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Instruments Of Cyanide

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She was a few hours old and he was three, trying to peer over the new mother's bed with the biggest, most curious brown eyes. She was too young to sense the tension in the air, and him too excited, but the two mothers could certainly feel it.

They exchanged a glance before the younger mother glared dangerously across the room, silently daring anyone to question her judgement, before carefully shifting her tiny daughter to one arm and helping the older child up with the other. She gently instructed him-"Arms like this. Quit your trembling before you shake her."-and placed the baby girl in his arms.

Almost everyone was watching in concern.

The mothers' only concern was that he would drop the child in his excitement.

She was two and he was five, and she was toddling after him through the house. He was smiling-the warm smile his mother would swear up and down had came from his father-and she was letting out shrill, happy laughs. The age gap may have been a bit wide, but it was no matter. She had the little boy wrapped around her little finger and it had been that way since day one.

His mother noticed the looks though, heard the whispers. It would have been impossible not to. Fearful looks thrown towards her son and worried ones to his little friend.

Hisses about the boy's poisoned bloodline and the power he possibly held and danger he could place the smaller child in.

But it didn't matter.

Despite everyone's fears, the little girl, with her best friend, was safer here than she was anywhere else in the galaxy.

She was five and he was seven and his mother was cleaning up broken glass and bloody faces.

It had been such a quiet evening; the little girl had been placed in The General's care for the evening, which was nothing new. She was the only one who her mother trusted her with, even though everyone else warned her against it. It had been a perfectly average night.

Then the fighting had begun.

She hadn't paid it much heed at first-it was nothing new. As much as the kids loved each other, they squabbled a bit as children would do. Over a game or something trivial that would be forgotten within the hour. She had never had to step in to resolve any of their fights, so she didn't worry about it.

Not until she heard the sound of glass shattering and a high pitched squeal.

She flew to the other room, pausing only for a moment to take in the sight before her.

The little girl stood in front of a pile of glass, cheek slowly dripping blood. She sniffled and squeaked and tears streaked down her face. The boy stared at her, fear clear on face and tears welling in his own eyes.

His mother went into overdrive then; scooping up the injured girl and herding them away from the shards. As she gently plucked the slivers from her face-thank the Gods there wasn't many-she had tried to pry the whole story from the children. It took much soothing and reassurance, but she finally got it.

They had been arguing over a game or whatever, nothing out of the ordinary, but then, it had gotten more heated than usual. Both their tempers had flared and-

And suddenly the glass had broke and she was hurt.

She made quick work then; bandaging the injury and tucking the children in for bed after assuring them everything was alright and no one was in trouble. When she was sure they were asleep, or at least calmed enough they could sleep, she had made her way back downstairs to clean up the mess.

For a while though, she simply stared.

It was still burned into her mind; the bloody hand, the fear on both of their faces, her son staring at it all with nothing short of fear and disbelief...

She would never admit it, but it was then she felt the first ember of doubt and fear blossom inside her for her son.

She was seventeen and he was twenty, and they were so sickeningly in love it even made her queasy sometimes.

But, she didn't really care.

Like any young couple, their days were full of smiles and laughter (with a few spats here and there), her tiny hand wrapped in his larger one. Soft kisses with him looking at her with those big brown eyes that could melt her heart on even the coldest of days-

She snorted to herself and laughed. When had she become such a sap?

She hummed contently to herself, leaning back and nuzzling up to the wall of muscle behind her.

A laugh rumbled in his chest and she found herself with his arms around her, kisses being pressed to her hair.

Well, if being a sap got her this kind of attention, who was she to argue?

She was eighteen and he was twenty-one and their world was training and late-night talks.

They weren't overly happy about being shipped off to the Jedi Academy, but they understood. It has become glaringly obvious over the years that they were both strong in the Force, and they needed guidance and training; no one wanted another glass incident.

And, they had gotten to go together, so that was a plus.

They had refused to share with anyone but each other and his uncle had begrudgingly agreed, if only to get them to finally shut up.

Their moms had fussed-half teasingly, half seriously-that they were still much too young to be grandmothers. She could only roll her eyes; it only took the barest flash of shoulder, midriff, or leg to make him blush and turn away, turning her oh-so-suave Jedi into a meek mess.

Gods help the poor boy when swimming season came along.

She was eighteen and he was twenty-one and she was drowsy and confused

She had been sleeping-or at least attempting to, cause she'd be dammed if she said training didn't wear her out-when she heard the rustle of their tent opening.

When she opened her eyes, she recognized the shape of their Jedi Mentor. He didn't say anything, simply stared down at the sleeping face of his nephew with an expression that was unreadable in the low light.

He didn't say anything, so neither did she.

He stood there in silence for several minutes. After a while, she took a breath to finally say something, to ask why he was there so late, when she saw his hand move to his waist.

She had seen the telltale green glow of the saber about the same time his nephew had rolled over and spotted it.

She was eighteen and he was twenty-one and he was an old fool. With a clash of blue and green, he had set his world on fire.

He stood, frozen in the middle of his destroyed camp as his senses were attacked; the smell of blood, the sounds of his failed Padawans screaming, the view of the fire-

His eyes landed on her.

The girl-a no longer a child, but not yet a woman-had her back to him, taking in the view of the destruction. Her stance was tense, but not fearful. Not worried.

He felt a chill creep down his spine. She had seem him. She knew what he had planned in that brief, stupid second.

She stood still for a second before she, as if sensing his guilt, slowly turned towards him; in her eyes, hate burned as fiercely as the flames surrounding them.

It was then the Jedi Knight realized.

Perhaps his nephew had never been the only one to fear.

She was eighteen and he was twenty-one. But it hadn't always been so.

Once they had been little five and seven year old children, arguing and yelling.

She didn't remember what it had been about-probably a game or something else pointless. She did remember how mad she had been, how all she wanted to do at the time was grab the nearest object and just throw it-

And then suddenly there had been a sharp crash as one of the glass baubles had seemingly jumped off the shelf and shattered to the floor.

It had been closer to her than it had him so the shards that flew as it shattered had only harmed her.

But it was fear and surprise, not pain, that had drew her cries.

He had gotten the blame for it, even if no one said anything, they all 'knew' it was the older boy's fault.

Only they knew the truth.

But neither said a word.

Even as they gotten older, even as they learned the way of the Force and began to realize what had happened that night, neither said a word.

Her fingers gently trailed over the cheek still bearing the small glass scar.

She scowled.

They had always feared her boy and only her boy.

Perhaps it was time for that to change.

He was frozen and she was watching, facing away from the carnage behind them. His saber hung limp at his side. If he knew she was there, he didn't show it.

She didn't hesitate in the slightest as she padded up to him, even when he didn't acknowledge her.

She gently placed her soot covered hand in his, lacing her fingers in between his and squeezing gently, reassuringly.

"It's okay. It's not your fault. We'll be okay."

It was only then he curled his hand around hers.

He was twenty-one.

His name was Kylo Ren now.

And he would bring the galaxy to its' knees.

She was eighteen.

She was childhood friend, lover, and confidant.

She would stand by his side.

And they would fear them both.