Title: A Surrender Or A Revel
Paring: Armitage Hux X Reader
Warnings: arranged marriage, (bullying?) by family members
Spoilers: yes! If you haven't seen Star Wars: The Force Awakens you're either in need of seeing it right this second to see the very attractive Domhnall Gleeson as General Hux, or perhaps living under a rock. Read at own risk if you have not!
Author's Note: This started off being a one-shot, but I fell in love with it and have prepped a sequel part in the works. I mightn't get around to it soon (uni is back in three days for me). This series (of two shots) is called 'My Soul's Freezing'.
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You lived your whole life thinking one decision could be made by you. Just one. You were not someone of particularly good blood; your family would dispute that fact. You were the firstborn of a King, but to a different woman than his wife. Yes, you held a sort of status in the Galaxy, just not as Princess. You were just ... _______. Sister of eight princesses. Just a woman who had been trained from birth to be the perfect wife to a man of stature and power. You spent your days reading books on how to do things perfectly, learning politics and skills of the kitchen as well as defence of yourself alike. You had an iron-will about one thing, though: you would be the one who chose the man you married.
But it would seem, that the decision was chosen for you too.
It was a Sunday when you found out you were destined to have the hand of a man named Armitage Hux, the General of the First Order. It had been a fine Sunday indeed, until the news had been broken, and at once, you felt your heart shatter to shards upon the words that came from your father's lips. You were silent upon hearing when you would depart to meet your husband-to-be, hearing when the knot would be tied. You were a pawn; just a power-play for your father to secure protection of his kingdom from the First Order from the wars.
If you had been allowed as a child to explore the kingdom, to meet the stable boys and the kids who rode speed racers, the children who had lives and worked for their living, you might have fallen in love naturally. Fallen in love for the kingdom. But you were a false princess, by only one name, and not one which had the power. You only hoped that the man you were to marry, Armitage, was a man who you could look in the eyes, a man who wouldn't hurt you, a man who might let you love him and him you.
But that was the thing with hope; it was a silly thing princesses thought worked in their favour.
It never had for you before. Why now?
General Armitage Hux stood in the main control room, surrounded by his men and women, working relentlessly on the next strike against the Resistance. After Starkiller had been destroyed, all he had was the Finaliser, and his troops, his people and the will of Supreme Leader Snoke leading him forward while Ren was healing in the medbay wing from the battle with the scavenger girl Rey.
It had been a good day; no malfunctions, no rouge troupers, none of the captives taking a vessel into open space back to a sandy wasteland to waste his time and troops' effort in recapturing them. It was a good day, for there was no mayhem, just the usual status reports, lower command officers kissing his proverbial ass, focusing on the one thing he cared for, one thing alone: his work.
Dopheld Mitaka had come to him moments before, and handed him a message. There was no one in the galaxies who had writing quite like his father, the war hero. Armitage knew it was him at a glance. With expertise, and haste, he opened the envelope, and began scanning the precise handwriting for what message his parents had deemed him not busy enough with his career to read. Slowly, his face turned pale, then, slowly, all a shade of red. His hands tightened on the parchment until it crumbled under his grip, under his fury.
"Lieutenant Mitaka," he growled, calling over his employee. "Rouse Kylo Ren, and tell him that he is needed in the meeting room. I need a word with Supreme Leader Snoke."
Your bag was packed; what you loved was shoved in there as much as you could. You never expected that it would come to this, yet, here you sat, waiting for the go from your father. Your stepmother had told you all your life that you were just a minuscule spot in her life. Not as important as her eight daughters; you were the living reminder of her husband's infidelity. You supposed she was glad to see you gone.
The door to your room opened; but instead of seeing your maid, a faceless boy, you saw the appearance of your father come through. You were not sure if you looked like him; he had a strong jaw, a straight nose. Perhaps you looked like your mother, more. If only your stepmother and queen hadn't destroyed all memory of her appearance in rage during your childhood.
"I see you are prepared," he tucked his hands behind his back. It was almost like he was in one of his meetings, and you were a diplomat from a far off planet who did not know of his ways. The ways in which he made deals with war harbingers and sold his firstborn for peace. "Are you well?"
You turned your gaze to the window. Outside, there was a view of the kingdom; of the planet as far as your eye could see. This had always been your room, your prison. It was the furthest room from the entrance, the furthest room from all life and joy in the castle. But it was your room, and you had made it so - and you were being forced to leave it.
"Yes, father," you echo.
If you were not trained to be a perfect princess, or at least, half of one, you would have screamed; thrown your suitcase like it was just an item, and ordered him to release you from the legal bind that was placed upon you. But you were, and you had respect for the man who did not have you killed for existing, and his bastard daughter was forever in his debt, and reminded at the sight of him for this.
"I am here to escort you to the General," he added, reaching a gloved hand for yours, as if to guide you to the ship. "I am to witness the ceremony to legalise the action."
You nod, and almost silently, you whisper, "Thank you, father."
The ship lands in the deck.
General Hux has seen grander ships; he is in the war business, after all, and has seen impressive models of all shapes and sizes. But the one which carries the woman his father decided apt for him to marry, who sought the advice of Supreme Leader Snoke without his knowledge of consent, is arriving as he thinks these thoughts. Talking to his superior, pleading and arguing against him was futile, useless when he was but a pawn essentially in both men's lives.
He stood to attention, wearing a finer suit than his usual work uniform; the buttons on the front were polished silver, as were his cuff links, and the ring he had to choose for the ceremony. Armitage had given his workers a half day off, the occasion being he rather them resting than overworking under a inferior officer unsure of their own commands.
From the ship, comes fourth two guards, and a man in a suit made of a green material. The man was King Hyperion, one of the last kings in the galaxies who kept his integrity, and did not allow his people starvation or slavery to live through their harsh winters through his benevolence and skills as a trader. Behind Hyperion, comes another form, flanked by two more guards. Her hair is tied back in an elegant, but simple fashion, as is her clothes. The first thing he notices is that she is wearing a dress of yellow, brighter than the sun in the east. It is an uncommon colour, one his troops do not wear, and surrounded by black and white, and red all day seemed monochrome compared to the pigmented dress she wears.
As they approach, he reads into her appearance; she is no older than he is, slightly more youthful, judging by the way she does not assert herself into the situation, keeping her eyes averted. Her hands quiver, but they are held together, as if to quell their shaking.
"Good day, General," King Hyperiongreets him, extending a gloved hand to shake. "My daughter is here for the ceremony, and I am here to sign the accords." He states.
Armitage nods, eyes drifting to the woman beside him. "Yes, we shall get to that later. I have arranged for a room for your majesty's daughter to prepare in, and people who can assist. The ceremony will be later today."
In the room you were escorted to, you see it is just a small place for someone unimportant. It has a single bed, lined tightly to the wall, with a flickering light intermittently changing patterns of its lit-unlit state faster than your racing heartbeat. There is a bathroom attached to the small room, with a vanity, a shower and a small toilet. You consider emptying your last meal from home into the shiny, white bowl, but there's a voice in your head which insists you shouldn't.
Climbing into the shower, you let the water cleanse you, heal what has been broken inside your heart by the events of late. By the time you get out, and dress in underthings, you notice a knocking on the door, but before you answer, are joined by a young woman, who, ignoring you, walks to the closet opposite the bed.
"Hello," your voice is but an undertone. "My name is Princess ________," you introduce softly. If you are to live here, you might as well start off well in someplace where you are not being stared at rudely by the red head who is to be your husband.
The woman opens the doors, plucking a long bag from within, places it on the bed. She straightens, and gives you a small smile. "My name is Anwen, and I am your servant, for as long as you wish me to be. I am here to dress you for your ceremony, and prepare your appearance for meeting the General." her voice is small, words practised, like she expected you to become furious at any moment.
"Anwen, what a pretty name," you murmur, smiling. "I have no qualms with servants; it is people who serve who build worlds," you tell her. "Is that...a wedding dress?" you ask her.
Anwen nods. "The General had it imported from the other side of the system for you," she confides, reaching over the bed to undo the zipper for the bag it is inside of. "When I heard I was to work for you, I was overjoyed, as we never have royalty as guests, and never those in the finest wedding gowns in the universe."
You hang your head. "I am more than a guest, though," you whisper.
Her face blanches, hands dropping to her side at once. "I apologise, your highness - I did not think before speaking, I -,"
You wave her off, placing a hand on the wedding gown's material. "No not worry, you're not to blame here. I thought I was to live a life, to love whomever I pleased, but...that is history, now. I am to be General Armitage Hux's wife, and if that is what is decreed, what the stars say is so, then I will follow their word."
Anwen bobbed her head once more in affirmation. "They are very noble words, your highness." She gestured to the bathroom, and uttered words about what paint she would place onto your face, what makeup would enhance your beauty, but all you could think of was how very not-noble your blood was.
Armitage waited at the front of the room. It was not used to officiate weddings, nor to sign accords; he had a grand meeting room for that, where ambassadors came, and sat and argued like birds in a shooting range, waging their lives to shoot at others. No, this room was but a simple training room, one he had not yet sanctioned for training. Armitage was glad; otherwise, he would not have been able to remove the stench of sweat and metal from the walls.
Just as he was to think that his future wife - what a thing to think, a woman who had to stay by his side, whether he or she wished to be there or not - was late, the doors at the end of the room opened. The same face he had seen earlier came in, but instead of wearing vibrant canary yellow, she wore white, the white gown he had purchased and brought from the best weavers and craftsmen in the galaxy. The illusion neckline was sewn with scattered pale material flowers, as was the cloak attached to the dress, which trailed behind her footsteps. He felt almost under-dressed at the appearance of her, even if he was wearing one of the most handsome suits he owned.
As she came to the front of the room, Armitage watched as her father stood off, behind her, and the officiant and judge came to read their vows. His voice was ancient, words slow, but efficient, and as he spoke the binding words, he could not help but glance to his bride-to-be's face, to take in her features closer than he had before that day.
She had (h/l), (h/c) hair, worked expertly into a fashion for the occasion, facial features alike her father, but not all. He had seen pictures of the queen of King Hyperion, of her high brow bones, and strong nose, but he could not seem to see that in her face. Perhaps she took after someone else in her family.
"I now shall name you, husband, and wife, General, and Princess." The officiant's words hit him in his chest, and feeling heat come to his face, Armitage realises the part that follows those words, just as the man spoke them, "You may kiss your bride, to seal the contract, to bind your souls together for all eternity, for death do you part."
Slowly, he brought himself closer, feeling the breath from her expelled upon his face. It has been a long time since Armitage has kissed someone, and by the way he notices the woman before him - his wife, now, he reminds himself - he can only guess she had never kissed a soul in her life. He nears his lips toward hers, simply placing them upon her own.
"Now! We may sign the treaty, as discussed..." King Hyperion's voice jerks him from her proximity, reminding him who he was. General Armitage Hux, son of Brendol, Leader of the First Order. Not a fickle, romantic man, certainly not a man who enjoyed or revelled in physical contact with others. He notices the way his bride, Princess _______ flinches from him, and is reminded of his status and name once more.
When it is all done, and King Hyperion returns to open space, to his kingdom, Armitage notices that ________ has not moved from where she stood, watching the ship of her father fly off into the darkness of the stars. From what he could tell of her, she was a practised woman, emotional; but wasn't that every one (bar Phasma, nothing seemed to phase her)?
He cleared his throat. "I suppose you wish to turn in for the night." He speaks his first words to his wife, unsure of how his voice sounds while he does talk to her. "If you follow me, I will direct you to my suite. Your luggage has already arrived there."
She only nods.
That night, you lay in the bed beside Armitage Hux, your husband. You were yet to say a word to him, to speak anything other than under your breath or within your mind. You knew of the ways of the First Order, and now you were stuck for all eternity married to the man who made the orders to kill, to decimate souls in the name of politics. You were afraid to breathe too loudly, to turn under the sheets to alert him more so to your presence within his bed.
I can only hope he will go on with his life like I am a flower upon the wallpaper, and does not hurt me like he does to those innocent people in the galaxies, you prayed silently, squeezing your eyes tight, silently hoping for sleep to take you away.