#fandom tlj

Her mind had brushed a familiar presence in the Force — one she knew intimately. A presence that had once been bright but had turned black as space, becoming a soundless scream of rage and need. She knew instantly that it was Ben Solo, her son. Leia tried to stop herself from being drawn into her memories, even as she knew she wouldn't be able to resist. Ben in her womb, turning and tumbling in search of comfort, an ever-expanding radiance in the Force, but one shot through with veins of shadow. Luke had reassured her that was normal — the brighter the light, the darker the shadow. She'd desperately hoped that was true. Ben as a baby, red-faced and round. His hair had been black from birth, impossibly fine and delicate — the softest thing Leia had ever imagined. Ben as a toddler, forever following Han. Carrying the dice from the Millennium Falcon — the ones his father had used to win the beloved, battered freighter — and promising anyone who'd listen that one day he would be a pilot, too, like his daddy. Ben in adolescence, his face grown lean above a strong jaw. A boy who always seemed alone, a churning storm in the Force. And whose anger had begun to manifest in malfunctions and breakdowns and objects that fell off shelves and shattered with no one near. Ben, her son. Who'd been stolen from her and Han, stolen by Snoke's wiles and Luke's mistakes and his own furies. Who'd become Kylo Ren, the champion of the First Order — and his father's murderer. Ben was leading that TIE squadron. He had fired the torpedo that had killed her pilots, and now he was coming to kill her and everyone else.

For a moment Kylo let himself recall his parents' worried conversations behind closed doors, the ones they'd deluded themselves into thinking he wouldn't know about. Conversations about the anger and resentment that had boiled over once again in their son. Conversations in which they talked about him like he wasn't their son, but some kind of monster. They were frightened of him, he realized. And so they got rid of him, sending him away to his uncle Luke — whose betrayal would prove far worse. But Ben Solo was no more — Kylo had shed his childhood identity and the pathetic weakness it represented. Han Solo's days of cheating and disappointing people were over. The New Republic was destroyed. And now the Resistance — the last of his mother's causes — would follow it into extinction.

The Resistance had known the First Order was building warships and armies in the Unknown Regions, beyond the galactic frontier. General Organa had sent a steady stream of holographic footage and intelligence data providing evidence for that conclusion to the New Republic senators, hoping to batter down the galactic government's stubborn insistence that reports of a First Order military buildup were at best a figment of the general's imagination and at worst exaggerations. But a capital ship of that size? That was worse than the darkest imaginings of the Resistance's intelligence analysts.

War was coming, and [the Resistance officers] knew it. And they were worried that in [Leia’s] grief she’d forgotten. The idea offended her. Leia knew all to much about war and grief — she’d lived with both for longer than some of these fretful officers had been alive. Over five decades of her life, in fact, war and grief had been her only truly faithful companions. But she had never let either stop her from doing what had to be done. The anger felt hot and sharp, and came as a relief after the hours of rudderless sorrow that had left her feeling empty, like she’d been hollowed out.

[Kylo's] mother was indeed there. He could feel her familiar presence in the Force, and he could sense her determination and focus — along with a deep weariness. And sorrow. And worry. It's too late to be sorry, Mother. Though you're right to worry. His thumb hovered over the trigger, even as his senses drank in impressions from the Force. The panic on the bridge ebbed and flowed around the calm focus that was his mother. Her anxiety pulsed in the Force, in this last moment before her death... but she wasn't afraid. She was worried for him, he realized. And she wasn't angry. She ached for him to come back to her. Kylo depressed the trigger slightly, not quite enough to fire. And then he lifted his thumb. He couldn't do it. A moment later, Kylo's wingmate fired.

Details, because I love that stuff.