Let Old Things Die (revised and expanded)

Notes: So I pretty much started from scratch, hitting mostly the same beats but describing them differently, recycling some of the phrases from the original. I think I toned down the drama somewhat, and I’ve changed some of the internal dialogue to better suit the characters and everything I’ve learned about them. At least, I think it suits them better.

Full disclosure: I’ve never written a fight scene before. I did my best :/ Also, there’s no dialogue during the fight, so I hope it isn’t too confusing or boring.

Lastly, I have no idea what those space needle things are in the throne room. They’re not mentioned in the visual dictionary, on Wookieepedia, or in either of the novels. I couldn’t find anything on reddit that wasn’t merely speculative; some said they were torture devices, some said they were exhausts, some said they were for the Attendants. I can’t believe no one’s asked Rian about them, but if someone did, I can’t find the answer. So I ignored the needle-like devices altogether and just referred to the thing as a pit. That’s all that’s needed for them to serve their purpose. But if anyone does know what they are—via a reliable source—let me know. 🙂

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This was what he was supposed to feel when he killed Han Solo.

No shock. No pain. No regret.

He feared he would fail, feared Snoke would sense his true allegiance. But the Supreme Leader remained oblivious, and Ren beat him at his own game.

Twitching his gloved fingers, he calls the Skywalker sabre forward and shears his master in two. Trusting Rey to catch the sabre, Ren watches Snoke’s torso topple to the floor like a broken toy.

It’s done.

Dismissing his past, he lowers his gaze to his future as she gets to her feet.

Clutching the sabre in her fist, her mouth slightly agape, Rey stares back at him with baffled amazement. He meets her stare, willing her to believe that he chose her—chose their partnership, their connection, and whatever may come of it.

He chose freedom.

In his periphery, the guards brandish their weapons and rush forward to avenge their master’s death, loyal to Snoke in a way Ren wasn’t. He ignites his sabre as bloodthirsty anticipation mounts inside him. He’s ready for this fight.

But is Rey? Will she fight beside him?

Admittedly, she doesn’t have much of a choice, or much time to decide; even if she refused and he got her to the lift safely, she wouldn’t make it off the Supremacy.

Regardless, the choice is hers.

A fierce, determined glint enters her eyes; her jaw firms as she clenches her teeth.

He knows that look. She’ll stand with him.

She wheels around, and he follows suit. Back-to-back, they survey the oncoming tide of armored hostility.

Ren knows little of the eight elite warriors that comprise the Praetorian Guard. In all his years serving Snoke, he never saw their faces, never saw them in action. But if Snoke hand-picked them to be his last line of defense, their skills must be formidable. Without doubt, they’re trained to fight Jedi; their weapons incorporate electro-plasma, an energy capable of blocking a lightsabre.

He has one heartbeat to assess their attack strategy; two beats—then they’re on him.

A long rapier cuts through the air; he parries, catching the weapon in the crook of his crossguard shroud and shoving the wielder away. He blocks a blow from a double-bladed arbir, then ducks to avoid a voulge, planting a hand on the floor to keep his balance. As soon as he straightens, a guard comes at him from the left; Ren jerks back and deflects the polearm with a grunt, then immediately bends and thrusts his sabre into the gleaming black floor, foiling a leg sweep while simultaneously evading a return of the arbir, which sought to relieve Ren of his head.

Sparks burst as weapons clash. Behind him, he can hear Rey growling as she holds her own against the crimson sentinels. She wasn’t formally trained in melee combat and has likely never engaged in odds such as these—they’re outnumbered three times over. Plus her head has to be throbbing with a deep ache from Snoke’s mental intrusion. Yet she’s still standing.

Ren wouldn’t trust anyone else to cover his back.

His arms raised, he holds off a voulge and its wielder. A guard with an arbir tries to slice his exposed middle; Ren grabs the shaft and halts the swing, then he propels the voulge into the offender’s shoulder. Before either warrior can react, he rears and delivers a mighty blow to the voulge, repelling them. As he follows through with the motion, Rey braces her back against his, steadies herself with a hand on his hip, and transfers his momentum into her own defensive maneuvers.

As the battle progresses, they gradually get separated. At first Ren tries to keep Rey in sight, but dividing his attention is a good way to get killed, so he trusts her to take care of herself.

He brings his sabre down on a rapier—which, he’s discovered, is actually a set of links that can be employed as a sword when tensed or a whip when loose. He hooks it in his crossguard and drives it down to the side, using it to deflect a guard with a voulge. While the guard stumbles back, Ren jabs his elbow into the whip-wielder’s visor, creating a dent and dazing the wearer. Grabbing him around the back of the neck, Ren delivers a kick to the guard resurging with the voulge, then throws the whip-wielder into him, sending them both crashing to the floor.

He has a moment to back away and study the positions of the players on the board—and check on Rey, who fells a guard as Ren watches. Reassured, he bears his teeth and meets the next attack.

His sabre fisted in both hands, he blocks a voulge aimed at his head, then brings it down to stop another before it can tear open his belly. But the guards have caught on to his habit of utilizing the cross-vents in his hilt; before he can push them away, they push him back—toward an electrified pit that would rip him to shreds.

Growling, he manages to plant one foot on the slanted lip at the edge; had it been flat, he’d have slipped right in. Gathering his strength, he shoves the voulges and their handlers away, twisting his body for added momentum; then in one smooth movement, he steps forward and plunges his snapping blade through the chest of an oncoming guard. Their armor, which must be infused with some sort of energy, can withstand a glancing blow from a lightsabre—but not a direct one.

As indignant rage swells inside him, he drags his victim toward the pit that might have been his grave; out of pure spite, he wrenches his sabre free from the lifeless figure and lets it tumble into the void. Electricity zaps and crackles as it slashes the body to ribbons.

Lifting his sabre to eye level, Ren looks down the blade and sweeps his gaze over the area, taking stock. His sweat-dampened hair partially obstructs his view, but it doesn’t bother him; it’s no more limiting than his mask was.

The hideous red curtain that covered the expansive viewport caught fire somehow—the work of hot plasma, he imagines. The golden flames brighten a traditionally dim room; pieces of burning fabric fall to the floor; and a light haze of smoke permeates the chamber.

Ren can hear the whip-wielder behind him. He eyes the warrior with a voulge to his left, then the one directly in front of him—

The duel across the room distracts him. Rey struggles to defend herself against a guard who has separated the double-bladed arbir and now fights with a long dagger in each hand. She’s tiring; her opponent takes advantage of her lagging reflexes and scores the tender flesh of her upper arm.

As she yelps in pain, Ren’s heart skips a beat, and he blinks as reality crashes over him.

He defeated Snoke because the arrogant fool believed himself infallible. Ren cannot make the same mistake, or he’ll meet the same fate—and so will Rey.

They’re a strong team; destined, he believes, to be the most powerful union in the galaxy.

But they are not invincible.

The stakes are too high to indulge in vain displays of spite. He’s not alone anymore—he has a partner to consider. And that partner needs this battle to end.

As she raises her sabre, ready to fight on, he throws a wild glance toward the advancing guard on his left. No; he can’t panic. He’s better than that. He trained too hard for too long to lose control now. Adjusting his stance, he lowers his eyes to the floor. Exhales; inhales. Concentrates.

With an audible burst of energy, the guard behind Ren releases the tension in the electro-whip. He can hear it whirling through the air as the guard works up momentum for a brutal strike. Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—

Ren quickly analyzes the positions of the other two guards—measures their movements, times their approach—then springs into action.

He manages to decapitate the wielder of the whip and commandeer the voulge of another. Pivoting, thrusting, Ren knocks the third one back—but before he can finish him off, the weaponless guard reenters the fray, bringing up his arms and blocking Ren’s sabre with his armor. Undeterred, Ren stabs the voulge into the guard’s back and pushes him to the floor.

He glances up—then flings himself away from the third guard’s blade without a second to spare; in doing so, he drops his sabre. Unarmed, he stumbles back as his only remaining adversary gracefully spins and drops to a crouch, aiming to hack off a foot. Ren jerks his leg back, then has just a second to steady himself before the guard’s on him, bringing his voulge down to cleave Ren’s skull. With a snarl, Ren grabs the shaft with both hands, meaning to snatch it away; but the guard holds tight and turns, moving around behind Ren and ensnaring him in a headlock.

Forced to his knees, Ren growls as he strains to keep the pole from crushing his windpipe. But that’s not the guard’s only strategy; out of the corner of his eye, Ren watches the blade, with its electro-plasma filament, gradually slide toward his throat.

The guard’s strong. Stronger than Ren.

The thin thread of plasma—buzzing, hot, unforgiving—edges closer.

It can’t end here. He won’t let it. He will not have freed himself only to die moments later. He has a destiny to fulfill.

He has Rey.

“Ben!”

It’s not a reflexive cry of alarm; she’s calling for his attention. Trusting her to have a good reason for distracting him when he’s fighting for his life, he turns his head and looks at her.

He doesn’t look away as the Skywalker sabre arcs through the air toward him. He doesn’t look away as he dares take one hand off the voulge at his throat to catch it—and he doesn’t look away as he ignites it with more instinct than thought.

The pressure across his neck eases; behind him, the last guard drops to the floor with a heavy thud. Ren moves the voulge away from his throat, gets to his feet, and tosses the weapon to the floor; it lands with a clatter that echoes through the chamber.

But his eyes never leave her.

They stand in the Supreme Leader’s throne room, gazing at each other with the bodies of the most highly trained warriors in the galaxy littering the floor. Sparks drift through the air.

Rey glances away first, her eyes leaving him for the oculus. “The fleet,” she says as if just remembering that the Resistance is in dire straits. She hurries to the magnified scope, pointing at the ongoing carnage. “Order them to stop firing; there’s still time to save the fleet!”

But Ren has no intention of saving the Rebels. After summoning his sabre and clipping it to his belt, he steps closer to the bisected corpse of his former master. Phantom emotions pass over him like shadows—fear and shame, as if Snoke would somehow reassemble himself and punish Ren for his betrayal. But the body doesn’t so much as twitch.

Snoke is dead. Ren is his own master now.

He’s in a position he never thought he would actually achieve; he answers to no one, and he can do what he will. With Snoke gone and Skywalker welcoming death, both his own and that of the Jedi—a revelation which startled Ren when Snoke mentioned it—Ren could very well be the most powerful being in the galaxy.

A small, quiet voice caresses him like a gentle touch to his cheek. “Ben?”

Rey.

With Rey, he can be even stronger. With Rey, he can change everything.

They could do anything. Does she realize that? A whirling parade of possibilities dances around them—and she wants to save a handful of Rebels she barely knows? Why?

Why rebel when she could rule?

Breathing hard as a result of the fight—and the excitement building inside him—Ren declares, “It’s time to let old things die.” He’s said as much to her before—warned her that it was a necessary step in realizing her true potential. He tried to prepare her, coach her—but ultimately, she has to make that decision on her own. He can’t drag her away from the past; she has to let it go and walk away—toward him. Toward something new, something better. And she will; he knows she will.

Because she came to him. She fought beside him. She believes in him.

“Snoke,” he says, turning his head to meet her bewildered gaze. “Skywalker.”

But it’s bigger than them; Snoke and Skywalker were just agents who perpetuated a greater struggle, one that has lasted far too long. One that he and Rey need to end.

He slowly steps toward her. “The Sith. The Jedi. The Rebels. Let it all die. Rey.” Stopping, he works his mouth and swallows hard, gathering his courage. Then he holds out his hand to her, deliberately turning the tables. “I want you to join me.”

 

The truth creeps up on Rey like a thief, snatching the joy from her heart, leaving her empty. Empty but for a devastating disappointment—and the agony of loss.

But—her vision. She saw Ben turn.

Luke’s voice rumbles in her ear: This is not going to go the way you think.

“We can rule together and bring a new order to the galaxy,” Ben says earnestly, eagerly.

All of her budding hopes, her dewy dreams, fade like the stars at dawn. Despite the lingering ache from Snoke’s invasion, she shakes her head. “Don’t do this, Ben.” Rising despair thickens her voice; she addresses him by his given name in an effort to remind him that he’s not Kylo Ren. “Please don’t go this way.”

At her words, his brow contorts with ire. He instantly negates her plea, his voice rising with aggression. “No, no, you’re still—holding on! Let go!”

Tears blur her vision. He’s never yelled at her before. Not when she defied him, not when she insulted him, not when she raged at him. Not even when she shot at him. He was always calm, quiet, patient—absurdly so, confoundingly so. He never directed anger toward her.

But she sees it now—anger, and frustration, and impatience. And pain. A pain she feels in her own chest.

 

She’s not listening to him. After everything—everything—she still doesn’t understand.

And he knows what’s going on in her head. She thought that when he killed Snoke, he joined the side of the light. Like it’s that simple.

She’s spent her whole life as a worthless little orphan scavenger from a sandy cesspool of a planet, waiting for identity, for purpose. Then one day, she found a droid and got sucked into an adventure. She met the legendary Han Solo and learned about Skywalker, about the Jedi—lore which she had probably considered fiction to that point. She was starstruck, awed, inspired.

Then she began to feel the Force awakening inside her; she discovered she has a power that, as history tells it, has been exclusive to Jedi and Sith. She rejected the call of the darkness—so she must be a Jedi. That must be who she is, what she’s meant to be, do. It allowed her to further deny who her parents were and why they left her on Jakku. If she possesses this amazing power, she can’t be nobody. She can’t be worthless. Maybe her parents were great, wise figures, and in order to keep her safe, they abandoned her, ignored her. There must be a reason—a good reason.

But there’s not.

She’s fixated on the light; it blinds her, damages her vision, makes Ren appear darker than he really is. Skywalker told her the Jedi Order needs to end—and still she won’t allow her eyes to adjust. She’s in blind denial—and she thinks if she can save him, everything will be fixed.

Like it’s that simple.

When she told him about the cave, he was aware that she habitually refused to acknowledge painful truths. He knew she’d never before confessed her lack of identity, not to anyone, maybe not even to herself. And he was honored; honored and touched that when she’d finally admitted it, she admitted it to him. She knew he would sympathize, empathize; she felt safe telling him her deepest, darkest secret. Felt safe showing him her greatest weakness.

He offered her comfort—told her she wasn’t alone. Not in her conflict, not in her fear—and not in the galaxy. He was there with her. He wanted to be, because he felt safe with her, too.

She looked him in the eye, returned the sentiment, and reached out for him. At that point, he thought she understood what she meant to him. Thought that he meant the same to her. Thought she was ready to let go of her parents, ready to find her identity with him. Ready to set a precedent—a new way of life, a new way of thinking. Not light and dark, good and bad, Jedi and Sith, but an ideal that’s more realistic, more attainable, more forgiving.

But in the lift, he realized he was wrong. She was still blinded by the light, still denying the truth. Still wanting to turn him, to fix everything.

To disabuse her of that notion, he told her the Force had showed him her parents. He knew they were selfish, worthless trash who didn’t care about her at all. He knew she was abandoned for no good reason. He knew she had no special identity, just as she feared. He knew.

And he hoped, when the time came and he asked her to join him, she would understand that he doesn’t care about her parents, or her past. He wants her despite them; because what he cares about is her.

But she still doesn’t understand.

The only explanation he can conjure is that she doesn’t actually know who her parents are; therefore, she can’t comprehend the significance of his gesture. After all, she asked the mirror in the cave to show them to her. He thought she was simply hoping to be wrong, but… Just how deeply did she bury the memory?

“Do you want to know the truth about your parents?” he asks. “Or have you always known?”

Her brow creases with distress, and he prays there never comes a day when he can’t read her expression. He moves closer, his tone gentle but firm. “You’ve just hidden it away. You know the truth. Say it.”

With tears glistening in her eyes, she gazes at him beseechingly.

He won’t back down. It’s too important. He will bully her until she verbalizes the crime. She’s not afraid of him; she can fight back if she wants to—and win; he wears the proof on his face. But he won’t back down. If he can slay the master who imprisoned him with his own fears, she can do the same. They’re equals.

Giving her a nod of encouragement, he whispers, “Say it.”

The tears spill over, slipping down her cheeks as she finally acknowledges the source of her insecurities. Acknowledges the reason why she wants so desperately to be a Jedi. “They were nobody.”

“They were filthy junk traders who sold you off for drinking money,” he specifies, his light tone conveying incredulity toward the influence she allowed the trash to have on her decisions, her life.

She gasps softly, clearly pained by the words. He resists the urge to go to her, touch her, hold her.

“They’re dead in a pauper’s grave in the Jakku desert,” he states bluntly, driving his point home. “You have no place in this story. You come from nothing. You’re nothing.”

She looks away, sniffling, as he shoves her worst fears in her face.

She’s not a princess, a general, a legend, a myth, or a master. Her lineage is scum; her legacy is scum. Her blood doesn’t recommend her; nor does history. She’s not a chosen one; there’s no prophecy foretelling her greatness. The galaxy has never heard of her. No one’s waiting for her, no one’s watching her. No one cares who she is or what she could do. She has no expectations to meet, no standards to measure up to. She’s just a scavenger.

He watches her with vulnerable eyes. “But not to me.”

To him, she’s everything.

The resolution to his conflict. The light to his dark. The hope to his dejection.

With him, she doesn’t have to be anything but herself. Her strong, sympathetic, radiant self.

Her eyes meet his, and in this moment, it’s not about the war, the galaxy, or the eternal struggle. This moment is about them.

Does she finally understand?

There’s only one way to know.

Again, he presents his open palm to her. “Join me.”

 

Rey lowers her gaze to the proffered hand, which is sheathed in a black leather glove. And she grieves, longing for the warm, calloused flesh she touched in her hut on Ahch-To.

You have no place in this story. You come from nothing. You’re nothing.

She knew that. Deep down, she knew that, but never allowed herself to believe it. Because as long as she could pretend her parents were good people, maybe even important people, she could pretend she, in turn, was good and important; she was merely waiting for an explanation.

But the explanation never came; BB-8 did. Then Finn, then stormtroopers—and before she knew it, she was caught up in one of the stories she used to overhear at the outpost. The people, the places—it all seemed so surreal, so extraordinary. And then she discovered Luke’s lightsabre, and the Force.

She refused to believe that it would have happened to just anyone. There was a reason she became involved; she just didn’t know what it was, and her latent insecurity gnawed at her. She crossed the galaxy in search of validation from Luke, but he literally shut his door in her face. With no other solution at hand, and Leia counting on her, she waited him out. But in the end, he didn’t help her.

Ben did.

He mocked her, taunted her, nagged her, shoved her out of her comfort zone and away from her preconceptions. She went to the sea cave to prove him—and herself—wrong. But the sea cave gave her nothing.

And in her loneliest hour, Ben was there. He listened; he understood. He told her she wasn’t alone. And for the first time in her life, she felt like she was where she was supposed to be. With him.

That was her purpose, she decided. He was her purpose. She became involved in this chaos because she is meant to save Ben Solo, to draw him away from the dark and back to the light. With his help, the Resistance could defeat the First Order and restore peace.

She knows what he’s saying—voicing her worst fear, forcing her to face the truth and conquer it, because he cares; he wants her to be strong. He doesn’t really believe she’s insignificant, or she wouldn’t have lived long after meeting him. He wouldn’t have immediately applied a balm to the sting.

But not to me.

Her fear of insignificance is unfounded, because regardless of her origins, there are people who care about her, believe in her. Finn, Han, Chewie, Leia. Ben.

But most of all, she now believes in herself, and her purpose.

Her face wet with tears, she stares down at the hand encased in black leather. It’s impersonal. Distant. It’s not Ben.

She knows what he’s saying. But it’s what he’s doing—or rather, not doing—that gives her pause.

 

Ren’s hand remains empty. She’s processing; he can almost see the wheels turning in her head. She has to understand. He can’t say it any more plainly.

Anxiety upsets his stomach, but he ignores it. Sweat drips from his tousled hair as he edges closer to her. But he commands himself to stop. She needs to come to him. That’s for her to do.

She lifts her eyes to his—and in them, he can see doubt. Doubt.

He shouldn’t have to beg, not if they’re equals. He shouldn’t have to lower himself to her that way. But the thought of her rejection, the possibility that he’s not what she wants, terrifies him. He doesn’t know how else to express how much he reveres her. How much he needs her.

His stomach twisting, he whispers, “Please.”

 

As her heart cracks and splinters, Rey resigns herself to leaving. She doesn’t regret that she came; but she does regret that she can’t take him with her when she goes.

She was a fool to think turning Ben would be easy; arrogant to assume that in just a few minutes, she could undo years of abuse, could douse his burning need for vengeance. Ben can’t embrace the light until he exorcises Kylo Ren, and that will take time—which the Resistance does not have.

For now, she has to help the Resistance.

For now, she has to turn her back on him.

Perhaps one day, her vision will become reality; but not today.

If she were simply to walk away, would he let her go? Or would she become the enemy?

She’d feel better if she were armed when she found out.

 

His pulse beats in his ears, pounds in his chest.

Her arm rises from her side—but Ren remains tense, watching, waiting. He swallows hard, refusing to feel relief until her hand lies in his.

For while the doubt has left her eyes, tears continue to well. Her artless features describe a tale of woe.

And he’d like to think that, if she were choosing him, she would be happy.

Suddenly, she throws out her arm—and yanks Luke’s lightsaber from his grasp. He quickly grabs it with the Force, halting it midway between them.

If there’s pain, he can’t feel it. Not now; not yet. His focus narrows to the hilt quivering in the air, and he concentrates all his energy, all his strength, and all his will on winning it.

Because it’s not just a lightsabre; not just a weapon. It’s a symbol—of his family, of the Jedi…and of Rey.

That lightsabre is everything that has ever rejected him. Everything he was promised but failed to earn.

Everything he’s ever wanted.

Everything he can’t have.

That lightsabre belongs to him. And he will take it.

There’s a rush of wind, of energy; he and Rey slide away from each other as the Force puts distance between them. Ren ignores it, as well as the distressed crystal inside the metal hilt.

Straining, he pulls. Harder. Harder.

The hilt begins to glow.

Shaking with effort, his heart hammering, he bears his teeth in a snarl and glares at his equally determined opponent. One glance at him has her redoubling her own efforts; a primitive cry tears free from her throat.

Thin beams of light erupt from a fissure in the hilt. They grow brighter—wider—stronger—

Then the hilt breaks, releasing an explosion of energy that sends the contenders soaring in opposite directions as a burst of light fills the chamber.

Ren’s unconscious before he hits the floor.

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If you liked this, let me know. If not, well, constructive criticism has its uses, too. Feel free to share excerpts on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, etc.–just please be sure to credit me and link back to this site. Thanks, guys!

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A Child in a Mask – Ren’s first few scenes

Just You – the first force connection

Lesson One – Rey’s first lesson from Luke

A Monster – the second force connection

Your Greatest Weakness – Rey’s second lesson from Luke and the third force connection

Not Alone – Rey’s experience in the sea cave and the fourth force connection

His True Enemy – confronting Snoke

Let Old Things Die – the “proposal” scene

The Supreme Leader – Ren’s last few scenes

 

You’re Nothing – A Ben Solo Character Study

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