The sun beat down relentlessly, and a line of sweat trickled down his back between his shoulderblades as he stepped into the relative coolness of the cave's shadow. Only halfway through what was considered springtime on the planet and already the temperature was topping out near 30 standard degrees. The constant stench of sulfur was preferable to the blazing heat that was sure to come with summer, but with any luck they would be relocated to Nevarro before suffering through that again. Chatter had spread throughout the covert speculating what their new home, this time on the surface, would be like, but Teren Rynad didn't care, as long as it meant coming out of hiding- a shameful state of existence that had gone on for too long.
The system of caves where they had lived for the past few months was a flurry of activity as belongings were gathered and preparations were made to move out. Bo-Katan Kryze had graciously offered her Gauntlet to transport some of their number before she set out on her recruiting mission; the rest, including the foundlings, would be aboard a second ship provided by the magistrate of Nevarro. Teren, however, had other plans.
But first, he needed to finally admit to something he had carried in his heart for far too long.
No one seemed to notice as he moved toward the back of the cave until he reached the largest room, the center of which was dominated by a large, circular forge, always under the steady gaze of the mythosaur kyr'bes mounted on the wall. For the first time since their arrival on this barren planet, the blue flames were dead and the air was absent the smell of the special concoctions used to temper their steel. A lone figure stood at the far end of the space, tenderly laying tools into a large case. The faint bit of sun filtering in through the hole in the ceiling glinted off the horned bronze helmet as she snapped the case shut and laid it atop a second, already packed and ready for transport, on one of the nearby benches. Normally he would have taken a seat and waited for her to acknowledge him, but this time he allowed his feet to carry him into her sacred space.
He ran a hand over the edge of the forge. "Will you take this with you, or rebuild the one on Nevarro?"
Her head didn't so much as twitch in his direction, even though he knew she recognized his voice. She continued packing her tools in silence for several moments, making him wonder if she intended to answer, and then she suddenly spoke. "I have been assured the ship Greef Karga provided will be able to carry it, but I wish to rebuild the other as well. Ona has expressed an interest in learning the craft, and we will need more than one if she is to learn properly." Teren smiled under his helmet at the mental image of the sassy little blonde following their armorer around like an eager pup. Though she was only nine standard years and not yet old enough to swear the Creed, Ona was as smart as a whip and could easily talk the ears off a loth-cat- a fact of no small significance, since she had refused to speak for weeks when they first found her rooting through garbage on one of the many skughole planets the Tribe had spent a brief time on prior to their initial settlement on Nevarro. As if her thoughts were headed in the same direction, the sharp line of her shoulders eased a fraction and her voice took on a hopeful tone. "Perhaps one day we will have a great forge once again, where there will be many of us to work the iron."
"Ki'va." At his use of her name, her visored gaze swung around to meet his. He took a step closer, then another, and another, her visor following him all the while, until finally he stood in front of her. Only a couple of feet separated them, and now he could see that a slight tremor shook her frame, as if she was wrestling with something under the privacy of her helmet. Sliding the glove from his hand, he reached out and tenderly grasped her arm. She stiffened at his touch, drawing her shoulders back into her habitual posture of control and stoicism.
"For so long we have lived in the shadow of fear. Now the time has come to step into the light once again."
His head listed slightly to the left as he studied her, wishing for the umpteenth time that he could remove her helmet and look into her eyes unobstructed to ascertain what she was truly thinking. "You know you don't have to speak in riddles; not with me."
Her gaze moved away from his and silence filled the space between them for a long time before, finally, her shoulders drooped. His other hand came up to gently grasp her other arm, and a second later her fingers wrapped around his elbows. "It's almost too incredible to believe," she whispered, her voice a husky shell of its normal confidence. "It's been so long since we've set foot on Mandalore, since we've lived as one people, and now to have it within our grasp"- she shook her head- "I'm almost afraid to believe that it's possible."
"I know." Teren pulled her into his arms; he couldn't help himself. He could almost see the silent tears making tracks down her cheeks as she hesitantly slipped her arms around his waist. He could count on one hand the number of times she had allowed him to hold her like this, but he couldn't count the memories he had of her: spending hours secretly watching her at her craft, lovingly bestowing a new helmet to dozens of children as they swore the Creed, his utter shock when, after several refusals, she had finally accepted his offer of a midnight walk out over the lava flats, hidden from view from villagers and fellow Mandalorians alike. Memories of those nights together and the conversations they had shared had been the only thing that kept him from despair following the Imperial attack on their Covert that had scattered their Tribe and made communication nearly impossible.
He still remembered Ki'va's resolution when she insisted on staying until their enemies were defeated or the last man fell. He had been one of a handful of adults charged with getting the children to safety, and the last glimpse he caught of her- their leader, standing fearlessly with the rest, her tools as her weapons at the ready- was an image he carried with him all the months of their separation. In spite of himself, he felt his lips twitch into a half smile as he imagined the scene so vividly described by the men who were with him fighting off the pirates, of her outflanking the villains and taking out their heavy gun with those same tools. He wished he had been there to witness it instead of in another sector of the city, performing one last security sweep. There may not be a word for hero in their language, but she was one that day. He had no doubt their losses would have been much greater without her quick and decisive actions.
Which only made him love her all the more.
The thought stole his breath as much as it had the first time the realization had struck him- not that he thought himself incapable of such love, but he never expected to find it again. The loss of his wife, though many years ago, still stung at times, made worse by the fact she had been felled not in battle but by a deadly sickness that swept through their covert. Medical supplies had been sparse, and Rayla had insisted they be used on the children instead. She fought the fever valiantly for nearly a week before she finally succumbed, turning his world on its head once more.
Ki'va took a step back, putting inches of space between them but still remaining in the circle of his arms, which drew his mind back to the present. He cleared his throat. "I have decided to accompany Bo-Katan on her mission. I've already spoken with her at length, and she has agreed to allow me to travel with her to gather weapons as she rallies the people. We will need as much as we can get before we set out to retake Mandalore." His hands slid down her arms to grasp her fingers. "But before I go I want to ask you something."
"Yes?" Her voice was quiet but not timid.
He hauled in a deep breath to steady his nerves. "I know that we never committed to an official courtship, and the future, as it stands now, is full of unknowns. But I know that we can make it through anything if we are together. What I'm asking is this: will you marry me?"
Even through the vocoder of her helmet Teren could hear the breath that rushed from her. He could almost see the look of drop-jawed shock that he knew filled her face. He held his breath, silently counting out the seconds of silence that lapsed. "The welfare of the Covert must come first. We will have many great obstacles in our fight to reclaim our homeworld, but once Mandalore is secured, yes, I will marry you. Nothing would give me more delight than to speak our riduurok on the soil of our home."
Teren's breath caught in his throat. She had accepted his proposal! He wished he could sweep her into his arms and spin her in a circle, laughing out loud in joy, but he instead settled for pressing his helmeted forehead against hers; not roughly, as the warriors were accustomed to when they greeted each other after a battle, but a gentle kov'nyn bound in love and promise. "Nothing would give me greater joy either." He reached up and tugged the small mythosaur necklace free of his armor, untied the cord that held it around his neck, close to his heart, and placed it in her palm. Such tokens of betrothal were rare among their people, but he wanted her to have something, a piece of himself, while they were apart.
Her head bowed slightly to look at the piece, and for the briefest second he feared she would insist on him keeping it. But instead she reached up and unfastened the cord from around her own neck, pressing hers into his palm. It was identical to his, except for the bronze color that matched her armor. He fastened it around his neck and tucked it under his flight suit, laying a hand over where it lay beneath his chestplate. "I will keep it close to my heart until that day." He could almost see her smile as he drew her into one last embrace, savoring the feel of her wrapped in his arms and locking away the memory that would have to sustain him for the foreseeable future. Several moments passed before he begrudgingly pulled away. He gave her hand a squeeze. "I love you."
"I love you too." And with one last tender touch of their foreheads he turned on his heel and strode away from the forge, anticipation swirling with joy and determination in his gut.
Now, to make one day come as soon as possible.