Chapter Text
Ben woke to the taste of blood and ash. Acidic smoke covered the sky in a cloud of thick smog. The air seemed to wave and flicker, filled with floating embers and scattered dust. It stung his eyes and made heavy tears trek down his soot-coated face. He pushed himself up with shaking arms, until his torso no longer laid against the scorched earth, and stared out at the destruction before him.
It was a horror to wake up in the epicenter of a cataclysm and know that you were the cause.
The land had been razed for miles. No swathe of greenery had been left behind. What once had been rich farmland had been reduced to charcoal.
He tried to stand and slipped on the brittle remains of charred cattle bones. It splintered under his foot and joined the other pieces of debris strewn about the destroyed farmland. There were other remains in the field–countless. More cattle and livestock. Flesh burnt away to leave only cracked husks behind.
Shaking, his gaze stuttered down to his blackened hands. In his mind, he saw his fingers stretch and sharpen into wicked points. They carved through meat like a hand splitting water. Black viscera dripped from his fingertips and coated his skin until every inch of him had been consumed.
It felt–good. Powerful.
With a gasp, he ripped away from the image. His vision swam. Bile rose in his throat and it was impossible to fight the need to empty the contents of his stomach onto the ground. It burned as it passed and left him sick, seeing the evidence of undigested fur and cartilage mixed in the retch.
It was revolting that he had done this. It was revolting to know a primal part of himself had enjoyed it. Revolting that he couldn’t stop himself.
The previous times he had lost control had been explainable; heightened moments of fear or stress–dangerous, but understandable.
This instance had not followed that pattern. He’d been riding his horse, not for duty or task, but to enjoy the countryside. The sun had been warm and the sky clear. For some reason that had been enough for his monster to tear itself free from his chest.
He had to learn to control this curse before it became any worse. Before the viscera and ash under his feet grew to be more than farmland and cattle.
Ben looked out at the darkened horizon and sighed with relief when he spotted the top of his family’s keep in the distance. At least, this time, his body hadn’t carried him too far. Maybe the predator in him didn’t like the idea of leaving its territory. If only it had the same caution toward protecting his land’s inhabitants.
***
Ben stumbled through the castle gates and was immediately surrounded by a barrage of people : staff and worried attendants. They ushered him inside and set to the task of wiping gore and soot from his skin. Hushed whispers filtered over his head, but he shut them out in favor of listening to the sharp ringing in his ears.
A hand cupped his face and a voice cut through the white noise. “Ben–my poor boy.” His mother was there and he collapsed in her arms, exhausted.
She steadied her hold. Her voice turned sharp and struck out through the room. “What are you all doing? Get him a cloak!”
Footsteps rushed from the room. Seconds later, the comforting weight of a woolen cloak was thrown over his shoulders. He clutched it like a shaking child, and felt the need to curl in on himself the way he’d seen other pained creatures do.
Except–he wasn’t injured. He was the one who had inflicted the wound.
“It appears our young prince has gotten in trouble again–” Their court advisor, Snoke, approached the entryway. His gaze scanned over Ben with a look that was hard to interpret. The man had assisted their lineage for generations, though Ben had never managed to read him with any consistency.
An unwillingness to face the man took over and his eyes darted away from Snoke. He clasped his cloak under his chin, suddenly aware of all the people in the room. They would talk about him once he was gone. They would talk about his failure as a prince. That he wasn’t worthy to follow after his grandfather, the Red Dragon.
“Quiet,” his mother snapped at Snoke. She led Ben away from the entryway, muttering something about ‘too many eyes.’
It didn’t matter. Flames flickered in his peripheral. They all knew what he was. They all knew he couldn’t control himself.
***
“When this happens, you can’t let your people see you shaken.”
Ben drew his attention back to his mother. Somehow, she had managed to herd him down to many long hallways to his chamber. In short order he had been cleaned, reclothed, and placed securely in a plush chair.
His mother was a strong woman. Leia Skywalker was fiercely protective of what was hers–her family most of all. That ferocity burned through her as Ben watched her pace back and forth across the room.
He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. “I couldn’t control it. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Ben,” she cut him off with something firm in her gaze. Her face was set in a tense frown that spoke of worry. “I know you’re struggling but we can’t give them more to fear.”
“Mother—”
“Their misunderstanding will breed distrust. They’ll seek to cast you out.”
“They shouldn’t trust me. I couldn’t stop myself–all that land, scorched to death–”
“You’ll learn to control it.
“How?” Ben snarled. He scrubbed at his face with worn hands and relished the way it hurt to scratch his nails against his skin. He deserved pain, it’s what he earned. “Grandfather left me with this curse and didn’t teach me how to live with it.”
His mother’s hands took his own and stilled his worrying. “You’ll learn.”
“I keep getting worse.” He looked away. “Can you believe that Snoke asked me about providing an heir? As if I would condemn a child to this life? Ridiculous–”
“Is it?”
Ben froze. His attention snapped to his mother and his tone turned to ice. “Yes it is.”
“Don’t speak in absolutes. Only a male heir would carry the dragon’s blood.”
“Oh, and that’s such an easy thing to circumvent?” He scoffed.
“It’s a problem–one I’ve been working on.”
“Without telling me?”
“You’ve been…distracted.”
“That’s one word for it.” Ben felt himself deflate. His body sagged against the chair. “I don’t want a child.”
“You don’t need one yet, but a partner–”
“I could end up killing–”
“Could help you manage your condition.”
He shook his head. “You don’t know that.”
“I know that you’re fighting a darkness. Your grandfather’s darkness and his sire’s before him.” She leaned down so he was forced to meet her eyes. “It’s easy to let the darkness take you if you can’t see the light.”
“I won’t risk passing the curse on.”
“Then I’ll offer you a solution.” She placed a thin piece of unsealed parchment onto his lap.
Ben unrolled the page and scanned the words scrawled down its body. His brow lowered in a confused scowl. “This is a request for betrothal.”
“Correct.”
“Between me and some princess from a nowhere sand kingdom.”
“Yes. Jakku–their mercantile efforts actually contribute to a significant portion of our own goods.”
Ben waved the paper in the air. “I don’t care about that. Did you do this behind my back?
“Like I’ve said,” his mother shrugged. “You’ve been distracted.”
“Distracted or not, this is ridiculous.”
“Perhaps.” She took the paper from his hands and rolled it back up with swift fingers. “But their line only produces daughters.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I do–I’ve checked.” She tucked the paper into her sleeve and out of harm’s way. “Every woman from Jakku’s royal line has only been able to produce daughters.” She gave a light smile. “It’s caused a lot of drama in several political circles. They are saying the women are dealing with a curse of their own if you believe it.”
Ben caught a smirk on his mother’s face. “You think this is funny?”
“I think it’s advantageous.”
“It’s preposterous.”
She quirked a brow. “And you don’t have options.”
He sighed. It was hard to argue with her once she’d decided on a route to take. If they were talking curses, having a mother that ran circles around diplomats would be one of them.
Ben took a breath in and let it slowly escape from his lungs. He didn’t see this plan working. An army couldn’t hold him once he lost control, let alone an unknown woman. He studied his mother and saw worry there, an earnest need to protect him.
Fine. He could do this for her. Even if it ended in smoke, he would give his mother a moment of peace before the fallout.
“Okay, you win. Send the request.” He ran a hand through his hair and let his head fall back to rest against the top of the chair. “Just pick one close to my age.”
“Their youngest will do fine.”
“How young?”
“Marriageable.”
“He tilted his head down with a glare. “Mother.”
“This is her eighteenth summer.”
Six years younger than him. It wasn’t a child-bride. “What if they say no? I am after all capable of eating their daughter or at least reducing her to ash.”
“We’re the most powerful kingdom.” She waved her hand in a flippant gesture. “No family would miss the chance to seize such prospects–especially one with so-called blighted daughters.”
