Chapter Text
A taunting, invasive loneliness followed the warrior. It stuck to him like a shadow, ever-present and unwavering like the ocean that laps around your toes. You recognize its presence around him because the same shadow follows you.
Abandonment.
No matter how often you pushed it away and ignored its presence, it always came back. It seems to be the same for the anguished Na'vi. The mighty Toruk Makto, rider of the last shadow, appeared to wear his grief like a shawl. A flash of amber wings sparks in the distance like the embers of a fire. A splash, then nothing save for the mockery from other warriors that echoes across the plains of the crystalline water. He fell off the tsurak again.
A gentle thrum pulsed beneath your feet, vibrations coming from the water. The quietest whisper touched you and pierced your very soul before you could realize what was happening.
Go to him.
Just like that, the all-encompassing pulse ceased. Fangs pressed into your lip, nerves present but nothing stopping your legs from wading into the calm waters. Your throat sang a call to the nearest ilu. You did not feel the cool, smooth hide of the creature beneath you, nor the bite of the sun against the back of your neck as you submerged. Water caressed your face, the sea seeming to guide its currents to accommodate your journey to the frustrated warrior as if it knew you did not come of your own volition. The encouragement of Eywa is gentle but her commands are mighty.
You hear him first, ears flicking forward as you peek from beneath the weight of the ocean. A strangled exhale, then a groan of pain. His hand lifts from the water, darker skin glistening in the sun to reveal harsh red burns in coils. The injury tears a gasp from you, but your nose and mouth are still underwater. So you choke, the burn of salt snaking up your throat as you cough unceremoniously and lift your head.
He is treading water but that does not temper the innate reflexes of a warrior. An extra-appendaged hand reaches for the knife resting on his skin before halting at the sight of the Olo'eyktan's daughter. You lift your hand to your throat, attempting to soothe the burn with calm breathing before redirecting your attention to him.
" Oel ngati kameie , Jake." The greeting comes out hoarse, but you try to seem graceful. Two fingers touch your forehead and fall back into the water. He repeats the gesture, emerald eyes tracking over every movement you make. They are so different from the calm, stormy blue of your brothers and sisters. His are predatory, intimidating, and... unwavering.
From far off, you see your father talking with his brothers. The fellow warriors mount their ilu's, swimming back to the village behind his lead. The position of the light in the sky affirms your hypothesis. They were taking a period of rest from the harsh morning. If the heaving of the Na'vi mere paces away from you was any indication, they had been training all morning.
"You are tired," a mere observation, but his pride is pricked from it, "Let me take you to shore." He looks down, discreetly flexing his hand before giving you a stoic nod.
Jake swims to the ilu. You lean forward, tucking your tail so he has room to slip behind you and onto the creature. He is broad and firm at your back. You begin to wonder if the unwavering characteristic is more a part of who he is rather than the color and shape of his eyes. The warmth mere inches from your back cradles the flustered caving of your shoulders.
The ilu jerks forward, confused at your disjointed 'go!' through the tsaheylu. Toruk Makto lets out a surprised grunt, nearly sliding off before wrapping an arm around your middle. It's the uninjured one, you notice, but can't focus on anything but the corded muscle of his forearm pressing into your stomach. Five fingers plant themselves on your side, under the bones of your ribs. It takes a terrifying amount of forbearance not to let yourself fall into the current of him.
The shore welcomes you both with warmth as you climb off the ilu. He's calmer now, heaving lessened to steady inhales. His skin reminds you of the deep waters compared to your kin. Reminds you of the unforgiving wilderness of the sea beyond the reef. Water slips over the plains of muscles on his body. You scour your surroundings, looking at everything and nothing all at once.
"Does it hurt?" You ask, motioning to the reddened skin wrapping around his hand and forearm.
"What?" His voice is husky but distant. Green eyes lift to yours, and it dawns on you that he is here physically and nothing more. A fog lifts from your mind at the realization. The mighty warrior is plagued in his mind with sickness.
Abandonment. Loneliness. Burden. The breeze whispers to you.
"Your hand." You point to it this time. He looks down like he forgot it was even there.
"Nothing I haven't dealt with before." The dismissal of his own pain saddens you, but you understand. He is a protector, and those that assume that role tend to prioritize themselves last. That part of him calls to you and mirrors your tendencies like a reflection in the water.
"I can tend to it if you'll allow me." The stoicism on his face simmers, the hardness of his face softening to reveal something tender and long untouched. He blinks, and it's gone. He stares at the white sands for a moment, then nods.
"I'd be grateful for your help." You smile at his manners and wave for him to follow you into the forest.
"There are some herbs that grow at a cove near here that will soothe the burns. If you don't mind following me, I can crush them with a stone and make a poultice." You feel nothing but the weight of his gaze on your back. Hear nothing but the light footsteps of his behind you. You marvel at their quickness, their lightness compared to yours as you trek through the tropical fauna. This is his domain, you remember. Roots, trees, moss, and vine are woven into his very being as an Omatikaya.
You hope this short journey is not another reminder of what he's given up and sacrificed to keep his children safe.
"We are nearly there–," you lose footing on a faulty root. It protrudes from the earth like many others. You were using them as steps, hopping from one to another but miscalculated as you turned to speak to the warrior. The skin of your ankle scraped into the hole beneath, and you propel sideways as your right foot slips through before everything stops.
He's at your back again, both hands gripping your middle this time. Your own lock on his forearms around your abdomen in panic. There's a distant stinging on your shin, but you hardly notice as he hauls you up, slowly taking all your weight as you attempt to pull your leg from the woven brown roots.
"Easy, easy," his voice vibrates from his chest to yours, the soothing timbre at your left ear, "I've got you, it's okay." The calming words call to something on the inside of you, something barren and untouched.
You manage to free your leg without much struggle. Jake's steady presence is still holding you up, your legs now dangling beneath you like hanging vines.
"Can you stand?" You have to hold back the vulnerability trying to ooze out of you like sweat. With a shaky nod of your head and some encouraging pats to the strong arms wrapped around you. He lets you down.
Your legs aren't shaky, just sore as you stand again. The tough roots press into the soles of your feet as Jake lets you stand but doesn't let you go.
"Are you okay?" He asks. Embarrassment sinks into you like the teeth of a tsurak, an assurance leaking from your throat sounding like a strangled grunt. "Are you hurt?" His arms loosen but remain on your waist as he faces you, eyes sweeping over the expanse of your legs. There was nothing affectionate about the stare. It was clearly an assessment, detached and searching you for injury. You don't have to look down to know there's a slow trickle of blood seeping from a few scrapes.
He squats down, tail whipping aggressively behind him. Those hard, unwavering eyes have an edge as if he blames himself for your clumsiness. He reaches out a hand, fingers ghosting the steadily swelling flesh. The attention has your tail lowering in shame. You're the eldest daughter of the Olo'eyktan, tripping on the forage of your own forest like a newborn Na'vi. Great Mother, you are mortified.
"Hey, hey." He rises, broad shoulders filling your vision as you look at his chest, anything to avoid what you're sure is an annoyed look. You're supposed to be helping him and healing his hand! "Look at me." There's a firm squeeze on your abdomen and you grit your teeth, looking up at him.
There is no annoyance, no disdain at your mistake, only an unyielding expression that pierces. He is seeing through you, looking in you rather than at you.
"None of that, okay?" You feel chastised, self-pity roughly cut off at the knees. You look up at the light peeking through the winding vines above, if only to avoid his potent gaze.
"Guess we're both gonna need those herbs, huh?" It's a twisted remark at your own pain. But you'll do anything to lighten how he's looking into you. Jake's deep chuckle slices through your will like a blade.
The journey to the cove was not long, and you vehemently avoided his attentive looks trailing over your form to make sure you wouldn't trip again. No one outside of your family had shown that much care to you... ever. You might've been the eldest daughter of Ronal and Tonowari, but not by blood. They are great guardians, fair and just in their parental roles. But that did little to remove the chasm of displacement in your relationships with them.
Much like the family that sought uturu two months ago, you were an outsider in your own village. Perhaps that is why you were drawn to the famed Toruk Makto and his pack of beautiful, brave children.
You wince, trying not to jerk your leg back from where it's resting in Jake's lap. Water roars from above, whooshing relentlessly into the pool below. Your sacred spot, the place you could be yourself away from the odd responsibilities of being a part of your family but not a... member of it. The man in front of you is sitting on a smooth expanse of volcanic rock, feet hung over the edge to let his ankles slosh around in the pool. You look at the ripples, watching your toes drag back and forth in the water as your right leg rests upon his thighs.
His left-hand burns where it rests on your knee. Tingles rise with every minute move. You've become malleable in his grip, allowing him to shift your leg as he washes your wound before applying the paste of herbs onto your aquamarine skin. You could've done this yourself, but he has insisted. A resolute plea from the famed warrior had you caging in any protests.
"You remind me of my itetsyìp, Tuk." (Little Daughter). A small laugh resonates in his chest, before casting a sizzling glance your way. You hope he doesn't see the flick of your ears or the whooshing of your tail behind you. Bashfulness grew in you like a swell of the sea at high tide.
"How so?" You ask. He smiles, reaching over to dip two fingers into the poultice resting on a leaf between you two to grab more. Happiness is breathtaking on you, you want to tell him. His canines glint in the light, a smile. A true one that sends a pang right through your chest.
"She cares about everyone without thinking twice," he looks up, fingers faltering on your leg, "Speaks her mind but is... wise about when to do it, for the most part." He looks down again before continuing to press the paste on the long streaks of red on your skin. The affection in his voice, his body language, his eyes, it's unmistakable. You are honored he would compare you to his dearly loved daughter.
"She's clumsy, too." The playfulness in the comment pulls at you like a riptide, setting off your equilibrium. You nearly fall into the pool below. He looks at your reaction and barks a laugh, closing his eyes and throwing his head back to do so. It stuns you, but a stunned laugh rips up your throat before you can stop it.
"I-," your toes curl as you squirm, to which he grips your knee and pulls you back with a strong tug, "I'm not clumsy."
"You sure about that, sweetheart?" The sarcasm in his tone has you pulling your leg away.
"Alright, that's enough, Toruk Makto, " the name comes off mockingly, but his smile widens as he lets you go, "My turn to help." You move closer, noting the dimming of the light beneath the trees. It will be time to go soon. To eat and commune with family by the fire before eclipse. As much as you enjoy his company, keeping him from his little ones is not something you wish for.
He allows you to pick up his hand and inspect it. You do so without sparing him or the rapid thumping of your heart any attention. The burns are clean, just need to be soothed and wrapped. You reach up to unfasten the shawl resting on your shoulders before thinking too much about it. Your cut can manage without wrapping until you arrive at your marui. His, however, cannot wait since they are in his hand.
"Wait, what are yo–" You only send him a fierce glare that freezes the words in his throat.
"It is my responsibility to care for the villagers, and I will do so without regret." He looks into you once more. It's so intense you turn back to your shawl before ripping it gently to create suitable wrappings.
His skin is sticky from the salt of the sea and the humidity of the air. Thick locs are bound away from his face, leaving nothing hidden. Not the iridescent constellations on his cheeks and body. Not the imploring look on his eyes as they trace over the side of your face in earnest curiosity. It's all so overwhelming, yet you've never felt more comforted in your whole life.
Jake has an inflexible ferocity that permeates the air around him. It cloaks you like the weight of being submerged deep in the ocean. A comforting, secure feeling that you cannot help but melt into. Eywa must have smiled graciously upon his former mate. This sort of quality was not one you've ever experienced. It was rare.
"I see you've been having trouble befriending the mighty tsurak." You would not forget the reason the Great Mother guided you to him hours prior. He huffs, hand twitching in yours like he wants to clench it.
"It's different than riding an ikran... a lot different." The admittance is quiet and vulnerable. It washes over you. You push away the shock of his confession.
"What is it that troubles you the most?" It's a vague question. One that he thinks over for a while as you continue pressing the salve onto his hand in featherlight touches.
"The connection is different," his shoulders sink as he looks away from you, ears folding back in unreadable emotion. "The tsaheylu is harder to grasp a hold of. I can't seem to find where exactly to put my focus." You hum, feeling the ebb and flow of the water beneath your toes. Eywa sends a soft wind to your side, shaking the vines and foliage above.
"Maybe this is not something you should grasp," you whisper with a soft squeeze to his hand, "Ocean is not like land. If you try to thrash against the current, you will drown."
He looks at you, something blazing in his eyes.
"So what would you have me do?" He is not frustrated, but genuine. He knows the fate of his family rests on their ability to adapt to the ways of the Metkayina. You doubt the other warriors in the clan have taken the time to explain what it really means to be one with the sea, with the All-Mother.
"Don't grasp," you enunciate the advice with a squeeze to the unharmed skin of his forearm, "Let go... let Eywa fill your mind instead of your worries." He looks to the pool below.
"Yeah, easier said than done, sweetheart." A soft admittance. There he is again, that burdened warrior, the father sunken in grief, trying to claw his way to the surface so he won't drown. You empathize with what he's feeling though you have no children and have never lost a mate.
Loss comes in many forms, but all hurt the same. Like a root has been torn from your foundation so you can no longer eat, see, or live without the pain. Trying desperately to move on, to grow. Anything.
"I will speak to Tonowari and see if he will grant me permission to help you transition to the Metkayina ways." His eyes meet yours like a magnet, and you fear you may have overstepped. "Only with your consent, of course."
He contemplates, eyes never wavering from your face. Jake studies you, and you breathe deeply to keep your face stoic, to show your resolve. You ignore the tug in your stomach.
"I'd like that..." You look down to hide the nervous, fluttery smile trying to escape. "I'd like that a lot."