Chapter Text
Of all the things Hux thought he’d have to do today, dealing with this was possibly the furthest from his mind when he’d risen to perform his ablutions and step into his uniform at the crack of dawn. He needed no alarm: his body was tuned to precision by long use, and so he went about his routine as he did on every other day. Unlike every other day, though, his comm unit wouldn’t stop flashing silently and judgingly up at him as he shaved. His staff knew not to interrupt him unless it truly was urgent, so he relented and gestured at it with one shaving-cream flecked finger in order to project the information as a blue overlay to the mirror.
He nearly cut his throat.
The King is dead.
That was the subject line. They hadn’t even bothered with the protocol in the message: no code-words to stand in for the (apparently late) royal personage, no pre-arranged concealment to the message. Which meant either someone in his entourage was about to receive the bollocking of their life, or else it was common knowledge.
Razor still in hand, one cheek scraped bald and the other soaped in readiness, he flicked and barked commands and his bathroom mirror became an impromptu nexus of information. A summary of scrolling subject lines, a small video feed from the major galactic news, a flurry of meeting requests and above all a cry for his assistance.
The King had died less than an hour ago. Hux scraped his face fully clean at the same time as dictating the most urgent replies, and forewarning his skycar driver of his intended destination.
The King was dead. The planet of Naboo was in mourning.
And Hux had to get to work.
***
The capital – Theed – was in a state of chaos, to put it politely. Hux had never seen so many people fall apart so fast, so many people who were usually so together. Or, relatively so, at least. Meetings devolved to hands slammed into desks, into voices raised so high it hurt the ear, into insults thrown that would never be properly retracted.
Quite how no one had planned for this contingency was beyond him. It wasn’t unheard of for people to die. In fact, it was more unheard of for them not to. But no one had bothered to ask what would happen if Luke Skywalker died whilst still an unmarried, heirless man. Admittedly he was – had been – only relatively young at forty-two. Still young enough to marry, though Hux had doubted the man had ever planned on it. He’d never had any paramour, not to his knowledge, and some people just... didn’t.
Which would be why he thought the political aides might have discussed the situation with him. And when they told him that they thought the military should have included this in their contingencies, he’d laughed.
What the Late Great Luke Skywalker did with his penis (or did not do, apparently) was hardly a matter of military strategy.
Perhaps it should have been.
Eventually a consensus was reached, and a delegation of bearded and grey-tinged men and women (sans beards) duly elected a small delegation to proclaim the news.
Hux hadn’t let them go without proper security. He couldn’t face another ridiculous screaming match over genealogies. He could imagine little worse.
***
On the roof, under the sun. He regretted briefly having given up smoking some time ago, because it would provide something for his fingers and mouth to do right now. As it was, he stood under the glow of a foreign star and wondered how long the discussions would take.
It was not a military matter. Still. He’d only come to protect the crusty advisors (who had no doubt got their positions because of their parents, and whose advice was about as useful as putting options into a random number generator, and potentially better expressed) and the new sovreign. When they convinced him to come back to Naboo.
Where he hadn’t been in at least seven years. Maybe longer. Hux had been barely more than a child, then, and not old enough to fully comprehend the scandals that blared over the news. He remembered them dying down, and later put two and two together. The King’s sister – Leia – with her troubled marriage and troubled husband and troubled son had been sent to be someone else’s trouble.
But now they had to come begging and scraping. Hux didn’t envy the career relatives their job, one to which perhaps they were expressly qualified, for once. After all, the blue-blooded aristocracy were all much of a muchness, weren’t they? One last scan of the horizon (old habits) for danger spots, and he closed his eyes to bask.
He did not get long. A door opened and shortly after came a tumble of fury and hair. Hux’s hand went to his hip automatically as he turned to face the other, even though the whole building was supposed to be secure. The man was young – perhaps not so far off Hux’s own age – but he was dressed scruffily and with little care for his appearance. Mad, dark hair that tumbled down to touch his shoulders, clothes that covered him almost head to toe in lines that could not sit right. He appeared to have a normal, Human frame, but the clothes eschered off him weirdly. He was pale, with eyes that met his in confusion, and then annoyance.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Hux replied, as calmly as he could. Which was to say: not very, but at least he kept his anger to precise, clipped units of sound.
“You don’t know? Surprised they let you into the building.” The man walked straight past him and to the edge of the roof.
The roof. Which was at least twenty storeys from ground level, if not more. The roof which had no barrier, and which the idiot could fling himself from. Or, you know. Trip.
Be pushed.
“Obviously I don’t.”
“Well, I don’t know you, either, so I guess we’re even.” The man had now taken to holding his arms out like a tightrope walker, putting his overly long feet one before the other. “I assume you came with the morons.”
“If that’s what you’re calling Naboo’s political elite, then yes.”
“...‘Political elite’?” The scorn dripped from his tone, and he tossed that dark hair away from his eyes and glowered back at him. “That what they’re calling themselves?”
“Well, they’re the senior aides and—”
“To whom?”
Whom? Hux was surprised a scruffy man like this would make such a precise linguistic point over this, and correctly, too. Of course, he could just be mocking the delegation and accidentally hitting on the right term, but... “Who are you, anyway?”
“Apparently I’m the King of Naboo.”
Well. Fuck.
***
“Ah.”
“Ah? No: ‘I’m sorry, your Highness’? Or do you call me something else before the coronation? It’s been so fucking long I can’t remember all the protocol.” The man – Kylo? – jumped down onto the roof proper, and dropped down to sit on his ass on the ledge.
It was, at least, a little safer than his previous position. Hux realised he’d entertained treasonous thoughts of pushing the King-to-be over the edge, and ensuring Naboo really did fall into despair. Although, if this was their best hope of stability? The planet was fucked. Really fucked. And he was beginning to wonder why he’d felt some strange civic duty to his planet of birth for so long, because it was clearly one bad haircut away from imploding.
“Pretty sure you had honorifics before that remain in place.” Which, of course, Hux knew. “You’re not actually the King until the ceremony.”
Kylo nodded at the door he’d come from. “Try telling them that.”
“I doubt they’d listen to me.”
“Or to me, and I’m apparently their monarch. Which is dumb. I mean, they should just make my mother the Queen. She’d like that.”
“The way I understand it, when she married Solo – your father – it was under the proviso that she’d abdicate any future claim to the throne.”
“Yeah, but that should invalidate me, too.”
“Well, she only made the declaration about her own claim.” Or so they’d said, at the end of all the arguing. “So you win by default. By a loophole.”
“Great. So they can find another one where I can give it up, too, and give it to someone else.”
“That’s not how the kingdom works.” Hux frowned. He’d heard in depth how they couldn’t currently find any closer, living relative to the Skywalker line. “If you want to abdicate, you’d ruin everything.”
“So?”
“So?” He couldn’t believe it. Or – no. He could. People who had never had to work for their success were all the same. “So you’ll ruin a whole planet for... what? Spite? Idleness?”
“Why the fuck should I care about Naboo? It’s not like it’s ever done anything for me.” Now Kylo had his knees drawn up towards his chest, his chin dropped on them, arms hugging them to his body in a defensive ball.
“Because it’s the planet that you were born on. Because it’s the planet of your family. Because if you don’t come back and act like an adult, then a lot of people’s lives will be ruined. It’s not like they’re asking you to fight on the front lines of a war, is it?”
“No, might be nicer if they did. They’re asking me to turn into one of them: the dull, lifeless people. No heart, no soul...” Kylo huffed noisily, rising all at once. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said.
Hux did not get a chance to reply. The door opened, and the Princess Leia Solo stood there, shadowed by her own entourage.
“Kylo. We have to pack and leave.”
Hux watched as the tall man and his short mother communicated only with their eyes. Eventually, Kylo shook his head and walked past her.
The soldier nodded politely to the Heir Apparent’s mother, and decided he should probably go back inside, too.
***
“You’re wanted on the Royal Transport, Sir.”
“...why?”
“Your presence was requested to consult on military matters.”
Hux didn’t know why this was really needed. His role was – sadly – mostly a ceremonial one these days. Naboo – indeed the galaxy – had seen a period of relative stability once the final resistance to the Republic had been defeated.
Of course, there were always threats: some domestic, some international. Mostly not of outright war, but certainly of uncivil behaviour. Every year it seemed he had to justify his very existence to some bean counter or another, citing the prosperity and security as evidence of his worth, not his obsolescence. But old King Luke had been very much more interested in socio-cultural-economic policies, and that had been fine.
Now he had to sit on the Royal Transport. A ship that, until an hour ago, had been no such thing. It really had no right to claim itself as such, but he supposed they could sort that out, later. It was just one hyperspace journey back to Theed, and a rushed coronation and then he could go back to keeping the peace and being massively over-qualified for the—
Why, in all the levels of scum that gathered around a new recruit’s bathroom basin, was he now walking in to the small – could you call it a conference room? Lounge? General dumping ground? With the King-to-be and his diminutive mother? And where was the rest of the entourage?
“Ah, there you are,” said Princess Solo. Or would she soon be Queen Mother?
“Your Highness,” he said, clipping heels together sharply. Just because the boy wasn’t standing on ceremony, it didn’t mean she deserved any less respect.
“They did tell me your name. Hux, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, your H—”
She waved a hand. “Don’t call me that. I stopped being a Princess twenty-three years ago. If you must use terms of respect, Ma’am is fine.”
Which meant both of them were bucking the system. Hux felt a part of himself die. He’d never really been a royalist (which was ironic, considering), but he did like the formality of the system. Most other planets had devolved entirely to democracy, but Naboo had held out with their monarchy and complimented it with public assemblies and councils. He didn’t know how the planet would fare if they lost the one thing that put them apart from everyone else, and he didn’t want to know.
But he expected, at this rate, he might find out.
“Do we have to—” Kylo started.
Leia didn’t even turn to look at him. She just seemed to radiate shut up, and Hux wondered if he could somehow learn this life skill. And then wondered why she had never been the one to rule, because clearly she was born to it.
Oh, yes. Love. For a man who was now nowhere to be seen. That sounded about right.
“I will need you to personally oversee my son’s security, General,” Leia went on.
“Ma’am, I’m not a security guard, or—”
“We’ve been off Naboo for seven years. We don’t know who we can, and can’t trust. Hells, I shouldn’t even trust you, but I have to start somewhere. My brother wasn’t an idiot, and he appointed you, didn’t he?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He’d risen very high under his own steam, but he’d been placed as the senior advisor following a rather unusual interview with the then-King.
“Not like we’re staying long,” Kylo grumbled.
Again, that icy glare. “We’ll be staying, Kylo.”
“Right.” The man slung his hands into his pockets and slinked out.
“You’ll have to forgive my son, I’m afraid. He’s... used to more freedom than he’ll soon have.”
“A King usually has to live with controls, yes,” Hux agreed. Weird. He’d never thought of it before. All that power, and you were basically even less of your own man than the people you ruled.
Still. It would be nice to have the power, all the same. If they could trade places right here and now, he would. He wondered if Kylo would say the same.
“I need you to brief me on everything you think might be even remotely important,” Leia insisted.
That would take more than a hyperspace journey, Hux thought, but he gave it his best shot all the same.
***
Hux made sure he swept the palace three times over. Or his staff did, anyway. He personally oversaw the key areas, and he rotated the staff in the others to ensure nothing was missed. If he was going to be given the job of glorified bodyguard by the Queen-mother-to-be he would damn well do it the same as he did every other job: impeccably.
There were no traces of surveillance technology other than the officially sanctioned ones, and no obvious (or less than obvious) threats to personal security. He did feel a little better meeting Leia and her son in the official boardroom, rather than in the belly of a rundown freighter ship. If nothing else, he supposed that at least no enemies of the state would ever consider their future monarch would fly in a craft like that.
“I want a run down on all known agitators,” she opened with. “I want to know the axes they grind. People who were not fans of my brother, and more specifically people who are not a fan of me, or my son.”
Put me at the top of the list for your son, he thought, but didn’t let it show. “Of course, Ma’am.”
“How long a list do you want it to be?” Kylo muttered.
“I’d prefer you were more well-liked, but we work with what we have,” she said.
Maybe this would work. If Kylo was going to just figurehead and his mother did all the work, as long as he could reel in the King’s surly temper and intractable personality in public... it could work. A man like him had no right making decisions that affected everyone, anyway. He’d burn it all to the ground just to spite everyone.
“You’ve got your job cut out for you.” Kylo leaned back in his chair, his oversized boots landing on the fine, cherry-blushed wood of the table.
The leather of his boots was scuffed and well-worn, the laces hanging low from the eyelets. If any of Hux’s staff dared report for duty in something like that, he’d have their rank by the end of ten minutes. He realised he was staring when there was a clearing of the throat.
“It will be difficult to ascertain off-world threats quickly, but I know the main agitators on the planet,” he said, smoothly. “I have kept ahead of the curve on that front.”
“You’ll also need to work with the staff doing the invitations to the coronation. We’ll need to invite foreign dignitaries to it. I want them all checking, and the building as secure as you can make it.”
Now it was becoming almost micro-management. Hux knew he was guilty of that, but it rankled a little to have someone do it to him. “Of course, Ma’am.”
“Can’t I just say ‘I do’ on camera, broadcast it, and be done?” the sullen King-to-be asked.
“When you’re King you can delegate most formal events down to me, or another representative,” Leia told him. “But you have to play the game a little.”
“I don’t want to play the game!”
“What you want is not up for debate, Kylo.”
“Never is, is it? I’m the fucking King and I can’t even decide what I can wear.”
“Doesn’t seem to have stopped you.” Hux said it before he realised he had. He wasn’t quite sure why that comment made him slip up, or if it was just Kylo’s insufferable attitude that irked him. Normally he was the height of professionalism, and he kept the acerbic comments most securely locked in his head, but this one... this one just made his skin crawl.
He tried not to let his horror show, but really... it was a complicated emotion. There was some minor terror, yes; but there was also a sense of relief at finally letting go. Even in a tiny way. He schooled his face blank and expressionless, and was gratified to see that Kylo couldn’t do the same. The other man’s brows arched, lips parted lightly in surprise.
Here we go.
But then there was a laugh, and Kylo leaned his chair so far back that Hux wasn’t sure how it didn’t topple. “For now. But after.”
“You can dress as you like in private, but not in public. We’re not having this discussion again. You need to grow up, Kylo. You’ve had your fun, and now it’s time to do your duty: a few hours a week is hardly much to ask.”
“Sure. Whatever. Get it all put in dossiers for me. You like those things, don’t you?”
“Would it be easier if we met in private?” Hux asked Leia.
The woman glanced at her son, weighing up the pros and cons. “In future, perhaps.”
If nothing else, the second hand embarrassment of being around a man dressed down by his mother was only interesting for so long.
***
A week was deemed to be the appropriate period of time to mourn and make arrangements. Hux never once saw either of the man’s relatives cry, but he couldn’t blame them. Even if they did still have a connection to him – after seven years in unspoken exile – not everyone could emote on command. Hux couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried himself, but then he had no reason to.
The news cycles wittered on about the Party Animal King, and no one could keep the worst of the scandals from breaking. Frankly, they weren’t even that bad. Kylo had apparently taken to enjoying mood-altering substances like most people, he’d been known to gamble, to ride fast skycars. There was a surprising lack of sexual dalliances confirmed, but plenty speculated on. He did what most people with money would do if they could: enjoyed it.
Hux sort of envied him. Sort of. He didn’t think he could go to the excesses the younger man had, but it would be nice to indulge in a few things. Maybe some nice new boots of his own, or a bigger apartment and bed. Money itself wasn’t that much of an incentive for him, it was the other thing he wanted: power.
And you could make money, but power was a harder beast by far. Apart from the luck of genetics and position, it took hard work. And power couldn’t easily – really – be bought.
As predicted, the boy had been scrubbed clean of his sins. Or – superficially so. Hux allowed himself a stare of precisely two seconds longer than he usually would, on purely aesthetic grounds. Kylo was tall – taller even than he was, and he was no midget – but broad, too. Strong shoulders, firm arms. He looked like he could lift up even Phasma if he wanted to try (which would be ill-advised, as Hux’s 2IC was even less likely to refrain from regicide). His dark hair was partially tamed into a clasp behind his neck, the curls vying for freedom above, and spreading like wildfire below. His pallor was stark, but the deep, rich blue-greens he’d been dressed in, accented with silver... yes, those were flattering, and complimented the Naboo flag that hung throughout the palace. A high-necked shirt (likely to keep him from slouching, he thought with some malicious pride), with the flower design picked out in fine silver thread all down his front. Understated, but nice. Black slacks and thigh high boots, and a cape of richer blue that fell behind him.
Kylo looked miserable in it. Which was a shame, because it was damn flattering. Hux let his eyes slide away, and back to his report.
“I want to go through the plans one more time, your Highness.”
“Have they changed?”
“I want to ensure you are ready for any contingencies.”
“If anything happens, I’m just doing what you yell at me.”
“And if I die?”
“...then whoever didn’t kill you tells me what to do.”
Hux fought the tiniest of smiles. “Do you not care about your safety?”
“If someone really wants to kill me – really, deep down – could you stop them?”
Hux stared at him. The question was asked with a strange amount of heat, and he felt obligated to answer it entirely honestly. Not just the political answer, but the stark truth. “Perhaps. It depends on how they—”
“So you admit there’s things you can’t protect me from?”
There were always things you couldn’t protect from. If a lunatic with no priors got close enough with a stylus they could end someone over canapés with their dominant hand and sufficiently aimed pressure. If a foreign power wanted it enough, the whole palace could likely be bombed with more firepower than their anti-missile or bombardment strategies could cover. “We can reduce the chances.”
“How did my uncle die, Hux?”
“It was a heart problem, one that had gone undetected.”
“How well did you know him?”
“...well enough to advise him.” Where was this going?
“And do you think he didn’t live healthily? Or get check-ups? Do you think he was the kind to drop dead from over-work?”
Maybe from over-work, but he’d been a healthy man. “What are you suggesting?”
“I don’t know. I just know he’s dead, and he shouldn’t be. And now I’m here, and I don’t want to be.”
“Well, I don’t want you here, either, but you’re the best Naboo’s got. Even if you don’t believe in the monarchy, or the planet... you could at least put a brave face on it so you don’t ruin the whole planet’s economic status. So you don’t doom these people to living through a failed state and a recession that would leave them destitute and starving. They’re not asking you to fix anything, just look smart and wave and meet a few people at parties, right?”
“Yeah. So why not let my mother rule in my place? I won’t have any power. I’ll just be dressed up and trotted out like some glorified farm animal.” Kylo tugged at his collar, his fingers sliding under the fine fabric.
“You do realise you’ve lived on their graces for all these years? Your money, your parties... that’s all been because of whose son you are?”
“And did I ask to be their son?”
“No, but you certainly didn’t refuse the advantages. Your Highness.” This was dumb. Why was he arguing with him? He just... ugh. Hux couldn’t stop himself, the man just invited discord.
“So if I changed my name and left, and went off to have a life of my own... if I threw all my money away and became a free spirit... you’d support that?”
“Well, not now.”
“Right. So stop telling me I’m so privileged. Get me through this damn thing and then I can go back to being miserable behind closed doors for the majority of my life.”
Hux had nothing to say to that.
***
The coronation went without a hitch. It was broadcast across Naboo, and streamed off-world for the ex-pats and the few royalist fanboys and fangirls under other regimes. Hux’s face was thus on holoscreens galaxy-wide, and he wasn’t pleased, but it wasn’t negotiable. He was just on the edges of shots whilst the newly-appointed King and his mother reigned supreme. That was a small mercy. Hux would rather be the sole focus, not on someone’s periphery, but he was sure no one would pay attention to a senior official who happened to appear in the shot from time to time.
Kylo smiled politely and with dignity at the officials, surprising Hux. His voice was deep and resonant when he picked his ruler’s name: Ren. His public service name, to supplant his old surname. No longer a Solo. The old name’s donor wasn’t around to judge his reaction, and Hux was impressed that Han had ducked all of his security sweeps.
The man was nowhere to be found, according to his contacts. If he’d died, no one had a record of it. Of course, his ship could have had an accident in hyperspace and no one would ever be the wiser. The uncertainty made him uncomfortable, but there were things out of even his control.
The crown was, thankfully, only a temporary measure. Kylo had opted to wear it for the remainder of the evening, but after that he would only wear it for important state events. The cost of replacing it would be more than Hux could ever earn in his working life, but then Naboo could afford it multiple times over. It was more the history in the piece that worried him. Kylo might well go to the bathroom and flush it by mistake, or drop it and sit on it, or... something. It just needed to be gone, already. Back under lock and key, much like the new King.
He wanted to drink very badly, but he couldn’t. Not yet, not until he was home. And even then, he would likely be too tired to do more than take a glass of water to bed with him. Hux had to remain on duty all through the night. No one got in who wasn’t vetted, and he recognised all their faces.
It was going well. It was. A silver platter drifted past him at just the right height and he plucked a tiny pastry with his left hand, bringing it up to his lips as his eyes...
“What are you doing?” King Kylo Ren of Naboo asked, a moment later, when Hux stood close in to his personal space, brushing the crumbs and splashes from his fine clothes.
He’d charged over as quickly as would work for his cover, pretending to be drunk when he greeted the woman next to Kylo, banging into him and then staggering into the protocol droid. Food and drink had ruined both their clothes, but Hux had felt he had no choice.
“I’m s-s-sorry,” he slurred. “Let’s get you cleaned. Sorry, nice people. I won’t have him long.”
Kylo glared angrily at him as Hux put a hand in the small of his back and pushed him through to the passageway for service staff. He pulled up his wrist, barking a command to accost the droid, and straightened, losing the drunk act when the door shut.
“I trust there’s an explanation for this,” Kylo snapped.
“The droid. I realised I recognised the one serving you. It had been your uncle’s personal protocol unit, and then I realised we sweep our own droids less than we do external visitors. A lapse.” One he would now correct.
Hux pulled out a pen-style unit, flicking it on and running the roller over the traces of food and drink on Kylo’s clothes. He wandered it across his chest, down to his belly, ignoring the hands that swatted at him.
“What could be on my clothes?”
“Trace toxins from the food. Would have to be a co-ordinated activation, to pass through our scans. But if there’s two elements that... aha! Activate when both are ingested...” He turned the small unit around so Kylo could read the screen.
“Someone just tried to poison me at my own coronation?”
“Well, yes.”
“And you worked this out because you recognised a droid?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know whether to fire you, or promote you.”
“Technically there isn’t really much you can promote me to, your Highness. Although feel free to invent a role for me. As long as it isn’t food taster.”
“...do you think they’ll try more direct routes? If that didn’t work? You just made it obvious to them that they failed, if they’re watching.”
Kylo was taking the attempt on his life more calmly than Hux could have hoped, but there was such a thing as a delayed reaction. He was braced for that, and – well. Wasn’t that unusual? A skip of adrenaline in his system for the first time in forever. He felt alert and alive.
“I think it’s likely. Do you think you can get the party to finish early?”
“How much of a fuss do you want?”
Hux narrowed his eyes. “Fuss?”
“You can pay me back after,” Kylo said. And then he pulled back his fist, slamming it across Hux’s face.
Hux felt his nose split, felt the rush of blood, and wondered what he’d done to deserve this. He watched as Kylo walked back out into the party, wiping the blood from his knuckles on his nice tunic. Hux didn’t leave the room straight off, but a few people saw him through the door. Saw his face.
“Thank you all for coming,” Kylo called out. “But I think I should get some sleep. I’m told being a King is very involved, and I want to be a good one for you.”
He’d really just... punched him as an excuse to throw everyone out? Hux was half way between horrified at the future news reels, and impressed that Kylo really did not give a shit. He wondered if people would think he was bad at his job, when he’d actually just saved the annoying man’s life.
Well. If he did this right, he’d never have another employer anyway.
He wiped his nose on the back of his hand, and made a note to discuss less disfiguring ways to create a scene in future.
This had suddenly got interesting.