#zolah holran

[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

[cinlat]

Blood in the Breeze: Ch 18 (End Times)

Parts one and two of this series linked.

Read every chapter on FFN or Ao3.

Summary: Vaylin Attacks! Everyone else scrambles.

Chapter Word Count: 5,237 Chapter Rating: T Characters in Chapter: Fynta Wolfe, Aric Jorgan, Theron Shan, Zolah Holran, Vector, Malavai Quinn, Torian Cadara, Vette, Lana Beniko, Shillet Jorgan, Verin Ejnar/Wolfe, Tranx Vaak, Elara Dorne, Arcann, Senya, Vaylin, Balic Cormac, Darth Kozen, Master Kaeto Vaa, and special appearance by @kunoichi-ume Noara Starspark. And probably others that I've forgotten...

Author’s Note: Whole chapter under the cut. Better formatting on Ao3.

Odessen War Room 03:55 Hours

"Squads two and four to Alpha Quadrant Three. Seven and Ten, you're needed on the landing dock to clear the wreckage. And would someone shut off those fucking alarms?" Zolah didn't look up from her monitor while divvying out orders. To her right, Vector communicated with the medical staff, organizing and dispatching as needed based on the reports pouring in and security footage. Theron huddled at his desk, talking in short sentences with Fynta while she dressed in full view of the camera.

Quinn appeared at Zolah's back, brushing the tips of his fingers against the back of her arm before speaking. It was a friendly warning that he was in her blind spot. "Electrical grids for floors one and two have been damaged by orbital bombardment. I've cut power to the lower levels under construction and routed everything to the infirmaries."

"Good work." Quinn hadn't become Zolah's lover, but they'd developed a professional friendship with Vector at their center. She trusted the man and Vector's judgment. "News on the Enclave?"

"Unharmed. I've tasked units with escorting the young and injured there for safekeeping." Quinn tapped his datapad, then looked up. "It should be deep enough in the mountain to withstand the worst of the assault."

Though Zolah didn't fancy children of her own, the galaxy was nothing without a generation to leave it to. It eased something in her chest knowing that they would be protected. Then, Zolah wondered if that meant she'd gone soft. Maybe she was just getting old.

"Fynta's on her way to the surface." Theron appeared by Quinn's side. Any unease between the men vanished under the chaos of battle. "Torian is leading a group of Mandalorians into the forest, and we have pockets of Force Users taking charge of ground troops."

Zolah flicked the monitor in front of her. The crack down the middle gave it a double image, but there was no mistaking the dropships unloading hundreds of Skytroppers. She sighed and pointed at Quinn. "Make sure we have access to all armor cams. I want a full view of the battlefield."

Quinn saluted and strode off. The man never ran, he never increased his speed so far that Zolah could tell, but he had a certain walk that warned people to stand aside or fall in line. He snapped off orders, sending runners to pass along the frequency all ground troops should tune their cameras to.

Zolah watched the man, grateful for his professionalism, then her gaze fell on Theron. He forced a weak smile. "Just like old times, huh?"

There was no need to ask what Theron meant. Zolah's chuckle ended in a sigh. "We did it on Yavin IV, we'll do it here."

Odessen Commander's Quarters

"I won't be able to join you." Aric's sighed words through Fynta's helmet almost made her stumble. When she'd rushed for the door, still pulling on her armor, Aric had turned in the opposite direction. He was going to get Shillet because that was his first duty as a father. Fynta's was to protect the base.

They'd sworn to meet once Aric was sure that Shillet was safe. Something must have happened to delay him. "Everything okay, riduur?" Fynta asked, focusing her attention back to the lumbering hunk of machinery beneath her. Bolts pinged off the walker's shell, and then the self-destruct of a sky trooper underfoot teetered her to one side. The Walker dropped back onto both legs with a jarring crunch that drove a curse from Lana.

"Ran into some trouble on my way out of the base," Aric answered. His breath puffed in between words. "I'm taking up a sniping position in the ridge overlooking the landing bay. Fighting is pretty thick there."

"Understood." Fynta had known when they promised to stay together in those dark, silent hours of the night that it was a lie. Aric was a soldier. More than that, he was a protector. He would go where he was needed. That wasn't presently by Fynta's side. "Lana and I are nearly at the Gravestone. We'll link up with Sonya and Arcann, then get the Gravestone free to join the fight in the atmosphere."

Silence met Fynta's plan, then her husband sighed. "Stay safe." Aric didn't like her working with Arcann. Fynta wasn't thrilled about the prospect either. That man had single-handedly turned her life, and the lives of those she loved, into a steaming pile of osik for years. But, Fynta never turned down an advantage. Right now, the contrite emperor owed her a debt, and she planned to collect.

"There." Lana gripped the back of the pilot's seat and leaned forward. Fynta followed her finger to the slash of gold and blue against the darkness of the Gravestone's hull. She didn't say goodbye to Aric, she never did. But he knew; she'd spent all night being sure that he knew.

The walker came to a grinding halt at the bottom of the narrow ramp leading to the Gravestone's perch. The ship was too big to keep close to the base, so they'd chosen a cliffside to dock it at. That seemed like poor planning now. Skytroopers swarmed the grating, threatening to overrun the Zakuulan Knight and her spawn.

Fynta flipped the lever to open the hatch, then unbuckled herself from the driver's seat. Without a word, Lana pulled the hilt from her belt and stepped into the opening in the floor. She landed with the practiced skill of a Force user, then darted into the fray. Fynta, being a mere mortal, grabbed the slender handrails and slid down the ladder that extended to the ground.

Lana had left a trail of broken droid parts, making tracking the Sith's progress simple. Fynta took potshots while she ran, finishing the crippled skytroopers that Lana hadn't bothered with. By the time Fynta reached the top of the ramp, the three were fighting in a tight circle formation.

The display of power impressed even Fynta. Arcann was the former emperor and galaxy conqueror, and Senya a vaunted Zakuulan Knight of legend. But Lana, with her quiet smiles and subtle manipulations, shined brighter than both when she finally displayed her full capacity for destruction.

The Sith woman leapt into the air, releasing a Force wave strong enough to topple trees when she landed. The remaining enemies were flung off the edge of the cliff and into the abyss beyond. Then, she straightened, fixed her hair, and nodded. "That takes care of that. What next, Commander?"

Docking clamps groaned free, and the Gravestone lifted into the night. Koth let out a gleeful shout over the comms. "Time to see what these new upgrades can do."

Fynta watched them go, then turned to the rest of her group. "The fighting has spread across the surface. Let's fix that."

"We will fight with you until the end." Arcann's gravelly voice carried a hint of emotion that Fynta almost pitied. She was sure the man cared for his baby sister in some capacity. It remained to be seen if he could hold up his end of the bargain.

Fynta looked at Senya, the real concern when it came to Vaylin. The woman had already betrayed them once by saving Arcann instead of letting him face justice. So far, it had worked in their favor. Fynta doubted they would be so lucky with Vaylin. "You saw what Valkorion did to your daughter?"

Senya winced. Fynta brought up the familial link to gauge the woman's reaction. The older woman didn't hide how difficult this was. With a dejected sigh, Senya met Fynta's gaze. "Valkorion destroyed what was left of my daughter long ago." The dead emperor chuckled in the back of Fynta's mind but otherwise stayed silent. He was enjoying this family drama.

Pulling her shoulders straight, Senya looked Fynta in the eyes. "Vaylin must be stopped."

"You need to draw her out," Arcann suggested, switching the military commander he'd once been. "Bring her to the surface."

Theron's voice cut through Fynta's helmet comm. "Sana-Rae just flanked the enemy, but she could use some more firepower."

Fynta nodded to Lana. The woman hesitated only a moment, her gaze flickering between Senya and Arcann, before darting down the bridge leading deeper into the wild. Her comm chirped again, and Torian's voice echoed through her helmet. "We're getting hammered over here, could use another vod."

Fynta checked Torian's position in the feed that Zolah had linked to her helmet. He was near the front lines. That didn't surprise her. "On the way."

As Fynta turned, Arcann joined her. She spared him a glance, and the man simply shook his head. "You will not face her alone." Fynta almost ordered him to stay, then decided against it. Her gut warned that she would need these two before the end.

Odessen Command Center Force Enclave

Cormac had three children clinging to him, and none of them were his son. Instead, Tayl stood by Shillet, who had started a game of jacks with a few of the tween kids. The younger ones looked on, learning from the mistakes of their elders. Meanwhile, the older kids, the ones who stood on the cusp of adulthood, paced with the relentless stride of a caged manka cat. Most were the Mandalorians that Verin had brought along, so it wasn't a surprise that they itched for battle.

Twice, Cormac had broken up a group of teens who had their heads together, casting keen glances at the exits. He had his eye on Tranx's girl at the moment. Zula barely reached Cormac's elbow, but she had the makings of a leader, unfortunately, it was the young and dumb sort, at the moment.

"Shhh, it's alright." Noara rocked a whimpering toddler, bouncing the boy on her hip. He curled closer when the thumps from above scattered dirt from the Enclave ceiling. Sana-Rae had requested the space be reinforced, but left as natural as possible to help the Force users meditate. It was a beautiful place with the rugged appeal of a long-forgotten cavern. It also gave the impression of instability when bits of the roof broke away and landed among the frightened children.

Then, there was Tayl. Cormac couldn't believe how big the boy had gotten. How much he didn't cling to Elara when she ran out the door with her medical bag. The resignation in those big, grey eyes when he took Cormac's hand for the trip down to the shelter. That was far more worrying than the cries and occasional screams of his peers.

Tayl's entire life had been war. Even when he and Shillet went to the best schools, they'd fought against their parents' reputations and struggled under the weight of those shadows. To Tayl, this wasn't the potential end of their brief moment of happiness, but the simple truth of life. He didn't cry, because all of his tears were gone.

The same could be said for Shillet. She remembered bits of her life before Havoc found her on that wrecked mudball of a planet. She'd won and lost so many battles that now all the girl did was survive. They might all perish in Vaylin's assault, and that was fine because it had always been a possibility.

"Are we missing some?" Noara stood on her toes, scanning the room. "I swear there were—oh no."

Cormac saw it at the same time. The Mandalorian teens were gone. He'd looked away for a second to consider his failure as a father and fucked it up again. "I'll find them."

Noara helped Cormac peel the skinny arms and legs from his body, only for them to latch onto her. She must have been using the Force to prop them all up because there was no way that tiny woman could support all of their weight. He made a placating motion at the Jedi as he backed through the throng of kids. "I'll bring them back."

The last thing Cormac saw as he snatched his rifle from beside the door was the resignation in his son's eyes.

Odessen External Docking Site Alpha

"We need more light," the medic to Elara's right complained. He was right, but they couldn't risk it. Not so close to the front lines.

"Night vision will have to do." The chrono in Elara's helmet told her that less than thirty minutes had passed since the first blaring siren, yet their triage had outgrown the medical tents.

Yuun carried the tail end of a stretcher, having volunteered to leave the confines of the base's intelligence command to aid his friend. They stopped beside Elara so that she could examine the boy. He was Mandalorian, barely older than the group that Verin had brought to Odessen. Her stomach churned at the thought that this could have been one of the children from Torian's clan. Verin's son.

Shaking those dark thoughts away, Elara scanned him and was relieved to find only a shattered foot. He'd lose it more than likely, but that could be replaced. "This one isn't critical, mark him blue and have the medics there administer a sedative. His fight is done."

Yuun tipped his head, then looked up at the sky. Flashes of light in the upper atmosphere, weapons fire between ships, looked like lightning in the clouds. "Many have fallen," her old friend clicked. "But, the way remains clear."

"Of course." Elara pulled her attention back to the surface, to the people who needed aid. Yuun was right. There was work to do on the surface.

The pair staggered towards the medical tents for the severely wounded but not fatal. Eara felt a familiar presence at her back and turned to find Malavai Quinn staring at the sky. She didn't know how to feel about the man. He'd made his opinion of deserters known from the beginning, labeling himself as one of the few people in the galaxy that her husband wouldn't try to befriend.

"Something isn't right." A line appeared between Quinn's brows. Elara looked up and saw the same thing he did. The lightning had stopped, and the clouds above the base began to boil.

Before Elara could register the danger, Quinn cursed and spun towards the captivated crowds. "Get the wounded inside, now!"

The first bolt struck the ground half a klick away. Bright light blinded Elara, she felt a bone-rattling tremor in the ground, then sound and pressure tossed dirt into her faceplate. Instinct kicked in, and Elara wrapped herself around Quinn, the closest unarmoured being. She'd barely recovered when another round struck further away.

"Orbital bombardment," Quinn stated from beneath Elara. He seemed unfazed that they were half buried in loose dirt with the weight of her armor bearing down on him. He wiped grit from his face and squinted into the sky. Had their lives taken different paths, Elara could have respected this man.

Elara pushed herself off Quinn and stood, she needed to pick a direction and move before more damage could be done. To her surprise, Quinn grabbed her arm. When Elara looked back, his face was open and earnest. "I have medical training. Put me to use."

"Get the wounded closest to the base inside and begin triaging any fresh injuries." Malavai nodded and released Elara. She had a direction now. He could handle the medical tents. Elara needed to get into the field. She turned and chose people at random, three Mandalorians and one Imperial soldier. Then, she took the medical kits off the nearest orderlies. "Men, we have comrades to rescue."

Odessen Skytrooper Landing Position Beta

Verin lifted Cinlat's old blasters and felt her soul in the kick of each shot. She'd have enjoyed this, he thought, taking down mechs instead of flesh and blood. For all her ruthlessness, Cinlat had never savored a kill. She'd done her job, and she'd done it efficiently. Skytroopers, however, now they were fun. Verin loved the little self-destructive pop that wrecked the machinery.

"Enemy ambush cut us off." Torian's voice wheezed through the speakers in Verin's helmet. There was pain in each word, and it stole any delight that Verin had found in battle. "I'm the only one left. Position's about to be overrun."

"Almost there, Torian." Fynta had started running, Verin could tell by the bounce in her tone. He pulled up a map that marked the members of Clan Cadera, then noted dots that marked Fynta's approach. Torian wasn't far, Verin could beat his sister there.

Turning, Verin took two steps when another group of markers caught his attention. His blood turned to ice even as he opened a line. "Boy, tell me you are not this stupid."

"Had to do our part, buir." Blaster fire and wild shouts overlaid Tranx's response. He was supposed to be in the Enclave with the rest of the young, not out here with—

The ground rose beneath Verin's feet, making him weightless for a split second before slamming him back to the ground. Tranx's cry was the only thing that kept Verin's wits about him even while his ears rang. "Hold on, son."

Verin scrambled up a newly formed hill of silt and mud. When he reached the top, the world was on fire. Dizziness pulled at him, but Verin shoved it aside and focused on the life signs of his son and those stupid enough to leave the safety of the base. The ground gave way under Verin's boots as he slid down the other side. What had been solid dirt seconds ago felt like rolling in sand.

When he reached the group of verd'ika, he did a quick head count. One was missing, but the rest were on their feet. Verin spotted Tranx's helmet and stormed towards him. The boy saw him coming, and even being a head taller, backed away and held up his hands. Verin grabbed his son's pauldrons and smacked their helmets together. He held him in that embrace long enough to swallow the lump in his throat. "Are you alright?"

"Think so." Tranx's gloved fingers dug into the grooves of Verin's chest plate like they had when he was young. It was the only indication of how shaken the boy was.

Verin released his son and addressed the rest of the group. "Weapons hot, do not hesitate to take the shot. You stay on my back and you keep up. Is that understood?"

Helmets nodded and the kids pulled into a tighter formation. Zula, in her white and orange armor and barely tall enough to touch Tranx's shoulder, stepped up beside Verin. "Lead on."

Verin took the long way to Torian. They were as close to their injured alor as they were to the base, and Verin saw no reason to leave Torian to die alone. By the time they reached the spot on Verin's map, Fynta had arrived with an unlikely escort. Arcann straightened, pulling his blade from a downed knight.

A bolt shot past Verin's shoulder, only to be deflected by Senya. The older woman glared, and Verin turned to find Zula's rifle pressed to her shoulder. As if sensing his gaze, the girl shrugged. "You said not to hesitate." Verin smacked the back of Zula's helmet, but inside, he beamed with pride.

"Friends of yours?" Arcann rumbled as he hooked his now dormant weapon to his belt.

Fynta didn't look back as she tapped on an alien communications panel. "My brother, Verin, and his gangly host of young warriors. Nice shot, Zula."

"I see." Arcann said no more, but he and Senya both took several steps back, making room for the Mandalorians to crowd around Fynta.

Torian leaned against the panel, one arm wrapped around his middle and pointing at the screen. "That was the main comms array. Should get you all the way up to the ship."

"Good." Fynta had removed her helmet and finally looked up at Verin. "Keep everyone back and quiet." She pressed the screen, and evil appeared.

"Well, if it isn't Father's pet." The girl couldn't be older than sixteen, but Verin felt the hatred radiating off her holo. "I was just talking about you."

When Fynta answered, she sounded exasperated. "I have been up and down this battlefield looking for you. I can't believe you're cowering on a ship."

While Vaylin and Fynta traded barbs, Torian limped closer. "She'll be coming for your sister."

"Never doubted that." An odd peace settled over Verin. He had a feeling that Fynta would find a way to cheat death again because this time, she had family at her back. Torian tripped, and Verin caught him. "You going to live?"

"Probably." Torian's voice sounded more strained than before. "Wouldn't mind a hot shower."

Verin chuckled and slipped his friend's arm over his shoulder. "I'll have Noara get right on that."

"The longer you draw this out," Fynta said, arms folded over her chest and smug grin in place, "The more time my agents have to infiltrate your empire. That throne's as good as mine."

Vaylin let out a hellish screech and the image flickered out. Verin couldn't say he blamed the girl, he'd been on the receiving end of Fynta's shit eating grin more times than he wanted to count. If anyone could needle a person into a fight, it was his baby sister.

Turning away from the comm, Fynta's expression turned serious. "Time to shore up our defenses. It won't take Vaylin long to launch her next strike."

At last, Arcann joined the group, though Verin noted that he kept his hands clear of his weapon. "We are ready."

Odessen South Quadrant

Kozen lowered his blade as the last skytrooper fell. He sensed Kaeto on the other side of the trees, her blood singing with the joy of battle. It drove his higher, strengthening his muscles and his will.

"Hey. Hey, can anyone hear me?" The tiny voice rang from the comm on Kozen's belt. He'd lost himself to bloodlust, but Vette's anxious tone brought him back. Kozen palmed the device to find the small Twi'lek who had once shared his ship.

Vetty blew out a breath. "It's about time, big guy. I could use your help."

"Where are you?" There was never a doubt that Kozen would go to her. Vette had softened his heart once, a reason why he'd sent her away. Spoiling the girl, is what Quinn had called it. Though the traitorous bastard had little room to lecture Kozen on the merits of command.

"South Quadrant." Vette popped up over a broken speeder and fired her blasters. "Getting real low on ammo here."

"We are on our way." Kozen ended the call and began running. Before long, Kaeto sprinted by his side, their Force-enhanced strength driving them faster than should be possible.

Though Kozen had never understood why, Kaeto often moved with her eyes shut, sensing the world around her. He supposed it had something to do with Notiac's teachings. A Mirialukan could not help but describe the Force in a different way than sighted beings.

Keato's eyes popped open. "She's close."

Kozen didn't question his lover's ability. She took the lead, and he followed. Together, they vaulted downed walkers and tore through straggling Skytroopers. A pang of, not fear, but sadness caressed Kozen's mind. It wasn't until they broke through the foliage that he understood why.

Vette's feet kicked uselessly in the air. Time seemed to slow down as Kozen took in the multitude of Zakulaan Knights and the woman standing at their center. Vaylin turned a wicked smile on them even as Kaeto drew her blades.

"You're not who I was expecting." Vaylin released Vette, letting the gasping Twi'lek collapse without warning. Kozen took only a second to note that she was breathing before shifting his focus back to Vaylin.

"I recognize you." The girl folded one arm around her middle and pointed at each of them with lackadaisical ease. First at Kaeto, then Kozen. "You're the one who killed father the first time, or so I'm told. And you, you were his Wrath." Vaylin chuckled. "What a useless title."

Kaeto's muscles tensed, and Kozen felt it in his own. They were in sync, one mind in separate bodies. He knew she was going to strike before she moved, and his reflexes followed. Vaylin's eyes widened for the span of a heartbeat, then Kozen was hurdling backwards. His back slammed into an overturned communications relay and pain stabbed through his right side.

Pushing himself upright, Kozen looked down to find his fingers coated with blood. Kaeto saw, and her eyes met his. "I'll see you in the beyond," she called over the roar of Vaylin's building Force. A smile touched her lips, and Kozen remembered this from the vision they'd shared one silent evening. The night Kaeto had finally let him in.

Kozen dipped his head. "In the beyond." There were other things that he wanted to say, but Kaeto knew them already. He'd held nothing back from this strange, alien woman who should be his enemy. They were two sides of the same coin, hopelessly entangled in a fate bigger than both.

There was nothing left for Kozen to lose. He would die beside his soulmate, a perfect equal. Kaeto leaped towards Vaylin with a guttural cry, paving the way for Kozen's attack. His legs already felt weak, his life's blood dampening the fabric of his pant leg. With a final surge of hatred from the Dark Side, Kozen followed Kaeto for the last time. Run, Vette. He sent the thought to the Twi'lek as he passed, moving sluggishly in that moment of pure clarity that comes with a final battle. Vette didn't hesitate, and Kozen didn't see where she went.

The agony of Kaeto's death could not be compared to anything Kozen had experienced before. She had been a vital part of him for so long, that the abrupt severing of their link left ripples in the Force that struck Kozen like physical blows. The golden light that warmed him snuffed out, leaving only cold rage in its place. He would not live through this battle, he refused to. His place was in the Force, beside Kaeto. Kozen would die to give Vette time to escape, but mostly, he would die to be reunited with his soul.

Odessen South Face of Mt. Ne'johaa

Jorgan turned away with a hiss. The image of Kozen's body, impaled by Vaylin's golden blade, his bloody sneer when his fingers closed on nothing but air, was burned into Jorgan's mind. Steeling himself, he looked back down the scope. It had all happened too fast, and Jorgan had never had a clear shot. He panned the scene, noting Kaeto's crumpled body at the Sith's feet.

Vaylin lowered her weapon and watched Kozen slide lifeless to the dirt. Then, she turned and shouted at her men. Jorgan couldn't hear the orders from this distance, but they no doubt included finding Fynta. She stormed into the forest while two sets of Knights gathered the once proud Sith and Faithful Jedi's corpses.

Until that moment, Jorgan had held out hope that they could beat Vaylin. They would turn away her attack because it only made sense for good to win. After seeing the almost casual way she'd dispatched two of the most powerful Force users in the known galaxy, Jorgan doubted. Even Fynta's indomitable stubbornness was no match for the unbridled hatred that fueled Vaylin.

Jorgan had repressed the urge all night to call his wife, now he didn't hesitate. "Fynta, you read?"

"Loud and clear, Riduur." Metal groaned in the background, and Fynta's maniacal chuckle gave Jorgan something solid to hold onto. "How are things on your end?"

Guilt tugged at Jorgan. He was supposed to have met her an hour ago, but circumstances kept detouring him. He looked back down his scope, noting the absence of Kaeto and Kozen's bodies. The decision of whether or not to distract Fynta with their deaths made him hesitate long enough for Fynta's tone to turn worried.

"Fine," Jorgan answered when Fynta prompted again. "I'm up in the mountains, picking off what I can. You?"

"Stomping towards the landing bay in a stolen walker." Someone cursed in the background, a deep, masculine tone that set Jorgan's hackles up.

Jorgan barely controlled the growl in his voice. "Who was that?"

"Sounds like you already know the answer to that one, love." Jorgan could hear the grin in his wife's voice until she sighed. "Arcann and Senya are helping me. We're going to take Vaylin down once and for all."

"You can't." The shouted words tore from Jorgan before he could stop them. Cold silence answered, and Jorgan tried to reign in his panic. He couldn't let Fynta face Vaylin head on, not after what he'd just witnessed. "Are you sure you can trust them?"

It took a few more seconds for Fynta to reply. "Yes."

Jorgan heard the tone of command in Fynta's voice, the subtle reminder that right now, she was his superior and he needed to accept that. Aric blew out a breath. "I'll head that way and offer support. You don't have to do this alone."

"Thanks, Riduur." Fynta's voice softened. "Stay safe."

"You too, and hey, leave the line open, will you?" It wasn't something Jorgan would normally request, but dread tightened his stomach so much that he felt sick. If Fynta was going to her death, he was going to damn well be in her ear. Jorgan had to face the fact that he might lose her again. This time, he wasn't going to miss the chance to say goodbye."

Jorgan stood and had taken two steps towards the landing bay when Bey'wan's growl filled his helmet. "Oggurobb's position is overrun, we need any available troops to cover their retreat."

"Sound like another detour," Fynta teased while the information filled Jorgan's HUD. "I'll be waiting for you."

"You better be." With a growled curse, Jorgan tore through the foliage in the opposite direction, away from his wife. Dropping onto his belly at the edge of the cliff, he sighted on the Skytroopers closest to the retreating forces. "Jorgan to ground troops. I've got your back."

#blood in the breeze #meet me on the battlefield #fynta wolfe #aric jorgan #theron shan #lana beniko #zolah holran #malavai quinn #vector #elara dorne #balic cormac #tayl cormac #shillet jorgan #vaylin #arcann #senya tirall #torian cadera #vette #darth kozen #kaeto vaa #verin ejnar #verin wolfe #character death(s) #things get real #one day i WILL finish this story

[cinlat]

Blood in the Breeze: Ch 17 (Choices)

Parts one and two of this series linked.

Read every chapter on FFN or Ao3.

Summary: LOTS of hard choices to make, some tangible wisdom, a little bit of fun on the firing range, and one pissed off dead emperor...

Chapter Word Count: 7,200 Chapter Rating: M Characters in Chapter: Fynta Wolfe, Aric Jorgan, Theron Shan, Zolah Holran, Lana Beniko, Shillet Jorgan, Keshal Vaak, Balic Cormac...

Author’s Note: Whole chapter under the cut. Better formatting on Ao3.

Odessen Private Quarters

Jorgan tossed the empty bottles into the bin while Cormac and Fynta hazed each other about who drank more. Tayl yawned as Elara said her farewells to Shillet. The girl promised to come stay with them soon, then hugged the only mother she'd ever known before bidding him and Fynta good night. All things considered, the night had gone perfectly. Yet, Aric felt more restless than ever.

The skirmishes on Nathema sat clearly in Jorgan's mind. Force-mad guardian and the way his blades sparked off Fynta's armor. Jorgan had taken the shot. He'd missed. If not for Fynta's beskar, that bastard would have cut her in two. Because Aric had missed.

Jorgan pulled the patch off his eye and rubbed it. Fynta had given him his sight back, but when it mattered, he hadn't been good enough. The world still looked like a white haze when Jorgan closed his good eye. Tech might have been able to get Fynta back on her feet, but it couldn't make him a sniper again.

Sighing, Jorgan swept crumbs from the counter into the tash. He'd find some other way to be useful, even if it meant hanging up his scopes. The pain of that thought stole his breath.

Strong arms snaked around Jorgan's waist from behind, and the familiar weight of Fynta's head resting against his back brought a sense of peace. For her, he'd give it all up. Maybe they should. Turning, Jorgan wrapped his wife in a hug. "We should retire."

Fynta chuckled and let Jorgan pull her closer. "You keep saying that."

Jorgan tightened his hold until Fynta looked him in the eye. "I'm serious. What if we just…stopped."

The smile that a pleasant evening had put on Fynta's face slipped. "Are you serious?" Jorgan held her gaze, and familiar frustration replaced it. She pushed away and flailed her hands. "I can't just stop, Aric. I have to get him out." The last line was delivered with a sharp slap to her forehead.

"Why?" Aric crossed the room and gripped Fynta's shoulders. Every time his panic felt under control, something sparked an attack that made him feel like it was all slipping through his fingers. It didn't matter that it wouldn't work, Jorgan argued. "What power does he have if you keep him bottled up? Some bad dreams and whiplash when he stops time? We can handle that."

Fynta tried to turn away, but Jorgan held her fast. "Damn it, woman." Every fear from the last six years crashed over Jorgan all at once. His fingers tightened, desperate to hold onto a past that he saw fading with each day. They were growing apart, him settling into life as a husband and father first, her always the reckless soldier.

Unbidden, anger replaced his fear and Jorgan snarled. "What more do you have to lose to see that this war will never end. Your other leg? The rest of my sight?" Fynta glared at him, but Jorgan couldn't stop the torrent of accusations even though he knew they weren't her fault. "For fuck's sake, Cormac's still walking with a limp. Havoc squad is gone. Vik is dead. When will it be enough?"

Jorgan regretted those last words even as they left his lips. Fynta's eyes widened, and for the first time he saw true, unadulterated emotion on her face. He'd crashed through her shields while she was vulnerable and left her exposed. That had never been his intention.

Slowly, Jorgan lifted his hands. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. This was the second time in as many days that he'd fucked up what could have been a civil discussion. "That didn't come out the way I meant."

Watching Fynta's mask slide back into place left Jorgan cold. "I know." Her whispered words hurt more than any slap could have.

Jorgan took one of his wife's hands and studied it against his. It was smaller, the fingers more delicate despite the years of calluses and scars. Fynta projected herself as a giant, and sometimes even he forgot that she was only human. Without looking up, Jorgan blew out a breath. "Will you at least hear me out?" Now that the heat of the moment had faded, Jorgan felt like shit. "Please."

"Of course." Jorgan winced at the distance in Fynta's voice, but it was no less than he deserved.

"I need to show you something." Jorgan pulled Fynta to their room. She sat on the end of the bed while he dug out the ruck sack that he had neglected to unpack earlier. He'd warred with himself all night about when to bring up the black box from Nathema. Now seemed as good a time as any.

Sighing, Jorgan turned. "I found this in the vault."

It happened too fast for Jorgan to react. Fynta had been sitting on the bed, then he was tripping over the desk chair, landing on his ass with her on top of him. The face hovering above Aric didn't belong to his wife. It twisted in rage, fingers clawing for his throat.

"Fynta." The knee she drove into Jorgan's gut drove a grunt out of him. He growled and squeezed her wrists so tight that he felt the bones grinding under his fingers. "Stop."

With a shout, Fynta threw herself backwards. The nails that had clawed for his throat were now tangled in her hair. She cried out, more of a belligerent curse than tortured scream. Jorgan scrambled to her and wrapped himself around her. He muttered nonsense, holding her stiff body until it began to relax. By the time Shillet appeared at the top of the stairs, Fynta was sweaty and panting.

"It's alright," Jorgan assured the girl, though he didn't loosen his hold. He couldn't imagine what they must look like, sitting on the floor with Fynta curled into his body. "Nightmare."

"You're sure?" Shillet didn't sound convinced, but she wanted to be. Jorgan nodded, and the girl half turned. "I'll go get her some water."

Fynta shivered, then lifted her head. "Fierfek." Jorgan let out a relieved breath, that word becoming one of relief instead of the curse it was meant to be. It meant his wife was back.

At the sound of returning footsteps, Fynta pushed away from Jorgan. She managed a weak smile at Shillet. "Thanks, Shil'ika. Sorry to wake you."

The girl wore her favorite pajamas, consisting of an old SpecForce shirt that Jorgan had given her years prior and a pair of shorts that she'd proudly lifted from under the quartermaster's nose. She'd been supposed to return those. "You good?" Shillet asked, keeping her distance with thin arms wrapped around her middle.

Fynta drank deep, then let out a shuddery breath. "I'm good. Thanks."

Though Shillet didn't look convinced, she turned and went back to her room. Jorgan waited until she was gone to open his mouth, but Fynta beat him to it. "What the hell?" She pressed the heel of her hand to her eye as she gestured at the box he'd dropped. "Why did you bring him with us?"

"He gave me an idea." The ghost living in Jorgan's box claimed to be Valkorion's father. Trapped for an eternity in a lonely vault by his petty son.

Fynta winced. "The old shabuir doesn't like that."

"Good." Jorgan took Fynta's face into his hands. They'd need to discuss what had just happened and why she had reacted so violently, but first— "Ever wonder why he didn't want you in that vault?"

Eyes widening, Fynta's lips parted. "You want to trap him." She hissed and squeezed her eyes shut, nails digging into Jorgan's forearms. No doubt that old Sith was raging inside her head.

Jorgan brushed loose strands of hair from Fynta's face. "It won't be easy." Hell, he didn't even know if it would be possible. What Jorgan did know was that their current life would lead Fynta to the grave. That wasn't something he'd survive a second time.

"We'll need help," Fynta rasped. Her spine straightened, life entering her eyes once more. "And a galaxy's worth of luck."

War Room Emergency Council Meeting 02:14 Hours

"You're mad." Lana waved a hand at Fynta while speaking to Zolah. "Tell the woman she's gone absolutely insane."

The Chiss shrugged narrow shoulders. "Since when has she ever listened to me?"

Arguments erupted, all the while Fynta watched the hope drain from Aric's eyes. She couldn't say that she disagreed with Lana's assessment. This was one of those grasping at straws plans. The sort that only the truly desperate made up. Fynta hadn't realized that they'd reached that point until Valkorion's rage over the holocron took over.

Fynta knew what, more specifically, who was in that box. She had ordered it to be left behind, to let the old bastard who sired the dead bastard in her head rot for all of eternity. Apparently, her husband had other plans.

A shiver traveled up Fynta's spine at the memory. It hazed, becoming more cloudy as the moments passed, but the rage lingered. Valkorion had roared in her mind, awakening some deep part of her that needed to kill. That old blood lust from childhood that Fynta had buried so long ago. Valkorion hadn't so much taken control of her body, but he'd unleashed the beast within, and she'd gone after the nearest target. That couldn't be allowed to happen again.

"We could use the same technique on Fynta that was used on me," Zolah suggested. Fynta's attention snapped back to the conversation. Zolah rarely spoke about her conditioning, only that it had been unpleasant, but she wouldn't hesitate to use that knowledge to better their position in the war effort.

Vector shook his head, his jaw taut with what Fynta assumed was disapproval. "We will not be a part of such tactics again." Zolah's eyes rolled towards the ceiling, evidence of a years-long argument between the couple. Vector continued without acknowledging his wife's chagrin. "Furthermore, that was an absolute loss of autonomy. Fynta would become a powerful weapon in the wrong hands."

Voices clambered for attention, and Fynta lost interest again. A yawn built in the back of her throat, and she clamped her teeth together to keep it caged. Finally, Notiac interjected with a calm that silenced the room. "I would like to speak with Felix about this."

Only the uncomfortable shuffle of feet answered. Felix Iresso had been a prisoner of war more than a decade ago, the only surviving member of his squad. Only later did the Republic learn that he'd been implanted with experimental holocron tech. No one knew how it worked or what knowledge lay dormant in his mind. Not even the Imperials. And, not for lack of trying. By the time he joined the Alliance, Felix had as many or more scars than Fynta.

"Is that a good idea?" Theron asked. He cleared his throat, and Fynta noted the intentional way he didn't look at their Imperial allies, specifically his girlfriend, the former Cipher Nine. "We promised that he wouldn't be prodded here."

Somehow, Notiac projected peace. Her lips tipped up, a matriarch indulging a child's concern. "No prodding. I simply wish to hear his thoughts on the matter. Fynta, Jorgan, I believe you should accompany me."

"Do you see a way for this plan to work," Lana hedged, eyes narrowed at her Jedi lover. Fynta didn't bother pointing out that Notiac didn't have eyes, though her fatigued thoughts snagged on that bit and refused to let it go.

As Fynta looked around the room, she realized how odd they were. Discounting her, a born Mandalorian, marrying a Cathar. That left the two pairs of Sith/Jedi couples, and a handful of intelligence agents from opposing sides settling into a foursome of domestic bliss. Technically, Theron had surrounded himself with Imperials, but he was stubborn enough to keep whatever loose morals guided him. What had started as a paltry group of radicals had merged into a single force, with no room for Imps and Pubs. They were simply the Alliance now.

Notiac dipped her head. "Possibly. I understand the idea behind Major Jorgan's proposal. Vitiate's father has been trapped for eons, unable to do harm. They want to do the same with Valkorion, trap him in Fynta's mind where he can no longer sway the growth of our galaxy. If done correctly, when she dies, he will simply cease to exist."

Fynta noted that the emperor in question had been silent since his outburst in their quarters. She didn't know what to make of it, but assumed there would be dreams and visits in the coming days to talk her out of this plan.

"I would also like to include Kaeto and Kozen. His skillset could prove useful," Notiac continued. Then, she looked at Fynta. "On second thought, I believe perhaps you should not be there. Major Jorgan can relay any pertinent instructions to you, and I have little doubt that he will base every decision on your wellbeing."

"Sure." Fynta didn't doubt it either, but she made a mental note to remind Aric that they were doing this for the sake of the galaxy too. That there would always be risk.

Zolah nodded, then added her concerns. "Say that we cage the mad emperor. What then? He will always be privy to our plans, even if he's rendered impoten—"

"I retire." Fynta saw Aric straighten, and Zolah let her sentence go unfinished. "We lock him in, then throw away the key. Take me off the board. Without access to fancy weapons and galactic armies, I'm just a Force blind human with a short temper and good aim. He can't do too much with that. Aric and I leave the Alliance and find somewhere remote to live out the rest of our lives." Now that she'd said it out loud, it didn't seem as terrible a plan.

"And what of the Alliance?" Zolah asked, her tone more clipped that Fynta expected. The Chiss had never sung Fynta's praises; she assumed Zolah would be pleased to have her out of the way.

Fynta gestured at the gathering. "It's yours. I was a figurehead, a way to draw people in. You've outgrown me." It was true, she realized. The Alliance was bigger than Fynta Wolfe, in truth it always had been.

Lana sighed and rubbed her temples. "That is—a lot to process." She dropped her arms and addressed the room. "It's late, and we all need rest. Before making any decisions, we must figure out if this plan is feasible. Once that question is answered, we can deal with what comes after. All in favor of dismissal?"

Three hands raised at once, Fynta's being among them. Aric and Vector seconding. It was no surprise that Theron, Quinn, and Zolah wanted more time to argue. "Motion carried." Fynta clapped her hands, then rubbed them together. "Good night, everyone. I'll see you at lunch."

Fynta angled for the door, speeding up when Aric joined her. They turned the corner before he leaned close to her ear. "Thank you."

Somehow, Fynta found a weak smile in her exhaustion, even though she felt hollow. Retirement had never been a concern for Fynta. She'd never expected to live long enough to see it. Now that it loomed on the horizon, Fynta didn't know what to think.

Odessen Officer's Quarters 10:00 Hours

Even as large as the Odessen was, it was hard to find privacy. Jorgan was used to the constant press of bodies and movement after years in the military. Still, there were moments when he felt the invasion more keenly. Jorgan hadn't meant to eavesdrop on Fynta's conversation, but Keshal's voice snagged his attention when he stepped into their quarters after a training session with Bey'wan.

"I hear that you've been questioning the Resol'nare." The woman hefted her daughter, who'd reached the age of non stop wiggling. She sighed and shifted Jodi to the other hip. "Care to hash it out?"

Jorgan pressed himself to the wall and ignored the guilt that gnawed at his gut. He knew that Fynta had been struggling with her identity lately. So many things had changed for all of them, but time had been compressed for Fynta, and she felt the ripples of his more keenly. It was part of why Jorgan had pushed for retirement. They needed to separate themselves from the constant battle that had become their lives.

"What makes you think that?" Fynta's tone sounded guarded. Then, she signed. "Verin's got a big mouth."

"Only when it comes to those he loves." Keshal blew air through her lips, and baby Jobi giggled.

"I'm not questioning the Resol'nare," Fynta admitted after a moment of silence. Jorgan's brows lifted. He'd never seen anyone bully Fynta into sharing her feelings as fast as Keshal did. Then again, few people said no to the matronly Mandalorian. "Just my place in it."

"Explain what—shab, let go you greedy little strill." Jorgan heard a scuffle and fought the urge to look around the corner. He assumed it involved one of Keshal's many braids and Jodi's tiny fingers. With a huff, Keshal continued. "You've got Cinlat's armor. You speak the language and put clan above all else, and—"

Fynta growled, and Jorgan heard the heavy clatter of her metal foot as she paced. "And no colors for that armor. A child that I can't raise in our culture because her father is Cathar, a Mand'alor that I'll never answer the call of…" She trailed off, footsteps falling quiet. "I'm dar'manda now." The horror in Fynta's voice twisted Aric's stomach. He knew what the term meant, but had never expected to hear it from his wife's lips.

Keshal hissed. "Hold your tongue, girl." Jodi's cooing paused while the girl puzzled out her mother's shift in temperament. "You take these things too literally. Colors will come. The Mand'alor is your alley, who you will aid if she calls. And as for Aric, well, he married a Mandalorian. That's on him."

Fynta didn't answer, but Aric heard the mattress squeak as she settled on it. Keshal's words echoed through his mind. He had chosen Fynta, knowing how integral her culture was to her. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to let her instill some of the better aspects of Mandalorian culture in their daughter. Thirteen wasn't an adult, though, Jorgan wouldn't budge on that.

"When my husband died," Keshal continued, her voice softer than before. "I felt lost. Do you remember that feeling? When you learned that you were married?"

Fynta must have nodded because Keshal only paused briefly. "That feeling of spiraling out of control. Of the universe plotting a course that you can barely hang onto. I felt that. I had a young son, my clan had scattered, and there was no way out."

"What did you do?" Fynta asked. Jodi squealed, and Keshal swore again. Fynta chuckled in reply. It reminded Jorgan of the way Cormac used to laugh when Shillet flung her food everywhere. Stars, Aric missed those days. "Assuming there's a moral to this story," Fynta continued, but there was a note of laughter in the biting words.

"I shaved my head," Keshal growled. "Something I'm considering doing again before this child rips my hair out by the root."

There was a scuffle, then Keshal sighed. "It was a small change, but something I could control. I felt empowered, and that stupid haircut breathed enough life into my sorry shebs that we survived."

"Not sure Aric would approve of me shaving my head, but I get the point." Fynta chuckled again. "Thanks."

"Now, about your brother." Keshal launched into a tirade about how long Verin had been gone and the trouble he could get into. Aric excused himself, giving Fynta the privacy that he should have from the beginning. He needed to find a way to approach the subject of Shillet and apologize for being an ass about it. If he wanted Fynta to be a part of his daughter's life, then he needed to give her that freedom.

Two days later, Jorgan poked the fire he'd built at their mountainside retreat and sighed. Fynta had run late in meetings and commed to say that she would meet him at their campsite. It had been his idea, a way to get Fynta alone so that they could work out some of the tension building between them.

The weather was forecast to be warm but comfortable. Jorgan had planned a mountain climb and maybe a late-night swim in the spring. That was hours ago.

Fynta arrived well after sunset, making enough noise to announce her presence. Jorgan poked the fire again, letting the knot that had squeezed his chest burn off. He'd begun to wonder if she wouldn't come at all. "Thought you'd forgotten."

"Never." Fynta's tone perked Jorgan's ears. He turned with dread to see what fresh hell the War Council meetings had heaped onto them this time. Jorgan paused half standing when Fynta stepped into the light.

Jorgan didn't remember crossing the campsite. Fynta kept her eyes low in an uncharacteristic scowl. Aric reached for a dark strand of hair that had worked its way free of its binding, then paused. "This is…different."

"I needed a change." Fynta tugged at a lock of hair, then squared her shoulders and looked Jorgan in the eye. "I needed to take control of something."

The defiance in Fynta's eyes barely hid the fear behind them. Jorgan remembered her conversation with Keshal, how one small detail could mean the difference between confidence, and the breakdown that Fynta had been creeping towards for weeks. At least she hadn't shaved it.

Taking Fynta's hand, Aric pulled her into the firelight where he could see her better. Fynta didn't fight or speak as he tugged the tie free so that he could run his fingers through the now black strands. He'd only known Fynta as the feisty blonde, with hair caught between pale highlights and brown undertones with no direction as to where it would end up.

The black complimented her skin, bringing out the bronze hues, and making her eyes blaze brighter. Jorgan had always known his wife was beautiful, and had spent many a grumpy meeting glaring at the men who threw themselves at her. The new color amplified that, contrasting where the blonde had blended.

Jorgan smiled and tucked the strand behind Fynta's ear. "It suits you."

Odessen Training Room

"You sure about this, boss?" Cormac blocked two high strikes and a dirty kick. His hips almost had full range of motion, and his left knee didn't give out anymore. Which was good since Fynta wasn't holding back.

"Of course not." Fynta ducked beneath Cormac's jab, then stabbed two fingers into his ribs. He grunted, and she danced away. "But, Aric has a point."

Rubbing his abused torso, Cormac put some distance between him and the agile not-blonde. He liked the new hair color and thought it brought out the light in her eyes. He hated seeing how dull they had become lately. "That means you'll be stuck with him for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?" If Cormac had his way, they'd fight to the throne room of Zakuul and find a way to be rid of the old emperor once and for all.

Fynta blew out a breath, and Cormac used that opportunity to box her ears. He managed to get one before she stomped his foot. With a curse, Cormed limped back to his side of the mat. Fynta waved at the ceiling, and damn it, Cormac looked up even though he knew she was being rhetorical. "I don't know. You weren't there. You didn't see him."

"Pretty sure I was," Cormac responded, dragging his gaze down from the nothing above them. Fynta's features clouded, and he shrugged. The poor woman had gotten a healthy dose of reality from a lot of people lately, and it looked like it was his turn.

Cormac started unwrapping his gloves and jerked his head towards the bench where their bags were stored. He flopped onto the metal seat, pleased that it didn't hurt. Fynta joined him, focusing too hard on her gear. She sighed. "Tell me."

They'd never spoken about the time when Fynta was away, not at length. He'd been so damn grateful when her memory returned that rehashing those emotions didn't seem worth it. But, Cormac was good at reading people, and right now it seemed that the bosses were out of sync. That was bad for everyone.

Leaning back, Cormac took a deep breath. "It was hell." Fynta winced, and he patted her leg. He didn't want to hurt her or betray Jorgan's worst moments, but she needed to know in order to make the best decision for everyone. "He stopped eating, dropped maybe ten kilo. He's never been a jolly bloke but all the life was gone from him. Jorgan woke up, did his duty, then went to bed. Shillet was the only thing keeping him going after they declared you dead."

"Yeah." Fynta breathed the word and leaned against the walll. Her shoulder pressed against Cormac's, but she still didn't look at him. "I've never seen him like this."

"He's scared." Cormac knew the feeling. It was worse with Elara and Tayl on Odessen than it had ever been while they were apart. "I don't think he'd survive losing you again." Cormac stopped short of voicing his opinions on how that end would come, only that he had doubted the Cathar would outlive his mate a second time.

They sat in silence for a moment, then Fynta dropped her face into her hands. "I need to figure him out again." Her voice was muffled, but Cormac understood. "We are so different now. I don't know how to get us back on the same page."

Plastering on a grin, Cormac nudged his best friend's shoulder until she looked at him. "Go back to the basics. Find something that you can connect with and build from there." He wiggled his eyebrows for added effect.

Fynta chuckled and shoved Cormac away. Then, she straightened. "Actually, that gives me an idea." She reached beneath the bench and snatched her gear. Fynta took two steps, then came back and planted a kiss on the top of Cormac's bald head. "You're a genius. Give Elara and Tayl my love."

Cormac lifted a hand to wave his friend off, then set about gathering the rest of his gear. Maybe he should take his own advice and treat Elara to a nice night at the cantina. Shillet probably owed him a favor, and she wouldn't turn down time with her little cousin anyway. By the time Cormac stood, he had an entire evening of dancing and relaxation planned. Now, all he had to do was pry his wife away from the medical bay long enough to enjoy it.

Odessen Alliance Base Indoor Rifle Range 0023 Hours

Jorgan followed Fynta into the rifle range and flipped on the external light to warn others that it was occupied. It was late, after midnight, and he felt the weight of the day wearing on him. They'd enjoyed a day in the mountains, but had been recalled early to deal with a new development in Vaylin's plans. Since then, Jorgan had barely seen his wife.

Stifling a yawn, Jorgan set his kit down and flipped through the target options. Fynta had refused to leave until Shillet was asleep, which the girl seemed to recognize and found every reason to stay awake. That was after a run with Iresso, a fresh batch of recruit testing, and general fretting over things he couldn't change. Jorgan had dozed once or twice on the couch while the girls had their battle of wills.

"What are you up to?" Jorgan didn't want to be on the firing range, but could tell Fynta had planned a special evening for them. He just hoped they could get through it without another argument.

A hand settled over Jorgan's, jerking him out of his glum thoughts. Fynta nodded to the far lane. "Come on, I've already got it set up."

"Been planning this?" Jorgan aimed for flirtatiousness and was rewarded with Fynta's signature grin. Her gaze traced along the blacks he wore, stirring a twinge of excitement in his gut. A quick glance towards the door revealed that she'd unplugged the security camera. Her grin widened when his lifted brows found her again.

Instead of the blankets he'd hoped to find behind the dividing wall, Jorgan's sniper rifle perched on the flat countertop and a target blinked at the hundred yard mark. He shifted a wary glare towards his wife. "I could probably hit that without the fancy new eye patch."

"Gotta start somewhere," Fynta answered with a wave for Aric to step up. "We need to calibrate it better so that there are fewer unknowns in the field." She didn't say it, but Jorgan knew that she'd seen his mistake. He was a liability now.

Sighing, Jorgan pressed his shoulder into the rifle butt and propped his elbows on the table. The patchwork of lines flickered to life the moment his eyepiece touched the scope. Shapes formed, creating the other half of what his good eye saw in a precise, green grid. The target appeared last, though the entire process took less than fifteen seconds. Even though he didn't need it for such a short distance, Aric ran through the routine of relaxing his muscles and counting heart beats. He squeezed the trigger on an exhale and the target flashed a sequence of colors to mark a bullseye.

Straightening, Jorgan smirked at his wife. "Satisfied?"

Fynta bent forward and unlaced her right boot. "Eventually." Jorgan watched the woman gracelessly relieve herself of the shoe, tipping so far to the side that he reached out to steady her on instinct. Fynta batted his hand away. "No touching."

Jorgan withdrew and gestured at the firing lane. "What's this all about?"

Fynta kicked the offending boot to the side, then nodded towards the target. It had moved out to one hundred and fifty yards. Jorgan attempted one of her brow raises in response. "For every hit," she continued, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms in a way that lifted her breasts for his appreciation. "I'll drop an article of clothing."

"Now the security camera makes sense," Jorgan replied, hoping that his voice didn't give away the speed of his racing heart. Fynta didn't respond, which set his nerves on edge.

Carefully, Jorgan set his rifle on the table and folded his arms to match Fynta's stance. "What happens if I miss?"

Fynta's shoulders lifted. "Nothing, but I'll pull the target in closer." Pushing off the wall, she slinked closer, hips rolling and eyes dancing with challenge. "You either get me naked, or prove that you can't hack it as a sniper anymore." Her voice dropped an octave, and she stopped short of touching him. "The choice is yours, Major Jorgan."

"Damn you, woman." Aric spun around and snatched his rifle from the stand. Echoes of a similar conversation a lifetime ago rolled through his thoughts. A time when Fynta entertained the prospect of giving up the life she loved instead of trusting in technology. Fynta was making her point in the same way he had after losing her leg. Accept the hard truth that his fighting style had to change, or retire. There was no room for half measures on the battlefield.

This time, Fynta rested her hand on Jorgan's arm, but he couldn't make himself look at her. "There is no one I would rather have at my back. We do this together, or what's the point?"

Swallowing his pride, Jorgan nodded and sighted on the next target. Fynta had agreed not to bench him again. Now, he needed to prove that he could still be counted on. When Jorgan executed another perfect shot, Fynta removed her sock, then her jacket, leaving her in just the casual blacks she wore around the base. When the target hit three hundred yards, Jorgan felt the warm press of breasts against his back. "Don't miss," Fynta whispered against the shell of his ear. A shiver ran the length of his spine, but Aric pushed it down.

The kaleidoscope of color announced another perfect shot, and Jorgan looked over his shoulder in time to see Fynta pull her belt free. He let his eyes trail over her before finding her face. "You're running out of clothing." Glancing back at the target, Jorgan estimated how far he could make it out before she was out of bargaining chips. "You've only got until five hundred yards before I win."

Fynta shook her head. "Don't worry about me." Something in her tone made Aric hesitate. He stared at his wife, trying to peer past the smug exterior to work out her plan. Eventually, he gave up and found the target again.

Three-fifty wasn't a difficult shot, but he'd never taken it with the eye piece. An uneasiness settled in Jorgan's stomach, and he flexed his hands to work out the stiffness. Insecurities that he hadn't felt since his rookie days creeped into the back of his mind until warmth slid around his ribs.

Jorgan looked down to find Fynta's hands splayed across his stomach. "What are you doing?"

"Distracting you." Fynta nipped his ear, making Jorgan start. He heard her laughter when she spoke again. "Is it working?"

"No." Jorgan didn't believe his gruff answer any more than Fynta would, but her touch gave him something to focus on more than his fear. Something to conquer.

The rifle kicked, and Jorgan let out a relieved breath when the target signaled a hit. Fynta's hands unwound from his body, but Aric felt movement as his back. When the target positioned itself at four hundred yards, he leaned forward to let the instruments read the field.

Tan skin slid into Jorgan's peripheral, a naked leg that rubbed suggestively alongside his. Aric cleared his throat and squinted down the line. His best shot was more than twice this, but the range only went to one thousand yards. He could do this, and prove to himself that his career hadn't ended.

Fynta's hands returned to their positions on Aric's stomach, the warmth of her exposed skin seeping through his pant leg made for a better distraction than enemy fire. He huffed a breath and focused on his heart beat, listening to a rhythm that was faster than he'd have liked. Another shot sparked cheerful colors from the target.

Straightening, Aric turned to his wife. "Fynta, this isn't going to—" His words dried on his tongue. After so many years together, the sight of her wiggling out of a shirt still brought him up short. He was mesmerized by the seductive way her hips twisted while she worked the fabric over her head and the flex of abdominals when the shirt finally cleared.

Fynta dropped the cloth on top of her pants and boot, then stretched. "Sorry, riduur, you were saying?"

Jorgan growled low in his throat, a primal sound that he'd hidden from other women. Fynta loved it, often coaxing more from him. She stepped back and held up one finger when Aric started towards her. "Remember? No touching."

With narrowed eyes, Jorgan returned to his perch and leaned forward to peer down his scope. Before he could find the target, Fynta's body pressed against his back, her hands toying with the hem of his shirt. Aric's body was more than aware of the change in her scent and how little separated their skin.

Target acquired, Jorgan's finger tightened on the trigger until the drawstring in his pants loosened. "That's. Cheating." He bit the words out through gritted teeth while Fynta wound her fingers in the flimsy ties.

Fynta's hand slid into the loosened waistband of his pants and offered a tantalizing massage through his underwear. "I never specified my rules," Fynta husked, fingers squeezing and flexing around his clothed shaft. The combination of heat and coarse material made for a dizzying sensation. "Think you can make the shot under—" her fist tightened, stopping short of pain. "Duress?"

Air wheezed between Jorgan's lips. Fynta's heady scent filled his nostrils, clouding out everything except removing that final barrier between his erection and her heat. Teeth bared, Aric met those deep, blue eyes over his shoulder. "Watch me."

The target flashed a hit, and Fynta rewarded Aric with several, quick strokes. He yelped in surprise, gripping the table with one hand while trying not to send his rifle clattering to the floor. When she released him, Jorgan felt like he could breathe for the first time. Until he saw that she'd removed her bra. His mouth went dry, attention drawn to the two perfect peaks that he wasn't allowed to caress.

Fynta pretended not to notice, nodding down the line. "Five hundred yards, Major. Make this shot, and…" Her thumbs slipped into the elastic of her underwear, dragging one side low enough to expose her hip bone.

Snapping his attention back to that infuriating smirk, Jorgan's eyes narrowed. "I'll have you when this is over, woman."

The impish grin widened. "I'm counting on it."

With rolled eyes, Jorgan forced himself to bend forward and press the high tech eye patch to the scope again. Visions of what he planned to do to Fynta after this shot played out in distracting clarity. He'd bend her over the stall and take her from behind until she was panting in Mando'a, then—

The brush of fabric caught his attention a second before Aric's thoughts splintered into a hundred shards of light. Wet heat enveloped him, wrapping his mind in cotton while his body hummed to life. Even when he looked down to find Fynta on her knees, head bobbing while her mouth made delicious sucking noises, his mind couldn't make sense of it. He'd had a fantasy like this a long time ago and was almost certain that he'd never mentioned it to Fynta.

Fynta took Aric into the back of her throat, gripping his hips when he tried to push for more and glanced upward. The damn woman smiled, and somehow it was all the more radiant with his cock in her mouth. "What—" her throat flexed and his words scattered.

Pulling back, Fynta smiled with an innocence she'd never possessed. "Take the shot, riduur." Her tongue flicked out to tease him, and Aric shivered. "If you can."

The defiant note in Fynta's voice battered against the haze of pleasure she'd lured Jorgan into. It reminded him of his purpose. With one hand, Jorgan cupped Fynta's chin, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip. "You're on."

Odessen Alliance Base Command Quarters 03:47 Hours

Fynta should be asleep. Her body ached in that delicious way it always did when Aric let loose in bed. She'd never been more grateful that Shillet chose to stay over with Elara and Cormac. There were some sounds that a girl should never hear her father make.

The man in question sprawled on his stomach, one arm draped over Fynta's torso. He'd meant to cuddle, no doubt, but had succumbed to exhaustion before completing the act. Smiling, Fynta scraped her nails over Aric's scalp. It had been a good night, a way to reconnect over what they did best. Probably not what Cormac had meant with his pep talk. But, Fynta felt more in sync with her husband than she had in months. She hoped that their unorthodox exercise had bolstered his confidence behind the scope too.

Fynta stretched, then settled closer to her husband. Aric pulled her against his body without opening his eyes, sliding one hand under her shirt while burying his face in her hair. It reminded Fynta of those stolen moments back on the Thunderclap in between missions. Their romance had been fresh and forbidden back then. They'd risked their careers to be together. Now, Fynta worried that they risked more.

You can't do this without me.

Valkorion had been sedate since Aric's reveal of the mad Sith's long trapped father. He muttered ominous warnings in the back of Fynta's mind, but had yet to approach her outright. Fynta didn't think he was scared. More like the chakaar was plotting, biding his time until an opportunity presented itself; a way to take away her choice.

Fynta's comm buzzed across the room. A second later, Aric's joined it. Muttering a curse, Fynta wiggled out from under her husband's arm. Aric grumbled and rolled onto his back. "Thought we'd banned those things from the bedroom."

In the second it took Fynta to open her mouth for a snarky retort, the floor lifted her into the air. There was the feeling of weightlessness, a moment to think of some choice words, then her weight drove the air from Aric's lungs. Their eyes met, and Fynta's comm flickered to life at the end of the bed where it had landed. Theron appeared in muted blues, shirtless and typing furiously.

Fynta scrambled off her husband while he rolled to his feet to find his gear. "Theron, what the hell was that?"

Fynta had known Theron for a long time. She'd seen him in all manner of circumstances from exasperated friend to cold blooded murderer, even a desperate lover once or twice. She'd never seen fear on his face, not until his hazel eyes met hers through the holo. "It's Vaylin. She found us."

#blood in the breeze #meet me on the battlefield #fynta wolfe #aric jorgan #balic cormac #keshal vaak #theron shan #shillet jorgan #zolah holran #lana beniko #smutty fun on the firing range #a lot of choices #some bigger than others #all important #valkorion is not impressed

[cinlat]

Blood in the Breeze: Ch 16 (Into the Void)

Parts one and two of this series linked.

Read every chapter on FFN or Ao3.

Summary: Fynta and Aric still have some things to work through. Verin offers some brotherly advice (and violence). And the council, once again, regrets every decision that led them to where they are.

Chapter Word Count: 3,402 Chapter Rating: T Characters in Chapter: Fynta Wolfe, Aric Jorgan, Theron Shan, Zolah Holran, Lana Beniko, Shillet Jorgan, Verin Ejnar-Wolfe

Author’s Note: Whole chapter under the cut. Better formatting on Ao3.

  The Thunderclap   Leaving Nathema

 Aric glared at the gleaming box on the edge of his desk. Strange that such a menacing device could look so innocuous when Aric picked it up. He didn’t know why he’d pilfered the holocron, or what he planned to do with it, only that it felt important. An idea niggled at the back of Aric’s mind, roosting there until it could reach maturity.

 “Did you hear me?” Aric leaned back in a desk chair that might as well have a permanent impression of his ass. Shillet waited on the other side of his comm, black eyes glaring into the camera. He saw the accusation. Aric had interrupted whatever she’d been working on, but couldn’t be bothered to keep his attention on the conversation he’d started.

 Scooping the datacron into a drawer, Aric gave his daughter an apologetic nod. “Sorry, kiddo, what was that?”

 The teenager in question rolled her eyes, then went back to painting her toenails. Shillet had grown into a woman overnight, filling out in ways that made Aric uncomfortable with so many young men on the base. She’d also taken to wearing makeup and doing things like painting her nails. Not for the first time, Jorgan wondered if there was a boy involved, but he was too much of a coward to ask. Maybe he’d comm Elara to see if she knew anything.

 “I said ‘how did it go?’” Shillet leaned forward to blow on the wet paint. “You weren’t out of contact as long as I expected.”

 Was that disappointment that Aric heard in his daughter’s voice? “Missed the target,” his gaze slid towards the drawer, “made some interesting discoveries, though.”

 “That’s good, then, right?” Shillet screwed the cap on and fanned one hand over her feet. “It’s better than nothing, at least.”

 Aric started to answer that he didn’t know. That he might have found a weapon or a shield, but wasn’t sure which way to wield it or who to tell. Fynta had wanted to blow the thing up, so she probably wouldn’t approve of him removing it from the vault. All Aric knew was that it was important.  

 “And I’ve lost you again.” Shillet sighed.

 “I’m still here,” Aric grumbled, then sat straight when the door to their room opened and Fynta swept in. “So is Fynta.”

The woman waved, then tapped the side of her head to let Aric know that she was on another call. She’d been in near continuous contact with Odessen discussing what had been discovered on Nathema. Everything from Vaylin’s tortured childhood and the strange absence of the Force, to the world shaking dread that came with realizing that Vaylin’s full potential had been unlocked.

 “We need those numbers, Theron.” Fynta ended the call, then learned over with a grin. “You look nice. Any particular reason?”

 Jorgan clenched his jaw to keep from growling and tried to be invisible for fear that Shillet wouldn’t answer if he drew attention to himself. Shillet flushed a deeper shade of green, and Jorgan saw red. He didn’t need this added stress on top of everything else and contemplated finding a reason to ground the girl until he got home. He’d      definitely     need to speak to Elara.

 Fynta slid into Jorgan’s lap, looping one arm around his neck while he sorted through the boys Shillet’s age on base. “How was the movie?”

 “It was fine, stupid actually.” Shillet crossed the room to put her supplies away, calling out to the comm she’d left behind. “I thought I might help unload the ships. A bunch of kids work there on the weekends for school passes.”

     What’s his name,    lingered at the back of Jorgan’s throat, but Fynta answered instead. “Take Tranx and Zula. Those two have been going stir crazy.” Fynta’s smirk turned devious. “I think Torian does some maintenance there too.”

 “Torian,” Jorgan heard himself say before he could stop it. A sense of relief washed over him at the knowledge that Shillet’s crush was on a man who would never take advantage of her. Not to mention, the Mandalorian chief was head over heels for Fynta’s pet Jedi. Once more, Jorgan was struck by the startling realization that he trusted Mandalorians with his most precious people than anyone else.

 Fynta carried on without acknowledging Jorgan, but Shillet dropped her head enough that a couple of tendrils fell across her face. “Listen, if it’s a boy’s attention you’re after, you’ve got to show them that you’re serious.” Fynta nudged Jorgan with a grin. “Blow something up.”

 Jorgan stood, dropping Fynta onto the floor from her perch on his thighs. She laughed, and Shillet did her best to hide a smile. Jorgan ignored them both. “On that note, please don’t take dating advice from Fynta.” He avoided any mention of motherhood. Neither woman took the insinuation well, and he didn’t want to upset the comfortable rhythm that they’d found.

 Fynta cupped her hands to her mouth, amplifying her voice while still sitting on the floor. “It worked on your father.”

 “Okay.” Shillet dragged the word out and leaned forward. “I’m going to go eat dinner. See you when you get home.”

 The call ended, and Fynta met Jorgan’s glare with a bright smile. “What? She knows that I was kidding.”

 “Does she?” Jorgan held out one hand, pulling Fynta upright with a grunt. “What if she believed you?”

 “It was a joke, Riduur.” Fynta patted Jorgan’s cheek and stepped away. “She’s practically an adult,      and    you and Elara raised her well. Give the girl some breathing room.”

 Jorgan clenched his fists and followed, looming so that Fynta knew that he was serious. “She’s thirteen, that’s not an adult.”

 “It is by my standards.” Fynta turned to open one of the drawers and began counting ammo magazines.

 Jorgan hadn’t intended to lash out, but before he understood his own actions, his fingers were wrapped around Fynta’s bicep, and she stared wide-eyed into his face. “Shillet isn’t Mandalorian.”

 Jorgan knew the growled words hurt. He wanted to regret them, but he couldn’t. Still, he should have chosen a better way to say them. “Fynta—”

 “You’re right,” Fynta interrupted, placing her hand over his. Jorgan’s fingers loosened under the unspoken threat. He hadn’t gripped her hard, but Fynta wouldn’t tolerate being handled in such a manner, nor should she.

 Lifting his hands, Jorgan let go of his wife and stepped away. “I’m sorry.”

 “I will never push anything you are uncomfortable with.” Fynta touched Jorgan’s cheek again, but it was fleeting. “She’s      your     daughter.” And like that, the familial moment shattered.

 Fynta put space between them, and Jorgan didn’t feel right about closing it yet. With a sigh, he plopped onto the bed and ran a hand over his head.  “I don’t want to fuck this up anymore than I already have.” He chanced a glance at Fynta, waiting until she met his eyes. “Any of it.”

 Fynta dropped the magazine she’d checked back into the box, then knelt in front of Jorgan. “You and I, we’re always good.” She pressed a quick kiss to Jorgan’s lips. “And, Shillet is a great kid.”

 Again, Fynta pulled away before Jorgan could reply. Her nails scraped over his scalp as she headed for the door, towards her escape. “I’m going to check on Verin, he took a nasty knock to the head. See you in a bit.”

 “I’ll be here,” Jorgan answered, but his wife was already gone. With a snarl, Jorgan flopped onto the bed and glared at the ceiling. With everything he cared for close by, why did Jorgan still feel like his world was falling apart?

The Thunderclap En Route to Odessen Conference Room    “How about a drink, Fyn’ika?” Verin pressed his palms into the table across from where Fynta stared through a holomap. She was parsecs away, lost in a way he’d seen before. She blinked, focusing on him through whatever thoughts occupied her attention. Verin flashed a crooked grin and lifted a couple of dark bottles. “Come on, vod’ika. I smuggled in some netra’gal.”

 “Why didn’t you tell me that on the way      to    fighting the voidspawn?” Fynta leaned across the table to snatch one of the Mandalorian specialties and twisted the top off by brute force. “I could use a decent drink about now.”

 Spinning around one of the deck mounted chairs, Verin straddled the seat and watched his sister. “So, are you going to tell me what’s really going on, or do I have to drag it out of Jorgan?”

 Fynta lowered her drink and rubbed her eyes. “The old bastard is talking again.” She tapped her temple. “He’s scared of Vaylin, and was      not     happy about our trip to Nathema. And, I’ve got this headache from hell thanks to all of the Force suppression stuff. I can only imagine how Lana feels.”

 Verin propped his elbows on the chair back and settled in to let his sister talk herself in circles. Fynta didn’t disappoint. She spun her bottle in a lazy circle on the table. “I’d hoped that Arcann would join us, but he’s not confident in his ability to resist Nathema’s pull. Probably a good thing now that I’ve been there.” Without warning, Fynta thumped her head against the table. “And, Aric’s mad at me again.”

 “Why now?” Verin asked, taking another sip. He let the sweet liquid warm him from the inside, steeling his nerves for the tough conversation to come.

 “Mostly because I’m osik around kids.” Fynta gestured around the room without lifting her face from the table. Her words were muffled against the false wood polish. “It’s one of the rare moments when we can’t see eye to eye on anything.”

 “I’ve been meaning to ask how that was going?” Verin expected some hiccups while Fynta tried to find her place in Shillet’s life, but the pushback from Aric surprised him. Verin supposed some things couldn’t span the gaps between their cultures. That had never been a problem for them because they hadn’t planned on having children. The galaxy had a way of turning people’s plans inside out. Verin knew that better than most.

 When Fynta looked up, it was with a violent shake of her head. “No, we’re not doing that.” She chugged the netra’gal, then smacked her lips. “New topic.”

 “Okay.” Verin took a drink, dragging the silence out to let the annoyance drain from Fynta before continuing. “What’s happened since Darvannis?” She’d had the coveted lust for life then. She fought and loved and laughed. Perhaps she still did, but it sounded hollow.

 Fynta shrank into herself, knees curling against her chest and chin propped on them like when she was just a skinny kid. “You gave me Cinlat’s haalas gaid, armor that she lived and died in. Of everything learned from her time among Mandalorians, that was the only part that she truly loved.” Fynta offered a wry smile and tipped her head in Verin’s direction. “Apart from you.” The old sting of loss surfaced, but time had dulled the effect.

 Verin didn’t interrupt. He could see that Fynta was building to her point, but had taken the long way around. Letting out a breath, Fynta plopped her chin back on her knees and hugged them closer. Once again the little girl from that night so long ago when it became just the two of them against the galaxy.

 “I’m not Mando’ade anymore, Verin.” The words felt like a blow to his stomach. He wanted to argue or snort in disagreement, but made himself stay silent. If he spoke too soon, she’d shut down.

 “I’ve been thinking about it,” Fynta continued. “The Resol’nare is as close to a religion as we have. How many do I follow? Speaking the language, sure. Wearing the armor, I am now thanks to your gift. I’m bred to fight, but I won’t answer the call of the Mand’alor.” Fynta snorted. “Shab, she answers mine. And Shillet...I can’t force that decision on her. Not when her father is Cathar.”

 Verin nodded. “Have you two discussed it? Shillet, I mean.”

 Shaking her head, Fynta seemed to remember the beer in her hands and drained half the bottle in one pull. Sighing, she smacked her lips. “We’ve tiptoed around it, but Aric being her father doesn’t make me the girl’s mother. She’s got Elara for that. The woman raised that child. I’m...a friend. Shillet respects my authority and no longer believes that I’m a danger to Aric’s happiness, but it’s different.”

 Fynta shrugged, then drained the rest of the bottle. “I’m not a Republic soldier, not a Mandalorian, not a mother. What am I?”

 “You’ve forgotten the spirit of mandokarla. Life fluctuates, and we evolve. Are the ones who are forced into the ba'slan shev'la less Mando’ade than the ones who remain in society?”

 “No, but—” Fynta’s eyes narrowed when Verin snapped his fingers.

 Leaning back, Verin laced them behind his head and grinned. “You’re overthinking it. It’s not always all or nothing. We work with what we’re given.”

 Fynta sighed. “Yeah.” Verin leaned forward and smacked her on the back of the head. She snarled a curse while rubbing it. “What the hell?”

 “Enough pity. Time to get back into life, Fyn’ika.” Verin dodged her response with a laugh. “You’ve got a husband and a daughter. Whatever happens with them is up to you, but it won’t turn out well if you don’t get back into it.”

 Fynta snorted and muttered an insult under her breath, but her eyes weren’t dull anymore. She stood and checked her wrist chrono. “Shab, I’ve got another meeting. Thanks for the drink, ori’vod.” Verin nodded, lifting his bottle in salute while she headed towards the door. Fynta stopped, speaking without looking back. “Hang around for a bit, if you can.”

 “I get to sleep through the night here,” Verin chuckled and made a show of settling into the cushions, legs kicked out and feet on the table. “I’m not giving that up without a fight.”

 Odessen        War Room

 Images of broken tanks and derelict walls floated in the center of the table. The conference room was full to bursting, with senior members in the chairs while those who came in later positioned themselves around the walls. Fynta stood towards the back, having seen Nathema in person. Murmurs drifted through the air, but she had heard it all before.

 “The question now is what to do with this information.” Lana waved a hand, pausing the holo on the image of destruction left by Vaylin’s escape.

 “Is it relevant?” Zolah asked. The woman had her menagerie of men surrounding her, each wearing a furrowed brow specific to them. When every eye turned on the Chiss spy, she gestured at the image. “Whatever power that place had over Vaylin is broken. Does this information serve as anything beyond telling us that she is not only psychotic, but no longer leashed?”

 More murmurs. Fynta had theories, but she wasn’t ready to share them. Aric stood stiffly at her side, his fingers flexing around an invisible object. Fynta would need to look into whatever was troubling the Cathar later. For the moment, she counted down the time her presence was required before it would be rude to slip away.

 “You’ve been ignoring me.” Valkorion stood at Fynta’s side, startling a curse from her. The old Sith smiled in his demure way and nodded at the image. “Did you learn anything of…value?”

 For whatever reason, Valkorion had been unable to follow Fynta into the vault that protected her small party from Vaylin’s wrath. It had left her chilled, as if the ghost of Valkorion was a separate heat source instead of cold death. Fynta had learned plenty in those sprawling catacombs, and none of it surprised her.

 “Only that you’re as bad of a father as you are a benevolent ruler.” Fynta folded her arms and refused to look at him.

 Valkorion sighed while the meeting carried on around Fynta. She was surprised that the old bastard hadn’t stopped time again. “Vaylin needed to be controlled.”

 “She was your kid,” Fynta snapped. “As far as childhoods go, that was one of the shittiest I’ve ever seen., and I’ve seen some bad ones”

 “You aren’t considering a charity case, I hope.” It took Fynta a few seconds to realize that Lana’s barb was directed at her. When she glanced to her right, Valkorion was gone.

 Instead of trying to explain that Fynta hadn’t been talking to the collected group, she rolled with it. “Of course not. Mad dogs need to be put down.” Lana gave a quick jerk of her head, but Fynta wasn’t done. “Let’s keep in mind that this is a child who never grew up. Valkorion kept her chained in agony for years. It’s no wonder she went insane. Whatever our course of action, let’s make it quick and as clean as possible.” With that, Fynta pushed away from the wall and walked out. She was done with meetings and talking circles around a problem that none of them knew how to deal with.

 As expected, Aric fell into step at Fynta’s side. “You feeling sorry for her?”

 Fynta lifted a shoulder. “There’s not a lot standing in between Vaylin and any one of us ending up just like her. A push in the right direction, and we all go feral.”

 “Not everyone.” Aric bumped Fynta’s shoulder, and she forced a smile so that he’d know she appreciated his faith in her. Valkorion hummed in the recesses of Fynta’s mind. It felt like a fly buzzing around her head, the melody too quiet to pick out, but she      knew     it was there.

 Shillet waited at the door when Fynta and Aric got home. The smell of food hit Fynta’s stomach like a punch, but it was Aric who voiced their mingled surprise. “What’s all this?”

 “Dinner,” Shillet answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy. Which, Fynta supposed it was. The Nautolan girl skipped to the table where an assortment of meats and vegetables that didn’t normally go together waited. She offered a wide, sharp grin. “These are the only things that I know how to make.”

 “It looks good,” Aric laughed while ruffling the girl’s head tresses. Fynta made a mental note to teach her a few Mandalorian staples to sneak into her father’s meals.

 The night carried on in companionable conversation. Fynta finally let herself relax long enough to invite Cormac, Tayl, and Elara over for a few drinks. The kids vanished into Shillet’s room, leaving the adults sitting around the table like old times. Fynta heaved a steadying breath and told herself that Vaylin could wait until tomorrow. Tonight was for family.

#blood in the breeze #meet me on the battlefield #fynta wolfe #still blonde #aric jorgan #verin wolfe #verin ejnar #shillet jorgan #zolah holran #theron shan #vector hyllus #malavai quinn #lana beniko #long separations are hard #fynta and jorgan did a lot apart #sometimes coming back together is a struggle #but they'll figure it out #meanwhile fynta is over ALL of valky and his family's bs #she tired

[cinlat]

Blood in the Breeze: Ch 15 (Jorgan’s Welcome)

Parts one and two of this series linked.

Read every chapter on FFN or Ao3.

Summary: Mistakes are made, relationships mended, secrets revealed, and challenges issued.

Chapter Word Count: 5,661 Chapter Rating: T   Characters in Chapter: Fynta Wolfe, Aric Jorgan, Theron Shan, Arcann, Senya Tirall, Zolah Holran, Lana Beniko, Felix Iresso, Torian Cadera, Shillet Jorgan, Balic Cormac.

Author’s Note: Whole chapter under the cut. Better formatting on Ao3.

Odessen Landing Bay 7

Nervous eels writhed in Fynta's stomach as she waited for the doors to open. Arcann stood behind Torian and Felix. His raspy breath made the hair on the back of Fynta's neck stand on end, but she refused to surrender to the urge to check behind her. Though the man could probably sense her unease, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of acting on it.

The decycling whine of the engines sounded muffled compared to the beating of Fynta's heart. She shouldn't be doing this, bringing the man who caused so much pain across the galaxy into the heart of the alliance. Everything about it sat wrong with her, but Garza scoffed in the back of Fynta's mind, asking if she'd learned nothing from her time in SpecForce. Even after all these years, the old woman still influenced her choices.

Fynta jumped when the hydraulics clanged to life, then cursed herself for it. If anyone noticed, they were good enough to keep it to themselves. Heaving a breath, Fynta started forward when the ramp began to lower. Her eyes were on the beveled surface, stealing a moment to balance herself before walking headlong into what was bound to be a shit show. She'd need to hold a conference to explain Arcann's presence at the base, and probably set up a guard for the first week or two in case of any ill-advised attempts at justice. Fynta hoped that the former emperor would hold up his end of the bargain and keep the retribution at a minimum.

The murmur of voices warned Fynta of the gathered masses, and she looked up in time to see Aric mounting the walkway. The tightness in Fynta's chest that built every time they were apart vanished until she saw the look on her husband's face. A hatred like Fynta had never seen radiated off the Cathar. Her steps faltered while the phrase fierfek built in the back of her mind. She'd misjudged this homecoming badly, and realized that she wasn't prepared to see this side of her normally patient lifemate.

For the space of a heartbeat, Fynta thought that Aric's raised fist was aimed at her. By the time Fynta's backstep landed, Aric had surged past her and into the man she'd brought home. Arcann slammed into the boarding ramp, ringing like a gong when his prosthetics struck the metal. One of Aric's knees slid over the former emperor's chest to pin the man's waist to the ground while he rained a flurry of blows. The steady rumble emanating from Aric warned others to stay back, Fynta included.

Arcann, for his part, offered no more resistance than to shield his face from the onslaught. In the chaos of the moment, Fynta managed to be pleased that the man had accepted her conditions until Theron jerked on her arm. His mouth moved, but the words were muted by the shouts of the crowd. Theron leaned closer, flailing one arm at the grappling men. "He's going to kill your new ally!"

"Fine." Fynta had no desire to rob Aric of his vengeance, but she couldn't let it devolve into a mobbing. Judging by the expressions surrounding them, it wouldn't take much. Gesturing to stop the soldiers who had moved to subdue Aric, Fynta placed a hand on her husband's shoulder

Aric spun with a snarl, but his fury evaporated when he focused on Fynta's face. Her fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt. "That's enough, Riduur."

Aric blinked, then looked at what he'd done. A trickle of blood leaked from Arcann's nose down his chin, and deep red mottling that would turn black by morning bloomed under the man's eye. With a curse, the Aric staggered to his feet. Chest heaving, he shook Fynta's hand off and stalked out of the hangar. She gave him space, turning her attention to her fallen ally. "You didn't fight back."

Arcann accepted the hand that Fynta held out, grunting as she pulled him upright. "I saw the validity of your point." Fynta snorted and released the younger man once he was steady. Arcann's scarred face ventured to where Aric hunched against the railing. "Who is he?"

Fynta joined the emperor, watching the speed with which Aric's shoulders moved while he composed himself. "My husband."

"I see." Arcann flexed his shoulder, the timber of his voice betraying nothing. "I'll make a point of avoiding that one in the future."

Fynta took a step toward her husband, then paused to look back at Arcann. "Don't make me regret this. You might be strong in the Force, but that Cathar is a hell of a shot and a lot more patient than you."

Arcann tipped his chin, thin brows furrowing under the weight of Fynta's threat. He'd walked into hell, too. No courtiers or servants awaited him in the Alliance, only angry glares and the potential for violence. A piece of Fynta felt bad for the man—a small piece.

When Fynta finally joined Aric at the railing, he wouldn't look at her. She propped her elbows against the cool metal and bumped his shoulder the way she had back before all of this, back when they'd toed the life between professionalism and flirting. "Feel better?"

"Hand hurts like hell," Aric grunted, working his fingers. His gaze slid sideways. "Did I create an intergalactic incident?"

"Would you care if you did?" Fynta grinned at the gnarled fingers that flexed over the abyss beyond their mountain sanctuary. The last few years had not been kind to Aric, and it showed in the swollen joints and early morning winces. He'd probably regret those strained tendons and scabbed knuckles tomorrow.

Pulling her attention away from the consequences of her husband's temper, Fynta turned one hand over, palm up in invitation. Or, maybe it was an offer of peace.

Aric forced a chuckle, then slid his fingers through Fynta's until they were interlocked. She felt another weight lift from her chest. Whatever happened, at least her husband still had her back. "No." Aric's hold twitched tighter. "Felt good to finally put hands on the man who keeps trying to kill my wife." His voice rattled at the end, leaving the rest unsaid. Still, the words whispered in the back of her mind. The man who made me a widower.

Fynta laughed to ease the tension and pulled Aric away from the railing. By now, someone would have escorted Arcann to his room. Senya should be there to keep him on a leash, and she'd do her job well. The woman knew how much relied on this tenuous truce.

"Tell you what," Fynta began as they crossed under the hangar door. She waited until Aric's eyes met hers so that he saw the truth in them. "If he steps out of line, I'll let you take the first shot."

Aric's smile turned genuine and he threw an arm over Fynta's shoulders. Pulling her closer, the Cathar pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I knew there was a reason I married you."

Odessen War Room 30 Minutes after Arcann's Arrival

Zolah checked the list of items that needed to be covered in this meeting, then changed it to show what was realistic. "Is everyone here who needs to be here?" Fynta asked from the end of the table. She was still covered in smoke stains from Vaylin's assault, a habit that Zolah had noted the commander used when she wanted to hurry any briefing along. While it did little to sway her schedule, the bleeding hearts of the Republic often obliged.

Notiac answered, nodding around the table. "We are here, shall I signal Felix to bring in our guests?" Somehow, the Jedi said the word without a hint of irony. At Fynta's nod, Notiac tipped her head, and the door opened not two seconds later. Zolah had always been fascinated by the bond between Felix and Notiac, and had wondered on more than one occasion if the holocron in the man's head had bridged the gap between their minds, forming the fabled Force Bond of legend.

Felix turned to the right, revealing Senya behind him, then Arcann. Torian brought up the rear, filing in like an honor guard and closing the door behind him. With so many Force wielders on the base, Zolah thought the barrier was more of a formality than protection, but it gave the illusion of privacy. Torian and Felix took up positions to either side, sanding in parade rest and looking like statues.

"Have a seat." Fynta gestured at a couple of empty chairs in front of the guards. Her voice wasn't unkind, but it held the authority of her position.

Senya accommodated Fynta without complaint, then Arcann followed his mother's lead after the briefest hesitation. Both perched on the edge of the cushion as if ready to dart from the room at any hint of an attack. No one spoke, then Koth broke the silence. "So, this is...awkward."

"Indeed," Arcann deadpanned, and Zolah found herself charmed against her will. She stamped down her inclination towards peevish bastards and settled for the ice that kept her safe from the manipulations of Sith. Leaning forward, Arcann placed his hands on the table, and Zolah noted the discoloration around his left eye and jaw. She'd heard about Jorgan's welcome, but that looked like more than a single fight. Zolah wondered who else had the balls to attack the former emperor, then remembered the sort of people they employed.

"We are here to aid in the termination of my sister," Arcann began. Senya winced at the harsh wording, but didn't protest when he continued. "She will destroy everything in this galaxy. Make no mistake that we share a common enemy."

Fynta leaned back in her chair, and Zolah waited for the inevitable boot to plant itself on the table. She almost laughed when it didn't. The commander stared at the duo in front of her, then sighed. "Alright, we need to set up boundaries and safe zones. People are used to seeing Senya around, but Arcann—" Koth snorted, but held up his hands when Fynta's glare shifted to him. She continued. "But, Arcann is behind a lot of bad osik. The people are going to want retribution, and while I'm not above letting him take a punch, I don't want any assassination attempts."

"Those, I can handle," Arcann assured, mouth opening to make his point further.

Fynta ignored the comment and gestured at Quinn. "Thoughts, Major?" Arcann's jaw tightened, but he let the slight go. Zolah wondered how far the man would let Fynta push him before he reached the limits of his patience.

Sitting taller, Quinn displayed the poise that Zolah expected from any Imperial officer, with a stiff spine and sharp eyes. "It depends on the direction you wish to move. If you want to keep them out of the public eye, I suggest a comfortable room in the brig. No locked doors, as they are our guests, but it is off the beaten path."

Arcann's scowl deepened, but Senya put a hand on her son's arm before he could speak. Quinn lifted his eyes to meet Fynta's, carefully ignoring the topics of their discussion even though they were close enough to touch. "If, however, you would rather the alliance see that we are aligned in the same goal, I suggest quarters close to yours. It is an untraveled hallway by the common worker, but equally public. That would be my personal recommendation, sir."

"You want to put them down the hall from the commander's family?" Lana asked, then looked at Senya. "No offense, but your son has a nasty habit of attempted murder. What is your take on this?"

Senya's gaze cut to Arcann, then back to Fynta. "I'll remain with him. We will share quarters until the people of the Alliance have become comfortable with, or have at least accepted his presence."

Again, a muscle in Arcann's jaw twitched. He clearly had opinions on sharing a room with his mother; Zolah wondered how much coaching he'd received from the woman before attending this meeting. Senya was smart enough to have surmised the inevitable path it would lead to. She was a mother, protecting her son from people who would happily remove his head from his shoulders given half a chance.

"Fine," Fynta answered before anyone could offer another solution. Zolah saw the woman shutting down, anxious to get back to her husband. Fynta folded her arms and nodded towards Arcann. "Around the clock guard by trusted members of the alliance. Any of them turn up dead, and the hunt is back on. Now, on to more important things. What do we do about Vaylin?"

"My sister is a cornered predator," Arcann answered with a sigh. The young ruler snatched back the conversation with practiced ease. "Now that you've demonstrated her weakness, she will strike back."

Fynta nodded. "That's what I'm afraid of. We need to fortify our atmospheric defenses and find out more about this mystery man that Indo overheard Vaylin speaking with." A chill settled over the room, preceding the words that had to be spoken. "If she's found a way to break her conditioning, this galaxy is fucked."

Odessen Commander's Quarters 0300 Hours

When Jorgan opened his eyes, he knew the bed was empty before his fingers touched cool sheets. Fynta was gone again, likely in the gym or at the range, blowing off steam from the nightmares that she wouldn't admit to having. Jorgan ran a hand down his face to clear the last of the sleep from his eyes, then reached for his comm.

CONSTRUCTION WING.

Aric sighed, typed a thanks to Cormac, and rolled out of bed. They'd been back on Odessen for two weeks, and Fynta hadn't spent a full night in their quarters. She was on edge, fidgeting and restless. When Jorgan pushed for the cause, he received only vague quips and flirty gestures meant to distract him. They worked because he respected her privacy, but something would have to be done soon. Not even Fynta could carry on like this forever.

"She on a walkabout again?" Shillet yawned from the couch. Jorgan paused, looking toward his daughter with one shoe halfway on. Despite the room they'd created for her, Shillet preferred to sleep on the sofa more often than not. Black eyes blinked in the darkness. "That woman is going to run herself into the ground."

"Probably," Jorgan agreed. He tugged on the other shoe, then bent over his daughter to pull the blanket higher. "Don't follow her example. Go back to sleep and don't be late for school."

Shillet huffed and flopped over to present her back. Jorgan smiled at the comforting defiance of a teenager and ruffled her head tresses. "Love you, kid." He'd never been good at saying the words, but since Fynta's miraculous return from the dead, Aric made the effort.

Though not empty, the silence of the early morning pressed against Jorgan as he walked down the hall. He stepped lightly to keep his passage from echoing through the residential wing and used the time to work out what Fynta could be doing in the new construction zone. Only a few rooms had been hollowed out of the rock, smaller than the older ones due to the increased demand of new arrivals. While Jedi, Sith, and engineers worked nearly around the clock, recruits crowded into temporary barracks or lived on ships.

"Looking for the commander, sir?" Aric paused at a bend, surprised to find Lieutenant Lo walking towards him. The Twi'lek wore maintenance coveralls, coated in a thick layer of dust. Jorgan bit down the instinctive snarl and reminded himself that this man was not to blame for misunderstandings of the past.

As if sensing Jorgan's mood, Lo stopped a safe distance away and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "I saw her examining the scaffolding. We didn't speak, sir."

"Thanks," Jorgan managed in a gruff response. He wanted to sound more appreciative, but looking at the man who'd almost slept with his wife still stung. Almost, a weak voice reminded him, and it sounded a lot like Cormac. Swallowing his growl, Aric tipped his head. "I appreciate it." That was the best that he could do.

Lo gave a sharp nod and continued in the direction Jorgan had come from. Sighing, Aric set a quicker pace and took the next right into a room that had been designated as a play area for children. Or would be, one day. He remembered the meeting about its placement, deep enough in the mountain that they'd be protected from an aerial strike. Jorgan's stomach tightened, and he had the sudden urge to prioritize this room above the rest.

"You should be in bed." Fynta's voice bounced off the rough walls when Jorgan stepped into the room.

"So should you," Jorgan replied, stopping in the middle of the cavernous space. He rested his hands on his hips while scanning the shadows for his wife.

One of the dark figures tore free of the others, and Cormac lumbered into the harsh beams from the work lights. "Too right, boss." The big man clapped Jorgan on the shoulder with a yawn. "She's all yours. Night, Fynta."

"There was a day when you called me boss," the woman complained from somewhere above them. Jorgan only needed a few more words to pinpoint her position.

Cormac released a dry chuckle, followed by another yawn. "Only during business hours. I'm off the clock."

The creak of metal finally revealed Fynta's hiding spot, and Jorgan leveled her with a disapproving scowl. Laughing, Fynta leaned into the light. "That never ceases to impress me." She winked, and Aric felt better knowing that she was aiming for playful instead of obstinate tonight. "Sexy as hell, too."

"Don't try to flatter me." When it became clear that Fynta had no intention of descending, Jorgan sighed and searched for the best route to her. He settled on a ladder leaned against the far wall. Most likely, Fynta had scrambled up some complex lattice of durasteel waiting to be assembled into supports for the new room. He was old and tired.

By the time Jorgan drew level with his wife, Fynta wore a grin that made his heart skip a beat. "That's cheating."

Grunting, Aric pulled himself onto the scaffolding Fynta was seated on, then dusted his hands. "Someone once told me that it's not cheating if it accomplishes the goal."

"That sounds like lazy advice. Whatever happened to that person?" Fynta's voice eased into mischief, but her eyes were fixed on the floor below.

Jorgan bumped Fynta's shoulder. "I married her." She snorted, then sneezed and waved a hand in front of her face to clear the dust they'd stirred up. Aric felt the mood turn when Fynta sighed, so he asked the question that had plagued him for weeks. "What's going on?"

"The dreams are back." Fynta's brow furrowed. "I think. They feel different this time. I know they are there, even if I can't remember them."

Jorgan remained silent, surprised that Fynta had broken so easily after a lifetime prying answers from her. It was equally terrifying that she was so willing to talk, and for a moment he wished that she'd brushed him off. At least that was normal. This confession felt desperate.

"Something feels off in here." Fynta tapped against her chest twice. "I can't explain it. It's like, I'm tired, but not exactly. The world feels dull and cold. Kind of like the beginning of an illness without the relief of symptoms."

"Have you talked to anyone else about this? Lana or Kaeto?" Aric leaned his forearms on his thighs, legs swinging over the emptiness below them.

Fynta shook her head. "I think Kaeto senses it, but she hasn't said anything. Lana is distracted by the hunt for Vaylin. Vector commented on my aura at our last spar, but he said that it had changed, not dimmed." Fynta lurched forward, digging her fingers deep into her hair and squeezing until several locks slipped free of her braid. "I think I'm going insane, Aric."

Tentatively, Jorgan slipped an arm around his wife's shoulders. She relented, sagging against his side. He wanted to make a joke about being too stubborn to go crazy, or say something supportive that would remind her to keep fighting, but nothing came to mind. Instead, he pressed a kiss to Fynta's disheveled hair. "I'll be with you every step of the way."

Fynta's hand rested on Jorgan's thigh and she squeezed. "You remember what we talked about?"

Jorgan closed his eyes and nodded, unable to speak the words. No one truly believed that Valkorion had given up his hold on Fynta's mind. Each member of the war council had their part to play should he wrench control from her, though it was never spoken of. Fynta hadn't asked Aric to be a part of it, only to take Shillet and leave if he saw her slipping. While he appreciated that she'd spared him the agony of agreeing to kill her, the thought of abandoning her wasn't any easier. He'd done that once already, and it had nearly destroyed him.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Fynta sighed. "What time do you have to meet Aygo?"

"I don't." Jorgan let Fynta pull away, but took her hand in his. Anything to maintain that link with her. "Storms are rolling in around ten, so we postponed maneuvers for later this week."

"Good." Fynta retrieved her datapad and tapped out a message to Theron and Lana. She nodded at the device before slipping it back into the pocket on her thigh. "I'm taking the day off. I think you should too."

Jorgan leaned back on one hand and quirked a smile. "The whole day?" He saw the moment when Fynta remembered the briefing slotted for tomorrow afternoon about Vaylin's plans to leave Zakuul.

Cursing, Fynta amended her message to Theron and Lana, receiving a reply fast enough that Jorgan wondered if those two ever slept either. Tucking it away again, Fynta shoved to her feet, pulling Jorgan up behind her. "Correction, I'm taking half the day off, and so are you."

Odessen War Council 1700 Hours

"Everyone looks like shit," Theron observed, noting bags under eyes, frayed or greasy hair, and the overall mood of the room.

"Is that your professional opinion?" Zolah saw the same thing, but she was too polite to say it. Theron reconsidered. Maybe polite wasn't the right word, but he knew it had something to do with Imperial breeding. They tended to cut with backhanded compliments instead of just calling it for what it was.

Theron nodded and folded his arms. "Yeah, I think it is." The meeting had gone as expected, with arguments over tactics and whether to let Vaylin leave the safety of her lair or hit her before she could start her pilgrimage. They knew where she was going, but not where she was coming from, not exactly.

In the end, a strike team had been assembled to camp out around the moon that Vaylin was rumored to be hiding on. Hirani would fly the mission, and Fynta, Torian, Felix, Rusk, and Verin would accompany Lana to Nathama. After that, Fynta said they would figure it out. Theron sighed at the memory of the shit storm that had stirred up. He really hated that woman sometimes.

While Zolah finished her conversation with Quinn, Theron stepped into the War Room to check his data. His implants registered Fynta's proximity, but he didn't realize who stood with her until their hushed conversation pinged one of the many programs constantly running in the back of Theron's mind. Any spy worth his weight in Republic credits would have eavesdropped too. At least, that's what Theron told himself.

"I don't care." Jorgan's almost subsonic growl hurt Theron's ears, and he adjusted the volume.

Fynta sighed. "And what about Shillet?" Theron understood then. It was another argument about who should go and who should stay. No doubt they had one before every mission.

Theron would have dismissed the rest of the conversation, if not for Jorgan's rumbled reply. "That won't work this time. I'm going with you. Change the roster or sneak me aboard. I don't give a damn, but this is different. This is—"

"I know," Fynta snapped. Theron unconsciously took a step closer, then reminded himself that he was supposed to be a professional. Clearly, his skills were getting rusty.

Long silence followed, and Theron imagined the two hot headed commanders glaring at one another, sharing one of those silent conversations that Zolah and Vector had sometimes. Finally, Fynta sighed. "Alright. I'll let Theron know. You can have Rusk's spot, he's taken an interest in organizing the newest recruits anyway."

Aric didn't reply in any sense that Theron could hear, but Fynta let out a weak chuckle. The Cathar's footsteps started away, leaving Fynta where she stood. After a few moments of staring at the screen in his hands, Fynta's voice thundered in Theron's ear. "I take it you got all of that?"

Wincing, Theron lowered the volume more and turned to find Fynta's raised eyebrow not two feet behind him. The corner of her mouth twitched up despite the accusation on her face. Theron shrugged. "Habit."

Fynta waved a hand. "Whatever. It saves me the time of relaying the message. Just make the adjustments and let whoever needs to know in on it. I've got to pack."

Theron watched the woman walk away and wondered when she'd started looking so tired again. After Jorgan joined the alliance, life had flooded back into Fynta. Now, she carried herself like everyone else on the War Council. He supposed that meant that the honeymoon period was over, or maybe it was becoming a mother. Theron tried to put himself in Fynta's position and shivered.

"Ready to go home?" Zolah appeared by Theron's side, making him jump. He'd never get used to a partner who knew how to exploit the gaps in his sensors. The smile threatening at the edges of her lips was proof enough that she knew that too.

Sighing, Theron looped an arm around his lover and steered her towards the exit. "Where is Vector?" The man had been absent more times than not, lately. Theron assumed it had to do with an influx of new arrivals, but he hadn't put forth the effort of checking their rosters. There were too many other items vying for his attention to start peeking into elements that didn't concern him.

"He commed earlier that he'd be out tonight." Zolah patted Theron's stomach, smirking when he tightened his abs in preparation of a blow. "We've got the place to ourselves."

"Out?" A familiar dread clawed up Theron's spine. "All night?" Fynta's teasing about Vector and Quinn rattled around in the back of his skull, and Theron couldn't stop himself from looking back the way they'd come, knowing that the killik warrior wouldn't be there.

This time, the blow landed harder. "I'm trying to proposition you." Zolah blinked at Theron when he grunted. She lifted both eyebrows, waiting for him to catch on.

"Ah," Theron managed, then tucked one arm across his middle in case of another strike when her expression turned dark. "I mean, of course I knew that. I just—" He didn't know how to finish that sentence. Vector had been out three nights in the last week, returning with enough time to shower before hurrying out the door to complete his duties.

Zolah palmed open the door to their quarters. It was closer to the War Room than other residences, and was set up to accommodate three adults. The perks of being the first members of something that none of them dreamed would grow to the numbers the Alliance boasted now.

"Theron," Zolah purred when the door closed behind him. Her hands were cool against his skin, red eyes gleaming in the dim light of the many computer terminals in their sitting room. "Vector is not here, and I am. We have the apartment to ourselves. Now, are you going to fuck me or not?"

When put so eloquently, how could he resist?

The chrono flashed 2100 hours when Theron collapsed with a satisfied sigh. Sweat coated his body, and he hadn't mustered the strength to kick the tangled sheets from his legs. They sprawled on Zolah's bed, his head on her stomach while she toyed absently with his hair. As pleasantly fluid as Theron's muscles felt, Vector's absence still lingered in the back of his mind.

"Something wrong, lover?" Zolah's voice sounded breathy the way it always did after Theron had done his job well. He shook his head, unsure how to put the things he was thinking into words. Zolah's fingers tightened in his hair, tugging enough to make him look at her. "You used to be a better liar."

Pushing her hand away, Theron rolled onto his back with one arm behind his head. Zolah waited, watching him with the kind of patience reserved for Jedi and Imperial spies. "It's nothing." He winced the moment the words left his lips, knowing full well what her response would be.

As expected, Zolah shifted onto her knees to face Theron. To his surprise, her expression softened. It was then that Theron knew that she already suspected the source of his distraction. Blowing out a breath, he conceded. "Do you think Vector's happy with—" he waved a hand around the room "—you know."

Though Zolah's complexion hid any form of flush well, Theorn's implants picked up on the increased blood flow. He hoped his responding blush wasn't as evident, but knew otherwise when she bit the inside of her cheek. After controlling her amusement, Zolah answered. "Is this about Malavai?"

Theron wilted under the weight of Zolah's scrutiny and found a spot across the room to study. Not to be deterred, Zolah gripped his chin and pulled until he was looking into her eyes again. "We've discussed this, remember? None of us are bound to this union only."

It was probably meant to reassure Theron, but only made his stomach twist tighter. "So, you're not worried," Theron asked, his words jumbled by the way Zolah's fingers squeezed his lips. He didn't try to pull away. "I mean, that he's gotten bored with us?"

Theron saw the fatigue in Zolah's face, the frustration that he still didn't trust them. He couldn't help it. Theron grew up in a world where if one was no longer useful, they were discarded. It had been nearly five years since Zolah and Theron began their strange relationship, only one since he'd let Vector in. That culminated in the longest commitment that he'd ever have. Not counting Fynta, of course, but then he rarely did. While Theron had dragged his feet in accepting Zolah and Vector's request for him to stay with them, the thought of losing what they had terrified him.

Taking his hand, Zolah smiled. "Vector loves us." Her tone was softer than Theron had ever heard it, and her cool fingers in his steadied the panic threatening to consume him. Blue lips pulled into the sort of smile reserved only for him and Vector. "I've never met a man with so much room in his heart. He isn't seeking a replacement, Darling. Malavai is handsome, wickedly clever, and terribly alone."

Theron sighed, finally breaking eye contact with his lover. Zolah didn't pull him back, but she continued speaking. "He wants you to stay with us, Theron. As do I. Vector and I are fully committed to what we've built here, and Malavai Quinn doesn't change that. You will never be replaceable."

Those words shouldn't have hit Theron like a hammer blow. He shouldn't still need that validation, but he did. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Theron offered a crooked smile. "I've still got a lot to learn about how this all works." Zolah chuckled and curled against his side.

Theron resolved to let the matter go, for now. He hugged Zolah closer and blew out a breath as if it could take the insecurity with it. "Yeah, okay. I trust you. And, I trust Vector."

Zolah scraped her nails across Theron's torso while she wrapped him in her arms. "If you have any doubts, greet Vector with a kiss when he comes home and see if he thinks you're boring. I guarantee you won't be disappointed."

Despite being spent from his tussle with Zolah, a pleasant chill ran down Theron's spine to settle in his belly. "You know what, I might just do that."

#blood in the breeze #meet me on the battlefield #fynta wolfe #aric jorgan #theron shan #zolah holran #lana beniko #arcann tirall #senya tirall

[cinlat]

So, I’ve been writing again. I’ve decided that I want to finish Blood in the Breeze. It won’t get the same “professional” style editing as my last two books, but it’ll be finished and that’s more important to me right now. So, have a peek at some of the 1700 words I wrote tonight for chapter 15.

“Everyone looks like shit.” Theron noted the bags under multiple sets of eyes, frayed or greasy hair, not to mention the overall mood of the room.

“Is that your professional opinion?” Zolah saw the same thing, but she was too polite to say it. Theron reconsidered. Maybe polite wasn’t the right word, but he knew it had something to do with Imperial breeding. They tended to cut with backhanded compliments instead of just calling it for what it was. 

Theron nodded. “Yeah, I think it is.” The meeting had gone as expected, with arguments over tactics and whether to let Vaylin leave the safety of her lair or hit her before she could start her pilgrimage. They knew where she was going, but not where she was coming from, not exactly, at least.

In the end, a strike team had been assembled to camp out around the moon Vaylin was rumored to be hiding on. Hirani would fly the mission, and Fynta, Torian, Felix, Rusk, and Verin, of all people, would be accompanying Lana to Nathama. After that, Fynta said they would figure it out. Theron sighed at the memory. He really hated that woman sometimes.

#wip whenever #blood in the breeze #theron shan #zolah holran #progress is being made #it's been so long since I've written anything of consequence #I'm actually excited to work on this again #thank you all for your patience

[cinlat]

Blood in the Breeze: Ch 5 (Betrayals)

Parts one and two of this series linked.

Summary: Fynta learns that Dromund Kaas is a creepy planet. Theron experiences a truly, furious Cathar and decides that he’d rather stay on Jorgan’s good side. Torian isn’t used to being caught off guard, but can’t seem to keep up with how often Fynta dies, oh, and he should probably stop betting against Verin.

Chapter Word Count: 6,057   Chapter Rating: T Characters in Chapter: Empress Acina, Fynta Wolfe, Aric Jorgan, Theron Shan, Lana Beniko, Torian Cadera, former Republic Chancellor Saresh, Zolah Holran, Vector Hyllus, and guest appearance by @kunoichi-ume​ Noara Starspark

The Thunderclap En route to Odessen

Theron didn’t usually follow Fynta to her room, but with Aric returning to their quarters with a headache and the meeting with Acina having gone to shit, he had pulled Fynta away to touch base on matters. Namely, how they planned to handle Saresh once they reached Odessen. 

“You can’t shoot on sight, Fynta,” Theron called to the stubborn woman ahead of him. Fynta had gotten fed up with the impromptu meeting and announced that she was going to take a nap. However, Theron wasn’t done arguing. “It’ll destroy morale for the Alliance to see their commander—” 

Something shattered against the wall, halting both Fynta and Theron for a heartbeat outside her door. She moved first, rushing open it while Theron readied his blaster even though he knew that they were alone on the ship. Only Lana had traveled with them, and she was piloting.

Stepping in, Theron swept the room for hostiles before settling on a haggard looking Cathar beside the rumpled bed. It didn’t take long to identify the source of the sound. A lamp lay against the wall, broken into three pieces with the bolts that had held it to the desk still clinging to pits of wood and metal shaving.

“Aric?” Fynta hurried to her husband, cupping his face to check for injuries. Theron hadn’t gotten used to seeing the Cathar with his rough eye patch yet. It made him look more feral than usual, unhinged even. The snarl that he answered Fynta with only solidified that image.

“Did you know?” Jorgan growled the words, teeth dangerously close to Fynta’s throat. Theron would never get used to that, either. He’d always thought Fynta was the more dangerous of the two, but the hatred in that pale, blue eye made Theron question his earlier assumption.

Find the entire chapter on Ao3 or FFN.

#blood in the breeze #series: meet me on the battlefield #fynta wolfe #aric jorgan #theron shan #lana beniko #empress acina #zolah holran #vector hyllus #acina is amused #jorgan gets mad #theron learns a lesson #saresh gets punched

[cinlat]

Blood in the Breeze: Ch 4 (Abandoning Old Ways)

Parts one and two of this series linked.

Summary: Zolah tries to come to grips with her new position in life. Fynta and Acina take a detour through the jungle. And, Jorgan loses his cool, while Theron and Lana play spy.

Chapter Word Count: 3,838 Chapter Rating: T Characters in Chapter: Zolah Holran, Vector Hyllus, Darth Nox, Fynta Wolfe, Empress Acina, Aric Jorgan, Theron Shan, Lana Beniko.

Dromund Kaas Upper Jungle Expanse

Fynta dragged herself off of the ground with a curse. The sodden earth squelched beneath her hands and feet, raising memories that she never let fully solidify. “Acina?” Fynta coughed on the acrid stench of burning wires and thermaplast casings, blinked through the trail of smoke in search of her companion.

“Here.” The Empress stood not four meters away, arms crossed over her chest. Acina’s scowl spoke more of disapproval than Sith wrath while she gazed on the swath of destroyed jungle that her shuttle had left. Fynta staggered towards the older woman, mentally ticking off muscles that would be stiff tomorrow. Thankfully, nothing felt seriously damaged. 

When Fynta stopped, the Empress sighed. “I spent nearly two hundred thousand credits on that thing.” Orange shadows danced in the distance, casting demons that stretched towards them. 

Fynta shook the mental image away. “Was it insured?” A spark ignited somewhere within and created another small explosion that died in the heavy air.

“Of course.” Acina’s tone carried the weight of a lifetime of assassination attempts, enough that something as insignificant as shuttle sabotage barely ranked more than a huff of irritation. “But, I really liked that one.” 

When Acina turned, her amber eyes caught on something above Fynta’s head. With a click of her tongue, she picked a twig with little red berries still attached out of Fynta’s hair. “Are you hale and whole?”

Fynta flexed her shoulder, noting the grind but nothing suggested that it had popped out of socket again. “More or less. Hell of a tour you offer.” Aric’s going to kill me. The thought skittered through the back of her mind now that the adrenaline from the crash was beginning to wear off.

Acina tossed the branch away. “I thought you might enjoy the more rugged view.” Acina’s tone was drier than the Tatooine desert, but Fynta laughed anyway. Two shuttles downed in almost as many days left her with the notion that she was either the luckiest woman in the galaxy or cursed by some bored god. The thought made Fynta laugh harder.

“You are a strange one,” Acina commented, brow furrowed in that way Lana had when she was trying to get into Fynta’s head. That had bothered Fynta once, until she realized that she no longer had any secrets worth keeping. If someone wanted to root around in the dark recesses of Fynta’s minds, she hoped they were made of sturdy stuff.

Fynta winked at the empress, then tried her comm. She wished that she could be surprised when static answered, but that seemed to be the way things went lately. “Aric is going to kill me,” she mumbled. Saying it out loud didn’t make it feel like any less of a disaster.

Find the entire chapter on Ao3 or FFN.

#blood in the breeze #fynta wolfe #theron shan #lana beniko #aric jorgan #empress acina #vector hyllus #zolah holran #darth nox/solish rasik #getting lost in the jungle #but not in a fun way

[cinlat]

Sneak Peek Sunday

It’s becoming more difficult to find peeks that aren’t spoilers. So have this fun little altercation between the Alliance power houses.

Blue eyes narrowed, and the commander stepped in. “Theron?”

Zolah lifted one noncommittal shoulder. “He might have mentioned it.” Finishing her task, she tucked the datapad out of the way. “You should recycle the passcodes on the Thunderclap more often. It was far too easy to break into.”

Rage colored Fynta’s cheeks an interesting shade of red. She pointed at Zolah, half a breath away from jabbing the accusing finger into her chest. “If you think disabling my ship will stop us--”

“Nonsense.” Zolah waved the threat away with the same casualness that Vector had dismissed Elara’s debt. Fynta’s mouth dropped open, then snapped shut as suspicion took over. Zolah offered her sweetest smile. “Where is the major?”

“You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.” Fynta’s adolescent response was delivered exactly as expected.

Zolah hummed an amused sound that didn’t make it to a chuckle. “Vector is currently performing preflight checks on your ship. I imagine you husband has discovered this by now, or soon will. It wouldn’t do for us to miss our floor.”

Fynta spun towards the controls to find that a destination hadn’t been selected. They were coasting the elevator shaft, waiting for someone to make a choice for them. With a mumbled curse, Fynta smashed the ball of her hand against the hangar bay she desired and they continued the trip in silence.

So, this should be fun. Trapping Zolah and Fynta on a ship together is totally a good idea. What could go wrong?

#sneak peek sunday #what could go wrong #fynta wolfe #zolah holran

[cinlat]

Sneak Peek Sunday

So, I’ve started editing the first few chapters of Blood in the Breeze and amuse myself endlessly with the way Zolah’s mind works. I often forget how much I adore my cynical little Cipher Nine.

Elara sighed, rubbing her temples to relieve whatever stress she could before squaring her shoulders. “I must speak to Jorgan before the end of the week. Please relay my message, Mr. Hyllus. I will be in your debt.”

“Nonsense.” Vector waved a hand, throwing away what Zolah considered to be an unbelievable opportunity. Elara was inside the Republic blockade. The amount of information she could provide the Alliance, and perhaps later, the Empire, was astounding. Better yet, she worked personally with Jace Malcom. Though a woman with her breeding might be insusceptible to blackmail, honor could be used against her.

“You have my thanks,” Elara answered, posture relaxing marginally. Zolah doubted a less critical eye would have noticed. “If you happen across Balic, please tell him that I called.” 

Zolah heard the disappointment in the woman’s voice, but took no pleasure in it. Of all the members of Havoc Squad, Balic Cormac was the least unlikable. He stayed out of the way, displayed table manners, and didn’t snarl or drink himself into a stupor. Zolah sighed at how far her standards had fallen.

I plan to begin posting....soon-ish. These will probably come as bi-monthly chapters (possibly more) because I’m trying to write a book (again), and life is just busy. Hope you enjoy, though!

#sneak peek sunday #blood in the breeze #there's a lot going on #this story starts with a punch and I want to get it write #zolah holran #vector hyllus #elara dorne

[cinlat]

OC Kiss Week 2020: Day 3 (Theron/Zolah/Vector)

Sadly, I have no kiss pictures for any of them, much less where they are all together. The Theron romance bugged when I went back through with Zolah on the expansions and wouldn’t let me play it again. Maybe one day I’ll run her through the story again since I never expected any of them to become such major characters. For now, have them standing around being cute.

Day One (Balic/Elara) • Day Two (Fynta/Jorgan)

Prompt: Rest Word Count: 764 (these are steadily becoming less micro. oops)

Theron woke to a foul taste in his mouth. It was evidence of his poor lifestyle choices that he could identify the exact brand of narcotic used to incapacitate him. His head flopped to one side, suspicions confirmed at the sight of a familiar and naked, blue back. He’d been warned that this would happen, they both had.

“We see you are awake.” Vector stood at the door, two mugs of what Theron hoped was caf in his hands and fresh clothing draped over one arm. He looked like a butler coming to rouse his obstinate wards from bed after a long night of partying. 

Pushing himself up on wobbly arms, Theron blew air through his lips. “You drugged us.” It wasn't a question. Theron smacked his lips and frowned. "Where'd you get--"

Vector tisked, a strange clicking that only a killik joiner could manage. “You two left us with no choice.”

Theron chuckled, letting his question die and unable to find it within himself to be annoyed. Vector had given him and Zolah three weeks to request a leave of absence or he would take matters into his own hands. Both spies had called his bluff. Lesson learned. 

Vector leaned down to offer Theron a mug and placed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “It was a small dose, only enough to ensure we could move you aboard the ship without resistance. You’ve been asleep no more than an hour.”

Theron grinned, impressed that Vector had not only managed to drug two of their government’s best spies, but then move them, launch the ship, and have everything prepared to stave off a hangover when they woke. "An hour, that's all?" It really was too easy to underestimate the sedate man.

“What about her?” Theron asked with a nod towards Zolah's still unconscious form while sipping his caf. It was perfect, just the way he liked it. Of course, it was.

“We had to give her a larger dose,” Vector admitted, moving to his wife’s side and waving the caf beneath her nose. Theron felt offended that he was easier to incapacitate that a tiny woman like Zolah. Then again, her implants were more sophisticated, leading to more blood scrubbers. He'd judge it as a score for the Empire's technical superiority more than his failing. That took the bitter taste of inadequacy from his mouth.

Zolah snorted, coming awake all at once instead of gradually as Theron had. She sat up, blanket falling from her naked body and snatched the mug from Vector. Theron’s brows rose as she proceeded to down half the cup's contents, heedless of the heat.

When Zolah lowered the cup with a shiver, her red eyes settled on Vector in that silent way the two had of communicating that made Theron feel like the third wheel. “Damn you,” she growled, but the corners of her lips twitched up. “I should never have shown you that trick.”

“You knew that we would only use it in times of great need,” Vector replied with a wave of his hand. Zolah laughed. That sounded like a story that Theron needed to know more about. 

“Well,” Zolah purred, bending her knees to prop thin forearms on them. “You’ve taken us hostage, whatever will become of us?”

Vector’s black eyes slid first over his wife, then traveled conspiratorially over the rumpled sheets to where Theron’s bare leg peeked from beneath the sheet. “We have a few ideas.” He leaned forward to kiss Zolah with a lot more passion than he’d offered Theron. Of course, Theron hadn’t had caf yet.

Any doubts that might have started forming about Theron’s invitation to join vanished when Vector’s hand slid beneath the blanket to rest on his thigh. When the joiner pulled back, it was with a satisfied smirk. “We’ve prepared a day of rest. You’ll both be released to your duties after a solar rotation. Wait here while we fetch a proper meal from the galley.” 

Pulling out of Zolah's grasp, Vector started for the kitchenette. Not before shucking his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair first. There was a promise in that action. After he'd seen to their health, Vector intended to ensure they wouldn't try to sneak off the ship. Theron looked forward to that.

Theron leaned back in the bed, fingers meshed behind his head as Zolah curled against him. “Best hostage situation I’ve ever woken up to.”

Zolah hummed in response, and he felt her cheek move against his chest. “Yes. We should return the favor sometime. I’ll bring the handcuffs.”

#cinlat drabbles #ockiss20 #theron shan #zolah holran #vector hyllus #ot3: zolah/vector/theron #extreme care giving #he warned them #never bluff the dawn herald

[cinlat]

SWtOR Drabble: Final Layover

This was a request from @dimigex for the Kiss Prompts List.

“I want 70 with Theron and Zolah” Starting With A Kiss Meant To Be Gentle, Ending Up In Passion.

Word Count: 708

The Outer Rim Twenty-eight hours Since Invitation to Join the Alliance

Everything hurt. Things that he could have gone his entire life without knowing existed ached. In hindsight, he’d brought the pain on himself. Smuggling a human off Coruscant to meet Imperial spies in a cargo freighter was bound to come with a certain amount of discomfort. Theron made a mental note to charter a luxury yacht next time he ran out on his government, a position he found himself in a lot more than he liked.

Knuckling his back, Theron checked his wrist chrono to see how much longer he’d have to wait in the seedy cantina on a backwater world before moving on to the next objective. Zolah was nothing if not meticulous. This was the second stop in a long list of layovers on his journey to join the rebellion.

Theron reached for his watered down beer only to realize that it wasn’t there. Every alarm rang that he’d been compromised. Theron started to scoot from the seat when the beer plunked onto the table in front of him from nothing. It took half a breath to realize what had happened. “Clever.”

“I thought so.” The sultry, heavily accented voice preceded a shimmer that resolved into Zolah Holran, the woman Theron had crossed a galaxy to meet. The Chiss agent he’d spent a large part of his career trying the thwart, then too short a time falling for.

The last time they’d been physically in the same space, Theron had seen stars. Then, he’d blown the who thing by letting her real name slip. Zolah had run, leaving him to question every life choice that had led him into her arms. He hoped to avoid a repeat. This time, his work relationship with Zolah and her husband would remain professional. He could do this.

Theron picked up the drink and took a gulp just to prove to Zolah that she couldn’t rattle him, maybe more to himself. “Does this mean that I don’t have to make the last two stops?”

“Oh no,” Zolah grinned. “We’ll just be making them together.”

Lifting his boot, Theron tapped the booth next to Zolah, then did the same with his hand on his side. Nothing. “Where is Vector?”

Zolah slid from the booth to join Theron with a seductive sigh. “He sends his regards but was called away on other business. It’s just the two of us now.” Her red eyes drew Theron in, making it impossible to resist the urge to run his knuckles down the soft, blue contours of her cheek.

“I’ve missed you,” Zolah breathed, leaning forward but stopping short of a kiss. “It was a mistake to part the way we did. One of the few things in my life that I have truly regretted.”

Theron’s chest squeezed uncomfortably at those whispered words. He wanted to reply in kind, but that had never been his strength. Theron closed the distance between them and pressed a tender, almost chaste kiss to Zolah’s perfect lips. She responded with equal pressure, both lost in that unsure place between desire and fear.

The space between them shrank to nothing until Zolah was nearly sitting in Theron’s lap. He sucked in a breath. “Am I forgiven?” He’d promised through Vector to never use her name again, not without express permission.

“Shut Up.” Zolah crushed their mouths together, lips insistent instead of sweet, and fingers tangled in his hair.

Theron groaned, tipping his head back so that Zolah could reach his pulse point. “Tell me we aren’t taking public transportation.” He didn’t need a bed, just some privacy. The stolen glances from other patrons forced reality back into the main focus. “We’re drawing a crowd.”

Zolah sat back with a laugh. The real kind that Theron knew only a few people in the galaxy had been gifted with. Straightening her shirt and fluffing her hair, Zolah climbed off of Theron to stand by the booth. “Agent Shan,” she tisked. “As if I would ever travel public.”

“Thank the Force.” Theron was out of the booth and tossing credits onto the table before he could second guess himself. He’d waited too long for this reunion, and nothing was going to get in the way this time, including his mouth. Unless she asked nicely.

#cinlat answers #unofficial ask #theron shan #zolah holran #imperial agent #disaster spy #kiss prompt #thanks for the ask! #ao3 series: odessen files

[cinlat]

Chapters: 34/34 (WORK COMPLETE) Fandom: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic Rating: Mature Relationships: Aric Jorgan/Female Republic Trooper, Imperial Agent | Cipher Nine/Theron Shan, Vector Hyllus/Imperial Agent | Cipher Nine, Lana Beniko/Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Female Smuggler/Koth Vortena, Elara Dorne/Male Republic Trooper, Female Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython/Male Sith Warrior Series: Part 4 of Meet Me On The Battlefield Word Count: Total (167,997) Chapter (7,139)

Summary: Arcann has been forced into hiding, and life moves on for Fynta and the Alliance. There are still trials ahead, but the galaxy takes a moment to breathe in the lull before Vaylin takes control.

A/N: Thank you, everyone, for reading along and following Fynta's story. You have no idea how much I've appreciated the kudos, comments, and messages over the last year of writing this story.

Odessen Medical Ward

There were few sounds that Fynta hated more than the drone of medical equipment. Judging by the pain radiating through her body, she assumed those infuriating beeps were for her. "I think she's coming around." The voice was almost familiar, like something out of a dream. Fynta wished it would shut up so that she could go back to sleep.

"Can you get me closer without hurting yourself?" The severe, Imperial accent jarred Fynta's memory.

Fynta's eyes snapped open when the fog of medication cleared enough to recognize voices that made her heart leap. Balic Cormac grinned from the bed to Fynta's left. "Hey, bunkmate, about time you woke up." Fynta's throat tightened. In his hand, stood Elara Dorne in muted blues.

Slowly, Cormac swung long legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring his wife's tittering about not straining himself. He set the holo on the table by Fynta's head and rolled a doctor's stool over to sit next to her. She cringed at how slow the man's movements were.

"You had us worried," Cormac continued, grunting when he settled into a comfortable position. Tears gleamed in his large, dark eyes. "When they rolled your bed next to mine, I thought we'd lost you again."

When Fynta didn't speak, worry creased Cormac's brow. "You do remember me, right?"

The fear in Cormac's voice snapped Fynta out of her stupor. "Mir'sheb," she croaked, lifting her arms to embrace him. One of the fluid lines snagged on the bed, and Elara fussed at Fynta from the bedside table. But, She didn't care.

Cormac gently pushed Fynta's arms down and took one of her hands into both of his. She marveled at the irony of their reversed positions until he kissed her knuckles. Fynta watched Balic's face as he pressed her hand to his heart, fingers tight while tears streamed down his cheeks. "I missed you, boss. You have no idea how much."

Fynta chewed the inside of her lip to avoid surrendering to the same emotions. Knowing that Cormac was alive and well made her eyes burn with thankful tears. When she'd left, they weren't sure if he'd ever regain consciousness. Now, he was holding her hand and telling her to get better soon like he hadn't just been near death's door.

Elara waited in prim silence, ever the patient friend. "When can you join us?" Fynta hadn't intended to ask the other woman that question, but she desperately wanted her family back together.

Wiping at her eyes, Elara cleared her throat. "It's more complicated with the children, but I have something in the works. I can't discuss it over an open line." Fynta nodded. No matter how much she wanted to hurry it along, Fynta knew that she shouldn't press.

"I told you." Fynta's head snapped towards the open door to find Jorgan with a cup of caf. "The minute I leave, she wakes up. Damn woman." His snarled baritone made Fynta grin.

Aric removed a rumpled pillow and blanket from the chair on the opposite side of Fynta's bed, then placed his cup on the table. He took her free hand. "How do you feel?"

"Like a ship exploded around me. Again." Fynta tried to reposition herself, then winced as pain shot up her spine. With a sudden panic, Fynta looked to her left leg still hidden beneath the thin blanket. She couldn't make her hands move to check.

"Still there," Aric assured, patting the prosthetic gently. "Arcann banged you up, but you still have all of your parts intact. It's going to take a couple of weeks of kolto dips to get over this one. The doctor wants to know how you tore so many ligaments in your forearm without cutting it off. Told him I'd ask." One bony brow lifted in expectation. Fynta decided a silent shrug was safer than admitting to grabbing a maniac's lightsaber.

Though not thrilled about the prospect of more time in the medcenter, Fynta couldn't bring herself to ruin the moment of peace by complaining. "Verin said to call him when you wake up, and that he's tired of saying that," Jorgan continued with a wry smirk. "Also, Shillet wants to talk to you as soon as you feel up to it."

"I'll inform the children when they return home," Elara interjected from the side table. "I've begun picking Shillet up from school in the afternoons so that she can sleep here."

Aric's jaw tightened at what Elara left unsaid. His daughter's situation had destabilized, and there was nothing he could do about it from across the galaxy. "Thank you," Aric replied, voice deepened by inner turmoil. "Please have her call as soon as she gets in."

Fynta squeezed Aric's hand to let him know that he didn't have to go through this alone. "I will, sir," Elara answered with a stiff nod. "Unfortunately, I must go, I've spent too long on the line as it is." Her attention switched to Cormac, and Fynta felt the need to look away and give them as much privacy as possible. "I love you, Balic. Do as your doctor says, and I'll contact you as soon as I can."

"Love you, too, doll." Fynta winced at the sadness in Cormac's smile. "I'll be a model patient. Tell my boy that I'll see him soon."

With one last nod, Elara cut the signal. Fynta looked between the men at her bedside, each struggling with the separation from a child and family, but here for her. "We'll get her out, Cormac," Fynta decided. "I'll get Theron on it immediately." Fynta didn't understand everything that kept Elara in the Republic, but she knew it had to do with technology. Surely with all of the brilliant scientists on the base, they could figure something out.

Read more on Ao3 or FFN.

#heart on a trigger #swtor #swtor fanfiction #kotfe #fynta wolfe #aric jorgan #balic cormac #elara dorne #verin ejnar #lana beniko #theron shan #zolah holran #vector hyllus #ot3: zolah/vector/theron #valkorion #THE END!!! #or at least until next time #be on the look out for Blood in the Breeze

[cinlat]

Fictober19: Day 19

Prompt: “Yes, I admit it, you were right.” Word Count: 512 Characters: Theron Shan/Zolah Holran Story/series: Odessen Files Fandom: swtor OMG, I can’t believe that I don’t have a single screenshot of Theron and Zolah together....I should fix that.

Odessen Main Base Residential Wing

Theron strode into the room with datapad in one hand and a cup of caf in the other. He missed the stuff that Vector made, but was forced to settle for mess hall swill while the man was on Alderaan. A flash of blue out of the corner of Theron’s eye made him pause inside the threshold of his room and take two steps back. “Zolah?”

The Chiss hissed from where she huddled beneath a blanket, one eye closed while the other focused on the screen of her datapad. “You...okay?” Theron clicked off his device and walked to the sofa when her datapad flopped into her lap.

Theron settled on the edge of the sofa to rub Zolah’s leg. “What’s wrong?” Blue fingertips pressed into her eyelids in that tell tale way that he recognized. “Come on.”

Zolah only grumbled a little when Theron slid the device off her lap and set it on the table. “You need a massage and hot shower.” It was a little known fact that Zolah’s implants triggered migraines when overworked. She wouldn’t tell Theron the details, but hers did a lot more than they were meant to.

“I’ll be fine, Theron,” Zolah complained as he hauled her upright and pulled her shirt up. “You shouldn’t fuss.”

Theron noted that Zolah didn’t try to stop him, despite her assurances that she didn’t need his help. “While Vector is gone, it’s my job to take care of you.” He unclasped Zolah’s bra and tossed it to the side before starting on her trousers. “Don’t argue.”

Zolah sighed, then winced. Theron finished undressing his lover, wondering when doing so had become an act of care instead of for more carnal reasons. Pulling her into the fresher, he started the water, turning it higher than a human would find comfortable, before retrieving the still squinting Chiss to drag her in. “You get in, and I’ll find some pain tabs.”

Theron left the light off, cracking the door to let in just enough light for her to see by. It took him ten minutes to talk one of the physicians into released the medication without a legitimate reason. Theron supposed he could have said that he was fetching them for Fynta, but then she’d want to know why and Zolah was adamant that no one should know.

When he returned, the water was still on and steam rolled out of the shower. “Hey, got the goods,” Theron called. “Want them in there, or when you get out?”

The water switched off, and Zolah stepped out with a towel wrapped around her. “I’ll take them now, thanks.”

“Feeling any better?” Theron asked, offering her a cup of water to go with them. “Did the shower help?”

Zolah tipped her head back to down the tabs, then sighed. “Alright, yes, I admit it.” Theron grinned, waving a hand for her to continue with the ‘you were right’ part, as she pulled on her pajamas.

With a pat to his chest, Zolah offered a weak smile while climbing into bed. “Goodnight, lover.”

#cinlat drabbles #fictober19 #swtor fanfiction #theron shan #zolah holran #19 #series: meet me on the battlefield #story: odessen files

[cinlat]

Zolah’hes’naru Zolah Holran. Chiss. Cipher Nine. Workaholic. Poly. Perfectionist. Sniper. Alliance Adviser. Wife. Lover. Oddly Patient When it Comes to Her Boys.

#character chaos #zolah holran #ot3: zolah/vector/theron #chiss #imperial agent #cipher nine #vector hyllus #theron shan

[cinlat]

Chapters: 33/34 Fandom: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic Rating: Mature Relationships: Aric Jorgan/Female Republic Trooper, Imperial Agent | Cipher Nine/Theron Shan, Vector Hyllus/Imperial Agent | Cipher Nine, Lana Beniko/Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Female Smuggler/Koth Vortena, Elara Dorne/Male Republic Trooper, Female Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython/Male Sith Warrior Series: Part 4 of Meet Me On The Battlefield Word Count: Total (161,258) Chapter (9,021)

Summary: Fynta deals with regrets. Jorgan overcomes his fears. Theron is an idiot. Cormac finally rejoins the story. And, The final fight with Arcann.

Odessen Commander's Quarters One Hour until Assault

Jorgan's heart pounded as he reached for his chest plate. Fynta stood on the opposite side of the bed fully armored, checking her Verpine. Anticipation radiated from her in a predatory wave that he remembered from Rakton. Fynta had lost her leg that day, and Aric almost lost her.

Turning away, Jorgan took a subtle breath and flexed his fingers to still the nervous energy coursing through his body. He hadn't worn his armor since the Spire and had even considered replacing it. But that felt like a more of a betrayal than Jorgan could stomach.

Jorgan cursed as he fumbled with the seals on his chestplate again. Steady hands slid around him from behind to pull the plates apart. Looking over his shoulder, Jorgan realized that Fynta's upper armor had been removed too. She turned him, then pressed against his chest. "I won't blame you if you'd rather defend the base," she whispered. Eyes closed, Jorgan wrapped Fynta in a crushing embrace. He allowed the heat of her body to soothe his nerves and focused on the steady beat of her heart.

Jorgan had almost volunteered to stay behind. In a moment of panic, he'd imagined all of the ways that he could get Fynta killed. The words had been there, barely caged behind his clenched teeth. When their eyes had met across the holotable, Jorgan recognized the understanding in the lowering of Fynta's brows. She'd seen past his facade, nodded, then turned to Torian to discuss the point of entry. Jaw tight, Jorgan realized that he couldn't stay behind. If Fynta was rushing to her death, then he planned to be with her every step of the way. No matter the outcome, Aric wouldn't come back without his wife.

"No." To Jorgan's relief, his voice sounded steady. Pulling back to kiss Fynta's forehead, he met her gaze. "You fight, I fight."

"What about Shillet?" Fynta asked.

Jorgan swallowed and pressed his face into Fynta's braids. "She's in good hands," he replied, though his heart wasn't in it. In truth, Shillet would be furious if he didn't come back for her. She'd never forgive him. "Elara is as close to a mother as she's ever known."

Fynta didn't press the issue, simply kissed Aric's chin and stepped out of the safety of his arms. Without a word, she lifted his plates and secured them. "We should get you some beskar," Fynta commented, patting the armor before securing her own. Jorgan wondered if his comment about Elara wounded Fynta, then disregarded it. He couldn't keep approaching her like the skittish woman he'd met in the swamp. Fynta was his wife; she knew what he meant.

With kit packed, Jorgan followed Fynta through the bustling hallways that led to the main hangar. Soldiers and technicians dodged around each other, shouting suggestions and naming safe zones for children and civilians to retreat to. Despite the apparent chaos, Jorgan knew that the art of moving non-combatants and supplies to safety was a well choreographed dance. He wished that he felt a fraction of the confidence they exuded.

Fynta stopped at the foot of the ramp leading into their shuttle, then turned and lowered her voice. "Are you sure about this, riduur?" Her gaze flicked to Torian, who marched past without acknowledging them. Jorgan appreciated that the Mandalorian recognized the intimacy of their conversation and didn't interrupt. Once he'd passed, she continued. "No one will think less of you for working command."

Reaching out, Jorgan pushed Fynta's bangs from her eyes. She was overdue for a trim, and that thought induced a manic bout of glee. "I would," he answered with a laugh that didn't fit their conversation. Lifting her chin, he placed a gentle kiss to her lips. "It took an empire to separate us last time. I'm not taking that chance again."

Fynta gave a curt nod, but the curve at the corner of her mouth assured Aric that he'd made the right choice. Spinning on her heel, Fynta marched up the ramp and vanished into the ship. Jorgan took a deep breath, then followed.

#heart on a trigger #swtor #swtor fanfiction #kotfe #fynta wolfe #aric jorgan #yuun #balic cormac #theron shan #zolah holran #koth vortena #arcann #lana beniko #the final battle #only one chapter left