheekbones, holding his jaw between your fingers. “Do you regret it, Armitage?”
Do you regret it now?
Instead of an answer, he bestowed your forehead with a kiss.
…not a monster…
…not a monster…
…not a monster…
The drum in your heart repeated you’re not a monster with every intake of breath… with every throb of blood in your veins…
Anyone capable of love could not be a monster. Anyone capable of love is capable of being saved.
“No.”
But Armitage Hux did not want to be saved.
And no one could save — no matter their good intentions — someone who did not wish to be saved.
***
Several stormtroopers flunked the personal shuttle in the Bay Two onboard the Finalizer. With the War escalation between the First Order and the Resistance, the Resurgent-class Star Destroyer was bubbling with scheduled training sessions for the TIE pilots and for the fresh graduated cadets.
Following the destruction of the Starkiller Base, the First Order saw their numbers dawdle with the many lives of competent Officers, Stormtroopers and Pilots lost, which forced them to rush the graduation of the cadets in their carefully crafted programs.
While Armitage understood the tactic, he was heavily against the such rash and rushed decision. Untrained forces could not only lead to another crushing defeat, but also to the loss of uncountable lives.
Such worry with the lives of those under his care spoke volumes of a man who had no qualms about exploding an entire System. But Armitage was nothing if not a prudent man. And he thought that to be the key word to describe what happened to the Starkiller Base: imprudence. Had Kylo Ren been more prudent, that crushing loss would not have taken place.
And there would not be a bounty on his head right now.
He knew that the one who orchestrated his downfall would have done it in spite of the outcome of his commanding of the Starkiller Base, but he was aware that the destruction of his pet project and his refusal to act carelessly only hastened the coup in motion.
Still seated on his place, he heard as the stormtroopers flunked the shuttle and gave some commands. It seemed his arrival caught everyone off guard — because certainly no one expected the fallen General Hux to use his personal coordinates, in which some would consider as a suicide move, to come aboard the Finalizer.
Nor did they expect him to engage the pilots in the nearby range and still escape unscathed — or by the use of some sorcery that prevented the TIE models from firing against him.
When he climbed down the ramp of the shuttle, he had his hands placed behind his back and his shoulders set straight. A few of the stormtroopers lowered their blasters and others said his name in surprised intonations, before moving the blaster to him in a grip that denounced their uncertainty.
Only a chromium-armored stormtrooper, positioned ahead of the others, did not flinch at the sight of his characteristic ginger hair slicked back to perfection.
“Captain Phasma,” he greeted in a nonchalant tone.
“General Hux.” She motioned for him to step down the platform and approach. Her troopers, on the other hand, closed the gap between them, blasters in hand, while two of them searched the previous General for explosives or anything that could compromise their position.
The man — the traitor — before them was not to be trusted.
When they found nothing, they stepped away and lowered their blasters. Another pair of troopers approached with energy cuffs to bind his wrists. If the situation was any different, he would have bristled at the treatment, but he reigned in his temper.
Before they could lock the wrist restraint in place, a voice he had come to know and to hate in his childhood and adolescence sounded imperious and clear in the Bay Two.
“There’s no need for something as rash as using energy cuffs.”
Armitage looked up to meet eyes as blue as his.
“General Pryde.”
The older man arched a brow, if he was somewhat surprised at the stunt the previous General pulled out, he did not let it show. But he had to be, at least, disappointed, because getting Armitage while the bastard was trying to run away would be far better off for his image than having the man entering the lion’s den himself.
“General Allegiant Pryde,” he corrected. “I apologize for my lateness; I was busy welcoming the scavenger girl aboard. It’s very interesting how the two of you decided to land on the Finalizer at the same time.”
The accusation did not go unnoticed by anyone in the hearing range.
Armitage’s face remained impassive.
“Hn…” he muttered to himself as Enric Pryde approached him, till their black, shiny boots were less than an inch apart from each other. In the past, the mere proximity would have him trembling in fear — because sometimes Pryde abused him more than his own father, actually encouraged by his own father. But now, it only amused him. He squared his shoulders. “Interesting indeed.”
He did not expect it to happen at all, but it was something he could work with. He wondered what Rae Sloane would say now. Should he tell the truth — in spite of his frail position — or should he go for a lie?
Unsurprisingly, he had gone for the truth earlier — he found out that in spite of his position, he seldom had been in a true position of power in his life, he rarely lied — with her. However, it is not as if General Pryde — he refused to give that pompous man the privilege of being called a position he had coveted for himself for so many years —, deserved some consideration.
“Welcome back aboard my ship, Armitage Hux.” He placed both hands behind his back before he dismissed the stormtroopers, except for Captain Phasma.
If Armitage cared at being stripped of his title, he did not let it show. He also placed both hands on his back and matched his pace, as they trilled the corridors of the Finalizer, towards wherever Pryde would keep him captive until he could meet the Supreme Leader Snoke.
“Perhaps you would like to tell me how you engaged and deactivated all TIE fighters in range.”
“It would be my pleasure, General Pryde.”