Stronger Together (Kylo Ren x Reader | Maia)

The Dyad

Leia, Luke's funeral on Chandrila

"What do we do now?" Han asked quietly. My brother's pyre was burning high, the heat close enough to be uncomfortable. I lifted my chin slightly, enough to look at General Hux. He met my gaze and nodded ever so slightly before turning to leave.

"We achieve the goal our son and his wife laid out for us," I replied in a matching tone, though the emotions inside me were wide-ranging and strong.

Han let out a gruff of understanding and straightened.

"Can I... help you, this time?" I turned to face him directly, his hesitant offer reminding me so much of the Han he once was.

"You better," I said with only an air of seriousness—a bit like the girl I once was.

He gave me a microscopic smile. "I know, Han," my voice came out barely above a whisper, but fairly even. "I miss him, too."

One of his hands wrapped around my shoulder just before the other one pulled me all the way to his chest.

He sighed after a moment, but I continued to breathe in his familiar scent. It was the most comfort I'd felt in days.

"Another fight for peace it is," he mumbled against my hair.

———

Han, Chandrila, outside the Galactic Daily office

Less than two full days after Exegol, and the media had officially lost it. I never got used to it being married to Leia, but this took it to a new level. I stood in front of the large stone building, staring up at a propaganda poster three times bigger than life-size.

It seemed like Kylo and Maia were staring down at me, judging me. Across Maia's face was a rendition of the bloody handprint she'd had on her face when she broadcasted her promise to defeat the old Emperor.

I found it horribly incorrect as a representation of her; she didn't wish to shed blood. In her left hand, dangling off her ring finger, was a golden crown in Naboo fashion, and under her heel was an old Imperial logo. Both seemed wrong to me as well. But the main thing they got wrong in the image, in my opinion, was her vivid white dress. She had been wearing black on the day it depicted, and had been in even deeper black when attacking Exegol. Her eyes were wrong too, drawn almost white. Maia had striking blue eyes, but they weren't that bright.

Kylo was depicted without his helmet, instead held underneath his right arm. His other arm was held high, his metal hand gleaming in painted sunshine, his gaze following it. Above his hand was the depiction of a starbird—ironic. I didn't know if it represented Palpatine, rising from death, or if it was meant to mean hope.

I had no idea what any of it was supposed to mean, but it infuriated me. I would give anything to trade places with them. To be able to speak to my son again. And here was an artist's depiction of their final days.

Life had never been easy for me, but this took the cake. Not six hours since I buried my son's uncle, my best friend, my brother.

The anger bubbled up inside me, and with a scoff, I turned toward the doors.

"Sir, you can't go in there—," a woman at the front desk rushed out.

"Try to stop me." The door slid open and my eyes landed on the man sitting at a lavish desk, his feet resting on top, a grin on his face.

It morphed into surprise before he dropped his feet.

"I'll have to call you back," Nea Attah mumbled into his comm before standing.