Private Spoils of War

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Coruscant burned.

The glow of the fires created by the saturation of hundreds of turbolaser cannons could be seen even in orbit.

A most suitable backdrop for Hasuras na-Gerra as he strode proudly through the corridors of the Queen Mother’s own Battle Dragon.

A blast door hissed aside, admitting him into a room which echoed the elegance and grandeur of the throne room on Hapes. Seated upon the Seven Moon Throne was the Queen herself. Gerra held two enormous bags in either hand and he drug them before her.

Without a word, he upended the first bag and spilled out the heads of the enemy generals: craven Mawite scum and imperial commanders - all features frozen in death. They rolled out upon the floor, a grizzly offering.

His eyes burning like twin suns, he paused a moment only to hold her gaze, then upended the second sack. Bricks of imperial gold and kyber crystals rung as they struck the ground and each other, piling high before the Queen.

The imperials had thought to fund construction of a super star destroyer. But it, like their empire, was cut short.

By his hand.

“Well…” rumbled the Vahlan, “What say you now. Think your consort well chosen?”

Aurellia

 

[Aurellia]

"Did I ever deign to doubt your prowess?"

The Queen Mother's gaze had settled upon a pair of lifeless orbs, staring up from a head which had settled at the base of the throne. Some shadow of terror still clouded its muddy irises. It spread throughout the room, with nearby servants shifting beneath the weight of it. Hapans never had been comfortable with blunt truth as a people.

"You have done well."

There was a measure of authenticity to the praise, certainly - the palace's vault was still recovering from the raid which had led them together - yet, as ever, there was a note of condescension. It was the same way she may have praised a child presenting their creation. Rising from her seat, Aurellia's hand waved on the uniforms, who began to clear the loot and blood alike. An idle thought slunk about her mind - that this gold had likely once sat in Alliance treasuries. That brought about a smile.

"What of losses?" Aurellia asked on her descent, curious not only of the Vahlan fleet, but also of how their allies had fared. Restraint did not seem a familiar word known to any Sith she had encountered.

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

“Enough to make your duchas wroth,” Gerra rumbled, recalling his conversation with Ducha Yavanna, “Breaking the Core is not for the faint of heart.”

One Battle Dragon crippled, the other destroyed. Three Nova cruisers heavily damaged. Thousands of Hapans dead. But his people had suffered just as much, if not more.

The Qhan stood tall and still as a pillar as she descended the throne. He met her gaze, this woman fashioned not of flesh but of burnished bronze with copper for eyes and dark brass her hair. August and haughty, as a queen should be.

Yet he misliked her tone. And the mildness of the reception.

“Shall your mewling join that of you courtiers over the dead?” He sneered, “or do you have more than lukewarm praise? I have done what your court could only dream of, brought you the riches of the Core worlds on a platter.”

Aurellia

 

[Aurellia]

“I would not insult you by assuming you needed it. Shall I pin a medal on you when we return to Hapes?”

Amusement twisted Aurellia’s smile into a roguish grin, hinting that she may just do so upon their arrival home. That would, at least, distract the court from the damages. Their honors and decorations meant more to her lovely duchas than anything credits could buy.

As she met him on ground level, the scent of battle permeated her nostrils. Iron and soot and death, an alluring cologne. A manicured finger prodded at his chest.

“Just there.” She pointed out the spot.

Even the most loyal dog needed a bone, occasionally.

“All Hail Lord Hassuras na-Gerra, Qhan of the Vahla, Scourge of the Seven Moons.” Aurellia called, crystalline. It carried the authority that stopped the cleanup in its tracks, sending the servants standing at attention. “For he has swung the blade of the Hapan fleet and sheered the head from our enemies. The histories will sing of flame haired conquer and his victory over the false god of the Core. Men will tremble beneath your reputation. All who see our banners fly shall flee before you. In her light!”

The call rang back from around the throne room with enough vigor to convince the Queen Mother. Warm enough?

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

The chin of the Qhan tilted down to regard the lacquered nail pressing against his chest, stippling the fabric and muscle hard as stone beneath. His nostrils flared as she spoke and his eyes glazed.

Ah, but her barbed words did stick fast in him. Ever the well-aimed shot from this huntress. For the words she spoke were indeed what he wished to hear, but she had warped them nigh beyond recognition.

Gerra bared his teeth and reached up, snatching her wrist in his.

“Get out,” he snarled to the attendants.

None moved, simply staring. Of course they would only obey the Queenmother, but-

“OUT.”

The word lashed out, rippling with a compelling power in the Force the drove lesser beings scurrying like rats.

He would be alone with his Queen.

Gerra’s eyes flickered with anger and some other desire, dark and hungry. The oppressiveness of his presence loomed over the Queen like a living flame.

“Aurellia,” he hissed, “think me wound so tightly about your finger?”

Aurellia

 

[Aurellia]

From beneath furrowed brows, Aurellia stared up at her husband with contempt, still as the statues in the corners of the room. Flesh thumped against the base of the throne once more, an head abandoned by its collector in their flight. A sickly reminder of the perilous flame she so openly defied. Beneath his grip, her wrist had begun to ache, but the queen made no attempt to remove it.

“You have went forth and crushed my enemies, raised my allies.”

Ten octaves lower, Aurellia melted into the tone of milk and honey. A free hand slithered up to cusp Gerra’s cheek, wiping away a dried fleck of scarlet. There was something shifting behind eyes of ember, just beyond discernment.

“I needn’t think anything.”

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

A low and perilous growl issued from the throat of the Vahlan, for still he felt that the Hapan toyed with him - thinking to make him dance to the lyre of her sultry voice and shapely limbs.

“Such a cunning tongue.”

Slow, deliberate foot steps drove him forward and yet he did not withdraw his grasp upon her wrist. She would either needs retreat, or be run over as he pushed her back toward the very throne she’d come down from, as if to grace him with her presence.

“How I have missed thee,” he sneered. The sight of her. The smell of her.

“Resume your seat.”

Then the hulking warlord sought to lift her bodily and with little regard for bruises toss her back upon her throne.

Gerra loomed above, grip tightening upon the arm of the throne until his knuckles bled white.

“Do you feel in charge, majesty?”

Aurellia

 

[Aurellia]

Impact rippeled from hip to ankle, but only a wince broke through Aurellia’s facade as she made contact with the thrones marble. One would grab, and the other would pull back; such was their dance. Yet the question Gerra posed gave pause to their deadly dance. It touched upon earlier contemplation, as she watched Coruscant burn from her ship above. With her word, armies marched and battle dragons took flight, won by charm and guile. Neither had saved her predecessor from a bloody fate.

“In all ways but one.”

Something akin to admiration flitted about her chest. Sheer strength allowed Gerra to pin a queen against her thrown and rise to her equal. The fires of a goddess coursed through his veins, offering the power to alter reality itself. Never had Aurellia felt weaker.

“I envy the gifts fate has bestowed upon you.” Came the admission.

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

This gave the Vahlan pause for at last it rung of truth.

His nostrils flared and the sudden flash of anger flickered for a moment, as though it might ebb beneath her admission. Reaching out in the Dark Side, he felt...

Gerra frowned.

"Is that what you seek?" He glanced back as if to recall all the slaughter and gold he had brought her. Yet it was not enough. She longed for something else.

Strength.

Gerra's lips pursed. He had never regarded her as weak. She had strengths of a different sort. But as he stood here, capable of ripping off her head should he so choose, he saw the truth of it.

"Why not ask it of me then?" Once more his grip on the arms of the chair tightened with frustration, "Or would a Queen not humble herself to learn the powers to govern destruction and creation?"

Aurellia

 

[Aurellia]

“Humble myself to ask, more like.” The words were put lightly, a jape, to mask the foulness in her chest.

Hapan histories did not favor wizards in bath robes nor their sworn enemies. Certainly, there were those few monarchs through the centuries to throw their lot in with one or another; she was now amongst them, herself. Yet it was a fine line. So easily could those allegiances be twisted and warped to unite an entire kingdom against her.

"It would be a most curious gift to grant someone you once thought a mantis." Aurellia observed, cocking her head so that her gaze could follow creeping fingers that had found Gerra's forearm.

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Those finely fashioned fingers, skin rich and olive, crept upon his forearm and yet he made no move to pull away. His fiery gaze dropped to them for but a moment, then back to the Queen's eyes.

"Once?" he snorted, "Once and still. You are cunning and wily and beguiling, you-..."

Gerra's eyes narrowed.

"Hm. Eventually you would learn these powers, with or without my aid. Why wait for some other to teach you when I might do it myself and learn thy full capabilities?" His smile then seemed a vicious thing and he leaned closer to her as she sat in her throne, their faces mere inches apart, "Or do you think me only good for slaughter and studding?"

Aurellia

 

[Aurellia]

“Only?” Aurellia’s voice had dropped an octave. “Such is what a queen needs in her consort.”

Kingdom. Crown. Likely beauty, as well. Some measure of sanity, Aurellia believed, given how many dark siders had truly thought their leaders gods, and how many of those had tried to rip worlds apart to prove it. Perhaps, most of all, was her husband. It would be no gentle lesson, she knew, and at the end of it, he would truly know her.

Though the cost grew heavier every moment the queen considered it, desire sparked behind copper eyes, quickly growing to an inferno. No woman nor man had ever seemed half so delicious as the promise of power. By the time her hand had traced past Gerra’s collarbone and come to rest beneath his jaw, the woman had made up her mind. If she was an adder, poised to strike, let her wield her own knife.

“But if you are so eager to prove the range of your talents, then teach me.”