#stratgies for going forward

[cinlat]

Blood in the Breeze: Ch 19 (End Times: Pt 2)

Parts one and two of this series linked.

Read every chapter on FFN or Ao3.

Summary: Shit hit the fan. Now for the cleanup.

Chapter Word Count: 3,257 Chapter Rating: T Author’s Note: Whole chapter under the cut. Better formatting on Ao3.

Odessen Alliance Base Landing Platform 0500 Hours

Jorgan's lungs burned in a desperate plea for air. Grey crowded the edge of his vision, and only the drumming of his pulse kept rhythm with the speed of his feet. Don't trip, he repeated like a mantra, occasionally sprinkling in silent prayers of, Be alive, damn you.

From the moment Fynta had hit the ground, Jorgan had started running. He focused on his breath, on the uneven ground beneath him to keep from snagging his boots on the ripped soil. There was no room for the debilitating fear in his heart, only the constant, agonizingly slow movement forward. He wouldn't think of the raw power that erupted from Vaylin in her final moments, or the fact that his wife, a human with no previous Force ability, had stood before the mad child's psychic storm. He couldn't dwell on the knowledge that it hadn't been his wife, and for a fleeting moment, Jorgan had considered pulling the trigger.

The clank of boots on metal jarred Jorgan's senses. He stumbled, caught himself with one hand on the decking, then continued running. By the time Jorgan reached Fynta, she was kneeling with Kaeto's head in her lap.

Others milled about, starting the tedious process of clearing the debris and tending to wounded. They gave Fynta a wide berth, casting awed glances that turned to fervent whispers as they passed. It wasn't until Jorgan drew closer that he realized why.

It felt like hitting a wall. His frantic pace came to a sudden halt, forcing Jorgan to acknowledge the pain in his joints and burning in his chest. He pushed forward, only to be repelled. Ripping his helmet off, Jorgan opened his mouth to shout when a hand rested on his arm. "Wait."

Jedi Master Notiac Carlo stood at Jorgan's side. Her head tilted as if listening to something. Jorgan pulled free and started forward again. Felix appeared on his other side, gripping Jorgan's shoulder. "Trust the process, brother. This is above our paygrade."

"That's my wife," Jorgan snarled, but he didn't shake Felix away. The man had traveled with the fabled Barsen'thor. He knew things Jorgan couldn't imagine. It didn't make standing down easier.

"She is stabilizing," Notiac whispered, one hand swirling through the air as if playing with smoke.

From the opposite end, Arcann moved closer. Jorgan's senses came alive, every hair on his body rising in warning of a long time enemy. Felix's fingers tightened on Jorgan's shoulder. "Just a little longer."

Jorgan bared his teeth at the young emperor, tracking his movement across the landing platform, through the barrier that kept him locked out. The man stepped with caution, waving his mother back when she moved to join them. Jorgan couldn't hear what was said, but he saw Fynta's shoulder's tense when Arcann squatted by her side. Their lips moved, then Arcann lifted Kaeto from Fynta's embrace and walked back towards his mother. At Senya's command, two Sith moved in to collect Kozen's body, presumably to perform last rights elsewhere.

"She is ready," Notiac whispered.

Felix released Jorgan, and he took a step forward. Though the invisible wall had faded, a sense of rage buffeted Jorgan's mind. A peak at the temper he'd known lived inside Fynta all along. Now, it was being nurtured by the most powerful bastard in the galaxy.

Finding his steps unhindered, Jorgan closed the distance at a run. He slowed the last few feet, instinct warning him not to touch her yet. "Fynta." She gave no response, only stared at her hands where they rested on her thighs. Jorgan knelt beside his wife, resting one hand on the back of her neck. "I'm here."

"You never left." Fynta's tone rang empty, and when she looked up, Jorgan saw the same bone deep weariness in her eyes that he'd seen all those years looking back at him in the mirror. "I heard you, but I couldn't—"

"It's okay." Slowly, Jorgan eased Fynta closer until his arms encircled her and his chin rested on the top of her head. "It's over."

Fynta winced and pressed the heel of one hand to her right eye. "Damn shabuir won't shut up."

"What is he saying?" Lana appeared from thin air, as was her way. Theron and Zolah weren't far behind. Together, they encircled Fynta so that she was cut off from prying eyes.

"He wants me to go to Zakuul." Fynta hissed and squeezed her eyes shut. "To take the throne."

Jorgan's snort ruffled Fynta's bangs, but it was Zolah who spoke. "Take her home." The spy's gaze never wavered from Fynta's face. Though her tone was cool, Jorgan heard sympathy behind it. "People think she's invincible at the moment. Let's use that as long as we can."

"While harsh," Theron interjected, "She's right. Fynta needs to walk away before she falls apart. The Alliance needs this win."

Jorgan wanted to snap at everyone to move back, to leave his wife alone, but Fynta beat him to it. "Help me up," she whispered into Jorgan's chestplate. "I can't feel my left leg."

Looping an arm beneath her, Jorgan leveraged Fynta to her feet. The first couple of steps were wobbly, and her prosthetic gave out numerous times. "Something fried the circuitry," she concluded as they entered the main hangar.

A slow clap began at the back of the room, rolling closer as Jorgan and Fynta hobbled through the building. Someone let out a shrill whistle, which ignited a volley of cheers. Verin and Torian stood at the entrance to the base, soot smeared and proud smiles tinged with sadness as they watched their sister move through the crowd. Noara had one arm wrapped around the clan leader, and it looked like she might be holding him up as much as Jorgan was Fynta.

Cormac's tear streaked face came into view next, with Tayl balanced on his shoulders. Jorgan looked instinctively for Shillet, but she found him first. The girl slammed into them, her spindly arms wrapping around the necks of both Fynta and Jorgan. "You survived," she whispered, then stepped back and wiped her eyes.

Fynta chuckled and aimed a weak punch at the young nautolan's arm. "Never a doubt."

Concern crossed Shillet's face, but Jorgan shook his head when she looked at him. Plastering on a watery smile, Shillet slipped under Fynta's other arm. "You look like you could use a shower."

"And a long ass nap," Fynta added. She stumbled as they turned the corner, leaving the crowd behind with members of the War Council acting as shields.

"I'm about to do something you're going to hate," Jorgan warned as the echoes of cheers grew more distant.

Fynta glared up at him. "Don't you fucking dare. I can walk."

Jorgan stepped in front of Fynta and scooped her into his arms. It had been years since he'd lifted her like that, and that time hadn't been kind to either of them. Jorgan's back cramped and his knees grumbled, but he ignored them. "Shillet, get the door."

"I'll get even," Fynta complained, but she held still.

By the time Jorgan made it to their apartment with his burden, he was dizzy from the strain. Gone were the days of the young Cathar who could deadlift his wife. He was old and beaten down. So was Fynta.

Shillet palmed open the door, and Jorgan all but dropped Fynta onto the sofa. There was no way in hell he'd make it up the stairs. "Shillet, grab a water, will you?"

While the girl moved to comply, Jorgan bent to remove Fynta's armor. Shillet offered the water to Fynta, then wrung her hands. "I want to help with the clean up."

"No." Jorgan didn't look up from the fastenings of Fynta's boots. He didn't have to sense the agitation from his daughter. Glancing back, he pinned Shillet with the same glare that had failed every other time before. "There are dead bodies, roaming Knights, and rogue Skytroopers. It's too dangerous."

"I won't leave the base." Shillet looked to Fynta for help, then squared her shoulders and mirrored Jorgan's glare. "I can help."

The growl building in the back of Jorgan's throat faltered at Fynta's touch. He looked from his daughter to his wife, both so alike despite having spent a lifetime apart. Fynta offered a weak smile. "Cormac will keep her safe. He and Verin are making the verd'ika clear rubble as penance for sneaking off."

"Fine." Jorgan ground the word out. Shillet's lips split into a sharp toothed grin. As she turned to run back to her friends, Jorgan snagged her skinny wrist and tugged her into a hug that was too tight given the armor he wore. Shillet didn't complain. "You don't leave Cormac's side, got it?"

"Got it." Shillet kissed Jorgan's cheek, gave a thumbs up to Fynta, and started away again. Jorgan ruffled her head tresses as she went, watching until his daughter vanished through the door.

Fynta groaned as she pushed herself further into a sitting position. "You did a good job."

"It was a team effort." Jorgan thought back to the Havoc Squad he'd lost at the Spire. Of the gentle way each and every one of them imprinted a part of themselves on the girl. Shaking the old memories away, Jorgan faced his wife. "Come on, let's get you out of this armor."

Odessen Alliance Command Personal Quarters

Fynta's skin tingled like tiny flames dancing under the surface. Ever since Vaylin's death, Valkorion had jumped in and out of view, pausing time only to hurl Fynta back into the stream of movement. Her stomach heaved and it felt like her bones itched. Helping Shillet escape Jorgan's overprotectiveness had been as much for her as it had been for the girl. As Zolah pointed out, Fynta had just done the impossible, she couldn't break with witnesses. Not even family.

Jorgan pulled Fynta's boot off, then switched to examine her prosthetic leg. It sparked when he shifted the foot, sending a jolt through both of them. Cursing, the Cathar snatched his hand back. "We need to have that looked at sooner than later."

"If we leave it alone, it can wait until later," Fynta replied with a poor attempt at levity. Jorgan didn't laugh.

"Some new dings in the armor." Jorgan was avoiding the main problem. The ticking bomb in Fynta's head. "Maybe—"

"You didn't take the shot." Fynta knew he had it. She remembered the pain in his voice, begging her forgiveness. Fynta had been too far gone in Valkorion's power to respond, but she'd known he was there. I forgive you, she'd tried to say. Being removed from the instance, Fynta realized Aric's voice was the only thing that had kept her grounded in reality while lightning raged around her.

Jorgan's hands slipped on the buckle of Fynta's leg plate, then he resumed unfastening it with more concentration that was required. "Couldn't." It was all he had to say. Fynta never expected Aric to put a bolt through her, but she didn't know how to convey that in words. She was so damn tired, so damn electrified.

Hooking a finger under Aric's chin, Fynta bent down to meet his lips to hers. He went rigid at first, then cupped her face to add a gentle sweep of his tongue. With their foreheads pressed together, Fynta felt some of the tension in her body ease. Jorgan closed his eyes. "I thought—"

"Me too." Fynta had been ready to die. She'd always known it was a likelihood of facing Vaylin. And when Kaeto and Kozen's bodies had been dumped before her, nothing else mattered apart from ripping the little bitch to pieces. And then, she'd lived.

Aric pressed another chaste kiss to Fynta's lips, then went back to removing her armor. While he was bent forward, she slipped her fingers into the catches on his chest and back plates, letting them fall away. They continued undressing one another in silence, until only the clingy under armour remained. Jorgan settled on the sofa behind Fynta and pulled her against him.

"We should bathe," Fynta suggested even while the warmth from his body soothed her aching muscles.

"In a minute." Aric's arms tightened. Fynta didn't struggle. She had a feeling there would be time for that later.

Odessen War Room 13:00 Hours

Theron's back slammed into the wall. He put one hand on the fist gripping the front of his shirt while holding the other palm out to show submission. "Okay—okay. Look, before you hit me, hear me out."

"Make this good, Shan." Fynta stood behind her husband, the one currently pinning Theron to the cool and impassable stone. The flatness with which she addressed him was almost as unsettling as the sharp teeth inches from his face.

Theron had known Jorgan for a long time. He'd been on the receiving end of one of the Cather's punches before. That was nothing compared to the feral rage emanating from him now. After all these years, Theron finally saw what had first attracted Fynta to the grumpy bastard. She'd always had a taste for danger.

Theron avoided looking into the unnaturally bright eyes in front of him and craned his neck to see Fynta. Her arms were folded, mouth set in an unfamiliar frown. He'd known her longer, hell, he was half the reason she was here. Not just out of carbonite, but captured in the first place. If Theron hadn't put Fynta's name up for Garza's special assignment more than a decade ago, well, she'd probably be dead. She'd been on a self destructive path, and the snarling Cathar had saved her. But, it had all come at a steep cost.

"I know what you're thinking," Theron began. Fynta lifted a brow, and Jorgan's grip tightened. Theron blew out a breath. "It's risky, I know. But Oggurrobb has ironed out the kinks that Garza couldn't."

"Well, if Oggurrobb says it's safe—" Fynta pinched the bridge of her nose, then waved one hand. "Let's hear what he has to say, Aric."

Jorgan gave a final shove that made Theron's sternum creak before stepping back. "You heard the woman. Make this good, Shan."

There had never been a kinship between Theron and Jorgan. They'd tolerated each other's presence because the mission required it. It might have something to do with Theron accusing Jorgan of fucking his commanding officer for the wild ride that she was. It had been a poor attempt and building trust in a shared misadventure. He hadn't known at the time they were married.

"If you're done threatening my spy," Zolah drawled. The holo in the center of the table came to life with a schematic that made Theron's pulse quicken. It wouldn't look like much to the average pair of eyes, but Theron thought it was pure beauty. A small device, no bigger than the palm of his hand, capable of harnessing the most deadly power in all the universe.

"Darth Kozen," there was a barely perceptible pause in Zolah's explanation. Theron doubted anyone other than him caught it. "Studied the prison that Major Jorgan brought with him from Nathema. He was convinced that the answers to containing Valkorion rested with the soul inside."

Jorgan folded his arms, scowl increasing, but Fynta looked intrigued. She'd been furious to learn that her husband had stolen the artifact until he'd explained the ingenious idea behind it. Unfortunately, being trapped for nearly a milenia hadn't softened Valkorion's sire's heart. He wanted to bargain, but Kozen and Lana had other plans. Then, they'd lost the Sith Lord, and with him, a large part of their advantage. That is where Theron came in.

"I know things didn't go well when Garza tried this." Theron ignored Jorgan's growl, but the betrayal was still there in Fynta's eyes. She still hadn't forgiven him for his part in the Eclipse Squad incident on Rishi. Theron supposed that was fair. "But, they didn't have Oggurrobb or access to Zakuulan tech."

Fynta held up one hand, and Theron paused. His pulse skittered while he waited for her to shut him down. To his surprise, she only tapped the side of her head. "Should I be hearing this?"

"No," Quinn stated plainly. He'd been against inviting Fynta to this meeting in the first place, but Theron refused to move forward without her permission. He was done keeping secrets from the people who mattered to him.

Steering the conversation away from the details, Theron switched off the holo. "You have to consent to the next part."

Fynta's single brow lifted, and Zolah picked up the line of conversation. "You're aware of the Castellan restraints that were imposed on me?" Now, their commander's eyes widened. Zolah nodded. "Something along those lines."

Huffing out a nervous laugh, Fynta braced both hands against the conference table behind her. "Well, I guess that explains why Vector isn't here."

Vector had been against the plan from the beginning. His trauma from breaking Zolah free went so deep that the man couldn't see the practical value anymore. This could work. "Do you get it now?"

"Enough." Fynta shared a look with her husband, and Theron watched an entire conversation happen in a matter of seconds. Her browns lifted, and Jorgan's mouth thinned into a narrow line. When he sighed, Theron knew the answer had been decided. Fynta nodded to the room and pushed away from the table. "I'll leave you to it, then."

Without a backward glance, Fynta left the room. Theron saw fear in the stiffness of her spine, the lift of her chin. The more composed Fynta appeared, the more out of sorts she was on the inside. Judging by Jorgan's glare, he knew it too.

When the door shut, the Cathar resumed his menacing scowl. "Fill me in, and Shan—make it good."

#swtor #blood in the breeze #meet me on that battlefield #fynta wolfe #aric jorgan #notiac carlo #barsen'thor #felix iresso #theron shan #lana beniko #zolah holran #cipher nice #malavai quinn #senya tirall #arcann #the aftermath of the battle #stratgies for going forward #still slogging towards that end #only two chapters left

[matypiersandra]

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