V — i remember her hands, and the way the mountains looked.
Synopsis: In which the Sullys approach the mountain clan for sanctuary. The Olo'eykte agrees but proposes one condition: Toruk Makto's eldest son must be promised to her daughter. Surprisingly, instead of the solemn response one would expect, Neteyam agrees almost instantaneously.
Tags: Female! Mountain Na'vi! Reader, Arranged Marriage, Strangers to Lovers, Neteyam is whipped, Fighting, Mentions of blood, Mentions of Injuries, Graphic Violence and Wounds, Suggestive, It gets steamy at the end!
Word Count: 11k | AO3 LINK
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Weaving the thread under a loop, Neteyam meticulously fastened the neckpiece off and then carefully cut the excess string with his blade. As he held it up to the light, giving it an experimental stretch, the embedded crystals and gems sparkled and glinted beneath the warm honeyed glow of the rising sun, creating a mesmerizing dance of colors.
"Do you think she will like it?" Neteyam asked for what seemed like the hundredth time, his fingers still fiddling around with his work, and his eyes micro-analyzing every stitch and bead.
With a groan, Lo'ak ran a hand down his face.
Exasperated, he turned to Neteyam. "How many times are you going to ask me that? Did you not hear my answer last time? It looks fine."
Ignoring his brother, Neteyam stayed focused on the neckpiece.
"What if she doesn't appreciate Omatikayan weaving?" Neteyam bit his lip, a rugged hand nervously tugging at his braids. "I should have asked her opinion on it… What if these gems aren't the right color for her?"
"Bro, calm down," Lo'ak said, shaking his head. He reached over to gently grab the woven necklace away from Neteyam's fiddling hands, holding it up to examine the intricate detailing more closely.
Neteyam had dedicated the past three months to creating this special gift, pouring his heart and soul into every thread and gemstone. The pattern he had chosen was one only the most skilled weavers of their clan attempted, and Neteyam had executed it flawlessly.
There was not a single sign of a mistake, and the weaving flowed seamlessly, like a river meandering through a pristine forest. The beads adorned the piece like shimmering stars against the sky, their brilliance accentuated by Neteyam's careful polishing. Even to Lo'ak's untrained eye, he could recognize the skill and effort poured into the creation.
"Golden boy and his perfect weaving," Lo'ak whistled, smirking when Neteyam grumbled under his breath from the nickname.
Carefully, he handed the woven neckpiece back to his older brother. "Don't worry. She'll love it."
"Love what?"
As the silhouette of their father loomed over the hut, Neteyam glanced up, surprised by the unexpected visit. Jake stepped into the hut, parting the curtains to the side, and the warm light from the rising sun spilled into the room, casting a comforting glow over their faces.
"Father," Neteyam greeted with respect, setting aside the neckpiece.
"Neteyam," Jake replied warmly, his gaze holding a touch of concern that he didn't bother to conceal.
It was the morning before Neteyam was set to make the trek toward the peak with the other young members of the clan.
Their purpose was clear: to prove their worth and earn their place as adults within the community. However, amidst the group, all eyes were particularly fixed on Neteyam. His journey carried an added weight – the burden of proving himself even more than his peers.
Observing the exchange, Lo'ak locked eyes with Jake, nodding in understanding. He knew what was coming – another heart-to-heart talk between father and son. It seemed like these talks were becoming more frequent lately, and Lo'ak found it tiresome to witness Neteyam's constant overthinking about his upcoming crowning ceremony.
It felt like just yesterday they were dumbass kids climbing trees and exploring the vibrant forest together. Now, with the looming responsibilities of adulthood and leadership, everything felt different.
"Lo'ak, why don't you give us a moment?" Jake suggested, giving his youngest son a knowing smile.
"Finally. Some peace," Lo'ak mumbled to himself, wandering away from the hut to give Neteyam and their father some privacy.
Inside the hut, Neteyam and Jake settled into an intimate silence. The curtains were shut tight but dim light filtered through the gaps in the woven walls, casting soft shadows on their faces, creating a serene atmosphere that encouraged open conversation.
"Things have been hard as of late, huh?" Jake began, his voice gentle and understanding. "Ikinimaya is in a few hours… How are you feeling about the climb?"
Neteyam shrugged, trying to put on a brave front. "Not much," he replied with a smile. "I think I'm more focused on what happens after."
Jake's nod was thoughtful, his eyes reflecting a deep understanding of the burden that came with leadership. He was no stranger to the weight of such a role, having borne it himself as Eywa's chosen one.
After the ceremony, if Neteyam were to complete the ascent, his crowning ceremony as chief would soon occur. Unlike the Omatikaya, where they usually held separate ceremonies for these milestones, the Iuva'ri followed a different tradition, crowning their chiefs on the same day of their coming of age.
It was a big change for Neteyam, but Jake had confidence in his son's ability to adapt and lead.
"I was just like you back then," Jake grinned, nudging Neteyam. "It's a big moment in your life, and the responsibilities that come with it can be overwhelming. But you've got this. You've grown into a strong and thoughtful man."
Neteyam smiled gratefully at his father's words. "Thanks, Dad," he said softly, feeling a sense of reassurance and comfort wash over him.
As Jake's eyes fell on the necklace in Neteyam's hand, his face softened, and a warm smile tugged at his lips. "Is that for her?" he asked, pointing to the beautifully woven piece.
Neteyam nodded nervously, his heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and uncertainty as he held out the carefully crafted gift.
"Yes. I made it," he replied, his voice carrying the timbre of pride mingled with a touch of vulnerability. "What do you think?"
Jake's weathered hands accepted the necklace from his son's outstretched hand, cradling it delicately in his palm. His fingers traced the intricate patterns, each movement a touch of appreciation for the meticulous work that had gone into it.
As the beads slid under his skin, memories of his own courting days resurfaced, painting his thoughts with the vibrant hues of nostalgia. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of longing for the time when he had first encountered Neytiri, their connection as profound and tender as the bond that was now flourishing between Neteyam and his own future mate.
"This is beautiful work," Jake remarked, genuinely impressed by the piece. "She'll love it."
The tension in Neteyam's shoulders eased at his father's genuine praise, a tide of relief sweeping through him.
"I'm glad you think so," he admitted. "I really want this to be special for her."
Jake's expression softened.
"Go on then," he encouraged. He leaned over to hand the necklace back to Neteyam. "She must be waiting for you, boy."
With a grateful smile, Neteyam pocketed the necklace and stood up.
He stepped out onto the balcony, the cool early morning air brushing against his skin. There, he found Lo'ak waiting for him, leaning against the side of the hut.
"What did Dad say?" Lo'ak asked, trying to act nonchalant, but his eyes betrayed his genuine interest. It was clear he was evesdropping but Neteyam decided against bringing it up.
"He thinks she'll love it," Neteyam answered, a hint of relief and satisfaction coloring his words.
Lo'ak rolled his eyes playfully, though a glint of affection was unmistakable in his expression. "Well, then you better not keep her waiting."
Neteyam chuckled, grateful for his support. "I won't. Thanks, baby brother."
With that, Neteyam began his journey to your hut, his heart alternating between racing with anticipation and fluttering with nerves.
The familiar sounds of the mountain village greeted him as he stepped outside—the rustling leaves carried by the breeze, hushed conversations from nearby huts, and the distant chirps of the valley's creatures. It was a soothing symphony that accompanied his walk.
Following a rocky path, he caught sight of the warmth spilling from the oil lamps within your hut. The soft light painted inviting shadows on the walls, offering a sense of comfort.
Taking a moment to collect himself, Neteyam breathed deeply, letting the crisp air anchor him before he entered the hut.
And there you were, seated beside a small stove fire. The joy that lit up your eyes upon seeing him immediately melted away some of his apprehension.
You sat gracefully on a cushion woven from palm threads, encircled by bowls of luminescent paint, each brimming with vibrant hues.
"Ma'Teteyam," you greeted with a soft smile, setting aside the bowl of paint in your hands. "I had hoped you would come soon."
He approached you with a hum, feeling a delightful warmth spread through his chest at the sight of you.
"I wouldn't keep you waiting," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady despite the emotions swirling within him.
As you gestured for him to come closer, Neteyam sat down in front of you, feeling the space between you diminish as you scooted over. You dipped your fingers into one of the polished wooden bowls, and with a tender grace, you began painting delicate patterns on his skin.
Neteyam watched your every move, his breath hitching as your fingertips traced over his flexed muscles. It felt as though he was not just preparing for a ceremony but for a new chapter in his life.
The Na'vi closed his eyes briefly, allowing himself to savor the warmth of your touch as you worked on him. The feeling of your fingers on his skin was both intimate and comforting, a silent reassurance that you were by his side, supporting him every step of the way.
His thoughts were momentarily interrupted by your soft voice, breaking the silence that enveloped the hut.
"You have put so much effort to prepare for this day," you said, your eyes locked on his face, "it is an honor to be a part of it."
He opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with sincerity. "I couldn't imagine sharing this moment with anyone else but you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
The painting continued, each stroke of your fingers bringing you closer together, both physically and emotionally. Neteyam found himself mesmerized by your focus, the way you seemed to pour your heart and soul into every delicate detail.
Finally, you finished, and Neteyam admired the beautiful patterns adorning his skin. Your eyes locked again, and the moment hung in the air, heavy with emotion and anticipation. The crackling of the fire and the dancing shadows around you seemed to amplify the intimacy of this shared experience.
As the warmth of the stove fire illuminated your faces, Neteyam leaned in slowly. The world around you seemed to fade away as your lips met in a tender and passionate kiss.
As you parted, Neteyam whispered, "Nga yawne lu oer."
A wide smile spread across your face, and you replied, "Nga yawne lu oer.
Humming, Neteyam's arms wrapped around you, holding you close. With you in his embrace, he felt complete, and the weight of his future responsibilities seemed to lift, replaced by a deep sense of purpose and belonging.
The soft crackling of the fire filled the hut with a warm and comforting ambiance, lulling both of you into a comfortable silence. As the flames danced, casting flickering shadows on the woven walls, Neteyam's eyes never left yours, captivated by the tenderness not normally seen in them.
Your fingers traced gentle patterns on his painted cheek, and the affection in your smile made his heart jump with joy.
"I have something for you," you whispered, beginning to draw away from him.
Neteyam reluctantly released his embrace, but his hand lingered on your waist. You chuckled playfully, gently slapping his forearms, urging him to let go.
"I will not be far," you assured him, your eyes locking onto his with affection.
Reluctantly, Neteyam let you go, allowing you the space to retrieve your surprise. You moved towards the cabinets, and he watched with curiosity, wondering what you had in store for him. When you emerged with a fur coat and an axe in hand, his eyebrows raised in intrigue.
"These will help you with your ascent later," you explained.
With a swift movement, you draped the soft fur coat over Neteyam's shoulders, and he immediately felt the warmth of the fabric enveloping him.
The axe you handed him was a well-crafted tool, sturdy and reliable. Its wooden handle fit perfectly in his grip, and the weight was balanced. The crystal blade on it was a striking sight, capturing the firelight and reflecting it back in dazzling purple hues.
"Thank you," he smiled gratefully, his heart brimming with appreciation for your thoughtful gifts. He couldn't help but lean in to press another tender kiss on your forehead.
Nodding at him, you both stood up, your hands guiding him out of the hut. The soft light of the rising sun bathed the mountain village in a gentle glow as you walked together.
"Come," you smile. "The people are waiting."
When a person prepares to become one with your people, experiencing their rebirth, the clan initiates a ceremony. The warriors, adorned with vibrant paint, assemble before the Tsahìk as she prepares them for the ascent.
This final trial, the crucible determining their standing among the Iuva'ri, was a journey. A journey deep into the enigmatic Clouded Peak, a desolate expanse shrouded in snow with perils lurking in every corner.
Victory in this ascent signifies your second birth. Following this achievement, the clan engages in a celebration featuring dance, feasting, and storytelling—a tapestry that weaves bonds. These bonds intertwine them with the people.
This unity is then dedicated to Eywa. It is in that sacred space where a lifelong position among the people is earned, an indelible bond forged forever.
"Tìng mikyun ayoe rutxe nawma ma sa'nok."
As Tsahìk, you stand tall, hosting the sacred coming of age ceremony — The Ascent.
Before you, a line of tall, rugged young men and women stand. Each one carries their own axes and spears, protection for the challenges that lie ahead. Heavy coats rest upon their shoulders, ready to protect them from the biting winds of the ascent.
The presence of Eywa, the Great Mother, is strong and felt in every aspect of the ceremony, infusing the spirits of the young warriors with her guidance. Above, the sky hangs dark and heavy, the wind's mournful song echoing through the trees, creating an aura of solemnity. Illuminating the scene are tall torches lodged in the dirt, casting their flickering glow upon the sacred space.
Just behind you stand the families of the participants, emotions ranging from pride to worry visible as they bear witness to this pivotal moment.
With a solemn grace, you bestow your blessings upon each warrior, marking their foreheads with your painted hand, chanting sacred words as you invoke the great mother's protection and guidance.
"May the Great Mother be with you," you utter. A female warrior before you nods in acknowledgment, her face adorned with a respectful smile.
Moving through the line, you came to Tserat, his face shadowed by conflicting emotions. Unfazed by his glower, you placed your hand upon his chest, offering the same sacred blessing as you did for the others.
"May the Great Mother be with you," you repeated, watching carefully as the red paint stained on his chest. Tserat's head tilted slightly in a small nod, acknowledging the gesture, but his guarded expression remained.
Then, it was Neteyam's turn. As you approached him, your previously stern expression transformed into a genuine, warm smile. The fur coat you had lovingly bestowed upon him was draped over his broad shoulders making his figure appear larger and more imposing. The axe, with its striking purple blade, hung at his side.
As you bestowed your blessing upon him, his hand gently brushed against yours in a fleeting touch, a wordless reassurance passing between you.
"May the Great Mother be with you," you repeated once more. The smile you offered held layers of affection and respect. Neteyam nodded as he felt the warmth of your touch seeping into his very being, strengthening him for the path ahead.
"And to you," he replied, his voice soft.
With the blessings bestowed upon all the warriors, you stepped back and your mother took over. As they followed after her command, the warriors set forth into the mountain, spirits aflame with determination.
Neteyam turned back to you, his eyes locking onto yours once more. Then, with a final nod, he turned away to join the others, his figure blending into the shadows cast by the towering trees. As the last traces of the young warriors disappeared from view, you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon your shoulders.
The village around you was filled with hushed voices and a sense of anticipation, knowing that the destiny of the clan was now in the hands of the brave souls who set forth into the unknown.
"Hold strong, brothers and sisters!"
The peaks of the snowy mountains were a world unto themselves. As the young warriors ascended, they found themselves in a landscape that commanded and tested their physical and mental resilience.
The air, thin and brittle, clawed at their lungs with every inhale, as if the very atmosphere was challenging their presence. The winds, like invisible daggers, sliced through their heavy coats, piercing to the core with their frosty bite. The gusts carried echoes of warnings whispered by the mountains themselves.
The snowy terrain, draped in a pristine white cloak, was a deceptive tapestry of danger. Icy patches lay in ambush, waiting to send even the most seasoned warriors sliding down the steep slopes. The snow, once a soft and powdery expanse, became a battleground as it clung to their legs like quicksand, each step an arduous struggle against the weight of the drifts.
Throughout the ascent, towering rock formations rose like sentinels, casting eerie silhouettes against the darkening sky. Above them, dark and ominous clouds loomed, casting a shadow over the landscape. Visibility was limited, with the peaks shrouded in a thick veil of mist and fog, making it challenging to navigate and discern the safest path.
The ascent was grueling, and Neteyam found himself exerting every ounce of strength to overcome the challenges of the harsh terrain. He trudged forward, his breath visible in the frigid air, while the weight of his heavy coat provided some respite from the biting cold.
Despite the difficulties, Neteyam proved himself to be a skilled and determined climber. He navigated the icy slopes with skill, making steady progress as he ascended higher and higher.
However, even the most skilled climbers could falter in the face of such challenging terrain. It happened in the blink of an eye — a misstep, a patch of ice, and Neteyam's balance was compromised. His foothold gave way, and he found himself sliding down the slope, the cold snow and sharp ice clawing at his skin.
In the midst of his unexpected descent, a frustrated curse escaped his lips. "Fuck."
Tserat, never one to miss an opportunity to taunt him, couldn't help but let out a chuckle at Neteyam's misfortune.
"Forest boy!" Tserat's grin was wide, his amusement evident. "Careful or else you meet Eywa first before you reach the top!"
His comment was met with the amused laughter of some of the other warriors. Shaking his head with a smirk, Tserat turned to the rest of the group, speaking in the Iuvarian dialect, "Did you see that skxawng? He has two left feet."
Neteyam's pride stung, but he quickly composed himself. He shrugged off the snow clinging to his coat, his grip firm on his axe. With a grunt, he steadied himself, using the axe as an anchor to regain his foothold on the treacherous slope.
Finally, Neteyam found his balance and stood straight again. His shadowed eyes met Tserat's with an intensity as if he was silently daring Tserat to push him any further.
Tserat snorted dismissively at the unspoken challenge, opting to avoid further provocation. He turned his attention ahead, recommencing his climb in a brooding silence.
Then, in an abrupt upheaval of the tranquil surroundings, the ear-splitting roar of a formidable beast tore through the air. It emerged from the shadows, its massive form nearly matching the trees that lined the mountain slope, and its powerful muscles rippled beneath its thick, coarse fur.
"It's a Nix'feli!" one of the warriors roared out.
The beast's eyes were a piercing shade of amber, burning with an intense primal fury. Its fur, as white as the snow around it, was mottled with dark patterns, reminiscent of ancient tribal markings. Razor-sharp claws, capable of rending through flesh and bone, extended menacingly from its massive paws. A long, sinuous tail swished through the air, leaving deep impressions in the snow with each movement.
The warriors roared out battle cries as they tightened their grips on their weapons, readying themselves. Each one sought a strategic position, spreading out to encircle the formidable creature. However, unlike the other warriors whose moonlit skin offered them some natural camouflage against the snowy backdrop, Neteyam's dark indigo skin stood out vividly, drawing the beast's attention to him.
With a fearsome roar, the feline launched itself at Neteyam, claws extended, aiming directly at him. The world around him blurred as his instincts took over, and with a graceful leap, he evaded the deadly strike. The beast's claws scraped the air where he had stood just moments before, and the force of its attack sent snow flying in all directions.
"Wiya!" Snarling, Tserat managed to loop a thick rope around the feline's neck, anchoring himself in the snow as he strained to halt the beast's ferocious advance.
Several feet away, Neteyam landed with a heavy thud, scraping against the rocks, but swiftly regained his footing. The axe you had gifted him remained firmly in his hand, but he knew he needed a weapon better suited for this confrontation. With a quick decision, he released his grip on the axe and reached for his bow slung over his shoulders. He felt its reassuring weight in his hand as he notched an arrow and focused his gaze on the beast.
With measured intent, he released the arrow, it's trajectory a deadly precision. The arrow found its mark, embedding itself in the beast's eye, igniting a resonant roar of torment that resounded throughout the mountains.
"Another!" Tserat's grip on the rope grew ironclad, utilizing every ounce of his strength to restrain the writhing feline.
"Hold him steady!" Neteyam hissed, preparing for a second shot.
With another swift release, he unleashed another arrow into the frigid air. The arrow struck deep into the beast's flesh, piercing the creature's lungs.
With a final roar, the Nix'feli succumbed to the wounds it had sustained, collapsing onto the pristine snow. Its once-white coat was now marred by streaks of crimson, a contrast that painted the snowy canvas in vivid shades of red.
The young warriors erupted into cheers, hailing Neteyam's clean kill. They hyped him up with enthusiastic shouts and claps on his back, celebrating the triumph over the formidable feline.
Amidst the cheering, Neteyam's gaze locked with Tserat's once more. The Na'vi was rubbing his rope burned palms, blue skin bruising into a deep purple. Tserat stayed silent for a while, his pride momentarily giving way to a begrudging acknowledgment of Neteyam's abilities.
"Finish him off," Tserat ordered, throwing his rope back into his satchel.
Neteyam nodded in understanding, his heart still pounding with the adrenaline of the encounter. He trudged towards the beast, his blade gripped firmly in his hand. He then knelt beside the fallen creature, whispering words of prayer and gratitude for the life that had been taken.
With a final act of mercy, Neteyam raised his blade and delivered a swift, precise strike to the beast's heart. As the blade pierced through, ending the creature's suffering, a sense of peace seemed to settle upon the snowy mountainside. The once-ferocious feline let out one last exhale, and its fierce amber eyes softened in the moment of passing.
Suddenly, a hand reached out, and Neteyam looked up to see Tserat standing beside him.
"Get up," Tserat murmured gruffly, his voice carrying a strange blend of annoyance and something deeper beneath the surface. "We still have to complete the ascent."
Neteyam nodded and quickly rose to his feet, not at all surprised by the mix of emotions that Tserat's demeanor reflected. He stooped to retrieve his discarded axe, giving it a quick shake to dislodge the clinging snow.
As Neteyam continued his ascent, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. The triumph over the beast had been a demonstration of his skills, but it had also brought into focus the responsibilities he was about to embrace. The mantle of leadership was within his grasp, and he couldn't afford to falter.
Hours seemed to pass as they climbed higher, each step bringing them closer to their destination. The world around them became a blend of white and gray, the sky merging with the snowy landscape as they ascended into the clouds.
Finally, as the sun began its descent, casting a warm golden hue across the icy expanse, they reached the peak. A sense of awe and accomplishment washed over them as they gazed out at the breathtaking beauty before them.
Tserat's demeanor softened, his gaze capturing the ethereal view. With a slight nod, he turned to Neteyam, and in his eyes, a begrudging respect simmered.
"You did well, golden boy," Tserat admitted, his voice carrying a surprising sincerity as he crossed his arms.
Neteyam's smile radiated a sense of fulfillment. "You held your own too," he replied, a shared understanding bridging the gap between them, if only for a fleeting moment.
Once the weary but triumphant warriors returned to the village, families surged forward to welcome back their sons and daughters, now transformed into full-fledged adults of the clan. Amidst this sea of emotions, Neteyam found himself engulfed in the warm embrace of his family. Their pride and love encircled him, forming a cocoon of unwavering support.
However, he couldn't resist the pull to find you, the one who had been his pillar of support throughout his journey.
Amidst the collective embrace of the village, your figure stood tall. Your eyes, adorned with a glint of pride and affection, were fixed upon him.
A triumphant grin stretched on his lips as he closed the gap between you, his bright golden eyes locking onto yours.
"Sweet girl," his words brushed against your skin in a tender whisper as gentle kiss was planted on your forehead. The touch of his lips sent warmth spreading through your cheeks, and you reciprocated the gesture by pressing a peck to his cheek, the coolness of his skin still clinging from the snowy heights they had scaled.
"You did it, my mighty warrior," your voice held a note of sincere admiration, your hand reaching up to graze the rugged terrain of his jawline. He leaned into your touch, savoring the intimate connection between you amidst the surrounding crowd.
As the celebratory atmosphere gradually settled, your mother, called for all to gather. Neteyam was led to the forefront, his broad shoulders clasped by the palms of her wrinkled hands as she presented him to the entire clan.
"Neteyam Te Sulli Tsyey’ite, son of Toruk Makto, has completed the ascent! He has proven himself in our ways and is now fit to hold the position of Olo'eyktan!"
The announcement was met with thunderous applause and pride from the entire clan. But as Ìumayi's eyes swept over the crowd, they locked onto a particular pair. She caught sight of Tserat, who stood tall and proud among the assembled warriors.
Their gazes lingered for a moment before Ìumayi looked away, making it clear that the challenge for the throne had been expected. She gracefully slipped the fur coat off of Neteyam's shoulders and held it up for all to see.
"I now offer a chance at the throne! If anyone wishes to challenge him, step up!"
For a moment, the air seemed tense, silence falling over the crowd. Then, without a word, the people parted, and a figure stepped forward. It was no surprise to see Tserat stepping into the circle, signature scowl etched into his face.
Ìumayi nodded solemnly, acknowledging the challenge, and Tserat removed his coat, brandishing his blade with confidence. Neteyam, too, unsheathed his weapon.
"Tserat Te Ser'oa Aketo'itan has challenged Neteyam Te Sulli Tsyey’ite for the throne!" Ìumayi announced, her voice carrying authority as she gestured for the crowd to form a bigger circle around the two warriors.
Both Neteyam and Tserat locked eyes, their gazes dark and intense as they approached each other. Neteyam's expression was a portrait of unwavering composure, his eyes never straying from the piercing milky depths of Tserat's gaze. There was a quiet confidence about him.
On the other side, Tserat's lips curved into a grim frown.
His emotions were a storm—respect, undoubtedly, for the great warrior that Neteyam was. But beneath that, an undercurrent of uncertainty swirled like a glint of moonlight caught on the surface of a turbulent sea.
The recent display of Neteyam's strength had commanded his respect, but leadership was a different realm, a realm where hunting prowess, while significant, was just one facet of the mosaic of qualities required. Whether the forest dweller's completion of Ikinimaya made him fit enough to lead their people, was a question that churned in Tserat's mind like a tempest.
The challenge had been thrown, the time for words had faded—only actions remained to define their outcome.
Ìumayi raised her hand, and with a firm voice, she declared, "Begin!"
With a fierce battle cry, Tserat charged at Neteyam, his movements fluid and controlled. He swung his blade in a deadly arc, aiming for Neteyam's midsection. But the Omatikayan was agile and skilled, effortlessly sidestepping the attack.
As Tserat's blade sailed past, Neteyam countered with a swift jab of his own, aimed at Tserat's exposed side.
The sound of metal clashing echoed through the gathering as Tserat managed to block Neteyam's blow just in time. The crowd gasped, watching the intensity of the duel unfold before their eyes.
The clash of their weapons resonated like a symphony of steel meeting steel, each strike executed with unwavering precision and met with a fierce parry.
In the midst of this battle, Tserat's calculated maneuvers began to yield results. With a swift and precise strike, his blade found its mark on Neteyam's side, the sharp point penetrating deep into azure skin.
A searing pain tore through Neteyam's body, eliciting a wince that he fought to suppress. Rivulets of blood flowed down his side, staining the grass beneath him. Tserat's triumphant laughter filled the air as he twisted the knife, eliciting a hiss of pain through Neteyam's gritted teeth.
A knee to Neteyam's abdomen sent him stumbling, his foot catching on an uneven rock. The world seemed to warp and waver as he slid to the ground, the impact jarring his senses and amplifying the pain radiating from his wounded side. Dazed and disoriented for a heartbeat, Neteyam fought to regain his footing, his chest heaving with the effort.
"Get up!" Tserat hissed.
Jaw clenched tight, Neteyam summoned every last ounce of strength, his fingers curling around Tserat's blade. A grimace of pain etched onto his features as he yanked the weapon free from his own flesh.
"Come at me," Neteyam snarled, swiftly getting back to his feet. The blade spun in his free hand before he tossed it. It skittered across the ground and out of the circle, which now left Tserat disarmed.
Unfazed, Tserat moved to tackle him once more, bringing them crashing to the ground with a resounding thud that echoed through the expanse of the circle. The impact jarred both warriors, their bodies absorbing the shock as they grappled on the ground.
Amidst the struggle, Tserat seized the opportunity to deliver a series of powerful blows to Neteyam's face. Each strike landed with force, leaving Neteyam momentarily disoriented.
"Neteyam!" Your voice rang out, an anguished cry of worry cutting through the air as your tail lashed anxiously by your feet. You were poised to rush in, to throw yourself into the fray and intervene in his defense. But before you could act upon your instinct, your mother's firm grip on your arm halted your movements.
A mixture of shock and frustration crossed your features, your eyes widening in protest as you hissed at her.
"Mother—" you protested urgently, your voice edged with a mixture of fear and anger. "This is not a battle anymore! Tserat is turning it into an execution!"
"Let them be," she commanded, her tone unyielding as she met your gaze with a steady and unwavering stare. "This is our way. You cannot intervene."
A low, anguished whimper escaped your lips, a mixture of helplessness and frustration welling up inside you.
Tserat's triumphant sneer was a bitter sight to behold as he seized Neteyam's kuru, lifting him effortlessly from the ground. A kick sent Neteyam's own blade skittering away, leaving him defenseless and exposed to the mercy of his opponent.
The scene was agonizing, a twisting knot of emotions in the pit of your stomach.
"Where is your Olo'eyktan now?" Tserat's jeer echoed in the air, the words heavy with contempt. "This is no chief! Just a misplaced boy! Not fit to lead!"
Yet, Neteyam refused to give up so quickly. He kicked at Tserat's shins, causing the man to fall with a shout of surprise. With Tserat momentarily off balance, Neteyam seized the opportunity, his muscles coiling with determination. He locked Tserat in a chokehold, the strain evident in the tight set of his jaw and the flex of his arms as he pressed his forearm against Tserat's windpipe, causing the man to wheeze and struggle.
The battle raged on, their grunts and cries mixing with the roars of the crowd. The cheers and shouts seemed distant as Neteyam focused solely on the man on top of him. He could already feel Tserat's resistance waning.
“Yield,” Neteyam hissed, the veins on his arms bulging as his muscles strained with the effort, grip unyielding. "You are a mighty warrior! The people need you! Your people need you!"
Tserat hesitated, his breaths shallow and labored. The weight of his choices bore down on him, and in that moment, he saw the truth in Neteyam's words.
Slowly, Tserat's resistance wavered, his strength slipping through his fingers like sand. With a feeble tap against Neteyam's arm, he signaled his surrender, submitting to the man.
The cheers of the crowd echoed around them, celebrating their new leader, their new Olo'eyktan. As celebration filled the air, Ìumayi stepped forward to separate the two warriors, signaling the end of the intense duel.
With a low whine, Neteyam managed to get back on his feet, his body still tense with the pain from the wound in his side. He grimaced, feeling the warmth of his own blood seeping through his fingers as he held onto the injured area.
Drawing in heavy breaths, he directed his gaze downward, locking eyes with Tserat for a fleeting moment. Amidst the lingering animosity that had once defined their relationship, a flicker of understanding seemed to pass between them. It was a silent, unspoken acknowledgment of the strength they had both exhibited in this grueling battle.
"You fought well," Neteyam murmured. He extended his hand, a gesture of goodwill meant to bridge the divide between them.
"I know," Tserat scoffed, his pride not entirely diminished by the outcome. His hand slapped Neteyam's aside dismissively, his emotions still raw from the defeat. With a final glance back, he turned away, retreating into the crowd, his head bowed low in an attempt to save face.
Before Neteyam could take a step toward Tserat, a strong yet gentle grip on his side halted him. You were at his side in an instant, your gaze filled with concern as you carefully assessed his injuries. Your hands probed cautiously at the wound on his side, your touch gentle yet deliberate.
The sight before you made your heart clench — a deep gash on his side, his face marred by bruises and smeared with blood. His rugged appearance was in stark contrast to the tender expression in his eyes as he looked down at you.
All of a sudden, the adrenaline that had fueled the battle was now beginning to wane, replaced by the harsh reality of pain. Neteyam's groan cut through the air, his body doubling over in response to the searing ache that pulsed from his injuries.
"Oh, yawne," you murmured softly, your voice laced with concern and care. You moved closer, wrapping an arm around his waist to support him. Your touch was soothing, a balm for the pain he endured. "Come, let us go to our hut."
"Syulang," Neteyam murmured, his brow furrowing as he glanced at you with a touch of worry. His tongue darted out to swipe at the blood on his cut lip, his focus shifting between you and the path ahead. His voice held a note of uncertainty. "But what about the crowning ceremony? Your mother emphasized its importance. A lot."
Your mother and Neteyam's parents approached at that moment. Ìumayi acknowledged his comment with a nod, affirming the tradition.
"Yes. The crowning ceremony must proceed immediately after the ascent," she acknowledged, her gaze dropping to the visible injuries on Neteyam's form. "He will bear his wounds for the time being."
"My son cannot—" Neytiri began, intending to express her concern for his injured form, but you quickly interjected, not willing to let the ceremony take precedence over his well-being.
"I will not let him go through with the ceremony while he is bleeding out," you hissed, your determination clear in your voice and stance. Ears pinned back in frustration, you held your ground. "The traditions will have to be set aside. My mate comes first."
Neytiri regarded you with a surprised look, her gaze lingering on you in newfound admiration. She soon broke into a warm smile, her approval evident. In contrast, your mother seemed on the brink of an argument.
"It is his duty. The people are waiting," she hissed, gesturing to the crowd behind her.
You looked back, noticing that the people had already begun to disperse, making their way to the ceremony site in anticipation of witnessing the ascension of their new Olo'eyktan. And yet, your focus remained unswerving, your thoughts centered solely on Neteyam's well-being.
The idea of him undergoing the ascension ceremony while in his current state was unthinkable to you, and you were resolute in your determination to prioritize him above all else.
"This is a matter for the Tsahìk," you asserted, tail whipping by your feet in anger. "I will not have you ask me of this!"
With a final huff, you turned, guiding Neteyam gently back towards your healing hut.
The elderly woman let out an exasperated hiss, her fingers gripping at her own hair in a mixture of disbelief and frustration. "Great Mother, that girl wants to drive me to an early grave."
Frustration evident in her demeanor, your mother marched away. In the midst of this back-and-forth, both Jake and Neytiri observed closely, trusting your instincts and expertise as you led their son toward your hut.
"Eywa has chosen well for Neteyam," Neytiri spoke up, breaking the silence and drawing the attention of her family. With a playful grin, she gestured towards you. "I like her. She is a feisty one."
As you entered the seclusion of your hut, a sense of tranquility settled over you both. You gently helped Neteyam settle onto a soft fur-covered mat, supporting his back against a pile of cushions. His golden eyes locked onto yours, filled with gratitude and affection for your unwavering care.
"It's better you rest, yawne," you said, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. "The ceremony can wait. Your well-being is my priority right now."
Neteyam nodded, his hand reaching out to grasp yours, intertwining your fingers. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice hoarse from the battle and the strain of the day's events. "I don't know what I would do without you."
You simply smile and begin to tend to his wound, applying cooling salves and bandages, your gentle touch easing his pain.
The soothing motions of your touch have a profound effect on Neteyam. As the pain begins to lighten, he feels himself drifting into a drowsy state, his body and mind succumbing to much-needed rest. The tension and adrenaline from the battle slowly melt away, replaced by a sense of peace in your presence.
His eyes flutter closed as he leans into your care, finding solace in the knowledge that you are there, looking after him. With each soft touch, he feels the weight of the day's events dissipate, and the warm embrace of your love envelops him like a protective cocoon.
The sounds of the outside world fade away, leaving only the quiet hush of the healing hut. The scent of medicinal herbs and the familiar earthy aroma of the forest soothe his senses and he falls into a deep sleep.
Time seemed to pass in a dream-like haze, and as Neteyam finally awoke, he felt renewed and invigorated. The pain from his wound had significantly subsided, thanks to your skilled touch.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and violet, the moment for the crowning ceremony had arrived. The air was filled with anticipation and excitement as the Na'vi people gathered at the heart of their sacred spirit tree, where the presence of Eywa was strongest. The rhythmic beat of the drums echoed in harmony with the chants of the crowd.
Neteyam, now adorned in ceremonial attire, walked down the path toward the center of the gathering, the cheers of the people and the resonating drums echoing the rhythm of his heart.
He wore a tunic crafted from soft, supple leather, dyed in earthy tones that blended harmoniously with the surrounding forest. Draped across his chest and shoulders was a fur garment, a poignant reminder of his triumph over the fearsome Nix'feli he had vanquished during his rite of passage. Along its edges, two imposing fangs from the vanquished creature were displayed
As he reached the center of the gathering, where you and Ìumayi awaited, Neteyam knelt before you both, a gesture of respect and reverence for his beloved and his mother. Your eyes gleamed with love and admiration as you gently clasped a necklace over his collarbone, a cherished heirloom that had been passed down through generations of leaders.
Ìumayi, her previous ire now gone, regarded him with a warm and proud smile. Stepping forward gracefully, she lifted her headpiece from her forehead and carefully positioned it upon his head. It was a poignant symbol of the legacy she was entrusting to him, signifying the passing down of her mantle as Olo'eyktan.
"My son," she spoke with a voice of wisdom and love, "You are one of us now. You are to lead the people now."
Neteyam met her gaze, his expression one of deep gratitude and determination. He bowed his head in acknowledgment, accepting the mantle of leadership with humility and determination. As Ìumayi turned back to the crowd, her voice carried through the beats of the drums and the chants of the Na'vi, resonating with authority and pride.
"Come! Let us celebrate!" she declared, her smile infectious, and the gathered Na'vi erupted into joyous cheers, their voices united in celebration of their new chief and the hope for a bright and harmonious future under his leadership.
The celebration was in full swing, with the Na'vi people dancing around the campfire, their bodies swaying in perfect harmony with the rhythmic beats of the music that filled the air. Laughter and joy echoed through the night, as stories of bravery and triumph were shared among the warriors. Neteyam, still adorned in his ceremonial attire, found himself at the center of attention.
"The Nix'feli was like nothing I've seen before," Neteyam recounts as he gestures to the bow slung over his shoulder. "But in the end, it was struck down. AlI from two arrows."
The warriors gathered around him, whistling and poking at the bow in admiration, grinning proudly at their new chief. But amidst the festivities, murmurs spread through the group as Tserat approached, carrying a drink in hand. His gaze was dark, and the tension between him and Neteyam was palpable.
With a mischievous glint in his eye, Tserat challenged Neteyam to drink. The crowd looked on eagerly, curious to see how their new chief would respond. Neteyam accepted the challenge and took a hearty swig from the cup, eliciting cheers from the gathered warriors.
Tserat, never one to back down from a challenge, also took a swig from the woven cup, the firelight casting a flickering glow on his face as he did so.
As the night wore on, their conversation took an unexpected turn, veering into a somewhat playful banter between Tserat and Neteyam.
"You know," Tserat slurred, his speech slightly affected by the drinks, "I was almost certain your stubbornness would have gotten you killed during the first trial." He raised his cup to his lips for another gulp, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Neteyam, his senses already dulled by the effect of the potent brew, swayed slightly on the log he was perched upon, managing to maintain his balance only with considerable effort. His response came out in a slurred drawl, eliciting laughter from the men who had gathered around.
"I don't give up easily," he mumbled, a playful smile curving his lips.
In the midst of the good-natured conversation, Neteyam's alcohol-fogged mind seemed to pause, a serious thought managing to cut through the haze. "I have a question," he murmured, his ears twitching as he leaned in slightly.
Tserat leaned forward on the log they shared, the wood creaking softly beneath his weight. His pale eyes bore into Neteyam's expectant ones. "Ask away."
Neteyam took a deep breath, the fogginess in his mind clearing momentarily as he focused.
"In the rite, you ran a knife through my flesh," he spoke in a hushed tone, his words carrying a somber weight. "I, in turn, humiliated you in front of the clan. I took your place. And yet, looking at your eyes now… there's no hatred. Why? Why don't you hate me?"
Tserat's initial response was almost dismissive. He scoffed, tossing his woven cup to the ground, the liquid within spilling onto the dirt.
"Tsk! I did hate you," Tserat admitted, going into a tirade. "I hated you when you entered my village and demanded uturu. I hated you when you took away my position. I felt the sting of rejection, so I acted on those emotions of hatred and look where it led."
Tserat gestured towards the bandages on Neteyam's side, a low laugh rumbling in his chest.
"That is payback," he smirked.
Neteyam, however, wasn't satisfied with this answer. His brows furrowed in confusion as he shook his head. "No, I understand those feelings well. What I mean is—during the battle ritual. When I told you to yield, you did so, and at the end, there was a different look in your eyes."
Tserat's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Yes," he finally responded after a long pause, his fingers drumming on the log's surface.
"And after the battle?" Neteyam pressed, his curiosity unyielding.
Tserat's nostrils flared slightly, his expression caught between annoyance and contemplation.
Wiya... This man. "No. I did not hate you then. I had just thought I was content to have lost to an equal," he replied, a trace of begrudging respect in his tone.
"Content to lose to an equal?" Neteyam repeated, his voice tinged with amusement. "Why me? How did you know I was an equal?"
Tserat laughed heartily, throwing his head back. He then leaned forward to grab a wrap of meat, fangs biting down on it’s leaf covering. "I know you," he said between bites, his demeanor oddly introspective.
Neteyam, still perplexed, shook his head slightly. "There is much you don't know about me. We've barely exchanged words."
“Ah. Words do not reveal much,” Tserat scoffs, leaning back as he pointed two fingers at his milky eyes.
“It’s all in the eyes. They never lie. I saw it in your gaze… One similar to mine," he mused, his fingers reaching out to clasp around Neteyam's shoulder, his gaze unflinching. "I saw you, brother."
A genuine smile tugged at Neteyam's lips, and he reciprocated the gesture by patting Tserat's back. "And I see you.”
Tserat leaned back with a smirk, scarfing down his wrap of meat.
"It's a pity," the man continued, a wistful undertone in his voice. "I could have been a remarkable Olo'eyktan."
Amused by the sentiment, Neteyam chuckled softly, his gaze momentarily distant as he imagined the alternative path that they might have walked. The atmosphere lightened, and Tserat seized the opportunity to grab another drink, the fleeting melancholy replaced by the camaraderie of their exchange.
Noticing the absence of Tsahìk, Tserat's curiosity was stirred. He leaned closer to Neteyam, his shoulders nudging his companion with a teasing grin.
"Where is your mate?" he prodded, his tone playfully taunting. "Leaving her all alone on the day of your ceremony? If I were you, we would be deep in Vitraya Ramunong right now!" he chuckled, earning hollers and laughter from the men around them.
"Do not talk about her like that," Neteyam hissed, shoving at Tserat's shoulder, his protective instincts flaring up.
Undeterred by Neteyam's reaction, Tserat merely raised his brows.
"So, what's the story?" he inquired, his grin unrelenting. "Why aren’t you stuck to her side like a fwampop today?”
A sigh slipped past Neteyam's lips, his gaze momentarily distant as he considered the complexities of the situation. "My sisters have taken her away," he eventually revealed.
Tserat's intrigue was far from satisfied. His brows remained raised, his curiosity persistent. "Why?" he pressed, the question hanging in the air, fueled by genuine interest.
Neteyam's shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug, his expression taking on a somewhat guarded quality. He took a sip of his drink, its bittersweet taste momentarily distracting him.
"Omatikayan matters," he replied, the words an attempt to deflect further probing.
In front of the warmth of the Sully's hut, you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness as Kiri and Tuk prepared you for the upcoming meeting with Neteyam. Kiri's hands were deftly braiding your hair into a classic Omatikayan style, and you couldn't help but pick at one of the braids out of curiosity.
"Interesting," you murmured, examining the beads she threaded into the braid. "Is this how your people did it back home?"
"Yes," Kiri beamed, her hands deftly working on another braid. "It's a classic hairstyle worn by Tsahìk back home. You look stunning with this style."
Her smile turned mischievous as she leaned in to whisper in your ear, dishevelled inky hair falling over her shoulders. "Neteyam will love it."
A bashful smile crept onto your face, and you couldn't help but hide your reddening cheeks with your palm. Kiri's teasing only added to your excitement for the upcoming celebration.
Just then, Tuk barged in with a bunch of woven tops in her arms. You examined the clothes with curiosity, noting how different they were from your usual attire. The tops were loose-fitting and incorporated more elements of the forest, in perfect harmony with the forest people's culture.
Kiri gasped as she noticed one of the tops in Tuk's hands. "Tuk!" she hissed, holding up a dainty lilac top. "This isn't mine! It's mother's!"
Tuk simply sighed, not too concerned about the mix-up. The young girl yanked the top out of her sister's hands and held the it up to your chest, almost as if she were envisioning how it would look on you.
"But she looks so good in it!" Tuk whined, pouting her lips.
You chuckled and gently took the lilac top away from her grabby hands. "It is pretty, but I am not too sure your mother would appreciate if I wore her clothes without permission," you said as you began to fold the woven top back up.
"I would not mind," Neytiri's voice suddenly filled the tent, and you all went quiet, turning to greet the woman.
"Neytiri," you spoke, pressing your fingers to your forehead and stretching it out in a gesture of respect. "I see you."
Neytiri nodded in acknowledgment and gently ushered Kiri away, taking her position in front of you. Her hands delicately held the woven top as she assessed it's appearance. The shift in atmosphere was palpable, and you couldn't help but sense an undercurrent of unspoken thoughts between you two.
The garment in Neytiri's hands, a woven top made of delicate lilac tendrils, was glittered with the shimmer of intricately woven gems. The weaving was intricate, elegant, and er... it left little to the imagination.
Neytiri's eyes appraised the woven creation, her fingers brushing over the patterns as if tracing memories. Her thoughts were a mystery, her feelings hidden beneath a veil of composure. These months of silent interactions had cast shadows of uncertainty, and you couldn't help but wonder how she truly felt about you marrying her son.
"This will look beautiful on you," Neytiri smiled warmly, seemingly approving of your choice. "Come and put it on. I wore this on my mating ceremony too."
With Kiri’s help, Neytiri slipped the woven top onto you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of honor wearing something with such personal significance to her.
"Beautiful," Neytiri affirmed, her smile radiant as she looked at you, her gaze holding a newfound warmth.
You returned the smile, feeling grateful for her acceptance. "Thank you."
Neytiri merely hummed as her focus shifted to your hair. With each twist and weave, she transformed your locks into an intricate masterpiece, her fingers moving with a practiced rhythm.
As she braided, her attention was drawn to a nearby pile of vibrant flowers. With an sense of which blossoms would harmonize best with your appearance, she delicately plucked a few yellow ones from the pile, their vibrant petals woven into your tresses.
“There,” she whispered, brushing her fingers through your braids. The subtle sound of beads brushing against each other accompanied the delicate sweep of her fingers. “You are ready.”
"Come on! I thought you could climb faster than this!" you playfully teased Neteyam, your laughter carrying through the night air as you both ascended the side of the hill. The moon hung overhead like a silver lantern, casting a soft glow on your surroundings. It was a clear night, the stars scattered across the sky like precious jewels.
Your fingers brushed against the rough texture of the rock as you found footholds, your muscles working in sync as you effortlessly moved upward. Neteyam was close behind, his own movements fluid and sure.
The air was cool against your skin, carrying the scent of the earth and the distant sounds of the ongoing crowning celebration. One that both of you had slipped away from in favor of some solitude.
You reached the top first and hauled yourself up, feeling the rush of accomplishment. But before you could fully revel in your victory, Neteyam, with his impressive agility, soared over the peak and hauled himself over. Running after you, he tugged at your tail, using it to pull you into his strong arms.
"Neteyam!" you laughed, the surprise of his actions quickly turning into delight as he showered you with kisses along your neck and cheek. In that moment of affection, you couldn't resist turning your head to capture his lips in a short, sweet kiss.
Neteyam smiled against your lips, the love in his actions unmistakable. With a tender touch, he then tucked his hands under your knees and shoulders, effortlessly lifting you into his arms. The muscles of his arms flexed, the strength in his embrace a reassurance of his protection of you.
"Where to?" Neteyam's voice was a soft murmur, his eyes locked onto yours as he waited for your instruction. You pointed toward a rocky path ahead, leading the way with a silent gesture.
Following your direction, Neteyam carried you along the path. It led you to a cave at the peak, a hidden gem adorned with the soft glow of radiant plants and flowers. The bioluminescent flora painted the space with an otherworldly light, casting a gentle, colorful illumination that danced across your skin. The air was tinged with the sweet fragrance of the herbs.
As Neteyam carried you into the cave, the glow intensified. The walls seemed to breathe with life, the colors shifting and changing in a mesmerizing display. The space felt like a sanctuary, a haven of beauty and tranquility that mirrored the depth of your connection.
“What is this place?” he questioned, wide eyes looking around in awe.
You snuggled against him, feeling a sense of belonging in his embrace.
"It is Vitraya Ramunong," you whispered, your voice filled with reverence. "The Tree of Souls."
Oh.
Neteyam's dark gaze shifted to you, his tongue running along his bottom lip. The intentions of you taking him here were crystal clear. Faintly, you could feel his nails digging deep into your skin and you bit back a smile.
As Neteyam walked further into the cave, he gently set you down to your feet. You started to walk away, but his firm grip on your hips stopped you, pulling you back against his strong front.
"Don't run away from me now," he murmured, his breath caressing your neck, sending delightful shivers down your spine. He turned you around with a tender touch, and his hand traced up the curve of your jaw, guiding your gaze to meet his intense, loving eyes.
And then, your lips met in a soft, sweet kiss. You could feel the depth of his emotions in the way his lips moved against yours, as if each kiss conveyed a thousand unspoken words.
As Neteyam pulled away slightly, his thumb lingered over your bottom lip, leaving you yearning for more of his affectionate touch. His other hand glided over your chest and now wrapped around your throat, but not with any intention of harm. It was a gentle gesture, one that made you feel cherished and protected. His thumb caressed the skin of your neck, golden gaze pouring over the stripes that lay there, admiring every inch of you.
"I have something for you," he finally murmured. He released his hold on you and reached into his pocket, retrieving the necklace he had crafted for you.
"Oh…Ma'Neteyam," you gasped, taking in every detail of the stunning gift.
Earthy brown tones formed the base, woven with intricate patterns and beads that told a story of his cultural roots—the Omatikayan style so unmistakably his. Yet, there was more to this gift than just his own heritage. Interspersed within the intricate weave were glimmers of polished crystal, a delicate incorporation of your own roots, a seamless merging of your two worlds.
As he clasped the necklace around your neck, his touch was gentle, his fingers lingering for a moment as he secured the knots. Tears welled up in your eyes. You could feel the beads and twine, cool against your skin, its weight a comforting reminder of his presence and affection.
“I hope it’s enough,” he murmured, his voice tinged with vulnerability as his hand traced the contours of the necklace, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “I… I don’t really know—”
With a soft click of your tongue, you silenced his self-doubt, your fingertips tenderly pressing against his lips. A gentle affirmation without words.
“It is enough," you reassured him. The corners of your lips lifted slightly, a soft smile that radiated your appreciation for his gesture. "It is more than enough."
Neteyam's own smile was a reflection of the relief that washed over him. He cupped your cheeks in his large, calloused hands, his touch both tender and possessive.
The warmth of his palms against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, a delicious contrast of roughness and gentleness. Gently, he tilted your head up, exposing your neck to his hungry eyes. Neteyam drank in the sight of the necklace—his necklace sat prettily across your skin, tongue curling around the point of a fang.
You, in turn, stared back up at him, emotions layed bare. As you fluttered your eyes, your thick lashes batted against your plump, flushed cheeks. The curve of the beads in your hair caught the ambient light of the cave, each bead gleaming like a star in the night sky. His eyes traced the path of those beads, capturing the radiance they added to your appearance.
And as his gaze drifted down to the attire Neytiri had allowed you to wear, his eyes recognized the intricate details of Omatikayan weaving that adorned your form. The woven tendrils of the top cascaded gently around your chest, its lilac hues blending harmoniously with the natural tinge of your skin. The top itself was a work of art, its design thoughtfully crafted to highlight your figure in the most flattering way.
Eywa. You drove him mad.
Unable to hold himself any longer, Neteyam guided the both of you down until you were kneeling in front of each other, the soft glow of the flora casting dancing shadows on your entwined figures. He pulled you into his lap, the heat of his body pressing against you, sending a shiver of excitement down your spine.
As he pulled you in closer, the texture of his inky braids brushed along your bare collarbones, accompanied by the warm sensation of his large palms resting against your flushed skin. His tail curled over your thigh, its gentle glide against your soft flesh forming a loose, comforting embrace that brought a rush of intimacy between you.
You couldn't help but stiffen slightly as you suddenly felt the tail trail up your thigh and wrap itself around your hips, flicking against the band of your loincloth. With shaky inhale, you returned your gaze to Neteyam's.
"Tsaheylu," he whispered, the word a delicate breath that carried a promise meant only for you, a secret shared in the quiet of that sacred space. His eyes held a mixture of hope and vulnerability as he waited for your response.
Speechless, you froze up in surprise, lips drawing flat, Neteyam's expression briefly twisted with a pang of dread, as if he feared you would reject him.
“Please, baby,” he begged, his voice a soft plea that held a world of longing.
With a deliberate slowness, his arm extended behind him, retrieving his kuru from where it rested. His fingers curled around the base, and the muscles in his bicep tensed with the weight of anticipation.
The purple tendrils of the kuru glowed with a soft luminescence, their ethereal light casting enchanting reflections against the cave's walls.
Your own fingers moved in response, mimicking his gesture, finding the familiar texture of your kuru. With a gentle pull, you brought the braid over your shoulder, its presence a reassuring weight against your hand.
The tendrils of both seemed to come alive, a dance of ephemeral energy unfolding before your eyes. They swayed like the intertwined branches of the sacred tree. Then, as if drawn together by a force, the tendrils began to weave, intertwining in a mesmerizing display of unity.
As the tendrils merged and embraced, an extraordinary rush of emotion surged through you both. It was as if a floodgate had opened, allowing a tide of feelings to wash over your senses. Electric energy pulsed through your bodies, as if the very essence of your beings was reaching out to connect, to become entwined.
"Fuck," Neteyam grit his teeth, burying his head into your chest. Shaking, your hands flew up to his bare back, palms pressed against the hard muscle and nails scratching at the surface of his skin.
In this shared moment, your heartbeats resonated as one, a rhythm of unity that pulsed through your chests. Breaths synchronized, you felt a deep bond. The barrage of emotions you both felt was overwhelming yet exhilarating, like a river of sensations flowing between you.
“Syulang…” With a shaky gasp, Neteyam leaned up and met your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss, his lips pressing against yours as if he had been waiting to taste you his entire life. He explored your mouth with his tongue, memorizing every curve and crevice, before gently sucking on your lower lip. You couldn't help but gasp in response, caught by the intensity of the moment.
Everything between you was heightened—the passion, the desire, the longing. Every touch, every glance, every shared heartbeat carried a weight that spoke of the depth of your feelings. The cave around you seemed to pulse with your shared energy as if you felt Eywa herself acknowledge the bond you had formed.
As you parted from the kiss, your eyes locked once more with Neteyam's, and you could see the raw desire and emotion swirling in his gaze. He appeared almost feral, his pupils wide with overwhelming passion, not missing a single twitch or movement in the intimate exchange between you both.
Unable to resist the pull, he pressed against you, causing you to fall back onto the cave floor, beads clicking as your hair spilled all around you. Crawling on top of you, Neteyam’s lips immediately chased yours once more in a primal hunger.
Lost in each other's touch, the world around you faded away, leaving only the echoing sounds of your breaths and the beating of your hearts, united as one in the sacred bond of Tsaheylu.
Amidst the lively celebration of Neteyam’s crowning ceremony, the music and laughter continued to weave a vibrant tapestry of joy. Jake and Neytiri found themselves seated together, basking in the warm ambiance of the party. The flickering flames from the central bonfire added to the enchantment of the night, casting a soft glow on their faces.
‘We are mated before Eywa, Ma’Neteyam’ your voice echoes in his mind. ‘I am with you forever now.’
Nearly a year had passed since they made the difficult decision to leave their clan. The abandonment of their home had left a wound which still carried a weight that was far from forgotten. The wound left behind by that loss was raw and gaping, still in the process of healing. However, here at Iuva’ri, they had been granted a fresh start. It was a place where they could breathe, live, and forge new connections without the constant shadow of war looming over them.
In the midst of the joy, a sudden hush fell over the crowd as Tuk rushed into the gathering, her tears glistening on her cheeks. Both Jake and Neytiri were quick to notice her distress, and they exchanged concerned glances before rushing to her side.
"Tuk?" Jake's voice held genuine worry as he gently wiped away her tears. "What's wrong, babygirl?"
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Between gasps, Tuk managed to speak through her tears, "It's Kiri!"
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teehee congrats on the new husband pookies<33 Neytiri is our mother now
If you can't see your blog, that means I could tag you! :(Also, if any new people want to be tagged - please send me an ask in my inbox or reblog instead! Bc the sea of comments are too much across all the posts :,)
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─────────────── sommer house // 2
series summary: After starting a new job at a prestigious museum in London, you form a close friendship with Helaena Targaryen. You're surprised when she invites you to stay at her family's estate for the summer holidays. [2.7k]
[aegon targaryen x reader, modern!HOTD AU ]
masterlist | previously
warnings: none, i think!
note: i'm so sorry it took me a little bit to get this out. i've been prepping for a big trip coming up soon, my head has been a little everywhere recently. anyways, hope you guys enjoy!
The rain that had accompanied you on the way out of London had ceased by the time you arrived at the Targaryen estate. The sun was dipping under the horizon, painting the sky in a soft orange and pink hue. The windows are still streaked with rain as you push off the plush seat and step out of the car. You stretch your arms above your head, loosening the muscles tightened by the long drive.
Taking a deep breath, your eyes scan the scenery before you. The stone walls of the house seem to grow from the landscape, it’s garbled roof echoing a serene, timeless elegance. Tall trees and lush greenery frame the manor, flowers blooming in vibrant bursts along the pathway to the house. The silence is tranquil, punctuated only by the occasional wail of a passing bird.
With your bags taken by a man who introduced himself as Criston, you begin to follow Helaena up the gravel path. Her steps fall softly as she leads the way. The look in her face is soft and gentle, hiding much behind her eyes. The more you look at the manor, the more it resembles an enlarged and elevated cottage or even a mix between a cottage and a castle, if such a thing existed—homey, alluring, and comfortable.
You enter the home, the air thick with the scent of polished wood and old books, a familiar scent you learned to love during your time at the museum. You continue to follow Helaena through the foyer and into the living room, your footsteps muffled by thick rugs lined with intricate patterns. The room is open, the dimming sunlight streaming through a set of two large windows. A grand piano sits in a corner, scraps of paper tucked away in a book on the windowsill next to it. A large collection of books fill the shelves spanning an entire wall. Swords, small statues and animal skeletons are scattered around the room and hanging on the walls. There’s even a collection of insects pinned in frames, butterflies of all colors and sizes.
The room is empty save for a silhouette sitting at one of the windows. It overlooks the vast ground of the estate, eyes watching two figures as they lounge outside by a small lake just beyond and below the window.
“Mum,” Helaena calls out, wrapping her knuckles against the doorframe where the two of you have stopped. The woman takes her eyes away from the window, taking in a sharp breath before turning to you, a wide smile on her face.
“Hel,” she calls her, pulling her daughter into her arms, hands caressing Helaena’s hair. Helaena hesitates momentarily before wrapping her arms around her mother. As you watch them, you notice how different they are from each other. If you hadn’t been told before, you would've never known they were mother and daughter. Helaena wore a cerulean sweater with gray trousers, her blonde hair cropped just above her shoulders. Alicent, on the other hand, wore a deep green blouse with brown trousers, her hair pulled away from her face but cascading in long tresses down her back.
Helaena pulls away from her mother, gesturing toward you. “Mum, this is Y/N,”
Alicent meets your eyes, introducing herself. Before you can reach out a hand for a shake, she pulls you into a hug just as she had her own daughter.
She pulls back, hands gently gripping your biceps. “It’s lovely to finally meet you. Helaena’s told me so much about you,” she says, her voice filled with genuine warmth. “Welcome to our humble home.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Targaryen,” you say, smiling.
“Please, call me Alicent. I insist.” Her smile broadens. “Come, let me show you to your room,” she says, guiding you through the elegantly decorated hallways.
The faces in each portrait seem to follow you as you pass, their eyes windows into the past lives that once filled these halls. It sends a soft chill up your spine. But you can’t help but marvel at the grandeur around you – it’s as if you’ve stepped onto a movie set, a dream.
Alicent stops in front of a door and pushes it open. The room is immense, its pale blue walls bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun streaming through a large window. “This will be your room,” she gestures. “Helaena’s old room is just next door. There’s a bathroom that connects the two, but you’ll have plenty of space.”
You step into the room, immediately taken by its charm. The plush bed is adorned with soft pillows, the rugs underfoot are invitingly soft, and tasteful art hangs on the walls, adding a touch of elegance.
“This is beautiful,” you say, spotting your suitcases left at the foot of the bed. “Thank you so much, Alicent.”
Wandering into the bathroom, you’re greeted by a large bathtub that sits in front of an even larger window. On one side of the room are a pair of sinks; on the other, a spacious shower. Setting your things down at one sink, you peer out the window, the soft light peeking in as the sun continues to dip further down the sky. It casts shadows over the grounds. You can see the back of the estate, the sprawling gardens, and the lake.
“Make yourself at home. If you need anything, just let me know,” Alicent says. She bids you goodbye and withdraws from the room, reminding you that dinner will be in about an hour.
Leaving you alone, you sink into the lavish plush armchair, feeling completely at home. Your eyes peer out the window, every time finding something new to look at. In the distance, you can see stables and what looks like an old church with people pouring out. There’s a treeline just beyond the property that looks like it goes on for miles. Getting lost trying to find the end of the forest, your eyes begin to feel heavy and you find yourself drifting off.
:・゚✧*:・゚✧
It's not until a while later you hear your name called softly from the doorway. Shifting out of your relaxed stupor, you rub the sleep out of your eyes and spot your blonde haired friend peeking at you from the doorway, a gentle smile on her lips. She raises her eyebrows at you and you shove her shoulder with yours before following her down the grand staircase. As you descend, the scent of roasted vegetables and freshly baked bread wafts through the air, making your stomach tinge in anticipation.
The dining room is abuzz with activity as the Targaryen family gathers. The two men you saw outside earlier, Helaena’s brothers, stand at the entrance of the dining room, conversing quietly. Aemond and Daeron stand taller than you, both offering you polite smiles. There's a hint of reserve in their eyes, making the nerves in your veins accelerate a little more.
You’re surprised at how similar yet so different they are from each other. Both share a sharp chin and lanky limbs long and lean. Their clothes contrast each other in style but compliment their individual characteristics. Their hair is a pale blonde like Helaena’s – Aemond’s long locks flowing down his back, while Daeron’s is cropped short above his ears.
“Welcome,” Aemond says, his voice smooth and measured. He extends a hand, and you shake it, noting the firm yet gentle grip.
“Good to see you,” Daeron adds, his smile a touch warmer than his brother’s. “We’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
“Thank you. It’s lovely to meet you both,” you reply, feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement.
Helaena guides you to your seat at the long, polished dining table. The table is set with gleaming silverware and adorned with an array of delicious dishes—roast meats, steamed vegetables, and freshly baked bread. The space is elegant and inviting, with a long, polished oak table set with gleaming silverware and sparkling crystal glasses. Soft, golden light filters through antique chandeliers, casting a warm glow over the room. The rich scent of roasted meats and fresh herbs fills the air, mingling with the subtle aroma of the flowers that adorn the table. Your eyes scan over the feast and the new faces, taking in the grandeur of the setting.
You watch as Helaena’s father, Viserys, limps his way into the room, clinging onto Alicent’s arm with one hand while the other pushes on a cane. There’s a thin layer of hair on his head and the side of his face is riddled with scars. His face lights up with a warm smile when he meets your eyes, radiating a quiet strength and dignity. Alicent takes her place next to him, a soft smile adorning her lips.
You observe the family as they take their seats and begin scooping servings of food onto their plates. The initial nervousness fades as you find yourself relaxing into your seat. You're passed a large plate of potatoes, Helaena motioning for you to help yourself.
Viserys is seated to Alicent’s left, his demeanor kind and relaxed. He looks up with a gentle smile. “So you’re the friend Helaena has spoken so highly of. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine,” you say, returning his smile with genuine warmth. He continues by inquiring about your past, how you came to be in London, what you thought of the weather compared to back home. It made the butterflies return to your stomach as you answered each of his questions but by the time the second course was being served, you felt comfortable in your seat surrounded by the new faces. You can even see Aemond and Daeron’s faces soften towards you, even popping in a question or two.
“She’s quite the asset,” Alicent remarks with a knowing glance toward Helaena. “I’m sure she’s been a wonderful companion to you.”
Helaena rolls her eyes playfully. “You’re making it sound like I’m her personal tour guide.”
“You’ve certainly taken on that role,” Viserys adds with a chuckle. “And what about your plans for the future? Helaena tells me you’re quite ambitious.”
You nod, feeling a slight flush of pride. “I hope to continue working in the field and eventually contribute to research and education. The experiences I’ve had so far have been incredible.”
The warm hum of conversation continues to fill the room as the Targaryen family settles into their seats. The clinking of silverware and the soft murmur of voices create a comfortable backdrop to the meal.
Helaena leans closer, her voice a soft murmur. “So, what do you think of the estate so far?”
“It’s even more beautiful than I imagined,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “Everything here has such character.”
Alicent, seated across from you, chuckles softly. “I’m so glad you think so. I’ve always felt that our home has a bit of magic to it. It’s like stepping into a different time, don’t you think?”
You nod, taking a sip of wine that has been poured for you. “Absolutely. There’s something so charming about the way everything is preserved.”
The conversation continues to settle into a comfortable rhythm, but the door creaks open and a figure steps in. The room momentarily goes quiet, all eyes drifting to him. He stands silently in the doorway as he meets the gazes of his family. Alicent rises from her seat at the head of the table, her expression a mixture of relief and exasperation.
“Aegon,” she says, her voice tense with unspoken reproach. She reaches for his arm but hesitates as her fingers brush his damp sleeve. With a resigned sigh, he shrugs off his coat, letting it fall in a sodden heap on the floor before it's picked up by a man you swear you’ve seen two of this evening. The muffled thud of the fabric is a silent testament of Aegon’s defiance in the face of her disapproval. He meets Alicent's gaze, and from your spot on the other side of the room, you can see the disappointment lurking beneath the surface of her composed facade. They have much to speak about, but not here, not now.
“Aegon,” Viserys says, his tone a mix of amusement and warmth. It tears him away from the intense stare of his mother. “You’ve finally graced us with your presence. We were just beginning to think you’d forsaken us for the allure of London nightlife.”
Aegon’s gaze sweeps across the room, settling briefly on you. He offers a friendly, albeit slightly reserved, smile. “Sorry for the delay. Work ran late, and I got caught up in a few things.”
He is much different to his brothers. Though he shares the same platinum hair, his appearance is much more disheveled. His hair is tousled atop his head, covered partially by a dark beanie. The beard that is beginning to adorn his cheeks is darker than the hair on his head and there’s a light scent of cigarettes that wafts off of him as he walks. He’s dressed in a loose gray henley under a plaid shirt and dark trousers.
He takes his seat at the table, his movements casual yet deliberate. As he starts to serve himself, the conversation resumes, though now there’s a subtle undercurrent of anticipation. Everyone’s smiles are warm but not as relaxed as they were before. A different energy seems to run through the Targaryens.
Helaena leans closer to you, her voice barely above a whisper. “Aegon’s always running around with work and other commitments. He’s a bit of a mystery sometimes.”
You nod, spooning mashed potatoes into your mouth, glancing at Aegon as he engages in conversation with his family. There’s an air to him that you can’t quite put a finger on. A look in his eyes you recognized from Helaena, a distance in his eyes, a soft ache that pools in his violet eyes.
Alicent tries to bridge the gap in the silence that is beginning to lull over the table and calls out from her spot on the other side. “Aegon, tell us about your latest project. You’ve been working on it quite extensively.”
Aegon leans back, a forced smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s just another one of those things that keeps me busy. Nothing too thrilling.” His reply is curt and short. It’s obvious he doesn’t feel like talking about work, preferring to stick to any other topic.
The dinner continues with lively conversation, but you notice Aegon casting occasional, subtle glances in your direction. His interest is understated, almost imperceptible, but it lingers. Despite not exchanging a word with him throughout the meal, you find yourself shrinking a bit each time his gaze meets yours.
The conversation gradually wanes, and a moment of silence falls over the room, broken only by Viserys’s abrupt cough. Alicent rises from her seat, signaling to a pair of live-in nurses who enter the room. She whispers something to one of them before turning back to the gathering. Nervousness seems to settle over her as she clasps her hands in front of her, wringing them anxiously.
"Thank you all for joining us this evening," Alicent says, her voice betraying a hint of unease. "We should all get some rest. The big party is just a few weeks away and we have much to plan."
As everyone begins to filter out, moving quietly like shadows in the night, you follow Helaena to your room. Looking back, you catch a glimpse of Aegon walking further down the hallway. His gait is slow and detached, his shoulders slightly slumped, before he turns a corner and fades into the darkness.
"Goodnight," Helaena says with a sleepy smile, lingering at her doorway. "Sleep well. Tomorrow promises to be eventful."
"Goodnight, Helaena," you reply, returning her smile. "Thank you again for having me."
"Of course. Sweet dreams," Helaena says warmly before closing her door behind her.
tags: @mrs-starkgaryen @gloryekaterina
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