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He met her again in the smoky middle of night. Her scent was usually sweet, gently clinging to him like pollen from flowers, but he himself reeked. The fires were burning still, outside his ship, and he inhaled deeply, enjoying the sweet scent of victory and the delicate creature in his arms.
The battle had waged for months, but finally here, in this abandoned place, once a home to humanity that were now but ghosts; burned away by blistering light, he had met his foe. He had blazed forward, with the flames at his back, appearing like some avenging hell beast, and his blade had finally met its twin.
Blue swords buzzed angrily, the blue energy racing white at the points. At each clash, energy scattered, and he felt it on his face, almost blindingly brilliant in the arcing glow of their combined light.
“I’ll take you and your pet down,” the other sangheili hissed as they married blades, “You dare defy our covenant? Our law?”
“I left you and your etchings long ago.” He stepped back the exact moment his combatant did, both saurian males glaring with yellow eyes shining in the surrounding fire.
“It is not right, you shame your fathers, and you break the spines of your mothers. You shame us all.” Hal ‘Trun snorted hard, his jaws gnashing as he spat words still, “You’re as alien, as –weak- as the rest of them.”
He, once known as Yunn ‘Trun, now Yunn solely, did not challenge his words, but merely slashed forward in a short arc with his blade. The energy sang as it tasted the air, and once again he was in a sumai stance, ready to cut down his foe.
His uncle, once a hard but firm supporter at his back as a child, now was an enemy. It had taken years to build trust and prove to his family he was worthy of their name, only for one choice to tear it all asunder.
She was that choice. It had taken all his willpower to not hide her somewhere, far away from him and their hunt. But no…he knew they would hire bounty hunters if necessary, and they would have found her, and they would have killed her slowly. She was safer with him near.
She was not just a parasite to them, but something that had dishonored their household, the Trun keep. It was embarrassing that he, a famous swordsman in their country, on their small colony of Navalos, had actually defied everything to be with her. To love her.
Yunn had always felt different than the others. While the average youngling enjoyed the hunt and the sport of the blade, he had studied to understand all things. The alien things had fascinated him the most. He had only pursued the sword to honor some shadowed uncle, a father he would never be allowed to know, yet still he should claim that same blade. That same curse.
Swordsman were not even permitted to marry. He had to ‘spread his seed’ as his uncle once crudely put it, to encourage the sword line further on. That was to be his legacy. What harm had it been to seek an alien lover? To find an actual love, one who was foreign yet had shown him more understanding than his own family keep?
“You do understand.” He remembered how her eyes, those small but shiny blue eyes, had looked up at him with wonder. She had shown him a book of her favorite poems, and he had connected with it. The way it sang to him, it was as if it was a story in his life. She had felt the exact same way.
She had been meant for other things as well, for politics that she also did not believe in. She had only wanted her art, her poetry. Those stories she wrote that flowed in both their languages.
It had taken him ten months to teach her sangheili, but she had hung onto his every word. She was patient, curious, and kind.
He remembered the first time they had touched intimately. It was a clumsy, uncertain fumbling of fingers. His so large, hers many and so thin and delicate. Eventually he had formed a cave and allowed her fingers to slip inside. She was warm and soft. He could still remember, it was as if someone had lit a tiny candle between them.
Hal ‘Trun threw himself forward again, and his sword sent light dancing across the grass around them. It was bright now, with the flames roaring around them, and the blue deadly blazing of twin blades.
Yunn sidestepped swiftly, and bent, toes splayed, and with one grunt he had rolled forward, throwing one elbow down, and sending his blade upward.
That was the first cut. He could smell the blood burn on his blade, and hear his uncle’s angry pained cry.
The flowers were cut, and pulled at their stem
To be placed in a container, not of their own whim.
The poem they had read together last, it had sounded out in his mind, in her voice. Sweet and flowing.
They were backed off again, his uncle panting, blood drawing down his arm in angry black lines in the ghostly light.
“Nishum.” Hal ‘Trun’s shoulders trembled, but not with weakness. He could smell the rage burning off of the other sangheili. This would be their last fight, because one of them would be dead soon. It could only be tonight. The fire had been burning long enough.
“You’re all worms,” Hal seethed, his teeth clicking angrily as his mandibles snapped open, “You burrow in deep and destroy from within. You should have never been born.”
“I was not born for you,” Yunn said calmly. The poem still played in his mind, in her soft voice, and it grounded him. He was placid, and unwavering. He would end this, and it would end now, “You do not get to decide my fate. My body and soul are mine.”
The daisy missed the sun, and found herself away.
Lost in the darkness, no longer allowed to sway.
Rose with her thorns, cut and cleaned.
Tied in a ribbon, dying and demeaned.
Yunn allowed his uncle to approach, feeling ready to parry him, or throw out his own sword in turn. The other male was larger, but he was unsteady on his feet, and like any great thing, the fall itself would be greater still.
Yunn was nimble, and younger. He was certain other uncles would pursue, but they would only find him one at a time. For their so called honor.
The flames he had started himself. He had landed their ship in an abandoned city, a colony called Devos that once belonged to humans, but now only housed their remains after the Covenant’s ruthless cleansing of life long ago.
He knew the flames would be a beacon for any pursuers, and Hal ‘Trun had come indeed. He had always followed close behind, and the bitter sangheili would take his life, and also that of his mate. It was time to be done with him.
With that thought, he had dashed forward to meet his uncle’s blade, and Hal had lifted one shoulder, and surprised him.
Yunn felt a kick at his leg, connecting with the side of his right leg, and in turn, his body had tilted to the right. His opponent’s blade had flashed against him, and he felt a burning pain as it clipped his hip.
Hissing through his teeth, Yunn ducked down, and threw himself bodily at his opponent. Their swords were apt mostly at stabbing, he would cut the distance between them further.
He gripped his uncle’s sword hand with overwhelming pressure. There was the satisfying sound of bones creaking and snapping. The other male screamed out in pain and rage, his own arm coming forward to try and free himself.
Hal ‘Trun’s blade sizzled as it escaped his grip, and the now extinguished sword’s pommel, hit the grass. Before this event had fully realized itself, Yunn had readied his own blade, pulling his uncle back by his neck, the other sangheili trying to put pressure at the hand that held him, but slipping in his grip.
Then the blue light had seared, cutting through his enemy like a glassing beam parting the earth. Blood spat and hissed along its length, burning away with the last of Hal ‘Trun’s life-force. It had been a clean perfect sear, split in between two pounding hearts.
He twisted the sword quickly, cutting them both to pieces. The other sangheili could not even throw words, as blood was erupting from his mouth, cutting rivers down his armor, his mandibles frothing and gaped as he fell forward and died finally.
Yunn stood there, over a sangheili who was blood, but he could not recall as ever being family. It could have very well been his father, but who knew, and all he knew was, it would not have mattered much. If it had, he would feel pride that he had easily bested him at the sword, which being what was most important to his clan, he felt the irony strongly.
Like a flower, they had pulled him, cut him, and placed him where they bid. It had been not his own will, but the will of others. The sword had saved him, he had escaped his planet, met his soul mate, and had felt true happiness at last.
Winona had been captured by slavers. They had been his mission, kig-yar pirates on the fringe of his home space. A mercenary, under the operation of an understanding shipmaster and crew, they had taken in the captives, the ones that had not been murdered outright by their captors, and he had found her with her book.
“They let you keep that?” He had found her peering into a small book, cradled in her hands like a fragile creature.
She had looked up at him, startled, her eyes a startling blue. Like the sky during the summer months on his planet. “I hid it in my blouse.” She explained, patting one hand on her chest, “Well, rather my, um, bra.”
Later she had explained that article of clothing, after many talks of poetry, and meaning, and of lives feeling unfulfilled.
She was lonely too, or had been before they met. She had worked tirelessly on a farm, but she had been searching for happiness. She hadn’t minded the work, but her past haunted her still. They had shackled her with so much responsibility, and expectation. Her mother was in politics, as was her father, they had expected her to follow suit, but instead she had fled to another colony.
“I took my allowance, a ridiculous sum for any young girl,” She laughed as she had told her story, “I saved it all. I earned enough to move away. It was the only clear choice I could see.”
“I will find joy in my life,” She had sworn, “Even if it means leaving my past behind. My family has their way, and I will find mine.”
He had found her interesting, she and her little book. Both small, both very curious. When he realized what poetry was, he became obsessed with hearing her speak of it. She would read to him on and off, hours when he was free to himself. Much on the ship was simple check ins and organization of materials, afterwards he shared much of his time with her.
“Did you know, Winona means ‘first born daughter,” She had told him one day, “I was not the first, and certainly not the last.”
“Mine is hardy, strong. Named for a bark in our forests that cannot be easily cut,” He had replied, “Trun is my family name, it is also the name of our country.”
“That is odd, but interesting.” She had smiled her odd human smile, her teeth complete except for one chip at her left. He had also noticed a small mark under her lip, and wondered if someone had hurt her, or if it was merely an accident.
She did not act damaged, not as weak as humans were made to sound on his world. She had once fallen in the hall, but had only laughed, blaming her clumsiness. Before he had met her truly, he had found her unnerving. She was too happy for someone who had suffered so much.
But it was hope. It had been hope all along. Even tied and thrown into a dark place in the stinking core of a pirate ship, unsure of her fate, she had remained hopeful. It had never faltered in her.
Now he was with her again. He had not said a word to her, but merely nodded as she met his gaze. He had started their ascent into space, leaving behind yet another ghost on a shattered world.
“Are you hurt?” She ran a hand gently down his arm. He turned his good side further towards her, ignoring the sting of the wound at the opposite.
“I am fine.” His fingers gently rest on her head, and his fingers play over the soft earthy colored curls there.
We are fine.
It was not over, not by any means, but once again, he was hopeful in her presence. That they would meet whatever challenges opposed their love, and find a way to live together in peace.
Because what else was there, but hope, and what remained still but the path ahead. He would forge that path for both of them, him and his blade, her and those words she uttered with such devotion, and trust.
He loved her and she him, and that would always, always, be enough. It would be everything.