nip ngahu | stuck with you
pairing: tsu'tey x tayrangi fem!reader
warnings: angst, mentions of violence, mentions of death, mentions of blood, a little swearing
author's note: remember how tsu'tey died in the first movie? no you don't :) part 1/?
FROM THE UNDERBELLY of their ugly metal ships, the sky-people carried out their relentless assault on the ground party below. Spraying bullets at every Na'vi and ikran within shooting range, the humans' objective was abundantly clear: to kill everything in sight.
Tsu'tey launched himself from the back of his ikran and onto one of the ships, sinking an arrow into a soldier's chest before his feet even touched the floor. Tossing the first gunman in his reach overboard, he grabs another, then another, keeping mental score of his kills.
That was three.
He was rushed by a group of them next, unleashing a barrage of assaults. Their combined strength was laughable. Disarming them was easy. Using his bow, he cracked open two of their masks and their bodies crumpled to the floor.
Two more.
Surely, these aren’t their mightiest warriors, he thought. His heartbeat quickened with adrenaline as he hunted for another opponent. There was a flicker of movement in his peripheral and he knew he’d found one. A soldier, crouching behind a crate of boxes fumbling to reload his machine gun. This was almost too easy. Pulling one of his arrows from a dying soldier’s sternum, he repositioned it in his bow and released it with a snap, piercing it through the latter.
One more.
He relished in his kill, unaware of the lone gunman gaining on him from behind. A strained war-cry from the soldier and another round of bullets were sent whistling towards Tsu'tey. He managed to evade the bulk of the crossfire, but not before he felt the stinging pinch of lead sinking into his shoulder, torso, and thigh.
The force from the gunfire was enough to cause imbalance. Launched backwards, Tsu’tey took a single step, the wrong one, and was suddenly in free-fall.
Where anyone else would have prayed or screamed until their lungs gave out, Tsu’tey didn’t bother. Warriors weren’t entitled to much in this life, save for a little pride and just enough years into adulthood to produce an heir. And even these things weren’t promised. Death, on the other hand, was guaranteed.
Tsu’tey had long since made peace with this notion, and found comfort in it, as it meant that his reunion with Sylwanin was also promised. She was closer than ever, as was the forest floor, and with nothing left to do but prepare for the inevitable landing, Tsu’tey closed his eyes, and braced himself for impact.
HARDLY A HEALER, you'd more or less managed to hold the battered Na'vi together long enough to deliver him to Mip'awn; the makeshift command post slash medical station operating from the Tree of Souls.
Upon your arrival, three healers approached your ikran, fervently inquiring the condition of your ward.
He’d worsened considerably since you’d plucked him from the sky. Previously writhing in your arms, hissing orders at you between grit teeth to grant him a ‘warriors death’; a mercy killing, he’d since succumbed to his injuries and was now completely unresponsive.
“He was shot. I tried to stop the bleeding but–” you gestured to the shoddy tourniquets you’d made from bits of your loincloth; tied firmly to his wounds, they were darkening by the second. “I’ve never seen so much.”
“Move child, let me see.”
The healer closest to you, an elder from the Tipani clan, took a moment to poke and prod at the flesh of his cheeks. She examined the color of his gums and his tongue; measured the warmth of his breath and the length, thoroughly searching for signs of life. Unsatisfied with his vitals (or lack thereof), she moved to raise one of his heavy eyelids. Taking note of the yellow eye rolling lazily in its socket, she grunted lowly and returned to her position. You couldn’t gauge her reaction– was that good? Bad? You searched her stoic face for an answer to no avail, although you silently prayed for the former.
“He is unconscious, but still with us.” A wave of her hand and the other two healers removed the warrior from your grasp and onto a stretcher. You watched as they lifted him with a grunt and carried him elsewhere. “He will live.”
“Does that mean that you can heal him?”
“Not I.” The elder woman said. “In matters of the Omatikaya, we let their Tsahìk decide what to do.” Starting after the healers she’d sent away with your rescue, the Tipani healer beckoned you to follow her. “Come. She is this way.”
The healer’s tent was dimly lit and noticeably cramped; virtually packed to the brim with sundry spiritual apparatus and healing materials. What little room was left to move around freely was occupied in part by the massive na’vi you’d collected. You soon learned that he was called Tsu’tey and that he was Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya.
His Tsahìk, Mo’at, worked expertly to repair the sloppy tourniquets you’d made. She criticized their craftsmanship as she undid them and detailed what she would have done differently. Peeling back the stained fabric, Mo’at frowned at the gushing wounds. The spindly woman sat back on her haunches in thought. Her daughter, Neytiri, crouched beside her, cupping a hand to her mother’s shoulder..
“What is it?” She asked. Her voice was barely that of a whisper and already cracking at the anticipation of the unthinkable. “Is he–?”
“No. Not yet,” the healer confirmed. “These injuries are worse than I thought. He has lost too much blood already. Perhaps it would be best,” a pair of cat-like eyes landed on her daughter’s mate– the famed dreamwalker, Jakesuli. “To kill him now so that he can finally rest with the ancestors.”
The Tayrangi clan voiced their dissent in the form hissing and gnashing teeth. Where the Omatikaya found honor in the merciful release of their wounded, the Tayrangi favored rehabilitation and retention in their numbers. Considering the Omatikayan’s preferred method of salvation, it was no wonder their clan was so small.
Unfazed by your clan’s aggressive display, Mo’at continued, “It must be done, Jakesuli. Our Olo’eyktan is weak. He is in no condition to lead the people.” Gesturing to Tsu’tey’s pallid form, she encouraged Jake to unsheathe his knife. Losing color himself, he refused.
“You don’t understand. I can’t– I won’t kill him.”
“You are sad for him.” Neytiri concluded. “Do not be, Ma Jake, for this is the way it has always been done. Since the time of First Songs. It is good–”
“Bullshit!” You interjected.
You’d since resumed your desperate attempt to keep the chieftain alive, as the only qualified healers in the room had resorted to giving pep-talks in the corner. It was maddening; In the time it would take to convince Jake to follow through with the coup de grâce, Mo’at and Neytiri could have done something useful and tended to Tsu’tey. Hell, he wasn’t even your Olo’eyktan and your efforts were more concerted.
“Nothing about…this,” you gestured between them and Tsu’tey. “is good. Have you such little regard for your Olo’eyktan that you’d just let him die?”
“His injuries are too great.” Mo’at answered curtly.
“The Tipani healer said he would live. You didn’t even try–”
“You will be mindful to watch your tongue, girl. I am Tsahìk of this clan, not Artsuk.”
As Toruk Makto, Jake was next in line for leadership and was regarded as such. Considered the provisory chief of the clan, the decision of Tsu’tey’s fate was ultimately his to make. Like the Tayrangi, he didn’t think killing Tsu’tey was right or even a necessary thing to do in this case. In the Marines, he’d seen guys in way worse condition after a war. Bruised, battered, and broken, those guys would do anything to keep in the fight. To live and see another day. Three gunshot wounds to a Na’vi’s massive frame was hardly fatal. Hell, even a human could stomach the injury under the right circumstances.
“You should go elsewhere while we decide what to do.” Mo’at suggested curtly.
“Nah, there’s no need. I’ve already decided.” Jake said finally. He figured there wasn’t much use in the clan losing a seasoned warrior if they didn’t have to. More selfishly, he wasn’t sure that he could stomach the loss of another friend– of another brother. Though he’d certainly have Tsu’tey’s mouth to deal with when he came to, he preferred that over the alternative. “Tsu’tey lives.”
