[ The strength of his weight as he bore down against her and locked their blades together surprised her, for it was greater than she'd seen in the woods of Starkiller Base. He was injured then, she realized. Chewie had clipped him inside the thermal oscillator, after Han—
She couldn't let the pain of Han's death distract her, not now. Not when she needed to be careful that she didn't get in over her head starting a fight she wasn't ready for. She struggled to hold him back, but they were close enough now that she felt keenly aware of his breath; panic bubbled up in her stomach but she fought it down.
Rage and indignation, the pride that told her she owed him nothing, did battle with confusion and panic. It made her want to placate him, this outburst worse than she'd seen. He'd been appalled, surely, when she'd called it to her from the snow, but not— this. She remembered Maz's explanation of the lightsaber's history: it had belonged to Luke, and before that, his father. Was Kylo Ren afraid that she had met Skywalker, located him? Or was his fury something more? ]
Luke! [ She sputtered out, alarm winning out and prompting her to the only recourse she could estimate. ] It belonged to Luke Skywalker.
[ And she had found nightmares in it, down in Maz Kanata's basement. Premonitions of Kylo Ren, of rain and snow, of a row of dark masks and darker silhouettes. Of fire, and a city in the clouds.
Of her parents.
She shut out those thoughts as well, refused to let them cloud her vision. Then, she risked the imbalance of her stance to raise one leg and kick his knee out from under him. She staggered backwards, the force of his lean thrusting her back without the steady anchor of two feet below her, but she dropped her blade and dodged the downswing of his, dancing quickly aside. It was a frantic motion and marked her shift to the defensive. ]
no subject
She couldn't let the pain of Han's death distract her, not now. Not when she needed to be careful that she didn't get in over her head starting a fight she wasn't ready for. She struggled to hold him back, but they were close enough now that she felt keenly aware of his breath; panic bubbled up in her stomach but she fought it down.
Rage and indignation, the pride that told her she owed him nothing, did battle with confusion and panic. It made her want to placate him, this outburst worse than she'd seen. He'd been appalled, surely, when she'd called it to her from the snow, but not— this. She remembered Maz's explanation of the lightsaber's history: it had belonged to Luke, and before that, his father. Was Kylo Ren afraid that she had met Skywalker, located him? Or was his fury something more? ]
Luke! [ She sputtered out, alarm winning out and prompting her to the only recourse she could estimate. ] It belonged to Luke Skywalker.
[ And she had found nightmares in it, down in Maz Kanata's basement. Premonitions of Kylo Ren, of rain and snow, of a row of dark masks and darker silhouettes. Of fire, and a city in the clouds.
Of her parents.
She shut out those thoughts as well, refused to let them cloud her vision. Then, she risked the imbalance of her stance to raise one leg and kick his knee out from under him. She staggered backwards, the force of his lean thrusting her back without the steady anchor of two feet below her, but she dropped her blade and dodged the downswing of his, dancing quickly aside. It was a frantic motion and marked her shift to the defensive. ]