Erithon gazed through the warehouse doors and into the clear dawn, lost in thought as the teams broke camp and began sorting the last of their gear for transport. They'd go on the offensive today, taking out the Sith and placing House Organa firmly back in power.
The reconnaissance that Aric Jorgan and Qyzen Fess had brought back the previous day had resulted in a late night of strategic planning and plotting. The hours of preparation had left him feeling restless but hopeful. Aitahea and Qyzen had been key, the only ones present with any practical experience fighting Sith. Havoc had almost none. Less common in the field than Jedi, he'd seen fewer than a handful, all thankfully at a safe distance. So far.
He knew, logically, that Aitahea was the best-equipped to take on any Sith directly – which was the plan they'd gone with – but he didn't have to like it. It would be an understatement to call her knowledgeable and skilled; their areas of expertise were wildly different. That's probably why they worked so well together. They complimented each other, both in the field and off-duty. He knew a good ally when he had one.
But damn if he couldn't shake this nagging feeling that he wanted her safe and secure somewhere far, far away from this battlefield. Any battlefield. He scowled to himself; it was a stupid thought to have. She was more than capable, and he'd seen it in person. Repeatedly.
He'd have to be content with being at her side instead. And hopefully better focused than he'd been yesterday, recalling their conversation at the cliffs. He might not be a Jedi with the power to read thoughts, but surely, he could tell when a woman was pleased to see him. She'd said as much.
Come on, he thought, pushing away from the entryway and back inside to grab another box of gear and hauled it toward the exit with maybe just a little more force than necessary. Focus.
But she had taken his hand. And allowed him to steady her, close enough to… well. The rocks had been slick and maybe she'd still been woozy from the drugs but she was probably perfectly able to perform some sort of ridiculous acrobatics and maybe there'd been no danger at all but the way she'd kept her eyes on his had been just… wow.
The expression on her face when he'd said her name out loud, what had that been? For a moment she'd glowed brighter than the Alderaanian sunrise. At least she had for that split second before they'd been interrupted, whatever moment that had been building between them dissipating at the sound of Aric Jorgan's enormously inconvenient voice. His second hadn't openly confronted him about it, but the Cathar's wry expression had said enough. When they'd arrived back at the warehouse, Elara Dorne had quickly interrogated them both about the Jedi's condition, and before subjecting Aitahea herself to one last examination before she was satisfied.
It was stupid to think about anyway. Nothing would happen. Nothing could happen, for a million reasons, the foremost of which is she's a Jedi, and even if she didn't-
"Erithon."
And there she was, quietly saying his name like it somehow belonged in her everyday vocabulary. He allowed one moment too many to pass, relishing the sound of her voice. "Aitahea," he replied, enjoying the smile that curved her lips.
"It's past daybreak. Duke Organa and the others have already left for the palace." The rest of Aitahea's crew had messaged, indicating they'd be ready and waiting when they returned – victorious, he hoped – to the castle. The scientist and his electronic assistant weren't trained medics, but Aitahea had assured everyone they would both be helpful.
Erithon pushed the crate into the transport and secured it. "That's the last of our gear. Let's review the mission one last time before we leave for good." He looked around for his own gear, hauling the cannon over his shoulder and tucking his helmet under the opposite arm.
"Our teams are gathered." Aitahea had her hood up, probably to ward off some of the chill in the morning air. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were pink within its shadow, and despite her calm expression, her eyes shone bright. "They're ready."
"Then let's do this."
The combined Organa and Republic forces were waiting patiently in the growing light. The other members of Havoc chatted quietly, turning to offer quick salutes as Erithon and Aitahea approached.
"Jorgan? One more time." Erithon tossed a holoprojector to the sergeant, and after an efficient catch, Jorgan brought a detailed map of the adjacent farmland into view.
"Sir. Aurek team will be yourself, the Jedi, and Qyzen Fess. You'll be covering Master Aitahea as she takes down the apprentices." As three red symbols flickered to life, Erithon noticed Aitahea's almost imperceptible flinch at the phrase 'takes down'. "They're indicated at these locations. We'll cover the rest of the Thul troops and the war droids. Sergeant Dorne will lead the larger Besh group against the soldiers, while Cresh team takes out the droids with me. Any questions?"
Erithon waited, listening to murmurs of readiness and the sound of helmeted heads shaking. "None here," he said, and when he looked to Aitahea she offered an almost imperceptible smile. "Everyone stay safe; keep your heads. Master Jedi?"
Aitahea swept her gaze over the gathered fighters and gave them a solemn nod. "May the Force be with us."
"Let's move out."
A few speeders had been loaded with the meager supplies they'd gathered, including medpacks and stims for any wounded, but they'd be quieter on foot, aiming to surprise the enemy camp before it was fully awake and ready to retaliate. The confiscated Thul weapons were now in the hands of the courageous Organa subjects. They lacked the numbers and experience to make it a fairer fight. Nevertheless, Aitahea had insisted that their enemies be slain only if absolutely necessary.
Erithon wasn't surprised by her plea for mercy. He'd done a little research on her Order when he'd had the time, and it was clear that Aitahea was the kind of Jedi that relied on words and wits more than her lightsaber. He'd seen her both fight and negotiate; she was as proficient a warrior as she was a diplomat. And that wasn't even bringing into the equation that surreal incident on Taris, what he'd learned was Force healing. He'd meant to ask her about it last night, but by the time they were done strategizing there was no time left for chat.
Before they crested the final rise, Aitahea stopped them, Erithon dropping into a crouch and drawing close to hear her whisper. "Allow the apprentices to focus on me. I can keep myself hidden with the Force somewhat, but I won't be able to do the same for you. I will handle the Sith." She sighed and shook her head, worry shadowing her voice. "Keep me safe from any other threats."
"We've got your back." Erithon's voice was muffled and mechanical coming through the helmet speaker. He nodded toward Qyzen Fess, hunched behind a fallen log a few yards away.
"There's the first."
The Sith apprentice paced restlessly just outside her tent, a human woman no older than Aitahea. Aitahea slipped soundlessly between bits of cover until she was within shouting distance. Erithon crouched at the perimeter, feeling clumsy and bulky in his armor. Aitahea turned when he shifted, signaled for him to wait in cover. He grimaced inside his helmet, and her expression softened to beseeching. Wait, she mouthed silently.
Erithon nodded, and Aitahea stole across the dewy grass toward the first target. He scanned her surroundings, but the Jedi edged around the apprentice's tent unseen. At the last moment, the Sith turned towards Aitahea's hiding place, but before she could step around the corner, the apprentice collapsed without a sound. Aitahea visibly sagged against the heavy canvas, then lifted her wrist comm to her lips.
"First target neutralized." Her breathless voice crackled into his ears. "Besh and Cresh teams, proceed. Aurek, let's find the second."
The next target was further into the encampment, but the entrance of their soldiers gave them a welcome distraction. The second target was ready and waiting for Aitahea when she strode into view, hands aloft as a shimmer of motion cascaded around her, fading in seconds. The Sith's golden eyes flickered into ruby as he launched himself at her, igniting his saber once aloft. Erithon had his cannon trained on the enemy, ready to pick him off if he got too reckless with his Jedi.
Aitahea expertly caught the blow on her own saber, keeping her stance but skidding backwards in the dirt under the onslaught. The Sith broke away, leaping back only to come rushing toward her again with unnatural speed. Erithon heard the sizzling clash of lightsaber blades over the growing sound of fighting across the camp.
The Sith significantly outsized Aitahea and was taking advantage of it as he rained blow after blow against her lightsaber, trying to break through her defense with brute strength. Laboriously, Aitahea began to pummel him with debris from the ground between blocking or avoiding his strikes, and he was finally beginning to slow.
After a particularly large rock smashed into his head, he faltered, the barrage of strikes ceasing as he clutched at his bleeding face. Aitahea slipped in close to deliver a deadly strike, and the Sith crumpled to the ground. She remained still for a long moment, her face hidden in the shadow of her hood, until Erithon began to raise his hand to his helmet comm to ask if she was okay.
He was opening his mouth when she turned and again signaled for them to follow, this time motioning toward the opposite edge of the camp. The final target. She gave them each an austere nod as she spoke into the comm again.
"Target number two neutralized. Aurek is proceeding to target three."
They scrambled through the swiftly emptying Thul camp toward the final target's tent, quietly picking off a few stragglers as they crossed paths. The final tent, boldly flying an Imperial banner in the heart of Organa lands, stood isolated from the rest of the camp. Aitahea came to an abrupt stop as they approached, signaling to Erithon and Qyzen to stay back. Erithon scowled as he scanned their surroundings, nothing showing on his sensors.
The last Sith materialized as though from nowhere, bearing down hard on Aitahea's hastily raised saber just like the last had. She went to one knee, crying out sharply as she dared to take a hand from the hilt and swept a handful of pebbles into her opponent's face. He snarled in pain and frustration, and when the red blade faltered, Aitahea darted away. With a roar, eyes still streaming, the Sith grasped for Aitahea, despite her being well out of arm's reach.
Erithon watched in horror as Aitahea stiffened and began rising into the air, realizing with a surge of fury that the Sith was doing it. The Jedi struggled as though his hand clenched around her throat, instead of empty air.
"Hey, over here!" Erithon shouted while adjusting the cannon controls for a grav mine and firing it into the dirt solidly between himself and the Sith. The man grinned maliciously and allowed Aitahea to drop to the dirt, his attention right where Erithon wanted it: on him, not on Aitahea and not on the mine. Aitahea's eyes were on Erithon, too, even as she struggled to regain her breath, the terror he felt reflected in her gaze.
The Sith stepped boldly into range of the mine, but instead of being yanked roughly to where the bomb had been laid, he used the momentum to continue to arch over the gravitational field and land firmly just steps from Erithon. The trooper swore, scrambling for his holdout blaster, the cannon useless at such close range.
"Ah, easy pickings, you Republic soldiers," the Sith growled. Erithon raised the blaster and fired repeatedly, but the Sith just twitched his lightsaber and sent the blaster bolts flying away. If he could just get in closer. Sith couldn't block a shot-point blank. Can they? Over his opponent's shoulder, Erithon could see Aitahea on her feet and running for them, one hand pressed to her throat and coughing hard. She stumbled to her knees again, blindly reaching for… the Sith? Or himself?
A ribbon of red light blurring well too close to him bought his attention back to the Sith, and Erithon raised the blaster only to have it sliced in half by a now entirely too-close lightsaber blade. He stumbled back, shaking the remains of the weapon from his hand and watching the glowing saber blur again, this time followed by a shower of sparks and… a very unusual pressure that seemed coming from his chest plate.
"No," Erithon groaned, his legs failing and sending him to the ground. He fought to stay conscious, but the blue Alderaanian sky was all too swiftly blotted out by darkness.
Aitahea was unsure how she was able to muster the scream she emitted as the Sith's blade slashed across Erithon's chest. She coughed again as she forced herself to her feet and pushed.
Busy gloating over what he'd thought was easier prey, the Sith had ignored Aitahea's recovery and went tumbling away from Erithon's still form, right into the path of Qyzen Fess. The Trandoshan wasted no time in halting the Sith with a swift and precise strike to the temple while Aitahea raced to reach Erithon.
An ugly gash had been carved right through the trooper's chest plate and into the flesh beneath. Aitahea dropped to his side, her fingers scrabbling fruitlessly at the seams of his armor, reeling at the acrid odor of smoldering alloy. How does it… come off… I have to… Force help me! She shouted wordlessly in frustration, desperately yanking his helmet off and cradling his head in both hands.
"Erithon!" she called, unwilling to wait for telltale breath sounds or the feel of his pulse beneath her fingers before she plunged them both in the Force.
Everything else disappeared, suspended in the silence between heartbeats. The only thing Aitahea could see or feel was the man before her. Dimly aware of her fingertips tracing his jawline, she guided her perception through his Force signature. Focus. There. The gash wasn't deep, but a lightsaber wound was traumatic, often inducing shock. She felt her own anguish crash into her like a wave breaking on a rocky shore. Why hadn't he listened to her?
Sundrenched golden fields, a glitter of sunlight on water… a flicker of shared memory brushed against her consciousness. Aitahea waved them away impatiently. This was more difficult without direct access to the wound and would need all her skill and attention.
"Erithon."
His eyes remained closed, but she could have sworn his head turned toward her, just a fraction. Hope burst through her like a flame, fueling Aitahea as she drew closed damaged muscle and flesh, fingers trembling where they hovered just against Erithon's skin.
The sound of Erithon taking a deep breath pulled her back to herself, and with a reluctant sigh, she released her grip on the Force, save for a few subtle threads interwoven between them. Time eased into its ordinary flow again.
"Erithon? Are you alright?"
Erithon opened his eyes more easily than he thought he should be able to, all things considered. He tried blinking next. That worked. His ears were working too, he noted, because Aitahea was speaking to him, though it took a few extra seconds to put the sounds back in an order that made sense.
"What were you thinking?" The Jedi demanded, her voice hoarse and trembling.
"About doing something heroic." He squinted up at her, her worried face just inches from his. Aitahea was a little blurry around the edges, but he squinted and a smudge of dirt across her cheek resolved in his vision. Cute. "Did it work?"
"It did not! That was reckless!" Her next breath caught in her throat, and with escalating regret he watched a tear slide down her cheek. "Don't you ever do something so foolish again," she breathed, shaking her head and dislodging the unnoticed tear.
He realized with a start that she was cradling his head in her hands. That was pretty nice, too. "I won't," he promised, idly wondering where his helmet was. "I'm sorry."
She nodded before pulling in a deep breath. "I know." She frowned a little, pinning him with a severe glare. "Now tell me how to get this blasted thing off so I can see what I've done."
What did she do? "Um, here." Erithon didn't argue, just levered himself into a sitting position, with Aitahea's fastidious help, and released the latches on what he realized with a wave of nausea was an extraordinarily damaged chest plate. The Sith's lightsaber had carved a channel right through the alloy and his tunic beneath, and… well.
The feel of her hands on his skin, pushing aside the scorched cloth, brought his attention soundly back to the present. Aitahea sighed, brows knitted. Erithon tried not to squirm. "There's a scar after all." She pressed her palm to his chest, biting at her lower lip, and Erithon dearly wished to know exactly what was causing him to be so lightheaded at that moment. There were just a few too many options for him to sort through. She lifted her eyes to his, and now that his vision was settled again, he was certain there were more tears gathering on her lashes, threatening to spill again.
Now it was Erithon's turn to take a deep breath, and in the sudden silence he slid his hand over hers. Surely she felt his heart pounding under her palm? "I earned it."
Aitahea stared at him, lips trembling, for about a handful of those double-time heartbeats. "I-" Her brows arched in sudden realization. "Where's Qyzen?"
Erithon closed one hand around Aitahea's while reaching for his blaster with the other – oh wait, the one that was in pieces? Damn. Force knew where his cannon was; he sure didn't. "Where's the Sith?"
"Here, Herald." Qyzen called from a few yards away, otherwise silent as he approached. "Mission is successful. Look." He motioned towards the camp entrance where a flare had just soared into the sky, the bright blue glow contrasting with the warm morning light as it arched and faded out.
"They did it," Erithon murmured as Aitahea broke into a relieved smile. "Oh." She looked apologetic as she drew her hand out of his grasp and reached into a belt pouch for their own flare, standing to raise it aloft.
"Our turn." Erithon supposed he should have been watching the flare itself as she fired. He heard the shouts that went up across the camp, but he found himself too busy watching the play of light across Aitahea's face. Her hood must have fallen back during the fight, and tendrils of pale hair had escaped from her braid. He wanted to smooth them back into place. He wanted to pick her up, spin her around, and kiss her breathless. Wanted to, certainly would not actually do, he was reminded by his wobbling knees and a burning fatigue that began to set in all too swiftly.
As the last of the gold glow flickered out, he finally stood; from this higher position noticing the bruises that had begun to darken around her throat. He pulled in a breath and drew her close, gloved fingers brushing along her jawline as he turned her head tenderly to one side. "Aitahea…"
"I'll be fine," she whispered, catching his hands and drawing them gently down. Her gaze flickered to where Qyzen stood, patiently awaiting orders, and Erithon's brows leapt up. Their fingers were still entwined. "We need to get back to the castle, take care of the wounded, let these people have their lives again."
He looked back to her, eyes narrowed in frustration. "You are one of the wounded."
She lifted her chin high, giving him a significant look as she pulled her hands away from his to pat the singed remains of his tunic. "Speak for yourself." She raised her hood again, wearing an unreadable expression.
"Aren't we a pair?"
She glanced sidelong at him from the hood's shadow, but a smile curled at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes were gentle. "Let's go."
