To say that Hrafnhar had mixed feelings about Darvannis would have unduly implied that her feelings were not entirely negative. It was mixed, but it was mixed the way bleach and ammonia mixed to make chlorine gas. Darvannis was hot, and sandy and dead. Which made it better than Hoth but only barely. Marlitharn was in a mood, muttering the moment they landed about how “it had to be mandalorians, stars, why did it have to be mandalorians.” And, indeed, there were mandalorians, but none of them were her clan and she hadn’t heard shit for dick about clan Cadera that wasn’t the usual “those traitorous coward shits couldn’t find their own assholes” chest pounding.
Only Kat’s hand tightening on her shoulder kept her from breaking the nose of that particular mando as he steered her after Marls and towards the tent where Mandalore The Avenger was waiting.
“Are you alright, Hrafnhar?”
“Huh? Yeah.” Hrafnhar lied. “This place is drier than my Great-Grandmother’s cunt though.”
Kat sputtered and Marli made high-pitched noise of disapproval in the back of her throat. “Hrafnhar!” Kat admonished.
“I mean, she was Chiss, so, drier, but less frigid.” Hrafnhar shrugged Kat’s hand loose and rolled her eyes before walking pointedly into Mandalore’s tent ahead of Marli, her long black braid bouncing between her shoulderblades.
She raised her chin in greeting to Shae Vizla and then to the man at her left, the symbol on his shoulder identifying him as Clan Fett. They were both old for mandos and carried themselves with the swagger of a hundred battlefields.
Shae looked tired underneath it though. Worn down. Old.
“Ha! What have we here?” Fett looked from Hrafnhar to Marli to Kat and tossed his head with laughter. “You’re a long way from the Hutt Pleasure Worlds.”
Marli stared at him, her eyes narrowing and Hrafnhar heard Kat mutter something under his breath and she exhaled. She was mando'ade, she didn’t have to put up with his bullshit and Marlitharn wasn’t going to put up with his bullshit and Kat--
Well, she liked Kat. If anyone was going to disrespect Kat it was going to be her. And she would. But that was her prerogative, not this asshole’s.
“Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod?” Hrafnhar spat back, her red eyes bright.
“Shut up, Khomo.” Shae pushed off the table and looked at Hrafnhar, almost like she was looking through her. “Huh, thought you were dead.”
Hrafnhar held Shae’s eyes, refusing to give any ground. “Were the casualties that bad?”
“Lok was killed, almost to a man.” Khomo chimed in. “Half of us thought you’d died with Mandalore the Vindicated.” He didn’t call her a coward, but he thought it loudly enough to echo. Hrafnhar wanted to rip his throat out.
Hrafnhar shrugged, forcing her expression to stay calm, almost cocky. Fett had a reputation and she wasn’t letting this ancient asshole (he was maybe in his forties) pick at her over the deaths of Torian and Mandalore. She keeps her eyes narrowed on Khomo as Mandalore explains the situation and the plan to Kat and Marli.
“I can go in,” Marli volunteered. “I’ve seen worse odds and I can get those guns firing while Kat hits here,” she points, “here, and here to pull off some of the pressure.”
“You’ll need a guide.” Mandalore straightened and hollered, “Torian!”
Torian was not an uncommon name, but Hrafnhar’s heart stopped beating as she turned on instinct. Her Torian was dead. She marked his death alongside Mandalore The Vindicated, knowing they would have marched side-by-side. She had his last letter saved to her datapad where she re-read it when things were too dark or when she was starting to forget the ache in chest, using the loss and his love to keep her level.
The approaching figure was tall with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His armor was too large, giving him a boyish air. His blue eyes were dark but steady, fixed ahead. The brands beneath them, however, confirmed his identity before Mandalore looked at Marlitharn. “This is Torian of Clan Cadera, our best hunter.”
Unbidden, Hrafnhar’s left hand rose up to cover her mouth and keep her surprise from spilling out of her mouth. She looked him up and down, frozen in place with shock and trying to recover before anyone noticed.
Everyone noticed. First Khomo, who snorted, then Marli and Mandalore, who looked puzzled and turned their attention back to Torian and finally Kat, who actually said something.
“Hrafnhar?” He asked gently “Are you--”
“Riduur?” Torian interrupted, his head snapping up like a whip when her name was spoken and his eyes fixing on hers. “You’re alive?”
She cleared her throat and tried to look nonchalant but she was moving too quickly into his arms to actually pull it off and she knew it. She crushed him to her and breathed in sweat and dust as he clutched her back. “Ner jate’kara,” she exhaled. “Fucking hells, Torian. I thought you were dead.” She tilted her head back up and pressed a hungry kiss to his mouth, teeth scraping over his lower lip possessively and hard enough that he groaned with need when she pulled away and pressed her cheek back to his shoulder.
“So little Torian did actually used to dip his wick,” Khomo laughed.
“Shut up, Khomo.” Torian and Hrafnhar snapped as one, arms wrapped tight around one another.
“They--” Marli sounded confused. “Ah.”
Hrafnhar tuned Marli and Kat out when Mandalore cleared her throat, one eyebrow raised. “Good. You two know each other. Save your sweet nothings for later.”
Torian’s arms tightened and then he pulled away, drawing out the contact between them so his fingertips fell away from hers last. “Of course. What’s the plan?”
He returned that evening after successfully blowing the shit out of the factory with Commander No-Shirt. Hrafnhar waited by the entrance. She chewed her lower lip and when she saw him made no attempt to hide the way her whole being lit up. There were questions, there would be questions, where had he been, where had she been.
Did he still want her the way she wanted him?
But he’d called her his wife, and she trusted him to have told her if that wasn’t the case.
Torian swept her up, forearms under her ass so she had to wrap her arms and legs around him or risk falling. Hrafnhar pressed her smile to his and then her forehead to his and squeezed him with her thighs.
“Ni ganar gar,” Torian muttered into her neck.
“Mhi ganar mhi,” Hrafnhar retorted. “Ratiin”