Chapter Text
Snowflakes fall slowly through the air and brighten the sky. The moon cast its pale rays on the snow-covered trees creating a haunted visage with deep shadows. The steps and short breaths all sound into the deafening quiet of the forest. This path should have been kept clean and the abandoned state of it with its knee-high snow fills Poe with a deeper dread.
He needs to find life in the village with should be nearby.
He needs to rely on the pity of a stranger and an enemy to survive.
Going north to spread the happy message seemed a blessed undertaking when first he left home. General Organa burned with similar zeal as he set off under her command. It was supposed to be triumphant and glorious, not a few skirmishes before drawing up the curtain of the apocalypse. Neither side was immune to the disease spreading through their ranks, no one could paint their doors with blood to repel the angel of death.
The men he rode out with that last day were all dead, taken by a decease that had struck around Poe, but not him. Leaving him lost, alone and deep into the territory of the First Order without knowing if Leia remained alive. If he would ever see his friends Finn, Rose or Rey again. If the silent killer had travelled by ship back to Yavin and his father. Even his horse BB-8 had been lost, frightened or stolen.
Poe was alone. Perhaps the only soul that remainder in the broken land he found.
His feet ached and the blisters, once half healed, had reponed and he was afraid to lose fingers or toes if he made it through another night. His sword and shield were heavy. He wanted to scream out his despair. So many graves. No one left to mind the dead. Houses were burned to prevent further spreading. Children begging dead parents to wake up. The shouts from the sick as blisters swelled and popped. The smell of root and that of burning flesh.
Poe wished he could reach that path of stars far away and plead to enter the household of his maker. Up there many of his friends must be, all from his mother to the new converts he held as life slipped from them, peace replacing torment on their faces in their last moments.
But he remained alive.
The trees were less dense and the night was a little less dark. The silence was just as all-encompassing. The crunching sound of crisp snow under his drenched boots all that could be heard. Hands around his amulet of faith he begged as he went on. When Poe next looked up he saw the landscape opening up. A village sleeping beneath the sloops of nearby hills, white rooftops glittering like diamonds in the moonlight. He saw neither light nor smoke from a single chimney. Tears turned into icicles on his cheeks as the wind tossed the snow and blew harder when the trees no longer stood sentinel over him.
Superstition and fear of the dead struck through his lionheart even as he pushed ahead. The disappointment and loneliness were soul-crushing, but he needed cover, even if he needed to take shelter in a house with the deceased. The path to the house of prayer was seemingly untouched from a distance. The inhabitants of this village might have perished many weeks ago before the tide of snow hid the decay. He was thankful for it, the remains of the disease were never a pretty sight.
This must be the Final-Times, just before this world ends and the next is born. He pushed forward as gnarling hunger ate through him, his long-time companion. A chant on his breath as he took his first step into the abandoned and dead town. He turned away from what must be a half-dug mass grave after blessing their soul to the best of his abilities and yet was moved more by the sight of a child’s toy horse, he faintly saw through a broken window. The bodies were no longer as daunting as they once had been now covered by the layer of snow, but the remainder of their lost humanity was painful beyond comprehension. He sobbed as he continued up to a larger-looking house, trying to keep his eyes set on his target.
Poe stopped.
He smelled the air as a long-lost sensation tickled his nose. Was this a scent of the heaven to come, a cruel dream or true smoke? Looking and smelling again as he once more crushed the path under his feet, he soon found faint smoke coming from a back chimney on the house he was walking towards.
A human. Another person.
All he wished for and now he was once again made aware of where he was. Much as he wanted to help, many had seen his cause as disruptive and invasive. He was an armed enemy combatant for these people, not a saving hero and he wondered how he could avoid a fight or giving fright. The thought of distressing a young maiden or a gentle crone was heavy on his heart as he knocked on the door. Sword left in his scabbard, shield on his back.
“Please, grant hospitality to a fellow sufferer in these times of torment.” His voice croaked with despair despite the formality of his request. No one answered the door. Poe repeated the plea while knocking more fervently. “Please!”
When nothing happened he gave it a try. It opened. whoever lived here must have been alone a long time to forget to lock the door. With a heavy heart and regret he entered the unknown home, locking the door behind him as he did as the iron key remained in its hole. The room seemed refined, beautifully decorated and gloomy. Cold, but a respite to be away from hind and snow. A faint light from a lantern bathing the room in a limited, pleasant light.
“Hello? Please forgive me for the intrusion. I would have died.” He could hear the faint crackle of fire, blessed fire far away as it must have been, but no human reply. Yet he knew he was watched. Poe had been a man of war long enough to feel the hidden eyes following his every move.
“I will remove my weapons and leave them by the door. I come without evil intent and enter unarmed.” Poe disarmed himself slowly, making a show to present even his dagger before putting it down with his other weaponry. The wet cloak and hat he also put aside as they now made him colder.
A small noise was heard. Low, almost inaudible but picked up by Poe’s trained ears. Someone young he suspected, unsure if maiden or squire. He took a slow step forward.
“Stay where you are.” A man’s voice. It rang unsure as the speaker had not spoken for a long time and was surprised at the sound.
“Okay,” He held up his hands.
From the dark shadows came a young man, likely a few years his junior with a striking shade of red in his hair. Pale-skinned, skinny and eyes a light stormy green shining with defiance and fright alike. Dressed in what once must have been splendid garments, well-tended and straightened but spider thin beyond mending by the cuffs. His posture was courtly, even as he held a short sword in his hand ready to protect himself.
“Who are you?” It was just to be expected that he was not to be immediately trusted. Even tired Poe felt secure in his ability to disarm the younger man if need be, his own weapon near enough in the worst of emergencies. Lying to hide his identity was against his convictions, he suspected the man needed to hear Poe was of a similar class and in the name of honesty it was an opportunity to brag some.
Oh Pride, his eternal downfall.
“Commander Poe Dameron, baron of Yavin. Knight of the Order of Aldeeran. At your service.” He bowed and smiled at the seemingly unimpressed youth. Careful to keep an eye on the drawn weapon, best not to get stabbed. Snow fell from his locks as he did, and a smile painful on frozen cheeks. “I- I have been walking alone for many days now, searching for the company of a living soul and a warm hearth.”
“A crusader.” Pronunciation sharp identification of his status.
“I suppose I am.”
“You are General Princess Organa’s right-hand man.” The redhead muttered something more and shook his head lightly. Something along the lines of father and proud among the words.
“Before hell broke loose on the world, perhaps still. And you are? Young sir?” Poe smiled when sharp cheekbones flashed red as green eyes took him in. The flush pretty on pales cheeks.
“I am -” As if considering a lie before changing his mind. Returning the swords to a decorated sheath. “My name is Armitage Hux, Heir presumptive and son to Prince Elective Brendol.” Standing tall, stiff and defiant.
“The general’s son?” Poe pondered and remembered what he learnt of his enemies under Leia’s careful tutelage. Brendol Hux, fifth Duke of Arkanis, Prince Elector of the First Order and one of Emperor Snoke's trusted generals only had one child. The man had a reputation for unfathomable cruelty. A son born out of wedlock. Legitimized only when all hope of a son by his wife or an official mistress seemed lost forever. That this handsome youth was the son and blood of the bogeyman of Poe’s childhood felt shocking.
In an ordinary situation, Poe would have sought to charm or bundle up the undefended son of such a foe as a hostage. Here, surrounded by death and in the face of a living soul it was the furthest from his wishes. Poe just wanted to sleep and hold a living human. Thoughts of victory or glory abandoned in the graveyard which the world had become.
“Your Grace, may I stay under your protection and eat at your table tonight? In return, I promise to bring no dishonour or strife under your roof. I promise to protect your house from any who wishes to do you harm or injustice during my stay.”
“My Lord, If you swear to leave your arms and quarrel by the door, you as a talented and honourable knight have a place at my table and will be considered an esteemed guest. May my hostship be guided by virtue and you find a safe haven by my fire.” Poe kneeled and kissed Armitage’s outreached hand as tradition dictated. It felt warm under frozen lips.
“Rise, noble knight and baron.” A faint smile on Armitage's face when he spoke the words. His voice sounded more confident than before.
Despite all his weariness, Poe winked at the future duke as he rose back up. The flush intensified and Poe found him handsome, very handsome. He reprimanded himself, this was not the time to admire pagan princelings no matter how ethereal they appeared. “Thank you, your grace.”
“Your Lordship must be cold, follow me to the fire. I will find something dry to wear. Take your coat with you.” He led Poe deeper into the manor house, the emptiness around them eery and disquieting as they passed rich tapestries and long galleries in the dim lantern light. Cold, cruel faces with deep sneers or serious expressions and red hair stared down at Poe as he walked behind Armitage.
“Are you alone here, Your Grace?”
“Millicent and I have been alone for a long time. I fear my cooking skills are far from presentable, I regret I am already failing as your host, but there is soup on the stove.”
Poe wondered who this Millicent was, perhaps a lover. The thought was unreasonably foul, once again he tried to remind himself not to admire pretty pagan princes when Poe was at death's door just minutes before. If pagan he was, he had answered in a courtly manner. No, this was improper, and he should focus on the gratitude to be alive and for the promise of warmth.
“To preserve firewood I only use a small section of this wing. There is no fire in any of the guestrooms so we will have to share tonight.” Matter of factly, but with a hint of regret. Armitage opened a door “This is my room. The wardrobe is to the right. I will be back soon.”
“Thank you, your Grace, very much.”
He stopped at the door. “I can take your coat and boots, will dry faster in the kitchen. Get redressed and warm yourself by the fire in the meantime.” Armitage took what he asked for and hurried away, mindfully shutting the door to trap the heat.
He seemed a strange mixture between stately and lost, as if unsure of his own position was that of a lord or a servant. Poe found it best not to ask. He stepped to the hearth and recoiled, the longed-for warmth painful rather than soothing to his frozen limbs. Armitage clothes were all neatly hung in his wardrobe room and one set more fanciful than the other without seeming gauge. Black velvet with golden thread, embroidered doublets and all in peak condition, unlike the garment he wore. Poe found a set of riding clothes in deep green which he settled for, less ostentatious than the rest and a warm fur to drape around him. Undressing and getting into clean and warm clothing was a slice of heaven in itself.
Collecting his clothing and laying them out near the fire, Poe set to wander the room. Mindful not to get too close to the inviting flames until he had thawed further, he was curious to see what kind of man hosted him.
No foreign religious insignias affronted him to his relief, but surprisingly neither did any Hux heraldry. Or not so surprisingly with the young Hux's recent legitimization, that must be the explanation for his stiffness. If the corridors of the house had cobwebs this room was spotlessly clean and ordered. Uncannily so.
Poe did not want to think of the moon shining its deadly light upon them as silence covered a land which must have perished in screams. The hole in his heart after his fellow warriors Wexley and Jessika who both died in his arms and entered into the blessed second life. The fear for Leia and his father and he prayed that they were still alive.
Why was he alone left behind?
How could the colourful and boisterous world turn from apocalyptic fury to deathly quiet in only a few months? A world he wanted to save from wicked beliefs and tyrannic rulers, which might no longer be there to save. Only a corpse waiting to be revived into something new.
Poe’s hands traced delicate wood carvings on a desk as the unlikeliness of it all hit him. He was alive and no longer walking in the dark woods, terrible to behold and unending snow hiding the path before him. He wasn’t alone anymore. He sank down in prayer, no longer bitter and lost but deeply thankful for what had been granted.
If he and the Duke were still alive, cruel and hellish as the new word would be, there could be others still living. Someone would have to shoulder the terrible weight of rebuilding if and when the angel of death returned to its abode after harvesting all souls where his shadow fell. Poe prayed in thanks, prayed in terror for strength to meet the task which might lay by his feet and for the souls of his fallen comrades. That sun might shine on these lands once again so that sickness and eternal night might be swept aside. Making the sign over and over again as he did.
The door opened and a small animal rushed in. A hissing ball of red fluff disturbed him in his prayer before Hux carried in a tray of food and two bowls. A flagon of wine balances on the edge. Poe closed his eyelids to wrap up his prayer with one for the man who had saved him, asking for the grace to bring him thanks and salvation for his hospitality and bravery. One more sign and he was ready.
He sent a quick look at Armitage. This man once had all reasons to kill him but had stayed his hand in the attempt nor had he denied him hospitality. Perhaps for his own loneliness, even if that woman, Millicent, was here with him. Poe’s limbs protested as he rose up to help.
“Please sit down. As I am already bringing you food on my own, would it be agreeable to put aside titles?”
“I would like that much, and I ought to help set the table.” it felt good being free of formality, dead as he felt.
“You look … weary. So sit Dameron.” In the back of his mind, he wondered how he looked after his long walk, dreadful most likely.
“Is that an order?”
“Yes.”
“Poe, if you want.” he wanted to hear his name on the other’s lips.
“Then call me Armitage. A pleasure to meet you, Poe.”
The food tasted wonderful, and warmth bloomed from within as he ate the soup slowly. The duke’s son watched Poe as he ate, barely touching his own food or drink.
“Thank you again for taking me in, are you not afraid?”
A hybrid of a frown and a sneer surfaced on the other's face, an expression inherited from his father’s side if the gallery was to be trusted. “I can handle myself.”
“I meant that I might carry the plague into your home.”
“No, it has struck down all around me but I alone have remained healthy. As to you, you carry no sign.”
“I have been the same, even as I nursed the ill.” Convert Mitaka who had been scared right up to the moment of his death, only then a light shone in his eyes before his soul was carried home. Commander Ackbar struggled to the end before they knew the course of the disease and how he valiantly stayed calm even as the buboes appeared one by one on his body. Hux hand on his shoulder surprised him, he must have reached across the table without Poe noticing. Lost in memory as he had been. Mercy upon the dead and the living.
“Thank you, I just ... remembered.”
“Happens to me too, Millicent usually helps.”
Poe made a face and Hux just laughed. They ate in silence and let the calm set in. After they had eaten Armitage determinedly put him to bed and to Poe’s great shame he did not struggle. The bed was huge in the adjoining room from where he had dined and it was so very warm. The furry, red creature snuggled up by him and both fell asleep long before Armitage returned and crawled in with them.