The Jedi And The Warrior

The Beginning Of The End

"They were worried I was too old to begin my training," Obi-Wan said quietly, seated on the couch in her chambers hours later.

Flyra was stood at the wide window, overlooking the many-layered forest of the city and the soaring ships like sea birds going back and forth in front of her. She wore a black and gold tunic over dark trousers — Qui-Gon had shown her the clothes already folded in the chest of drawers in her spacious bedroom.

The quarters the Jedi had provided her with were large and clean, all maroon carpets and silver furniture and pale, plush cushions on the couch. There was a large living room with the huge window overlooking the city, a bedroom with a bed so soft she'd thought she might fall through the mattress, and an en-suite bathroom full of soaps and hair products and the cloying scent of perfume.

And yet it was achingly empty without the family who deserved this far more than she did.

"Wasn't it the Jedi themselves who waited all those years to retrieve you?" she replied, picking at the smooth fabric of her tunic.

There was a pause, then —

"It was," he said, "but that was only the counsel of Master Yoda. Master Windu did not agree." He sighed. "Most younglings begin their training at six. They were worried none of the knights would want me as their Padawan."

Qui-Gon had shown them all to their chambers, and offered to take Ben into the city and show him some of the privileges they would now have available. It had given her and Obi-Wan time to talk, to digest what was happening.

Flyra swallowed. "What made Qui-Gon take you on?"

She heard the shift of fabric behind her. "He said his feelings drew him to me. He said it was the will of the Force."

Fate. The will of the Force. The band of outlaws that had destroyed their village had called themselves Warriors of Fate. What path did destiny harbour for Obi-Wan? And were their paths entwined? But she drew a deep breath, and asked the question she needed the answer to more than anything.

"Obi..." she began, still staring out over Coruscant. "Is this what you want? Do you... want to become a Jedi?"

There was a long silence — too long. She turned to face Obi-Wan, and found his brows drawn tight together in deep thought. But his gaze met hers, and there was pity in it. Pity, and apology.

"Yes," he said softly, and she felt the word settle inside her. "I do. This place — it feels... right. I can feel the Force here like a... like an old friend. I'm meant to be here, and I'm meant to do this."

Flyra nodded, but her heart ached. She envied him that surety, for she could not now return home. She made to turn away, so that he could not see the silver lining her eyes, but he spoke her name.

"Flyra," he said, and she had to look at him. "This isn't the end."

She looked at those eyes, steady and grave, blue and depthless and burning with eternal flame. And in them she found an anchor, and a comfort, and a feeling of rightness.

"It's the beginning," he told her.

Her mouth tightened. "Perhaps it is the beginning of the end."