Hope

Lines in italics are internal thoughts.

His heart pounds as he looks at her, bathed in a pale lavender glow. The light amplifies the rare smile that is placed between her lips and in her eyes, a smile that he has not seen shown to any other person. His eyes trace the contours of her face, lingering on the contrasting lines of light and dark that frame it, and he marvels at the specks of luminescence that weave across her azure skin. Within moments his gaze is torn back to the intense golden orbs that he fears can read the innermost desires of his soul. He has seen this woman every day for several months now and with each passing day his admiration of her beauty has grown, but tonight she has surpassed everything. A sparkling array of crystal-embedded chords drapes from her neck, in sharp contrast to the simple woven leaves she usually wears. Her war-like braids have been undone, and now her hair cascades down her back like an ebony river; her radiance is enhanced by the single flower adorning her head. Damn, she should do this more often. But before he is immersed in her splendor, he is distracted by a new thought: Why would she show this to him?

My hope.

He is terrified by this thought, for it threatens to dash upon the cold stone of reality. During their time alone he has allowed himself to kindle such fantasies, but life has taught him that only fools believe in hope, that fairytales do not come to be. Yet he is reminded of the grove of light which surrounds them, of the voices he has just heard through his tsaheylu with the Utraya Mokri. This is a place where prayers may be answered, she said. Grant this one for me.

She speaks, placing her hands on his chest to convey the importance of her words; the thrill of her touch is surpassed only by the melody of her voice. He is aware of what is said, but in this moment he hears in it only the soothing ocean, the vibrant forest, the flow of life which surrounds them.

"You are Omaticaya now," she is telling him. "You may make your bow from the wood of Hometree."

Yes, he had accomplished much in his time with her, and now he was accepted into her family. But what would that matter without the acceptance of her heart?

There is a pause; she glances down as if unsure (Afraid?) of her next words. He ponders over what could possibly make this unshakable huntress stumble.

She continues, more slowly than before. "And you may choose a woman."

She turns her back to him, catching a passing atokirina in her hands. He takes a moment to admire those delicate, deadly hands; those hands which had moved so quickly to save his life three months before, and just as quickly to explain to him (painfully, his jaw remembers) the tragedy of the incident. Those hands could take life whenever they needed, and they could bring life to him with the slightest of touches. He barely registers the number of digits; her form is now more natural to him than his own alien physique.

Alien. There is the crux of his doubt. How can she possibly love a being from another world, whose people showed nothing but contempt for that which she held most dear? The very notion that he, an outsider, could be given the most valuable thing the entire moon had to offer bordered on lunacy. But then, he has proven himself to be more than that, hasn't he? Isn't that what the earlier ceremony at Hometree had decreed? There it is again, that persistent hope, fanning the flames of his desire.

At this point the language center of his brain fights through his emotions to alert him to the meaning of the words she has just spoken. Choose a woman? His heart jumps at the immediate thought of what his choice would be, but falls just as quickly as he acknowledges that that is not an option. She has already been chosen for another, long before he arrived on her world, and he can not begin to believe that he means so much to her that she would break her duty to her people.

"We have many fine women."

He has noticed other women, of course. He tries to remember their names and faces, but each melts into hers as soon as it begins to form. Who could come close to the one before him, the soul that gave him cause to wake each day?

"Ninat is the best singer," she offers, as if in answer. She turns slightly as she speaks; does he see some reluctance in her eyes? Some tension as she awaits his answer? His rational self rejects this as soon as he imagines it.

He remembers a time when he heard the woman, Ninat, lead a prayer at a funeral ceremony near Hometree. She had sounded soulful, pleading with Eywa in song that the deceased Na'vi would come quickly to her embrace so that he could live forever with the rest of their ancestors. A pang of sadness mixed with the hope of rebirth touches his heart, as it did then; certainly her voice was enchanting. But then he remembers when the gathered people had joined in the prayer, including the woman who stood here with him now. When her voice was added, it was as if all others faded out of existence. He tries to produce Ninat's song again, but it has become the bark of a drill sergeant in comparison to the one he loves.

That settles that. "Well I don't want Ninat."

Her cheek twitches ever so softly; could she have smiled? A moment passes, allowing him to indulge once again in his foolish hope, before she again returned him to reality with the next prospect.

"Peyral is a good hunter." She lets the seed she has been cradling go, blowing it away as if she is no longer in need of its counsel.

Now he is beginning to be sure of his suspicions: she is hiding something, her body language is clear. Perhaps she knows that none of these women could love him either and is merely taunting him in a new game, like the old one of smacking his head and calling him a skxawng.

No, she was mischievous at times, but not cruel. He rejects his fear and scolds himself for imagining such imperfection in the most perfect of beings.

He continues to process her words and conjures up the image of Peyral on her ikran, scouring the forest for prey. She could dart in and out of the trees with inches to spare, a blur of blue and green that struck without warning, both dangerous and awe-inspiring. Surely a warrior would be proud to pair with such a finely honed (and finely crafted) weapon? Yet he knows that such qualities were not what called to his heart. Something is missing, but what…

He gazes at the back of the woman standing before him. Of course. He thinks back to the day he was hunting with her in the Iknimaya and they were attacked by the toruk. After barely escaping with their lives, they landed on a tree and gave their ikrans a rest. She had looked at him with the remnants of fear in her eyes, but he had responded by chuckling heartedly. She soon joined him, releasing a throaty laugh of relief at their survival. It was in moments like this that he saw the soul behind the warrior, the soul which made her every movement graceful and her gaze alluring, the soul which seems now to be demanding that he open up his deepest needs and desires to her. He does not see her for what she is, but who she is, and it is that intimate knowledge that has captivated his desire. He can no more accept Peyral than he could the ikran she rode, nor any other woman on this world or his own; his heart is beating only her name.

Perhaps it is time to bare his soul to her, but he needs another sign to encourage his growing hope. He remembers the faint smile he saw when he rejected Ninat. Well, she isn't the only one who can be mischievous.

"Yeah, she is a good hunter."

He flashes a slight grin as she turns suddenly to face him, not even trying to hide the pain in her eyes. Could it be? Am I really that lucky? This woman who had been with him through his entire training, who had gone from treating him like a foolish child to a respected hunter, could her feelings have changed to mirror his own? His hope builds with every moment, like a drum calling him to the hunt.

Christ, even my butterflies become ikrans here.

He must be honest with her, he must announce his choice. It would be up to her to accept or reject him, to complete him or tear him apart.

Unable to bear her hurt stare any longer, he softens his face as he finally expresses what his heart has been screaming for days.

"I've already chosen."

She searches his face for the meaning of this answer, and slowly she too softens as she reads the emotion pouring from within him. He is begging her, pleading with every fiber of his being that she see the truth of what he is saying.

"But this woman must also choose me."

This is it. It is all in the open now; he has expressed it as best he could. Now he finds himself doing the searching, looking for any sign that she will accept his proposal. His heart beats at a frantic pace, threatening to tear from his chest as a final display of his need for her love. His hope, too, has reached the pinnacle of its gut-wrenching fear and excitement. He experiences the first eternity of his life as he awaits her answer.

Her smile broadens, returning as it was when they first entered this grove of glowing trees. She speaks, and the words fall on his desperate heart like rain upon the desert.

"She already has."

He does not hear her. He is looking deep into her eyes, going further than he ever thought possible, until his entire existence is but a glint of light held within her gaze. There is no escape from her; he is trapped in the promise of those eyes, the promise that he alone may touch the fires that blaze within them. She is baring everything to him just as he is surrendering to her. He is conscious of only one thought, one reality, one truth.

I see you.

A hand rises to cup her cheek. He has felt the touch of her skin before, but now it is different. His fingers seem to pass through the velvet curtain, to connect with her. He pulls her in, unsure of whether it is his hand or her eyes that bring them to within a breath of each other. The windows of his soul are still trying desperately to empty everything he has into her, to make room for the one growing thought that is now more imperative than life itself.

I need you.

Her eyes are now closing, cutting him off from his sustenance. He shuts his as well, knowing that only one bond can replace it. His lips move toward hers, and in a few moments (Lifetimes?) they brush, and he feels the first searing spark of their joining. It is brief, just a sample, but in that instant he knows that he has entered a new existence. There was his entire life, and then there was this. His moment. Their moment.

They separate from this temptation for an instant as they confirm in their hearts that they are ready to abandon all else for this. But the life they are choosing is a pact, a joint venture, and now it is time to seal it for eternity. Again their lips come together; again their passion jumps from point to point, nerve ending to nerve ending, but this time they cleave together as one. He experiences his second eternity, one which opens up his life and tells him that he has had purpose, that no other path could have brought him to this moment.

I love you.

The eternity ends; it is time for the culmination of their vows. He lifts her body to him, willing her every curve to fit within his, to fill his emptiness. She caresses his forehead with the fire he has kindled within her as he inhales her scent, letting all his senses confirm how right this is. His arms encircle her, desperate to hold the purity of this soul that he has found. His embrace is that of a child clinging to its mother, a man returning home from the darkness, a lost soul finding its savior. Still, he knows it is not enough, for his instinct is telling him that they are not together, that they have not truly seen each other yet. There is only one way to be closer to his love; the final barrier between their union must be broken.

No words are spoken, but each brings their queue to the other. Will she see me? Will she see past this shell I inhabit? His fear returns, as this is the moment which may expose his inadequacy. They connect, tsaheylu is made, and suddenly he is no longer himself. He is both, and neither. He sees their passion from her eyes: the touch of his skin on her lips, the firmness of his grasp, the power his desire has over her. The flood of emotion that pours into his being drowns his will, urging him to let everything go. As he frantically tries to interpret this knew experience, his racing heart is drawn to one thought that stands out in all that she is giving him, one thought which she places above all others.

His heart stops at this discovery; he is blinded by a release unlike anything he could possibly fathom. His soul screams her name, just as it hears her answering cry. His world dissolves in the unrelenting light of her love. He is aware that his life has ended, cast aside like the empty shell it was. He is drawn into his third eternity in as many minutes, but this eternity is not his alone. They are brought together within the life of this world, a world that he has known so very briefly, a world which he knows that he will be part of forever through her.

Slowly he returns to his body and is reborn, but now it is not his life, it is theirs. Everything he feels is an extension of her and what they have become. His fear is gone, replaced by the joy of her revelation within their bond. For now he knows that she too has felt fear like his own, fear that he will not see her as she does him, accompanied by the desire which led her to bring him to this sacred place. Her longing to be one with him, her desperate need to be loved by him and her unshakeable courage to face any future for him; all were conveyed in the one thing which she had laid at his heart.

Her hope.

tsaheylu: bond

Utraya Mokri: Tree of Voices

atokirina: seed of the Sacred Tree

skxawng: moron

ikran: banshee

Iknimaya: the Hallelujah Mountains

AN: This is merely an expansion of a movie scene from a fool who let himself get too emotionaly invested in a crappy screenplay. I am not a writer, nor do I aspire to be one, and this is the first story I have ever posted for public viewing. So if you are kind enough to review it, be kind enough to keep it appropriate. I know that I use commas and semicolons far too often, and that I used almost every cliche simile and metaphor in the book, but hey, that's how I roll. Thanks for reading!

Thanks to all the talented writers on this site that inspired me to contribute through their own entertaining works.

Disclaimer: All characters (named or implied) are property of James Cameron and 20th Century Fox