Rules: In the poll, list two true things that occur in your WIP, and one that is a lie. Responders then must vote for which one of the three options they think is the lie. Check back in when the author posts their WIP to see if you were right!
thanks for the tags @queen--kenobi and @baba-fett !!
gonna throw everyone a curveball and do this for Forged By War!
Two Truths and a Lie: FBW
Lyra uses Force Healing to save Fives.
Lyra is pregnant with twins during Order 66.
Lyra and Brynn do not start out as friends.
Lee&Cass’s eyes only!
Voting ended onMay 14, 2024
want to read Forged By War? find it here!
also follow @abandoned-by-destiny for more FBW updates!
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Featured Characters: fem!OC Brynn Clarke, fem!OC Orli’Va, clone!OC Skip
Rating: General (However this series is 18+ as a whole so MINORS BEGONE PLEASE)
Tags: Language, Brief allusions to past loss/familial death, Feelings of inadequacy, Talk of clones being expendable
divider by: @djarrex
Location: The Grand Republic Medical Facility on Coruscant // Year: 22 BBY
The shrill tone signifying the end of class interrupts the final portion of the lecture. As everyone surrounding Brynn begins to pack up their datapads, the Ithorian professor’s modulated voice rings out once more.
“Be sure to finish and submit your specialty applications before you sign up to take the certification exams!”
Brynn fights the urge to roll her eyes as she puts her own datapad in her bag. For the entire semester, students have been deciding which specialty they want to dedicate their lives to. If she were to make a decision right this minute, her specialty would be trauma. You don’t experience what she did at such a young age and not be fundamentally changed by it. If there had been a trauma specialist on level 1757 that night, she wouldn’t have lost everything. The rings dance against her chest as she recalls the fateful memory. Brynn wants to be that difference for someone, somewhere in the galaxy, but she needs to get away from the city-planet first. Her scrub top bunches up at the shoulder when she slings her bag on. Walking leisurely out of the classroom and down the wide halls, Brynn fixes the folded shoulder of her top and fishes a few credits out of her breast pocket when she reaches a caf stand— a perfect melding point for caffeine addicted students like herself and businesses looking to capitalize.
“Just my usual ‘Va.” Brynn tells the Pantoran barista when she reaches her counter.
“Of course B! One large hot chocolate with two dashes of caffeine crystals comin right up.” Orli’Va uses Brynn’s nickname before flashing her a cute smile. Brynn returns her smile with a wink before turning to face the immense window behind her.
The Grand Republic Medical Facility. It's a different view than the lower levels where Brynn grew up since it actually, you know, has a view. Until she came here, Brynn had never even seen the sky. So whenever she gets the chance, she stops by what she likes to call the Eye of Coruscant. Even though Brynn is still on one of the lowest levels of the spire, she is able to see far and wide across the city planet. Today’s skyline is no different than the rest, sprawling across the lanes of traffic and overtaking the skyscrapers. She just can’t get enough of the light. She has been here for 5 years and the sun fills her with the same amount of awe as it did the first day.
“B! Order up!” Orli’Va’s sweet voice brings Brynn out of her trance.
“Thank you, love,” Brynn tells the Pantoran.
“As always, darlin’,” she responds, “Have you made a decision about a specialty?”
“How did you know I needed to decide?”
“Hun, this is a caf stand in the Grand Republic Medical Facility,” Orli’Va moves her arms in a sweeping motion, gesturing to the extensive structures around them. “You can’t serve beautiful fifth years their caffeine without knowing when specialty applications are due.”
“Oh well, no, I haven’t decided on a specialty yet.” Brynn leans in further onto the counter, “But I am leaning towards not submitting one.” Orli’Va’s eyes get wider in surprise; the barista leaning in closer as well.
“Wait, so what are you wanting to do then?”
“Well I was thinking, and don’t judge me for this,” Brynn gently points a finger at the blue skinned woman, “I was thinking of applying to be a contracted medic for the GAR.” Orli’Va backs away in shock, a look of astonished horror glazing her eyes.
“Darlin’, why would you do something like that?”
“Because, O, I feel like it's the least I could do. These men deserve all that this genius could offer,” Brynn changes the subject with a joke before grabbing her hot chocolate, “I will let you know how it goes, beautiful. I’ll see you later.” She says with a smile over her shoulder as she walks away.
Brynn’s head is reeling with choices by the time she walks into the medical facility’s dining hall. She thinks that maybe talking to Skip could help her further decide about what to apply for, a speciality or a medic contract. The hall is packed this afternoon, classes all being let out early due to the term ending. Brynn stands on her tiptoes, scanning the crowd for the armor of her friend. Most of the Coruscant Guard refrains from painting their armor in brash ways—as Brynn has noticed among the other battalions around Coruscant. Skip has the notorious red painted in ripple patterns over his shoulder bells and vambraces—while his leg armor drowns in the color, leaving the rest a clean canvas of white.
“Hey, Brynnie!” Once she hears her name, Brynn’s eyes lock onto a trooper waving his arm.
“Skip!” she laughs out his name, “I was beginning to think you weren’t here yet.”
“Nah, you’re just a short shit so I figured I’d give you an assist,” Skip teases. She sets down her drink and pulls a sandwich from her bag as she sits across from the soldier.
“Ohhh, so someone is feeling bold today,” Brynn rolls her eyes. When she begins to unwrap her food, Skip snatches half of it before she can stop him.
“I am always bold Brynn, you should be used to it,” Skip replies, “Now what do we have today?”
“I…” Brynn emphasizes, grabbing to get her lunch back, “have a sliced nuna sandwich with Strider cheese sauce and Ferroan spinach.” Skip draws further out of Brynn’s reach, keeping the sandwich close to his chestplate.
“Aw, c’mon Brynn,” Skip takes a massive bite from the sandwich before continuing. Brynn is pretty sure that the noises Skip makes are supposed to be a sentence, but with a mouthful of her sandwich— she can’t make out a single word. Brynn tries to hide her laughter and fails miserably at his attempt to talk.
“I’m sorry, what?!” she says between laughs. Skip swallows before repeating himself.
“I said, you’ve never tasted the shit the Guard mess has. You would be stealing your best friend's food too.” Brynn rolls her eyes. She clenches her jaw while Skip continues to eat his half of her sandwich. She fights the urge to blurt out her life-changing decision, but before she can, Skip speaks up. “So, I have been hearing whispers that you will be choosing a speciality soon?”
“Yeah,” Brynn draws out, “Something like that.” Brynn absentmindedly picks at her own half of the sandwich.
“Okay, B, you better spill whatever the fuck it is that you are hiding,” Skip says pointedly, “Or I will get it out of you myself.”
“Ugh fine, okay. So, um, do you remember about a week or two ago when I told you that I was thinking of being a trauma specialist? Because of my parents?”
“Yeah, you seemed pretty adamant about working in the lower levels too. From my patrols down there it seems like they really need it.”
“Well—”
“Are you rethinking that? What do you want to do now?” Skip interrupts.
“Maker, Skip, shut up and let me tell you.”
“Okay sorry, continue.”
“I am rethinking it. I’ve downloaded the application for fifth years to go straight to the war effort, to be a field medic.”
“Brynn, why in the fuck would you want to go to literal war?” Skip enunciates each word with careful vitriol.
“Skip, you know for a fact that I have seen shit, and been helpless,” Brynn leans forward and stares the member of the Coruscant Guard in the face, “I can’t just stand back and not do anything. I want to be there and I want to help and do something that matters.”
“Brynn, listen to me, this isn’t the front lines. My brothers out there are literally in the midst of hell day in and day out. You can stay here. Save lives here. After what you’ve told me about how you grew up? You can be there for the children, the families, that actually need you here. Don’t risk your life for us. For clones. We are expendable. Replaced by the next model off the line.” Skip’s expression went from worried curiosity to a scowl as he spoke.
“No, Skip, you can’t say that. You and your brothers, you are all sentient human beings. You matter to me, and there are thousands of citizens that believe the same. You all are fighting a war. Those men on the front lines? I would trade an asshole who blew up himself and his neighbors for selfless men any day.” Brynn tries earnestly to explain her choice to not remain on the comparable safety of Coruscant.
“Brynn you call us clones selfless. Why? We don’t have a choice. We come off the lines living, breathing, and fighting for the Republic. We are bred to be expendable.” Skip explains again, his scowl deepening.
“Expendable? Why would there even be medics then? There are clone medics. There are positions for civilian medics. Skip, if you were truly expendable those positions would not exist.”
After that Brynn grabbed the rest of her lunch and left. Skip’s words hit her, in a way she wasn’t expecting. The amount of confusion, determination, and rage was starting to boil over. Now she has to submit the application. Not to prove a point to her best friend, but to show herself that she is capable and talented enough to make a difference in the lives of the men that she desperately wants to help. Because in this war, Skip is right, they have no choice. Brynn knows they deserve to be shown the kindness and the support that no one else wants to give them.
By the time Brynn gets to her final class of the afternoon, she had tear stains on her cheeks. The clones aren’t expendable like Skip said, are they? No, Brynn shakes herself out of her thoughts, out of the propaganda. They are human-fucking-beings, and Brynn will be damned if she’ll let them die without knowing how much they mean to the citizens they are dying for.
Her final class, a throwaway neurobiology course, comes and goes. Brynn could honestly do these procedures in her sleep. Her mind is still reeling from the conversations with Skip and with Orli’Va. Should she do this? Devote her life and well-being to the war effort? Brynn knows that she is smart, and that she is capable. Yet, she sees the look on the faces of her classmates. So young. So naive. They don’t know that she hears them talking about her. Second guessing her, and undermining her when they know she is correct. Brynn hears all of the comments, but they don’t know that she’ll remember every single one.
When Brynn finally makes it back to her dorm for the evening, she just sits. She sits and thinks about what she is about to do, and if she is doing it for the right reasons. Is she doing something crazy just to prove everybody wrong? No. She is not. Opening the blank application, Brynn decides to put her ego aside and think about everything she’s seen with the clones. Skip, last week, being yelled at by one of the instructors, just for doing his job. Other members of the Coruscant Guard being verbally assaulted, or having things thrown at them. Working for a Republic that doesn’t want them to exist. But then Brynn thinks about those few people who handed the soldiers a cloth to wipe their armor. The one who told the professor to walk away.
Tapping ‘Submit’ on the request, Brynn huffs and sets her datapad on the small desk in her dorm. Brynn looks around the small area, thinking back to when she first moved in; five years ago, with nothing more than a hand-me-down bag and some notebooks. One would think that after living at the Grand Republic Medical Facility for the last five years she would have a bigger living space, but a singular room and a refresher is all Brynn calls her own. Five years ago, she set out to try and make a difference. This field application is just the next step. As she settles down for bed, her mind wanders to what her future holds. Will she be in the thick of it? On the front lines, dodging blaster fire, surrounded by death? Or will she be aboard a medical frigate? Assisting the Kaminoan doctors and surgeons in a hospital setting? Brynn succumbs to the weight of her eyelids, drifting into a deep sleep. Her final thought of the night; is that in a day or two her request to serve the Grand Army of the Republic will either be accepted or denied.
Location: The Grand Republic Medical Facility on Coruscant // Year: 22 BBY
It has been well over a week since Brynn submitted her medic application and she is getting anxious. Brynn should be used to it, being anxious comes with the territory of being the youngest human among the fifth years. How long does Brynn have to prove herself? Everyone is always second guessing her because of her age. Yes, it has rubbed off on Brynn; she does second guess herself more than she would like to admit. However at the same time, 95% of it Brynn would say, her confidence outweighs the anxiety. She maintains some of the highest marks among her class, and she is still fighting for her place in the ‘big kids’ crowd.
“Just because you haven’t heard back on your request, doesn’t mean you’ve been rejected.” Brynn whispers to herself. Her datapad dings with a new message notification as she walks away from the caf stand. She senses that it is the answer she needs to quell her anxiety and quickens her pace to the dining hall. Maybe she can have Skip read it?
Finding Skip in the sea of hungry students wasn’t difficult; Brynn was on a mission. Once she reaches the table with her friend, Brynn unceremoniously plops her datapad in front of the soldier and spins it towards him.
“Um, what do you want me to do with your datapad?” Skip wipes off the corner of his mouth with a gloved hand.
“I know how you feel about me wanting to join the war effort, Skip,” Brynn begins, her eyes cast downward, “But I need, need, you to read this notification that I got. I just can’t do it myself.”
Skip takes the datapad in his hands, tapping on its screen to navigate to the message Brynn spoke of. The soldier narrows his eyes and takes a deep breath.
“Damn.”
“Wait, what?! My application got denied?” Worry fills her voice. Skip slides her datapad back across the table and she scans the message before glaring back at her friend.. She reaches across the table and gives the man a slight, but firm, whack on the back of his head.
“You can’t stress me out like that Skip, you know how much I wanted this.” Brynn begins to feel her heart rate increase, the excited anxiety of uncharted territory blossoming in her chest.
“Ah Brynnie, I just want to keep you around,” Skip looks into Brynn’s eyes, giving her a small smile, and grabs her free hand, “You are my favorite lunch date.” Brynn returns his smile. She’ll miss her best friend. The tears finally spill as she rounds the table, crushing the trooper in the tightest hug she can manage.
“You’ll have to tell me all about Kamino,” she whispers into his neck.
Location: Transport Docking Station on Coruscant // Year: 22 BBY
The morning sun is blinding as Brynn and Skip walk towards her transport. In less than five minutes she will be embarking upon a brand new adventure. Saving lives, doing good in the galaxy. Before they reach the gate Skip turns and grabs her shoulders, stopping them in their tracks.
“Okay! Review time!” Skip’s voice comes through his helmet’s modulator.
“Number one, remember, stay away from the tubies. You will definitely get attached because we are adorable little shits when we are babies.” Brynn nods her head in agreement.
“Okay, number two! If you see a reptavian flying overhead?”
“Just duck,” Brynn finishes, rolling her eyes.
“Hey! None of that dude, they will actually snatch you up for a quick meal.” Brynn scoffs as he continues, “And finally, you will soon realize, Kaminoans are weird as hell. Absolutely do not stare, they think it’s rude.”
“Skip, you do remember I grew up on Coruscant. I have seen probably every species that a humanoid deems as weird.” Brynn finishes with a slight laugh. After an awkward moment of silence she drops the bag on her shoulder and throws her arms around her armored friend.
“I’ll miss you Skip,” Brynn says. Skip gives her a strong squeeze and pulls away.
“I will miss you too, short shit,” he returns, a sniffle interrupting his goodbye.
Brynn grabs her bag off the landing pad and starts walking toward the ramp of the transport. Halfway up the ramp Brynn turns around, her braid fluttering in the morning breeze. She sees Skip still standing where they parted ways, bringing two fingers to her temple in a mock salute. Seeing Skip laugh, Brynn smirks to herself. Once she boards the ship, she catches a final glimpse of her best friend as the door closes.
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Rating: General (hi this fic as a whole is explicit so minors PLS DNI okay thank youuuuuu)
Tags: canon-typical violence, wound care and other generic medical things (nothing explicit)
divider by: @djarrex
Location: The Arena on Geonosis // Year: 22 BBY
Waiting for the signal in the tunnel around the arena feels like agony. Lyra can feel Master Plo’s amusement from behind her as they both wait for Master Windu’s force signal to all of the Jedi around the arena. She’s never seen so many in one place except for the temple and there’s not a Padawan in sight. She bounces on her toes, fingers itching for her lightsaber.
“Patience, young one.” Master Plo’s voice rumbles from behind her and she turns to face him. “We will go when the time is right, and not before.” He chastens her slightly, but she knows it is in kindness. She nods, struck again by the lack of weight on the right side of her head. It’s been a few months since she was Knighted, but she’s still getting used to not having her Padawan braid anymore.
“I know, Master. But you can’t blame me for being nervous.” Lyra says to him and he laughs quietly.
“Take a deep breath. Channel your nerves to the Force, and you will calm.” He says, still laughing slightly. Calm was hardly ever a word people used to describe her. She takes a deep breath like he tells her to, and feels slightly better. Truthfully, she’s more worried about Padmé. She’s supposed to be dead about fifty feet to Lyra’s right.
Master Plo and Lyra both straighten at the same time, the Force vibrating around them. He takes two steps towards the entrance of the tunnel, his lightsaber already in his hand. He motions to the two Jedi down the way from them as she unhooks her own saber from her belt. The other Jedi exit first, and Plo and Lyra swiftly follow them.
They emerge into the sun, Jedi wreathing the balcony of the arena. Across the way, on the dais, they can see Master Windu’s purple blade ignite across someone’s throat. She takes two steps forward, standing at the edge of the balcony. Master Plo and Master Mundi are on either side of her, and a sharp spike of alarm shoots up her spine as she looks down at her sister surrounded by destroyers.
Padmé is on the back of a reek with Anakin and Obi-Wan; and as all the Jedi around the arena ignite their lightsabers, she feels a sense of relief from all three of them. Lyra ignites her own saber, the dark green blade feeling like an extension of her arm.
Blaster fire erupts from behind them as battle droids flood the arena. She didn’t wear her robe, but Master Plo and Master Mundi are immediately caught in fire-ridden fabric. She blocks blaster bolts for both of them until she gets pushed to the edge of the balcony. She turns and dives over the edge, trusting the two Jedi Masters to be able to handle themselves. She lands in a roll in the center of a battalion of B-1 droids. She starts swinging her saber and runs towards the last place she saw Padmé.
“Lyra!” She turns at the sound of her name and sees Anakin in the back of a chariot with Padmé riding the orray. She reaches her hand out and Anakin swings her up into the chariot behind him.
“Are you alright?” Padmé and Lyra call towards each other in unison. Lyra smiles in Padme’s direction as she stands back to back with Anakin, blocking shots and taking out droids as they ride past. The orray gets shot as they round a curve and the chariot falls. Padmé falls forward as the back of the chariot tips with Anakin and Lyra caught in the cart. Lyra steps out first, and force-pulls Padmé back into the cart as Anakin continues to block blaster bolts.
“Your back, let me see it.” Lyra tries to turn Padmé, but Padmé brushes her hands away.
“There’s no time. You can heal me later.” Padmé shoots at something over Lyra’s shoulder. Lyra smiles at her.
“It’s good to see you too.” Lyra says, turning to face the arena again. She kneels next to Anakin as she disengages her saber and starts using the Force.
“You call this a diplomatic solution?’ Anakin quips towards Padmé as she shoots the arm off a B-2 battle droid.
“No,” Padmé flicks some hair out of her eye and shoots another droid about to kill Anakin, “I call it aggressive negotiations.” Lyra sees them smile at each other out of the corner of her eye and resists the urge to roll her eyes.
“Flirt later, lovebirds. We’re a little busy at the moment.” Anakin’s cheeks turn red and Padmé laughs. Something jumps over them and lands a few feet away. Lyra recognizes the back of the nexu that had been tasked with killing her sister. Anakin's eyes darken, but Lyra grabs his arm. “Stay with her. This one’s mine.” She whispers and sees the understanding flit across his face.
Lyra slides out of the cart and ignites her saber. The green blade sings in her hand as she swipes it across the field, slicing off the nexu’s tail. It screams and whips around to face her, already off balance from the loss of its tail. She smiles and starts running, leading it away from Anakin and Padmé. It screeches again and takes off to follow her.
Lyra deflects blaster bolts while she runs, directing them back towards the animal. She spins around once she gets to the arena wall and slices off one of its front limbs as it approaches her, full tilt. The nexu buckles and she slices off a back limb this time. It falls, unable to stand. It screams at her, probably thinking it can goad her into getting closer to its teeth.
“This is for Padmé.” Lyra whispers to it, and then, in one clean motion, she slices its head off. She leaves its mangled corpse at the edge of the arena, and sprints back towards the fighting.
Lyra doesn't know how much longer the fighting goes on before the remaining Jedi are circled in the middle of the arena. The firing stops suddenly, and Lyra realizes that she’s standing next to Padmé and Anakin again.
“Master Windu,” Dooku’s voice booms from his place on the dais, “You have fought gallantly. Worthy of recognition in the archives of the Jedi Order.” He pauses, probably for his own satisfaction. The droids push a few straggling Jedi into the circle with the rest of them, and she sees Plo enter the circle from her periphery. “Now it is finished,” Dooku continues his speech, “Surrender, and your lives will be spared.” Lyra scoffs under her breath, and she can feel that she’s not alone in her sentiment.
“We will not be hostages to be bartered, Dooku!” Master Windu calls back; his voice carrying more authority than Dooku’s ever could.
“Then, I’m sorry, old friend.” Dooku sounds as if he’s actually sorry for a moment, but they all know better. The droids all point their blasters at the Jedi in unison, and they can all feel the tension rise. Anakin and Lyra both take a step in front of Padmé, and she points her stolen blaster over their joined shoulders. Lyra raises her lightsaber and ready herself for a fight.
“Look!” Padmé calls and they all glance up. There are ships blotting out the sun and the sky. Large ships shaped like arrowheads high above in the atmosphere, and smaller ships descending towards them in the arena. She can see the outline of Yoda in the ship closest to the ground, and she does a remarkable job of hiding her distaste. Humanoid figures in white armor fill the ships that land on the ground and the droids immediately open fire. The Jedi return in kind, deflecting bolts as the ships mow down row after row of battle droids.
The ships land around them, blocking the blaster fire. Lyra runs for the nearest ship, which happens to be the one with Yoda, Master Windu, and Master Mundi. Master Mundi and Lyra both reach a hand out and haul Master Fisto on board as well. The armored figures fill the space around them, and Lyra tries her best not to feel small. The ships take off and all the people around her grab onto the ropes hanging above. She can almost reach, but Master Windu holds his arm out towards her. She grabs on and thanks him.
“If Dooku escapes, rally more systems to his cause, he will.” Yoda speaks directly to Master Windu and Master Mundi, completely ignoring her existence. They swing around a tall rock spire and more ships appear in front of them. They start to descend to the ground when a ship gets blown out of the sky next to them.
“Pilot!” Master Windu calls over the wind, “Land in that assembly area.” The pilot turns their head and nods.
“Yes, sir.” A deep male voice comes from the helmet as the pilot follows Master Windu’s orders. They land and Masters Windu, Mundi, and Fisto all jump from the ship. There are more armored people, men Lyra assumes, waiting for them.
“Sir, I have five special commando units awaiting your orders, sir.” The man in yellow and white armor tells Master Windu as they all jog up. Master Windu nods and points, and the men follow him. Lyra turns to the pilot and takes a few steps closer so she doesn't have to yell.
“Has a triage area been set up?” She asks and he nods.
“Yes, sir.” He responds and she does her best to ignore how strange it feels to be called sir.
“Take me.” She says, before a voice pipes up behind her.
“To the forward command center, take me.” Yoda says to the person next to him and the pilot takes off.
“Triage is on the way, sir, we’ll drop you off.” The pilot calls back to Lyra. She rests her hand on his shoulder briefly.
“Thank you.” She calls over the wind again and then steps back into the main belly of the ship. She can feel Yoda’s gaze on her, but she ignores him. The ship lowers again and the pilot looks back at her. Lyra nods and hops off before the ship hits the ground. She covers her eyes as the ship takes off once again, and flies into the distance.
She turns and sees three large white tents with haphazard medical symbols painted on them. She pushes through the curtain of the middle tent and steps into chaos. Another person in the same white armor as everyone else approaches her.
“Are you injured?” A male voice asks, a voice strikingly similar to that of the pilot.
“No. Is there a Jedi Healer here?” She asks and the man stiffens in front of her.
“We do our job very well, sir. There aren’t any Jedi in here.” His voice is still respectful, but she can tell he’s angry.
“No, that isn’t why I asked.” Lyra tries to fix her sentence but she realizes that there isn’t any saving it. She takes a deep breath and tries again. “I wanted to know who was in charge. I’m here to help.” The man looks her up and down, and then his shoulders soften.
“The chief medical officer is in the back, but our third tent is understaffed.” He says and she smiles.
“Will you show me?” Lyra asks, and he leads her out of the tent. She follows him into the third tent and sees one frantic medic running between at least ten beds with soldiers on them. She pushes past her guide then, and grabs the medic’s arm. He turns to her, blood dots his blue scrubs.
“Are you hurt?” He says quickly, looking her up and down. She refrains from smiling and shakes her head.
“I’m a,” Lyra hesitates to say Healer, it feels pretentious in front of this man who is literally saving lives, “A medic. I’m here to help.” She finishes and his shoulders slump down with visible relief.
“Thank goodness. Will you start at the other end of the beds?” He hands her a belt with wristbands spilling out of the pockets. “Blue wristbands are for non-critical patients, red wristbands are for critical patients. After you finish classifying, start with the critical patients.” He looks down at her as she clips the belt around her waist. “Sir.” He finishes quickly after he sees the lightsaber hanging by her hip. Lyra waves him off.
“Lyra is fine. Clearly, you’re more in charge than I am.” She takes off her robe and her saber and throws them in the back of the tent, near what looks like a supply tower. She heads towards the other end of the row of beds and starts triaging for injuries.
“What’s your name?” She asks him as she unbuckles a soldier’s chestplate to get a better look at his injury. The medic pauses and looks over at her with a strange look on his face.
“Stitches.” He says and she cracks a smile.
“Not a bad name for a medic.” Lyra looks up at him and the strange look on his face hasn’t changed. She decides to ignore it, and she reaches to lift the helmet off the soldier. She balks when she lifts the helmet, “He…” She looks back up at the medic and down to her patient. They have the same face. “Are you two relat-'' She starts to ask but then Healer Allie throws the curtains open and marches into the tent.
“Naberrie, thank goodness.” Lyra stands quickly and Allie nods at her. “We’ve been looking for you. There are Jedi who need you.” She goes to turn around, but Lyra stops her.
“Healer Allie, I’m busy here.” Lyra gestures to the tent full of soldiers and Stitches behind her who hasn’t picked his head up since Allie walked in.
“These are just soldiers.” She waves her hand and Lyra takes a step back in shock, “They can handle their own.” Allie sees the look on Lyra’s face and sighs. “We have more soldiers, we don’t have very many more Jedi.” Stitches still hasn’t looked at Lyra and she makes her decision then.
“You can handle the Jedi without me,” Lyra steps back to the soldier she was helping and ignores Healer Allie’s second sigh. “These men need me more than you do.” Lyra places her hands on the soldier in front of her and begins healing him.
“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.” Lyra whispers as Healer Allie huffs and leaves the tent. Lyra can feel the calming presence of the Living Force sweep through her body.
The process is quick in this case; his wound was clear of shrapnel. His bleeding stops as Lyra knits his flesh back together and when she’s finished, she looks up to see Stitches staring at her with his mouth open.
“How?” He asks and she smiles as the slight glow fades from her hands; she moves to the next soldier.
“The Force.” Lyra says and shrugs. Stitches’ face hasn’t changed much and she laughs again. She starts healing the next soldier and looks at Stitches again. “Now, explain to me why you all have the same face.”
“War. It's all you've ever known, isn't it? You were so young when you survived the Clone War. No wonder you are equipped in spirit to fight us like you do. War is in your blood. I study the art of war. Work to perfect it. But you…You were forged by it.”
Grand Admiral Thrawn to Hera Syndulla in Rebels.
Forged By War
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Description: Brynn Clarke is a prodigy in the field of medicine, and all she wants to do is make a difference. Lyra Amidala Naberrie is a pioneer in the use of Force Healing, and is tired of being told that her love for her family is a weakness. As the galaxy erupts in chaos, these women find themselves in a place they never could have expected: next to each other at the center of a war.
Rating: E, 18+ (NO MINORS)
General Series Warnings: Canon-typical violence, medical procedures, language, explicit sexual content, PTSD, death (individual chapters will have specific warnings)
aha @ner-runi and i definitely said we were gonna do this last night but then there was a college basketball related tragedy and we never recovered- but i digress!
hey y'all!! remember that rewrite fic that @ner-runi and i have been talking about for at least a year and a half?? and our sneaky sneaky acronyms?? yeah...
official blog drop: 9pm EST
if y'all can guess these acronyms before the blog drop, we'll drop the Meet the OCs tonight; one for each correct acronym guess
