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SHADOW OF THE SITH, Ch. 10
oh god this took a whole weekend to write. and it’s reigning champ at 12.3k words, the most i’ve EVER written, especially since most of this chapter isn’t a dialogue dump. have fun my friends, for this is the finale of the shadow arc. and probably the last chapter that’ll work on tri’ama, theron, and naji for a while, because there are more characters arriving once we hit ziost!
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TRI'AMA._DROMOUND_KAAS
"Get up!" The feminine voice yells loudly as she hits the roughly ground again, and something comes loose out of her mouth and she coughs hard as it scrapes the back of her throat.
Tri'ama is really beginning to hate dueling with her siblings.
Hell, she's beginning to hate fighting in general.
Wasn't like she ever had a chance.
She just barely picks herself up off the durasteel ground, blood pooling out of her mouth and spitting out a tooth as pain comparable to fire races up her arm. It's a back one, she can tell from it's shape as it falls from her mouth, coated in the iron red substance, so she's not overly concerned about her appearance to anyone after she leaves the training room. Still, it stings as she runs a tongue over it and her attention darts to the overlook, where Raegia, Scorvs and Kadasha stand. Her younger sister looks visibly terrified with a finger nervously twirling a strand of dark hair around it, while Scorvs looks indifferent with his arms crossed behind the two women. Raegia, or Rage-ia as she likes to deem her, is blazing with her fury written all over her face.
The pureblood matriarch is frustrated with her, Tri'ama can feel it through the Force. This always happened whenever she couldn't match the skillset that Typarnk had, and she often retaliated in a way that humiliated her.
Tri'ama wondered if she ever registered that she was her adopted daughter, not a trained arena brawler that could simply do whatever she wanted to whenever she ordered it. She was a child no less. Sith or not, Tri'ama wasn't meant for this.
"Typarnk isn't even pushing you hard, Tri'ama. There's a warrior buried in you, and I did not bring you here for you to continue to fail!" Lightning jumps from the woman's fingertips in the midst of her annoyance, and the two children closest to her back away her routinely, "Typarnk, push the attack. Give Tri'ama a challenge, maybe she'll push back when faced with the reality of real injury."
She wants to scream, she wants to yell. What she wants to do is force choke Raegia (she was entirely capable of force choking at this age, but it was difficult to regulate and took a lot out of her), maybe even run out of the training arena entirely. Tri'ama wants to be everywhere but here, a nine year old girl pitted against her thirteen year old brother. Curiously, she wonders what every other nine year old girl is up to today, something normal perhaps. With friends, with family, maybe down in the forum. Blazes, anything else than being beaten down over and over again by someone older, wiser and stronger than them. No one elses' guardians had to be like this, it had to just be the Amarillis' that took her in, instead of someone sane. Tri'ama throws a pleading glance to her brother, and his vermillion red eyes soften at her broken form, "Mother, she's clearly had enough. She's been hit hard, I don't know what lesson you're trying to get across but people are going to assume you're abusing her -- or worse that you've taken a child for a slave."
Ouch, that one stung a bit. Yes, she was human, compared to the pureblooded Amarillis family, but having slaves wasn't above the Amarillis legacy in the slightest. She already suffered enough at the hands of other children when she was allowed off the estate property and the bruises were not assisting her reputation in the slightest, "She's nine, not nineteen. Pale skin doesn't hide bruises well either., as I'm sure you're beginning to realize."
Tri'ama tries not to smile. At least he's standing up for her at all, he could throw her into a wall and be praised for it, but instead he tries to protect her at the risk of rebuttal from their guardian.
"Are you talking back to me, Typarnk Amarillis?" She hisses loudly, and Typarnk lowers his gaze from the balcony at the scolding, Tri'ama by extension of the yelling, "Do tell, did you become all powerful because I thought you didn't need to be trained at her age because the galaxy is all hunky-dory? Coruscant has just been sacked, and as pitiful as the Republic is, they will retaliate. I will not watch my legacy fall to a bunch of force-wielding toddlers!" She rubs her temples as Kadasha shrinks back into her brother's strong form in mild fear, and turns her attention back to the field, "Typarnk, I asked you specifically to assist me in training her. I did not say be merciful, I said prepare her for war. Am I clear?"
"Yes, mother." A grimace crosses his face as he considers his blade, lower his head as his black hair falls in his face in defeat. He's nothing more than a teenager, a young one at that. He can't stop what was already coming. Tri'ama strains to resummon her own thrown blade to her hands with the Force, and takes up a defensive stance in Shii-cho. She doesn't want to continue to fight Typarnk/ Raegia and Yusaits had been less than loving to all four of them (she can name a few times she was convinced her family hated her), but her older brother had always tried to protect her from the worst of it. Not to say she'd even be able to wound him with her current set of abilities, but if a show is what Raegia wants, Tri'ama can't continue to deliver without something giving. There just isn't enough that she knows, and not enough power to harness properly. Raegia has made it clear that just because she is human doesn't mean she will be treated any differently than the rest of the brood, and while at one point she was grateful for this acceptance in her adoptive family, she's beginning to resist what the woman is doing. At first, all she'd wanted was to belong. But now, she wishes whoever her real parents were had taken her with them instead of giving her to literal psychopaths.
Every other nine year old isn't worried about what kind of abuse would come next from their guardians -- their parents, that would be doled out by a sibling ten times stronger than you.
The hum of Typarnk's golden training blade becomes louder and louder as he makes to swing at her. Due to her continued losses against her stronger brothers, her fighting style has become uniquely defensive against them. Parry here, a block there, a barely resisted force push there. Tri'ama is notorious among the Amarillis family to be a slippery one to catch (that admittedly was rather easy to disable if someone gained on her strategy and took her out that way), and she prizes herself on that. Typarnk clearly isn't looking to actually inflict any of thedamage as Raegia requests, so she tries to regain her breath as she bolts around the training arena. No fancy saber throws, no unsolicited force choking, nothing that could seriously wound her. It was part of an agreement between brother and sister, and so far it had yet to be broken. The tooth was only the fifth transgression of hundreds of battles. She can trust him.
He's one of the few people on this blasted planet that she can even begin to trust. This was all she'd ever known, yes, but that didn't mean she had to like it. It meant she had to roll over and take it, but it didn't mean she had be completely complacent about it.
It isn't until she's on her knees again, this time with a nasty headache pounding behind her eyes that is making her see double does she begin to consider she's not cut out to be Sith. Korriban is used to weed out the weak among the prospects, and she's half afraid that she won't last a week on the red dustball when Raegia eventually sent her there for her trials. Typarnk is very clearly apologetic for the brute force he'd used after clocking her good on the back of her skull with the butt of his saber hilt, and deactivates the training sabers electricity to bend down and tip her head up to inspect for lasting and immediate injuries, "Nasty bruise you've got there, right on your nose. Your nose may be broken, but I'm sure mother would like to put 'Dasha's meager skills to use here." Tri'ama winces at the thought as he presses the pad of his thumb on her cheek, wiping away a tear that is surely biting through the dirt, blood and grime on her face, "You can do this, I know you can. Don't let her get to you, a couple years from now you'll be the only one of us to disown yourself from the family and not be scorned for it."
She wants to hug him, hell she wants to run away with him as far as she can. Kadasha was too young to understand the pain she went through, having an affinity for lightning like their father and working with him at the Sanctum most of the time, and Scorvs was much too apathetic to truly even care about what Tri'ama is going through. She wasn't sure there was anything her other older brother knew about, other than his own research into the Sith military forces. Kadasha had yet to endure what she had, but she has her own concerns about the little girl and her training. The six year old would suffer one day as she was, and Tri'ama didn't want to see her cry.
Why her guardians couldn't they find two seconds out of their day to maybe consider that their adopted daughter would respond better to less violent measures of training, years later the answer still alluded her. Praise from Baras was what propelled her to do better and better on her given assignments, Sith thrived on passion. This was simply stifling.
They simply didn't care, often was one she pondered on for ages at a time. Sith did as they pleased, no matter how others reacted.
"Mother stop!" Kadasha is screaming in a tiny voice, and turning her head painfully from Typarnk's face to the doors on the other side of the arena, she can see the two of the little girl racing after her mother's long stride as her vision only blurs further. Raegia isn't happy, and Tri'ama is nearly shrinking into herself as she realizes why she's down here. Raegia rarely came down onto the training field herself unless she had an ulterior motive and, or, had something intended for the fighters on the field, "Mother!"
Typarnk stands protectively in front of her, wanting to say something to his mother, maybe even to fight back against her punishment, but is quickly shoved away by a force blast before he can do anything. He skids to the ground with a groan, a mop of black hair covering his eyes as she quickly swivels her head back to face Raegia. Her callused hand slaps her cheek hard, Tri'ama not even expecting it initially, and on accident, maybe even on purpose her long, sharp nails dig into her skin. She can already feel the blood dribbling down and out of the large cut, and bites down on her bottom lip to keep from crying, the metallic liquid seeping into her mouth, "I don't think I have to even try to explain why you deserved that, whelp."
The high accent is disturbingly annoying to hear now, reminding Tri'ama that Raegia is high and mighty, and will always be that way, "Yes, Raegia." She whispers, sweat still dripping down her forehead in rivers.
"You are Sith, and you carry the Amarillis name. You may not be my child by birth, but you are by my choosing. Becoming Sith is not an attainable status for those that refuse to work for it, and you will not continue to disappoint me or you will die in your near future from your own mistakes, Tri'ama. Is that understood?" Raegia questions, tipping her head up to look at her directly. She groans inaudibly, and nods. These may very well be the kindest words she's said to her to date, actually recognizing her as an Amarillis, and the woman releases her less than gentle hold on her chin before turning over her shoulder to look at the balcony, "Scorvs, you good for nothing akk pup, get down here and get your sister some kolto. Kadasha, you're to return with me for your meditation this afternoon. Typarnk, make yourself useful and see whether your father needs you for anything. And you, whelp, when you've gotten yourself stable, see to beginning your records for the day. Hopefully you'll learn something this time and not successfully lay yourself out like a welcome mat tomorrow."
And with that, the imposing woman (mother somehow) is gone, her cape fluttering behind her in the wind. Out of her sight now, Tri'ama slumps against her brother's form, heading pounding and sweat dribbling down her forehead. Kadasha's gaze lingers over her, and she looks at her hands longingly. Raegia is right, the girl has been learning the necessary components to begin to force heal, but it would be nowhere near powerful enough to render the need for kolto obsolete, "Go on ahead, Dasha. Wouldn't want Raegia mad at you too." Tri'ama rasps to her younger sister, vision swimming.
Kadasha is clearly conflicted for the moment, but hugs her older sister tightly anyways before running off after their guardian and following her out of the building. True to her words, Scorvs lazily makes his way down to the training area with an assorted medical box as Typarnk helps her up. Yusaits will have words for her later, before healing whatever is making her see double of both brothers. That would be a conversation that she did not want to be having now.
The kolto numbs away the pain for the time being, but the scars never go away. The bruises are ugly, blue and purple on her cheeks for days, and the dazed feeling doesn't vacate her head until the third day afterwards. Yusaits' healing numbs her alright, but it's because of the pain of Sith healing is why she doesn't feel it. She's successfully out for three days because of it, swimming through a pool of tears and pain. It's as if she's in a coma, without the loss of complete consciousness. She can feel it in her very bones -- her very soul every time that she moves, cries erupting from her throat that's on fire every moment of the day. She can barely speak those days.
That day alone is one of the final nails in the coffin. Raegia's abuse disguised as constructive criticism for years on end is the reason she goes through with becoming Sith, if only to prove that she was wrong about her.
And prove she does.
When she returns to the Amarillis estate as the Emperor's Wrath shortly before being recruited by Arkous to deal with the Revanites, it's Typarnk on the ground before her, bleeding from multiple cuts and a bruise blooming on his arm. It is Scorvs who lays unmoving yards away from her, after being pushed away into a wall. It is Kadasha who has to always be on the defensive, parrying ever too slowly and ending up hurt. Amber eyes begging her to stop, but she continues on without mercy. It is her who stands at the end, looking down upon her siblings with a gaze akin to that of a bloodthirsty predator.
And it is Raegia who begs her to stop, when it is all too much as she watches her children continue to be steamrolled underneath her power.
The scar underneath her eye that the Amarillis matriarch dealt her all those years ago remains as an ugly reminder to why she stands for what she does within the Empire. She stands for strength, and won't fall in the face of an adversary, no matter who they are to her.
She is Darth Amarillis-Quinn. She is the Emperor's Wrath. She is no one's whelp any longer.
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TRI’AMA._YAVIN_IV.
The day starts off rather normally, a little too normally if she's being honest. Not with everything looming, should it be so peaceful. The wildlife is, for once, quiet though. There is no chittering of the birds today, as she cracks open one eye and then the other. No nightmares or odd omens the night prior, and she sits up without any pain in her lower back.
Tri'ama wakes up alone.
The constant thumping of small drops on the tent's roof signals to her that it's raining, as it seems to always be on Yavin. After so long of being off Dromound Kaas, Tri'ama is beginning to readjust to the weather patterns of the Emperor's planets. It never let up before, but as they grow closer and closer to the battle against Revan, the air is charged with an electricity she can only pinpoint as that of the Emperor's influence. It only reminds her of their goal, and why the mission is so important. He'd been weakened considerably by the Hero of Tython, she can't help but be annoyed that he couldn't finish the job outright. She wouldn't be here if he had. She wouldn't have bandages wrapped around her once, twice, three times, soaked through with dry blood or a nearly broken wrist if he did.
Tri'ama changes them out skillfully, still managing to nearly crush her bad wrist before rolling it around a few times. She inhales shakily, trying to remember how Quinn had applied bandages before and attempting to copy the motions herself with unsteady hands. The application is uneven at best, but it would have to do for now. Infections didn't matter if she were dead.
Vette had retrieved her armor from the Fury the night prior, and looking upon the red, white and black armor, she runs a pale hand over the durasteel. It's nothing like the Sith guards would wear, not nearly as heavy nor as much coverage. But, it would do better than the primarily fabric armor she'd worn during the entire excursion through Rishi and their missions through the jungle planet. It isn't extremely light either, she finds as she slips it on over the undersuit she wears. Whether it will protect her from a lightsaber or well-placed bolt of lightning would have to be seen, but she places her fate and trust in it for now. Agility mattered most, for someone that could not be caught could not be realistically killed. Tightening the straps around the breast plate, she finds a sense of security in the Imperial insignia emblazoned in a small corner of the metal, and fingers over it before hooking her sabers on her belt and equipping the other pieces of her armor.
As much as she wishes she had someone beside her, maybe Vette to make sarcastic comments on her choice of armor (Vette had something against her being in full Imperial suits, so Tri'ama didn't make it a habit to wear anything that screamed Sith), or Pierce's apathy over her decision (Pierce didn't have the same eye for fashion that she and their Twi'lek companion did, but was good company), or even Jaesa to inquire over more Sith teachings while she got dressed(Jaesa didn't care for fashion in the slightest, though she and Vette were getting closer to changing her taste in clothes), she knows it was dangerous already. All three of them, four if you counted Broonmark, were ready to haul jets at the first sign of trouble, though they'd all argued against her very sound and very well-thought out contigency plan. Somehow, some way, she'd made such an impact on them over the years that none of them were willing to leave her behind if the Emperor had his way and destroyed Yavin, and that alone was terrifying. What had made them stick around so long if not only for the benefits of her being Sith? It wasn't as they weren't well off with her, no one wanted for much because of the allowance they received from her. So much so that Vette had been visibly frustrated at the idea of her leaving them to their own devices -- permanently that she made her promise to come back to them, or so help her she would be coming down guns blazing and kicking the Emperor's arse into the next millenia.
Oh how Tri'ama loved her adopted sister. Only she would threaten using her two holdout blasters to kill an ancient evil, and make light of the situation at the exact same time. Jaesa and Pierce had readily agreed at the proposition, and not even a considerable sum of money would turn them from her service. Given, they weren't in a joking mood about Revan either, and it reminded her that she did have essentially a death squad riding around with her.
I don't want them crying at my grave when I die, I want them to continue on with their lives. Get revenge if they're so inclined, really. It'd be a fun show to watch down in hell.
I'm no God.
It's becoming increasingly difficult to get much of anything done this morning, she realizes, and she's still sleepy as she steps out of her tent. Usually, she's an early riser and didn't typically struggle to get going like this. Her first thought is the conversation she'd had with Malavai the evening prior messing with her emotional state, and then the cool night she'd spent out on the surely now busy taxi pad. But instead, it's as if the Force itself doesn't want her awake, as much as she lets the cool rain splash her directly in the face. There's a softness, numbing over the sharp edges of her mind, and it makes her want to lay down on the grass and close her eyes, though physically nothing other than her sore, dry eyes scream out to her that she's tired. Last night's sleeping period had been so quick, but that couldn't have been it.
Tri'ama remains exhausted as she continues to train vigorously in her own small place near her tent. It wasn't a horrible type of exhausted, so she's able to get up and get going, but her sluggish movements are only making her grow more frustrated with the situation entirely. It isn't until she grows so angry with being unable to hit the imaginary Revan in her mind, that she gives up with a growl in her throat and a broken pair of gauntlets on the ground next to her, her force strength also effectively tearing and twisting the durasteel pieces in two, and a piece of her tent coming crashing down as the pole snapped clean in half. Another piece of armor that saw the rage she could fly into at any given moment, and she'd have to acquire a new pair if she ever returned to Vaiken spacedock. The destructive usage of the Force seems to be what sets off the numbing action of the Force and allows her to see clearly, hatred flowing back into her like a roiling river and subsequently filling her with power. Tri'ama is in control once more, and a tight-lipped grin crosses her face as she hooks both blade hilts back onto her belt. She'd question it later, but she's wound up enough as it is. It's as if a ball of string has taken hold of her, and won't let her go. The anxiety continues to build as she packs up her small camp, and there's so much to get done before it's all over. A sense of finality washes over her as she throws the pack over her back, and turns her back on the small patch and heading back towards the main base, where the coalition forces' preparations are in full swing. People are running about here and there, speeders and transports are taking off all around her. People are saying their goodbyes, people are dueling with one another.
Mission reports that would be finalized and then inserted into their Intelligence archives, she reminds herself as she sees people running around with assorted datapads. Perhaps in preparation for most of the factions departure later in the day, some things she was sure Nox and Marr would keep their delicate hands on and stash away from the Republic 's watchful eyes under the pretenses they were only keeping the Empire intact after everything the Emperor had caused since the Revanites had risen. Because she wasn't technically part of the Council (as the Wrath, she was above the Council anyways, but assisted with the military Sphere considerably, but still didn't legally hold a seat) she didn't often have an opinion on how information should be handled or shared. Not one that would be listened to as it was. It wasn't as if the Republic wasn't going to do the same with their share of the information anyway. She was sure there would always be secrets she'd never learn from the Republic's excursion here on Yavin, though Intelligence would try their hardest to do so and acquire it from their former allies.
She's uneasy about it all. There's too much to be done in-between then and now, and it seems as if it all is impossible. As if it's all one big fever dream, and that they're all going to wake up to an apoctalyptic galaxy tomorrow. Tri'ama always had her reservations fighting impossible odds like this, and with how many deaths had been reported in the past few days fighting Revanites, people she was sure that assorted soldiers knew, she now knows why.
She would go as far as to believe it's the Emperor himself trying to cloud her mind, but it's too specific for him to be doing so, and not nearly strong enough to keep her from getting anything done. It's a curious matter she'd investigate soon enough, as it still leaves her mind sharp but a certain anxiety lifted off her shoulders for that very moment. To say the least, it's at least somewhat welcome.
Tri'ama isn't the last one to arrive at the war terminal, as both Nox, Grace and Lana remain missing from current company. Master Iresso lifts her head from where she'd been focusing on the terminal, maybe sensing her arrival, blue-grey eyes peering out of her hood curiously. She's changed into some sort of Jedi robe, dark brown and armored with grey plates. It's out of place for her, as she'd been running around in simply grey pants, boots and a sleeveless top for the last few days. It's nearly a 180 from her previous days with her, she realizes as she takes her place next to Marr. Just as quickly, Naji looks back down again, and whispers quietly back to Satele. No amiable smile, just the face of a worn battlemaster hoping to get through the day.
Tri'ama wasn't the only one who had realized just how much was on the line for this mission alone. She isn't the only one realizing that this was not a normal mission, that this was the end all be all.
As the others begin to trickle in, Theron seems momentarily surprised by her choice of armor once he takes notice after a break in the conversation. Though, he throws her a friendly half-smile that's barely covered by Master Grace's less than cheery arrival, which she reciprocates quickly before picking up the plan of attack again with Lana. Among all the X's and O's and possibilities and things that could go wrong and surely would, she's not hugely sure what had spurred her on so late at night to respond to the odd quote, but she couldn't keep herself from doing so. It was as if she was moving on autopilot as she was unsticking the wet clothes from herself, laying awake until she couldn't anymore. His name kept slipping into her thoughts as she tried to sleep. The way he looked at her on the Fury. It was such a distraction, but sadly, not an unwelcome one. The yearning was nearly painful at this point, feeling phantom fingers running through her hair, a ghost of hand on the small of her back.
Subconsciously, she wonders what he thought of it all. What he actually thought of her. What he saw her as, more than just the Wrath she figures.
She hopes.
She hadn't received a response from the Republic agent when she'd woken up this morning if there had been one, and she's curious if she's said something wrong to put him off.
You're probably breaking about six different cultural rules and another fifteen of your own personal moral code. What you said is the least of your concern.
"Finally, there can be trust between us -- and not a moment too soon." Marr begins, and Tri'ama pulls her attention from that concern, "As we speak, our forces are working with the Republic to end the Revanite threat and take the temple." As if to punctuate his words, another Imperial ship takes off and flies into the distance, a slight breeze blowing everyone's loose clothing and hair this way and that. And then another, and another. There must've been thousands of soldiers flying above them now, and she's in awe so many would work so closely with those of the opposite faction.
"In spite of our differences -- and the fact we're at war -- the four of you were able to inspire a sort of cooperation I never imagined possible." Satele says, a hint of an impressed tone underneath her calm attitude, "Credit where it's due: you succeeded where Darth Marr and I failed."
"But we aren't finished yet. There is one element even our combined militaries will be unable to stop." Darth Marr undercuts this with an ominious response, and Tri'ama's heart begins beating faster before the words can reach her lips, filling in the obvious blank.
"Revan." Whyatt says in a quiet voice, barely loud enough to carry across the meeting area. For at least the third or fourth time on this trip, she wonders if he's really qualified to be here, head down at the holoterminal and hands in a tight fist, dark knuckles nearly white. He's terrified, and even Tri'ama can't deny that she feels bad for him.
He's a Jedi, missing Master or not, it's not your job to feel bad. He's a Master, so of course he'd be able to protect himself.
"Given his failure, he'll try to escape, to regroup. That cannot be allowed to happen." Darth Marr says, and if this wasn't already set in hard stone, it is now. There isn't a single friendly face in the area that isn't ready for war, and Tri'ama readjusts her respirator. Naji gently bumps against the young Jedi appearing to be entirely on accident, and moving to give Theron a datapad. It isn't very well hidden that all she wanted to do was comfort him, and by his meek presence change, it's well-received.
"Consider it taken care of." Nox answers proudly. There's a gold glow to her eyes, and her presence radiates confidence, as if they aren't walking into a predetermined death. A strange smirk falls over her face, eyes narrowing. She's battle-ready, ready to leave everything behind. Knowing the woman, she would be happy to deal the final blow to the living myth, "Revan will fall by nightfall."
That's it.
That would be all.
That was all.
That would be the last time she'd see any of these people in the same space again, and she takes in the scene. Three Jedi, an SIS agent, three Sith and herself. There's a sense of something powerful here, and what they've created over the last few weeks...Tri'ama would admit she was proud of. As much as she had her differences with the Jedi and her fellow Sith along the way, she had found that she, Nox and inadvertently, Naji had learned to rely on each other. If not without their own reservations, but it is fascinating.
As if they had not all been at each other's throats only weeks ago.
How would the war effort ever continue, with the Emperor temporarily disposed of and secrets easily being leaked between the two factions during their time here on Yavin? Surely it would be easy to gain access to the the other faction's safehouses and plans after all that had occurred. Warfare would be brutal in the coming months, and many civillians would end up losing their lives in a war they didn't sign up for. Would it be a stalemate for years, or would the Republic finally come out on top due to the loss of the Emperor? Would the Empire rise again, seeking vengeance for the loss of their God?
How would her own life continue, after meeting someone that respected her and was willing to challenge her and then losing him all over again? Knowing Quinn would always only be a holocom call away, that Pierce was only a few doors down? Knowing she would fall back on old habits anyways, sets a cold feeling within her that she can't shake. Everything is going to go back the way that she didn't want it to, the way she wanted to leave behind.
She's getting worse and worse and worse at trying to let go. Let go of this fantasy she's crafted in her head.
Tri'ama tries to catch Theron's eyes again before they leave, but he's already gone another direction than she has with the Barsen'thor, Master Grace and the Grand Master. Running a hand through her hair in frustration, she's halfway to screaming at her own indecisiveness and inability to even begin to admit her feelings. Nox yanks her along by a sleeve roughly though, and any thought of getting in contact with him before they fight Revan is replaced by annoyance for the older Sith Lord. The woman had the audacity to tow her along as if she were little more than a child, and the worse to be in little more than her typical light robes, and she wonders if she should tell her the prognosis wasn't good with her current fashion sense in mind. There may be armor underneath the black and gold fabric, but Tri'ama wasn't holding her breath that there was any. Nox was known for her beautiful outfits and even more over the top fights against Sith and Republic alike, but Revan would target her first if he knew this information.
They take a transport ship over to the Temple, a skilled Republic pilot at the helm. Tri'ama doesn't know their name, and intentionally doesn't ever mean to learn it. Leaning against the durasteel of the wall, she tries to distract herself from what was coming next. Naji sits quietly nearby, glowing dimly as she meditates, her force presence completely shut off. Not a single emotion is able to be felt from the Jedi, and considering everything going on around them, she is the eye of the storm within the whirlwind of other reactions she can dimly sense of everyone else aboard the ship. Nox rolls her eyes when she glances over to the Barsen'thor, picking dirt out from underneath her nails and fixing her pristine braid bun. Nox is never worried about any major battle ever anyways, and her subconscious scoffs at the idea of talking to her about the issue. Master Grace is with Satele and Theron in the cockpit, surely to calm him down or at least curb the worst of his anxiety. Marr is pacing nearby, seething his own hatred beneath the armor in preparation to expel it all in less than half an hour. Lana is on the ground between the seats, kneeling with a red aura about her. The Sith have been preparing for war, and here it is.
It's time to show Revan what galaxy he's threatened. Which people he will fall to.
She can't stop her racing thoughts, her racing heart. The ship creaks every once and a while, shaking in the airspace as the wind throws them about, rain thrashing in sheets against the hull. Tri'ama is trembling herself, though not enough to garner the attention of anyone else. She flexes and unflexes her hands, and the calming Force has dwindled away considerably. All of her senses are sharper, too sharp. Her anxieties are coming back in full force, and without the helping presence within her, there's not much she can do to keep it from bubbling up and out. She tries to focus on an arbitrary screw somewhere in the room, with her vision swimming as her lungs feel as if they're only getting smaller. As if at any given time, someone could shove a lightsaber right through her sternum and end it all there.
That thought only makes it worse, until she sits down on the opposite side of the bench from Nox. She can't stand now, it only feels as if the ship is getting smaller around her. The edges of her sight are darkening, her pulse loud in her ears.
"Don't think about everything that can go wrong. Think about everything that can go right." Yusaits had once told her a late evening in the spring rotation of Dromound Kaas, "That is the foundation of a strong attack, making an opponent believe you have the upper hand on them. You will just as easily crumble if you allow them to do it to you."
There's nothing that can go right here, even with the most optimistic outlook on it all. Something will have to give, and Tri'ama prays it won't be one of her people's lives that she loses in the midst of battle. Not that she was the most friendly person anyone would ever meet, but it would be a loss to the Empire should any of them lose to Revan.
The Jedi weren't exactly expendable, and if they died the Republic would have the four Sith's heads on sticks, but it would be hard for life to go on if Marr died, if Lana died, if Nox died. Two seats would be rendered empty and up for grabs from anyone who was put into the chair, opening up opportunity for a coup. Defense of the Empire and Ancient Knowledge, while small, had powers that Marr and Nox had yet to exploit. She could only imagine what would occur if someone else took the seats. Lana was only just now living on the promise that she'd get some sort of normal life back after all of this. Three children would be eternally waiting for their mother to come home to them, and have to live on knowing she died for a cause.
Tri'ama wasn't sure if she'd feel guilty for their deaths. She's conflicted, as the Empire is often about power first, not always alliances. Sometimes they fell into place by circumstance, like with Lana and Theron, sometimes they were after you had to admit your power wasn't that of another's, she bitterly remembers that's why Nox had even joined the coalition, because of a request made on her behalf. Sometimes it was sheer coincedence, like with Whyatt, or by fate, with the Barsen'thor. She would miss Nox, as frustrating as she was at the best of times, she would miss Lana. She didn't have a real opinion on Satele or Marr (and likely wouldn't ever), and it would be highly regrettable if Masters Grace and Iresso weren't around any longer to continue to defend the galaxy.
She'd be more than disraught if Revan killed Theron. He would never be safe from her wrath, no matter how far he ran. If she let him run, that was.
In the end, it was their decision to do this. To fight a power not many knew much about. To go up against fate itself, knowing (or denying) this may be their last fight. Ever. No going back, not backspace. This was it.
The ship hits something just as she finishes that thought.
Hard.
Tri'ama slides out of her seat and hits the end of the ship violently, rubbing the back of her head as Naji just nearly meets a similar fate. Lana has been surprised, evidently, and gets a Force hold on something first, Marr doing the same. The ship slows, righting itself as everyone gains their bearings again. A moment later, the door separating them from the cockpit slides open, and the Twi'lek who was at the helm is visibly displeased, lifting their goggles up onto their forehead, "Sorry for the rough landin' m'lords. Nearly would've gotten us all fried if we hadn't swerved like that."
"Nice to know the Emperor is trying to kill us before we even land to fight his precious champion." Nox groans, pulling herself up and dusting off her shoulders. Her hair has come out in strands around her bun, making her look more like the savage woman that Tri'ama knew her as, "Any opposing forces, Twi'lek?" She asks, a grimace on her face.
"Not any that I saw, m'lord. Given it's a kriffin' hell of a storm out there, but I have half a mind to to think we would've been shot down by now if there was someone out there with any rockets." They scratch the back of their head before sighing defeatedly, green eyes full of fear against their blue skin, "Two minute hike up there to the main part of the temple. Close as I could get you before I'd end up just landing on the temple itself and gettin' blasted to bits. Good luck, ground team."
"Thank you." Naji says, nodding to them as the blast door opens. The Twi'lek wasn't kidding about the storm, rain pounding down and lightning crackling in the not-so-far distance. Another lightning strike hits, closer this time, and she can see everyone awash with bright white light for just a moment. Naji moves closer to them, wrapping her arms around them hugging tightly, "Get back to base safely, Reese."
"You don't gotta tell me twice, Barsen'thor. Hope I can get back in before they shut things up, with the storm on the way and all. You and your crew always got a place at Carrick with me when you make it outta here." The Twi'lek bids the woman a hurried goodbye as the others leave the ship in various states of surprise, and Reese takes off again.
"Check your equipment, for I am sure this is the last time we will have the chance to do so before Revan wreaks havoc on us all." Marr says, his own lightsaber hilt in his hand. Tri'ama had dutifully done so enough times the night prior, almost to the point of staying up all night unassembling and then reassembling the parts of her lightsaber, but after the rough landing she was sure something was damaged. The armor had defused most of the damage she would've taken had she been in light armor, and she struggles not to hiss in sympathetic pain when she can see a deep purple bruise beginning to bloom on Nox's ghastly right arm as she checks her double saber.
Well, Nox thrived off pain. Hopefully it would serve her well now.
"If we fail on this mission, I wish for you all to know that you have been honorable allies." Satele says, reclipping her own lightsaber to her belt, "The Empire and the Republic have struggled to ally themselves for years, but today we have proven it is not impossible. This truce will not last forever, but I thank you all for your assistance while you were her."
"You needn't worry, Grand Master. We will not balk in the face of danger." Lana responds calmly in a parade rest, as if this was a normal occurrence for her, "Revan will fall."
"Glad we're all so optimistic." Theron says almost sarcastically, and if she weren't oddly observant right now, she wouldn't have caught Satele's near-perfect eye raise at her son's response. His eyes land on her, with a sad sort of determination behind them, "Barsen'thor, Wrath. Whenever you're ready."
She nods, hoping that he can figure she means more than well. The Barsen'thor is apprehensive to begin. Her hood can't hide her fear, and her presence is deafening to Tri'ama, setting in another second sense of anxiety within her. Is it this loud to everyone else? Overpowering and nearly throwing her off balance. Her nearly identical, troubled grey eyes won't meet her's, and Tri'ama decides it is no longer time for arbitrary truces.
It is time for action. She is ready to remind Revan who the Sith are and why they are among the most powerful in the galaxy.
It's harder to stalk her way through the rain and wind as if everything isn't bothering her and her heart is about to beat out her chest. At some point, the Barsen'thor catches up to her. Her hood has blown back, blonde hair blowing a whirlwind behind her. Her eyes are steeled ahead, a woman on a mission. The others would follow them in soon enough, but because Revan had already encountered them both before on Rishi, they'd lead the charge for the time being, in case they could get the drop on him or talk him out of whatever he was doing. The Jedi's idea, not hers.
Tri'ama would stab him through with a lightsaber before she even let him get close enough to talk. She did not reason with cult leaders. She did not reason with insanity.
The storm lets up rather suddenly when they arrive to the main part of the temple, and it's like walking through a curtain. It's only drizzling as the pair walk up the steps, and Tri'ama's heart nearly stops as they both pause at the top. The man is in all black, with a mask that covers his whole face. He wields a singular purple lightsaber, aiming for them both.
"It's over, Revan." She starts, struggling not to grab her own lightsaber at this point, and not throw at him as she would anyone else. This was not only the man who'd taken Theron from them, but also the one who had been tormenting her for months on end. Eating away at not only the Republic, but also her home, the Empire. Watching him fall would be her triumph, and it would be sweet to put an end to him, "You can't win."
"You've been at my heels for too long, Wrath." He answers, a gravelly voice from beyond the mask as he addresses her, "I knew the Rishi plan was a longshot, but I had to try. Had to make it legitimate. I needed to lure you both here." He pauses again, lowering his lightsaber for moment, "You were supposed to stay busy on Rishi long enough for me to finish here. But no, you couldn't do that, could you?"
"This has all been one big deception, hasn't it? You aren't even the man you claim to be." Naji finds her voice, and responds, stepping forward herself, "Don't try to deny it, you and I both know that."
"You don't know what you're talking about." He trails off, and Tri'ama reaches for her lightsaber as he turns from them, disigniting his own saber. Naji holds up a hand to pause her, and begrudgingly she drops her hand back down to her side. The Wrath isn't sure what Revan is about to pull, but the Force is at her disposal should she need it. When he does eventually face them again, he's removed his mask.
Who does he claim to be, if not Revan? If not the living body of the ghost they met in the cave, then who were they really fighting? The same scars run along his face, the same build, the same nearly soulless eyes. He's a carbon copy of the ghost, all without being see-through, and much less agreeable than the version they'd met before.
It's terrifying.
"I spent three hundred years in lock step with the Emperor's mind. I know what he's become, and what he wants." He declares, and she can only imagine the torture he went through years and years before she was born. It doesn't change that she still wants him dead, but she wonders if he's an omen to what she would become if she stayed loyal to the Emperor.
If that was the case, it only solidified her decision further. She was no Wrath of his any longer.
"The Emperor must be destroyed completely or he will return and consume every last thing! There is no cost too great. If I have to snuff out every life on this world by hand to draw the Emperor out, then so be it!"
"If you're Revan, then who did I speak to outside the temple?" Tri'ama asks, successfully ending his tirade. She's determined to get the answers before she kills him, even though Naji throws her an odd look. This will not go on as a mystery after she's gone.
"Of course, it's so obvious now. You have no idea what I am, what I've become." He responds, effectively skirting the question without even an answer, "I was a Dark Lord of the Sith. I was the Prodigal Knight. I was powerful -- but I was also weak. Not anymore."
"Now I'm pure. Unburdened. I can finally have revenge on my jailer and save the galaxy doing it!" That resonates a little too close to home, lightning crackling somewhere beyond them all and thunder clapping. At the very least, she, the coalition and Revan all have the same goal. But instead of dealing with it as they were, he started a whole cult to finish him off that backfired on him, "I have the power -- and you have nothing!"
She can hear the sounds of assorted boots behind her, and she allows herself a small smirk beneath her respirator at the noise. This was where they began their last stand, and their small fighting force has arrived.
"You are wrong, Revan." Marr declared. She can't see them just yet, but she knows that the others have arrived. Each presence is unique, but all scream in resistance, "They have powerful allies."
"Both Sith, and Jedi." Satele's softer but just as commanding voice adds.
"Allies from all corners of the galaxy." Lana audibly draws her saber and ignites it, the comforting hum of an ignited kyber crystal filling her ears. A few more are ignited behind her, and she can see the blue of Satele's, the green of Naji's and the red of Marr's beside her.
"They won't ever be alone." Confident as ever, Nox's lavender double blade is lit and pointed directly at him, "We've got you now, Revan."
What she first mistakes for thunder is the sound of a jetpack, and she lifts her head for just a moment to find a Mandalorian landing only a few feet from her. It takes her a moment to recognize the armor, and C2-D4 asks the question before she can, "Shae Vizla?"
"Heard the fight to end all fights was going down. What sorry kind of Mando would I be if I missed out?" She asks, a certain amount of humor in her voice. Though, Tri'ama isn't stupid enough to mistake it for idiocy. Unexpected, but her arrival was appreciated. It wasn't the Force, but Mandalorians packed a lot of firepower, and that was all they really needed against him.
"You were saying?" Tri'ama asks, finally pulling both sabers off her belt, the buzz of an ignited lightsaber welcome in her hands. Adrenaline is beginning to run through her veins, "This is your end, Revan."
"I don't care how many of you there are. I won't be denied my destiny! I am Revan!" He starts to cast something, and Tri'ama takes a defensive stance to try and block it. A blast knocks them all backwards, and she can just barely steel herself against the brunt of the attack, being thrown against a stone pillar. The wind is easily knocked out of her, but she gets to her feet easily enough. A quick scan of her allies finds them all in various reactions to the force blast, but they aren't too shaken from what she can see, picking themselves up and redrawing their weapons.
Surprisingly enough, she isn't the first to attack the man. An arc of lightning shoots across her path, Nox's hands outstretched with a maddening grin on her face. Revan shoves her back, an audible slam against another ruin as she crumples. She's able to get back to her feet with the help of the Barsen'thor, who'd been near her before previously. Both stand, Nox scowling with her red lipstick smeared across her face, ready whenever someone else attacks. With the break in his focus, Tri'ama leaps with a battle cry and Revan is forced to turn his attention to parry both of her blades with his own. With that, the battle is unleashed upon the ruins as she dodges lightning, blaster bolts and chunks of rock, trying to get a hit in here and there. He's good, she'll admit that. After three hundred years, he had plenty of time to cultivate an insane amount of skill. But she was wrath personified, rage in a human form.
Marr and Master Grace follow her attack, the Sith Lord and Jedi Knight leaping in after her in a haze of red and blue lightsabers in the fight. Revan dodges here and there, and they aren't exactly in sync. There are a few time she's sure she'd end up falling not to Revan, but to Master Grace's attack style instead. Not that it wasn't effective, but it was a far cry from her and Marr's Juyo form, one she recognized later as Makashi instead.
The battle wanes on for a long while, attack patterns ever-changing as cover fire rains down upon the former Sith Lord, the Barsen'thor and Satele making short work of any serious injuries anyone endured, Nox striking a few times herself after she gets bored of attempting to shock the man, the lavender blade not as easily parried as the other three force user's melee attacks. Maybe out of concern, maybe out of pure stupidity she keeps a tab on Theron, blocking the worst attacks from his position. It distracts her a few times, Revan's red blade keeping her on her feet.
They're winning, she can see as they press their attack. They will win. He's one man, they are ten highly-trained and powerful people people who are here to make sure he doesn't return again.
It isn't until he's clearly losing to the assaulting fighting force that he force chokes her nearly out of nowhere and lifts her off her feet for the time being. A strong grip on her throat and windpipe being crushed, she sputters to get a gasp of air in or out her lungs. Tri'ama struggles, vision blurring as her hands go up instinctively to claw at her throat. He focuses on her for a moment, maybe curious after throwing Grace and Nox back only moments prior. A few blaster shots ricochet harmlessly off his armor at that moment, but then it is over as soon as Marr attempts to get a hit in and she's thrown back with a powerful force throw against the outer wall nearby that nearly knocks her out entirely. Cotton and static fill her ears as she attempts to re-register her surroundings. A voice screams out her title, maybe? A shrill "Wrath!" by most likely the Barsen'thor by the tone of voice. Blasters continue to fire further away from her, lightning crackles and strikes in the distance.
And here she is, laid out by an ancient evil and curling in on her side where she'd hit the rock the hardest. Her head is pounding behind her eyes, surely from after hitting it so hard on her fall. Everything is too bright, and even through the impaired hearing, it's also too loud. Concussed, most likely, but she'd die before she let a mere concussion keep her down.She'd like to say that her life flashes before her eyes, but it doesn't. Instead, stabbing pain shoots up her side as she crawls to her feet, struggling to get her perception of the world back, and she finds that her balance is heavily distorted. Rubbing beneath her nose, she finds it comes away with blood.
The warm feeling envelops her again as she resummons the blade hilts to her hands, stalking back towards the fighting, but like before it leaves her senses sharp. The imbalance of her perception is rendered obsolete for the most part, and she's able to make the leap back to Revan with red lightsabers in hand. Tri'ama can only imagine she looks horribly mad, hair wet and all over her head, blood dripping from her nose and surely her head as well. Revan's strength was already faltering by the assault, as Lana had also given up her long-distance attack after she'd fallen. He very clearly doesn't expect her to come back, eyes widening as she slashes at his side in his moment of weakness. Lana slams him away with a well placed force shove as he falls, and he skids to a stop a few feet away. Tri'ama doesn't bother trusting that he's met death yet, and keeps her right saber ignited before marching over to him.
"In defeating me, you've let the real enemy linger on. You... you doom the galaxy!" Revan says breathlessly, pushing himself up onto his side as she aims her own lightsaber to his crumpled form.
"Had you been successful, had you brought the Emperor back, you would have made the galaxy's destruction all but a certainty." Tri'ama can barely form her words properly, breathing hard as pain shoots through her lung. Lifting her saber, she's ready to end it here and now.
"She's right, you know." A disembodied voice sends a shock of mild panic through her, but she can almost tell it isn't the Emperor. A moment later, the ghost of Revan appears before them all.
"No. Not you." His eyes widen in surprise at the new arruvals, and Tri'ama steps aside for the ghost to approach him.
"You've been blinded by your unchecked rage, your thirst for vengeance, that you could not see the truth." The ghost says, "Now that your power has subsided, I may finally confront you. I only hope you will listen."
"You're both Revan..." Naji notes curiously, approaching with the rest of the team. Easily, she's voicing one of about thirteen million questions that Tri'ama has in that very moment.
"Yes, though neither of us is truly Revan." The ghost of Revan admits, "When I died, I had come to terms. I was ready to become one with the Force. But I soon realized that was only what part of me wanted.
"I cast you out! It was the only way to go on -- to remain and finish what we started! You were holding me back!" The physical version shouts. Two versions? Two Revans? Tri'ama can't imagine how this might have come about, though disignites her lightsaber and hooking it on her belt.
"You think you're stronger this way, but you're not. Neither of us is. We're broken, we can't go on like this."
"I won't stop. Not until I conjure the Emperor. I have to face him." As if intended, or an ominous laugh sounds. Not a chuckle, but a menacing cackle. It's all around them, and yet sourcing from no where.
The Emperor.
"You wanted my return. You did not need to destroy whole fleets or turn a living world barren for that..." The Emperor says, a roar in his voice that Tri'ama would never begin to forget for as long as she lived, "You only had to point the Empire and Republic to a shared adversary, and let them do what they do naturally: make war. The scores of dead have nourished me. I am awakened. And I bring with me -- death!" Punctuating his words is a torrent of rain, lightning striking the temple in front of them. A purple light shoots into the sky, enveloping the building. Shaking erupts around them, and she falls to one knee, trying to ride out the earthquake. The wind picks up just afterwards, as she and her allies struggle to their feet.
"The Emperor was not as strong as he might have been had Revan succeeded, but he is strong enough." Satele says, as Revan turns away from them once more. An omen then, for what was coming.
They'd failed.
"No... he was supposed to face me...to..." He's struggling to even live at this point, Tri'ama can tell. As frustrated as he is, he knows that he's lost.
"You're too weak. You won't last." His ghost says, a sense of finality in his voice. Maybe she would read up on the history of Revan once she returns to the Fury, and she's rather curious how they were separated in the first place.
"I...if we unite, what I am -- won't it fade? Become diminished?"
"Wrath. Even I look in awe at your accelerated rise to power." Revan's ghost acknowledges her again, turning to face her as he ignores his physical form's questions, "You did not get where you are today through kindness or moderation. It had served you well. You make a fine example."
"I don't know if I'm ready." Revan's meek voice is too quiet to have been the same person they'd just fought off only moments ago, and the numbing power of the Force increases, numbing away the pain for just a bit longer.
"You have to be. We have to."
The next few moments are a blur that she attempts to process later. In a flash of light, the physical Revan is gone, armor falling to the floor in a heap. Only the ghost remains, "You've found your center." Naji says, voice straining to be heard.
"I have. For the first time in a long time." He nods in gratitude to the Barsen'thor, "Thank you -- for all you've done, and all you've shown me. Dark days lie ahead. The darkest days. If my error can't be undone, everyone will pay the price." Revan fades away in little more than just a flash of light blue light, "Brace for the worst..."
It's done.
It's over.
Rain pouring down, her adrenaline is sloping off. The pain is coming back in a wave. Though she has a reputation to uphold in front of everyone else, she attempts her best to follow after the rest of the team to meet Reese and leave for the staging area again. But her body betrays her in the worst kind of way, and her knees buckle beneath her, collapsing into a heap on the ground. The power of the Force can't save her from this, and even it can't numb away it all. Her vision swims before her, the Barsen'thor's robes the first thing she sees as she rolls onto her side. There's a flash of red and black, both Lana and Theron behind her. Tri'ama struggles to keep her eyes open long enough to respond to anyone, trying to push herself up with her now bad arm.
"Stars, Wrath." Naji groans softly, her own bloodied and bruised face looking down on her with her blonde hair plastered to the sides of her face. She's gently glowing, trying to do damage control on her assorted injuries. Warmth is pushed into her as Naji grimaces at the action, "You are going to have one hell of a headache in the morning."
"Given I wake in the morning." Tri'ama answers bluntly, slumping back down onto the floor in a heap. Naji nearly rolls her eyes before she's really beginning to lose her vision and perception of the world. Her eyes lift to Theron's form, blinking for a moment as his face becomes sharper. He's suffered, more scars added to the ones she had run her fingers over weeks earlier, some still bleeding. Everyone has.
They were supposed to end Revan. They were supposed to end the Emperor before he could wake again. She's flashing in and out of consciousness, as someone has picked her up bridal style to escort her back to the transport.
And then, the world goes black.
-
"So, I guess this is goodbye." A gruffer voice says as she wakes again. How long it's been that Tri'ama has been out, she's not sure. But as she comes to her senses, she has been taken out of the bigger pieces of her armor and left in her undersuit under a light blanket. Ships are taking off outside, and the lights are too bright for her to do much but crack open her eyes slowly. They've made it back to the staging area, and the tent flap closes back behind Lana. She can't do anything to acknowledge the other woman to let her know she's awake, so she just listens for the time being.
"I suppose so. It's been...an experience, Theron. Be well to yourself." Lana responds, standing to where he was sitting. She can feel Naji's presence somewhere, but nowhere in her immediate vincinity, which she finds odd. The woman must've left shortly before she woke up.
"Yeah. Yeah, you too Lana. Try not to get into too much trouble, all right?" The gruff voice grows a bit softer as her ears begin to unclog themselves, and she finds that it was Theron that she'd assumed Lana had been talking to. Why he'd been sitting with her, she's unsure. A warmth completely unattached to the Force fills her at the thought of Theron waiting on her, though she attempts to dismiss it.
"I'll try not to." Lana says, a smile in her voice. The Sith woman looks over to her surely broken form, a slight smile on her lips, "It's good to see you've recovered, Wrath."
"Recover may be too strong of a word." She groans, trying to push herself up against the pillows on the bed, and Theron pivots just out of sight to help her up. Not too quick to garner any suspicion, but his touch lingers just long enough to let her know it was more than just friendly, "We haven't won. But Revan is done for."
"As far as we know, yes." Lana says, coming to stand where she could see her. The woman had sustained some obvious injuries on her face, a cut that was sure to scar just above the collar of her armor, "The Empire is leaving very soon, and your crew will be landing in a few hours to collect you."
"According to the Barsen'thor, you suffered a concussion and a couple broken bones. Nothing she couldn't really handle, but we figured you'd be better off healing on your ship than passed out for a few days here." Theron fills in the blanks for her. He pinches the bridge of his nose, hazel eyes pinned on her, "You've been out for a couple hours, and she did the best to numb the worst of the pain until you could be moved."
"Oh wonderful. Surely not too much has happened since then?" Tri'ama questions her two companions. A couple hours here, anything could've happened before she woke.
"Nothing of note, no. Darth Marr would like to speak to you and Darth Nox when you return to the Fury for a minor debriefing though. Then, we all can go our separate ways." Lana answers. Her glance flickers to Theron for a moment, before the corners of her red lips curve upwards, "You've done well for yourself, Wrath. I have a few things to get done before I leave as well. If you ever need me, I'm only a holocom away."
Tri'ama nods, and Lana leaves. She'd been an honorable ally, and she dearly hopes she has the opportunity to fight alongside her again before either of them die.
Now, it is only her and Theron left. Frowning, she leans back into the pillows, trying to figure the best way to explain her feelings, explain anything before he leaves. He's got a bandage plastered to his face, and one of his implants is out, and she wants to reach out to touch him. Tri'ama doesn't want to leave him, she doesn't want him to leave.
She wants him to be hers.
But they haven't exchanged words since...nearly weeks ago.
"I-"
"I-"
They both try to start at the same time, and Tri'ama bites her lip before thinking to herself again.
"I'm sorry for my behavior, Theron. It wasn't fair to you." Is the first thing out of her mouth, and there's surprise behind his eyes and in his face, "I apologize if I lead you on for so long."
"No, I...I shouldn't have tried to get involved in something that didn't involve me. I should've been more careful with you." Theron says softly, and she lifts her head to meet his gaze, "This is my fault as much as yours."
"Theron. It isn't. I should've told you beforehand I was still married. There's no excuse for me not doing so other than petty fear. I'm sorry I ruined this." There's a pause between them, and he pushes a curl of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her jaw. Tri'ama leans into the touch, and he leans into her to kiss her gently. They stay like that for a moment, as she tries to savor the taste of him, knowing she'd have to let go soon. Stars, if she could just steal him back to the Empire, she would.
"What a ride, huh? If you'd told me when we met all the ups and downs we'd go through together, I'd have called you crazy." He says, after he pulls away from her longing gaze. His hand is only a few inches from her's as he sits on the cot, facing her, "Maybe I called you crazy anyways. I don't remember anymore. Between all my family fun with Revan and the Grand Master, and then, well, you..."
"How is it between you and Satele? Any better?" Tri'ama asks, trying to lighten the conversation. She is genuinely curious after offering him advice back on Rishi, and wonders if either party had succeeded in growing closer to the other.
"It's...look let's talk about that some other time, yeah?" Theron asks, expression dimming. Tri'ama wonders if she should tell him there won't be another time, but holds her tongue. This, she wants it to last as long as she can force it to, "Well, look, there isn't any easy way to say this, but...I mean, we both know this would have to end eventually. The Republic exonerated me, so I'm back in the fold. And they gave me a new job, a big one."
"That's quite a vote of confidence. You deserve it." She says softly, before placing her scarred hand over his. When it's not immediately denied, she intertwines his fingers with hers. A sad smile replaces his frown.
"Okay, that's...unexpected." He says, looking down at their hands before looking back up at her, sorrow written all over his face. This is hard for him, and she's making harder, just as she'd promised she wouldn't, "You know what this means right? Soon as we rejoin the fleet and make the jump to lightspeed, that's it. No more truce. You and I, we probably won't exchange another word ever again. No more unauthorized rides on the Fury, no more sneaking away from everyone else to have a few moments to ourselves. That's it."
She pauses, unsure how to respond as she tightens her grip on his hand. As if that'll make him stay any longer. Unlike Pierce, he really is unattainable. She can't have him long-term, and she'll never see him again. All she'll have are the memories of him on the Fury, with his fingers tangled in her hair, with his body pressed up against her's. There was no more star-crossed lovers written in the cards for her, and she hates that she has to accept it.
"I don't need words, Theron." She whispers, before painfully pushing herself forward to kiss him hard. As much passion that is running through her veins, she is sure Theron Shan has as well, "I only need you."
I don't love him, she reminds herself, taking a breath before pressing her lips against his again.
But you respect him. And you admire him.
Tri'ama isn't sure how long they spend together. Every moment she lays with him is another moment that someone could walk in, looking for one or the other. That only spurs her on though, kissing every inch of exposed skin that she can get her lips on. This was all they had left, and she doesn't want to let go. As much pain that courses through her body with every action, it's all worth it to have him to herself.
You don't love him, she reminds herself as he helps her off the cot, a strong arm around her waist.
You respect him for who he is, she reminds herself while he helps her replace all the of the durasteel armor that had been taken off her. It's slow going, kisses here and there. A bruise blooms on Theron's collarbone, another matching one on her neck.
And you admire him, she almost says aloud, once he's left after yet another bruising kiss. Their last. The son of a Jedi and a Republic Commander would never be hers, and she hopes that whoever does eventually lay claim on his heart fufills the hole she leaves.
She dials her holocall to find Vette and her crew once she's gathered all that she requires to leave.
But you don't love him.
You can't love him.
But blazes if it didn't mean that she didn't want to.
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