Kylo tightened his arm around her torso, firmly holding Rey's back to his chest, his shoulder providing support for her head. He kept a strong grip along the underside of her arm with an armored hand, his other tightly grasping the reins. He urged the steed into the darkness, driving it hard and fast, while its hooves viciously pummeled the plains of Middle Earth. And its defiant snorts and grunts resounded into the night.


The splinter of Morgul blade had begun claiming its victim: more rapid than he'd anticipated it would. He hoped to have had them residing in Mustafar before the venom started spreading further into her system. However, as the minutes passed into hours, the likelihood that Rey would survive the journey turned bleak.


He could feel a part of him die as she neared that abysmal shadow of death and the void in his heart was burrowing itself deeper into his chest as the rhythm of her pulse slowly diminished. Now it had come down to being nothing more than a race against time. Every breath that she took was quickly becoming her last amongst the living.


"Stay with me," he hissed. "Do not give in, Rey. You have to stay with me."


Her name rang as peculiar to his ears, yet its appeal on his lips was familiarly sweet. Like the kiss in his vision. It felt as if he'd said her name aloud for days – years even – rather than hours. Instead of a few simple words in response, the abhorrent sound of her lungs choking on air came in place of her voice, letting forth a cry that sounded freakishly inhuman.


Kylo knew that it was only a matter of time before the poison's effects would swallow her completely, bringing him to the conclusion that he would have to hinder her transformation sooner rather than later as he'd planned. By doing so, he would need to cast aside every desire of the Wraith and cave to his instincts of elven nurturing.


He had to heal her – now. Except one crucial element was missing.


The Kingsfoil plant was a healing herb, most commonly used to disinfect wounds and lessen pain; although, it was one that also grew sparsely and found only in thickets. Having to find a rare plant in such stark lands at night would be a challenge of its own, along with the fact of being uncertain if he was even capable of healing her.


But Kylo would worry about the latter should that moment ever come. He needed every sense of his to be finely honed and find the herb in question; specifically, his sense of smell, regarding Kingsfoil's poignant fragrance. Fortunately, he traveled no more than a few miles from their previous location, discovering the herb's minuscule-sized white flowers nestled inside a small area of forest groundcover.


He eased her frail body from the mount with vigilant care into his arms, leaving her bow and quiver behind with his gloves. He would need full contact with the flesh around the wound, though removing the fragment of steel from the affected area for Rey to heal properly would have to be saved for when they completed their journey. Right now, he was merely buying her extra time.


Maintaining his grasp under her knees and back, he carefully positioned her onto the detritus turf, bearing in mind not to move her in ways that would intentionally cause her more pain. It wasn't until he had her completely settled under the moon's luminosity when Kylo was able to finally see how far she'd faded, retaining her soul-piercing gaze as he knelt beside her.


Her irises were as cold as ice, bluer than the purest water that could be found in Middle Earth with pupils dilated to the size of needle points. The ashen-colored pigmentation of her cheeks and face reflected lucid and grave in the moonlight. He gave her no more than a day before she was to resemble him in appearance.


For reasons unbeknownst to him, he was tempted to reach out and touch her face in a way that an enemy shouldn't have wanted, meaning to ensure he wasn't about to allow the darkness claim her as it had him; although, how he came to be a Wraith was vaguely known.


But he didn't.


His eyes lowered to inspect the incision on her shoulder. He tore open the shredded piece of fabric in order to apply the remedy directly to the wound. The flesh surrounding the lesion was rapidly decaying, a dark web of infection splayed over a sizeable fraction of the area. He would be surprised if it wouldn't leave a scar if he succeeded in what he was about to do.


Kylo closed his eyes and tuned out the rustling leaves that moved steadily with the breeze. The words and motions came to him as he gathered a small batch of the herb, palming it with his hands. He rolled the greens in a slow and circular motion, reciting the terms in a hushed voice.


"Menno o nin na hen i eliad annen annin, hen leitho o ngurth. Menno o nin na hen i eliad annen annin, hen leitho o ngurth."


Repeating the phrases to the chant, Kylo pressed the vegetation to her wound, his hand cupping the other. The more he recited the words, the more he felt himself drifting further into the trance, droning out Rey's asphyxiated cries in pain.


He could feel the magic's warmth surge through his chest, presenting itself as golden particles of light that extended through his fingers and palms. It felt like nirvana, peaceful, and serene as if the heavens of Valinor had descended upon him.

Within the moments it took to complete the procedure, his obsession with the Ring was forgotten, and it was Rey's feeble voice that awoke him from the mystical enchantment.


"Ben," she whispered softly.


Had Kylo not opened his eyes, he never would've witnessed the faint smile tug at the corners of her mouth. She stared at him as if she had spoken directly to him, addressing him by a name that should've been foreign; yet hearing her say it sounded familiar.


He held her gaze, appearing no longer icy yet still deviant. A tear descended her cheek from the corner of her eye when she blinked and she slowly drifted into unconsciousness, leaving all questions relevant to Ben to be left unspoken for now.  

**

From the quarters of which Poe had been given, he watched from the balcony as the sun rose above the summits of Chandrila, amazed by the hidden valley's beauty that many were only able to imagine in their thoughts, or see in their dreams. The great elven city was built into the side of a mountain ravine, forested by trees whose leaves had begun turning variant shades of yellow and red, and waterfalls cascading into bottomless depths from caverns.

As the morning light ascended high into the sky, thousands of leaflets swiftly resembled burning flames of torches, the falls appearing as streams of flowing lava. As much as its beauty retained being a sight worth observing, it failed to relieve him from thoughts of whether or not Rey had survived the events of the night before. And the notion of not knowing had begun to trouble him like something fierce.

The last he'd been able to recall seeing Rey was the moment after she'd gained the Witch King's attention, leaving him to be the divergent to remaining Wraiths' as the small fellowship of the Ring fled Takodana with the additional help from a ranger.

Finn, a human ranger and, known by the common folk as 'Strider,' insisted that they lead the hobbits to the location of Chandrila's secret entrance, knowing that the Wraiths wouldn't dare consider crossing the blessed waters of Baranduin, and assured that the Ring would be safely hidden.

But how was it that a ranger from the South had come to discover the sovereignty of Luke Skywalker when very few, whom of which extended beyond the origins of elves, knew of its whereabouts? And why had he been the only individual that was granted permission to go before Skywalker then with his plea for them to stay in Chandrila, rather than a descendant of their kin?

His profound worry for Rey, combed by a bitterness that'd wittingly lodged itself into his thoughts, provided more than enough cause to enact upon his unruly woodland upbringing when intuition alerted him of the newcomer entering the dome-shaped interior of his chambers unannounced. Bow tightly clenched in hand, Poe had the arrow seized from his quiver and drawn for release as he whirled upon his heels, promptly greeting Finn just as he was about to pass through one of the three archways that led onto the terrace.

"Whoa!" Finn exclaimed, immediately halting within his tracks, palms raised in surrender. "Easy there," he huffed. "It's just me."

Poe scoffed, displaying no signs of lowering the arrow. "What do you want?"

Finn blinked, not minding the few dark strays of wavy, shoulder-length hair that whisked over his face, caught by a short gust of wind. If there was one thing he'd neglected to remember about Woodland Elves, it was within their inherent tendencies of acting less wise and more dangerous, converting from friend to foe within a matter of seconds; unlike their kinship from Chandrila and Alderaan. It had definitely been an unwise decision to have inadvertently crept up on Poe when his kind was known to act aggressive.

"I was just coming to inform you that Luke has requested an audience," Finn huffed, holding Poe's rigid stare. "He is organizing an assembly for those of us who arrived the other night – and has also requested the presence of a few others."

"So now I'm trustworthy enough to be within his majesty's company?" Poe snarked.

Finn crumpled his brows, lips carting into a frown. "With all due respect, it wasn't his intention to purposely offend you if that's what you're thinking," he explained, eyes flatly set Poe's. "I can assure you will find no enemies here – mellon."

Poe regarded him, his fierce look softening at the elvish word for friend. Slackening his draw on the arrow's tension, he lowered the projectile that'd been aimed at the ranger's throat, earning an evident sigh in the relief from Finn.

"Thank you," Finn sighed as he lowered his hands. "And I never did get a chance to thank you properly for your help yesterday."

With a scowl on his face, Poe shrugged and returned the arrow to his quiver. "While I do appreciate the gesture, I'm not the one who needs to be thanked," he grumbled, eyes retaining a petulant glare. "It is my friend who should be receiving your gratitude."

Finn tilted his head, eyes eliciting remorse. "Right, I remember –."

"Listen, friend," Poe interrupted, averting the subject, "how does a ranger manage to gain Skywalker's trust over an elf?"

Finn snorted and shook his head, obliged to enlighten him furthermore on details that were deemed significant enough to satisfy Poe's query. "Skywalker took me in when I was a child," he affirmed. "I guess you could safely say that he's pretty much been a father to me. He had returned from a hunting party shortly before we arrived. It was best that I had been the one to go to him."

Poe raised his brows at Finn's declaration, having not pegged him to have once been housed by such an elegant realm in stature. His jaw, lips and chin was raggedly covered with stubble, sporting attire that appeared to be well-worn and weathered: judging by the apparent blemishes of dirt, mud and sweat that had tarnished Finn's matching leather-brown tunic, overcoat, and pants. And boots that'd certainly seen better days over the years, enduring incessant use and heavy wear.

Finn cleared his throat, arms folding over his chest. "Anyway, I answered your question; I find it to be fair that you answer mine in return."

Poe grimaced. "Alright," he nodded in apprehension, "fair enough I suppose."

"What prompted two Woodland Elves to travel so far from Naboo?"

Poe took a breath. "We were tracking the Wraiths" he growled, "specifically the Witch King."

Finn frowned, his shoulders squared tense. "The Witch King?"

Poe rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you know the tall scary guy with all of the chrome apparatus?" He sneered, signifying the Wraith's remarkable difference in height with his hand. "You couldn't have missed him."

"Yes, yes, I am aware of who the Witch King is but..." Finn veered off from his words, adopting a more impassive look. "Okay, Poe, I promise that we'll find your friend. But it would be great if you would consider helping us along the way."

Poe opened and closed his mouth quickly, apprehensive to respond. "Okay," he replied skeptically, thumb nervously tapping the curvature of his bow. "But I want to hear what Skywalker has to say first."

Finn nodded curtly. "Of course, thank you."

Poe snorted, advancing past him. "Don't thank me yet."

**

Finn led Poe along the abundance of footpaths, lining Chandrila's exterior passageways. The closer they drew near to entering the Chamber of Council, the more Poe became anxious to meet the legendary Luke Skywalker.

He briefly recalled stories he'd heard as a child, attributing Luke's bravery in reference to the war that once raged among Elves and Men and those who had faithfully served the Dark Lord Sidious. It came to be known as the final age in which Elves and Men fought alongside one another, bearing a mutual goal of destroying Sidious and his Ring of Power.

It wasn't long after Vader's passing when the great battle for Middle Earth erupted at the fiery base of Dathomir's volcanic mountain, where Lord Sidious had eventually met his doom at the hand of Coruscant's king, Lando Calrissian. With Vader dead, Sidious' forces were greatly weakened without the power of their ruthless Commander. Lando, his blade garnished with an enchantment that'd been placed upon the sheath of the sword, had severed the Ring from Sidious' hand, killing Sidious in the act.

Luke had witnessed who'd destroyed Sidious from a nearby skirmish with orcs, and encouraged Lando to cast the Ring into the fiery heart of the mountain's molten lake, the only way in which the Ring could be destroyed. Lando snatched the Ring from the fallen Lord's hand, proceeding to do precisely what Luke had suggested. However after entering the mountain, Lando surrendered himself to the Ring's influential power, claiming the Ring as his own.

Lando believed the Ring to be capable of promoting goodness in the world, while it prominently showed signs of adhering to the calling of its true master. The Ring eventually betrayed Lando, escorting him to his death within years after it'd effortlessly poisoned his mind, rendering it lost and forgotten: for those who once existed among its time no longer lived to remember it.

Now, having been able to see Luke, a living prodigy, in person seemed ethereal. His youthful features remained intact after three centuries, like all elves after crossing a particular gap in age. His sandy-blonde hair flowed gracefully over his shoulders and back, braided elegantly along his face and retained a platinum halo, defining his regal status. The amber shade of velvet in which his robes were fabricated in glistened against the sun's shimmering rays, highlighting the swirling textiles over the exquisite fabric, partially covering the mauve knee-length tunic that was worn underneath.

His eyes were a stormy shade of blue, appearing perplexed as he gazed beyond the central podium, perceiving faces of those who came to gather at his beckoned call. He graciously acknowledged each and every individual with a smile, including a few newcomers that sat amongst those who made up the initial fellowship of the Ring.

A small number of elves, who Poe presumed to be from Chandrila, strode in with a few more from Alderaan, and a woman known to be Amilyn Holdo – the famous wandering grey wizard. Her lavender shade of hair and striking cobalt eyes were giveaways to her identity, including the long wooden staff that she always insisted on carrying in hand. A man named Ezra Bridger from Coruscant was also among those who'd been present, bearing the Horn of Coruscant over a shoulder. And a dwarf named Bee-Bee from the Lonely Mountain: a magnificent dwarf kingdom that was known for its riches in diamonds and gold.

Great, Poe muttered to himself.

His upper lip curled in renowned reverence to the distaste Naboo held over dwarves, knowing them to be laden with greed and arrogance. He begrudgingly claimed a seat between Finn and said dwarf. Aside from indecipherable mumblings in dwarvish lingo, which disappeared in the vastness of hair that was the dwarf's beard, he paid no attention to Poe's presence. He simply tightened the grip of his pudgy fingers around the handle of his axe, waiting for the Elven Lord to begin the session.

Without so much as uttering a word, Luke presented the One Ring for all who occupied the space beneath the circular awning, leaving it to lie freely on the stone podium for all to see. Chatters in dismay immediately exploded among those who hadn't been aware of the Ring's discovery. After a few solid minutes of allowing the boisterous gossip, Luke raised a hand for silence.

"The Ring of Power has been found," Luke spoke gravely, his eyes skimming over the concerned looks on faces. "And the Dark Lord Sidious has returned."

"That's impossible." The voice in disbelief came from one of the Alderaanian Elves.

"But Sidious was destroyed." The expression was raised by another.

"Somehow," Luke spoke again, his voice elevating to a louder octave, "the spirit of Sidious returned, rebuilding forces in secrecy. But without the Ring, and the Witch King, he is undoubtedly weak."

Poe scoffed. "That's not true," he corrected, ignoring the quizzical glances from those who had been fortunate enough to not have experienced the events at Takodana.

"What are you suggesting?" Holdo questioned, leaning over in her seat a few chairs from Poe to gain a better view of him.

"I'm saying that the Witch King has returned as well," Poe countered aggressively. "My friend and I encountered him at Takodana the evening before. The remaining Wraiths followed on the way here."

Luke regarded him somberly. "Are you sure it was the Witch King that you saw?"

Poe nodded, appearing overconfident. "I would recognize that helmet anywhere, my Lord."

Finn decided to cut in to the conversation. "I can attest that there is truth behind Poe's allegations. His friend, Rey, was brave enough to keep him busily engaged, while Poe assisted in our escape."

Luke was silent for a moment, eyes altering their fixation on Finn and Poe. Whatever thoughts were lingering on his mind, he kept them assertively to himself. "If what you're saying is true," he stated slowly, "then this surely raises the stakes for the task that I'm about to present. The Ring must be destroyed. And doing so will destroy the evil in which has embarked from it."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Bee-Bee barked as he jumped to his feet, motioning the point of his axe toward the Ring. "Destroy it!"

"It is not that simple I am afraid, Bee-Bee," Luke grimaced, motioning his hand for the dwarf to sit. "The Ring can only be destroyed by the very fires where it was originally forged."

"So, you are suggesting that someone will need to carry it to Dathomir?" One of the Chandrillian Elves implored.

Luke nodded, leading the moment into intense silence. To the surprise of most who had gathered, it was one of the Hobbits that dared to speak up in contribute.

"I will take the Ring to Dathomir," Artoo offered tentatively, his eyes nervously flickering amongst the faces that gazed back in shock. "Though I'm afraid I do not know the way."

Finn and Poe exchanged knowing glances. If it was Finn's intent to imply that an escort was needed for the one who wished to bear the burden of taking the Ring to Dathomir then, perhaps, Poe would be able to find Rey along the way. The pair stood simultaneously, pledging their oaths to protect and guide Artoo along the perilous treck.

"You have my sword," Finn promised.

"And you have my bow," Poe assured with a nod.

Bee-Bee stood again, excitedly tapping the hilt of his axe into the ground. "And you have my axe."

**

The pain was excruciating like something had physically torn her insides to shreds. Rey tried to fight it, tried to listen to what that long-distant voice told her to do though it was a battle that couldn't be won on her own. She surrendered to the poison in her veins and the world around her slowly ceased to no longer exist as she had known it.

It had grown cold and dark, save for the small light that nested at the end of the tunnel she was moving towards. Her vision warped to seeing things as solely being black and white, no longer bright and vivid. She was falling into another dimension, one that was nothing like the tales from those who had come from the afterlife in stories.

But that's what fairy tales were for, always sugarcoating the unknown to ease one's mind though it wasn't death that she feared. The light she initially saw was suddenly covered by darkness. The pain that was once present dissipated, leaving her body numb and cold – so cold, yet her muscles were unable to shiver.

Then something told her to look to the side and that was when she saw him, Ben, his form solid and clear, hovering above her as if meaning to arouse her from a late afternoon's rest. He looked just the same as he did when Rey last saw him before he disappeared. His long raven hair was evenly drawn over his shoulders, face creamy and insipid, eyes laden with love, pulling her from the cold to his warmth.

She wanted to reach out and touch him, his hair and face, but something was holding her back. Like, her hands were being held down by weights, save for her ability to say his name. The portal started to change again, and she was rapidly hauled from the unknown into a world that was more familiar.

And then everything went dark.

An unknown number of days had past when she next woke. This time, her eyes perceived a significantly different scenery and yet, somehow, the essence of it remained the same. The room was cold and solemn, the only source of light extended from the moon, beaming through a single arched window that was on the wall alongside her bed. Its rays revealed the icy particles of frost, carried by the wind from the kingdom's frozen and barren land beyond the fortress' interior.

Slowly drawing her knees into a fold, she rose from her back to a seated position, allowing herself to better see her new surroundings. She narrowed her eyes, perceiving the outline of a stone hearth forged into the wall opposite of her, unlit save for what was provided by the moon. She winced as a chill shivered through her body, now aware of the tenderness on her shoulder where the wound was in its early stages of healing, bandaged with a dark cloth. She raised the palm of her hand to massage away the ache beneath the fabric of her tunic, noticing the absence of her armor and weapons.

"I would advise that you not do that."

Rey gasped and whirled her head toward the direction of his voice. Ben's voice. He was there in the very same room as her. After what seemed to be another hopeless search for him, fearing it was another figment of her mind playing tricks on her, she found him, crouched in a corner crosswise from the foot of her bed. His helmet and armored gloves were gone. All that remained visible to her eyes was the outline of a dark robe, its hood drawn over his head, gloves covering his hands.

"It was difficult to retrieve the entire fragment of the blade," he explained. "Your wound runs deeper than the piercing itself. It will take some time for your body to fully recover on its own."

Her eyes blinked at a more rapid pace, her mouth opened but found that no words were able to follow. She found herself unprepared when she had been the opposite just days before. So, she nodded, finding it better than to say nothing at all.

"Thank you," she murmured after taking a few moments to find her voice, lacking knowledge as to where the conversation should go from thereafter. She just sat and stared, waiting, hoping that he would be the one to seize the reins to the discussion. And to her relief, he finally did.

"You're welcome," he assured and gave her a brief nod, "Rey. That is your name, is it not?"

She took a breath and nodded as well, and her eyes rose with his form as he slowly extended to his full height. Her heart began to speed beyond that of its normal pace inside her chest, listening to the sound of metal from his boots clank against the stone floor as he sauntered past the foot of her bed, arms hanging free at his sides. With the face of his hood towards the ground, he appeared to be contemplating his words.

"The night after Takodana, you called me Ben," he affirmed, pausing at the opposite corner of her bed from where he previously stood. "Though I do not understand why. It is a name that's not familiar to me but," he hesitated and raised his head to look at her, "it still makes me curious. Do I know you, Rey?"

Rey nodded again, worrying the thin fabric of the quilt that covered her legs between her fingers.

"Are we enemies?"

Her head shook this time. At least they hadn't been until now. She found it easier to stay mute, knowing it was impossible to tell someone, with no recollection of who she was and had become the enemy, that they were in love with the said person. She decided it would be best to keep it simple then and let him come to the conclusion on his own – if it were at all possible.

"You are Ben Solo," she assured confidently with a heavy swallow, "son of Han, and future King of Alderaan."

He nodded again and began to move closer. "And you?"

Her chin tilted as he drew near, eager to get a glimpse of his face that was hidden by the cloak's visage. But when he stopped in front of her there was nothing but a shadow in the place of his features. She realized that she would have to speak to the faceless figure if she intended to reach him.

"I'm Rey," she uttered in a voice that was quieter than necessary. "I'm nothing more than a captain of Naboo's guard."

He cocked his head, contemplating. "But there's more to it, isn't there?"

Her chest began to feel heavy from repressed words, imploring to be spoken. "If you are wondering whether it is history that we have together or not," she scoffed, "then the answer is yes."

"And what sort of history is it that you're hesitating to mention?"

Her face grew solemn. "I think that you already know the truth," she whispered. "Otherwise I wouldn't be here – alive."

More silence fell between them and she watched him as he appeared to be pondering a reaction; whether it was by words or motions eluded her. He must've settled for the latter because his hand visibly twitched at his side, struggling with a significant gesture though it might have been irrelevant to the ordinary commoner. For them, it was something so much more.

He finally assembled the courage to place a hand on her cheek, and the coldness that emitted the leather of his glove was unlike anything she had ever experienced from winter. She couldn't explain it, other than the chill from his touch halted her breath, yet she didn't want to make any sudden movements. She didn't want to do anything that could possibly drive him from what he was doing.

She closed her eyes and swallowed, drawing in slow and steady breaths through her nose and stayed silent. She couldn't say how much time passed since they came to be in that position, but it was the moment in which she felt his thumb graze along the apple of her cheek when her eyes opened.

"I didn't want this to happen, Rey," he whispered gruffly. "It was always supposed to be you and me."

She wanted to smile and laugh, anything that could've shown she was happy to hear his words, but the dam that was holding back her tears finally crumbled. And she couldn't suppress the sob as she settled a trembling hand over his on her cheek, no longer minding his icy touch.

"I am so sorry," he confessed and cupped his other hand to her uncovered cheek. "Please forgive me."

"I do forgive you, Ben," she admitted through a hiccup in her cries, sniffing. "What happened doesn't matter. Just let me see you, please. Let me see you."

His thumb stilled on her face. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

Blinking, Rey scoffed at his words, troubled by their ominous meaning. Ignoring his initial words of warning, she moved to reposition herself on her knees, hands extending to push back his hood. What she saw managed to spiral her stomach into knots, allowing her hands to fall upon his shoulders as tears descended over her cheeks, distorting her vision of the ghost in front of her.

His eyes were no longer warm or the soft shades of honey and brown but were brilliant pools of light, offset by dark spaces where his pupils would be. His long hair was fortunate to have maintained its raven color, and the elegant silver halo that encompassed his crown. His skin, however, had suffered the most, scarred and no longer its former creaminess that was once powdered by beauty marks. He looked as if the moon had completely swathed him in iridescent lighting, yet not enough for him to be wholly transparent.

When Rey finally allowed her mind to absorb the images that her eyes projected to it, she managed to utter a sentence that was surprisingly coherent.

"What happened to you?"