The Jedi And The Warrior

A Question Of Failure

Anakin slipped off at dawn to retrieve their ship and locate the clones. He made barely a sound as he passed from the camp, and it was only Flyra's acute awareness of Obi-Wan moving from where he lay on the opposite side of the fire that awoke her. It took a moment for her to remember where she was — for a second, lying on the cold forest floor, she had a mad feeling that she was back at home, a child, camping out with Obi-Wan in the woods because it had got too late to navigate the hill in the snow.

Then she remembered. She had fallen asleep between Malco and Kai, after she'd taken her turn watching for the group. Obi-Wan was no longer her hunting partner or her friend. And he was going to leave soon. She opened her eyes, trying to locate the position of the man who occupied her thoughts.

There he was, standing some way off at the edge of the hollow, entering numbers into a small device he held in one hand. Flyra pushed herself onto her elbows, leaves crunching and rustling beneath her body. She was certain there were a dozen of them caught in her hair and mud splattering her robes, but she didn't much care.

He stiffened at the sound of her movement, though he did not turn towards it. And Flyra felt herself get to her feet against her better judgement, stepping carefully over Kai's slumbering form and around the dead fire, cold ashes coating the soles of her boots. She did not have the courage to approach his side, so she came to a halt just beyond the fire pit, crossing her arms over her chest.

He knew she was there, but his focus was still pinned on the device in his hand, even if she could detect the tension in his tight shoulders.

"You changed your hair," she found herself saying, then wondered why she had to become such an idiot around him.

But it got his attention, anyway, as he turned towards her with a tentative smile on his face that almost knocked her feet from under her. She'd forgotten what it looked like, that smile. But it was a surface-smile, and beneath it cracks of sorrow.

"You didn't think I was going to keep that awful haircut, did you?" he quipped, his voice soft in the dawn.

She didn't smile. She had opened the door to their past, but she found that she suddenly wanted to close it again. "Are you and Anakin leaving today?" she asked, as businesslike as she could be.

There was not a trace of anything on his features — he was in that state of relentless control and irritating self-composure. She had always wanted to crack it in two.

"If Anakin is successful, yes," he answered, and he took a step towards her. "You could come with us, you know. We need help in this war, we need more fighters." He paused, struggling with some internal conflict. "I would like you there," he said at last. "I would like to fight beside you."

There was so much hope in his eyes, sparkling as he stood there, offering a chance to begin yet another new life. There was pity, too, because of course he had noticed the way Malco spoke to her, the way she submitted. But it was not enough. She wanted to crack him in two.

"It's nothing to me who rules in Coruscant," she said. "It's nothing to me who sits on that high seat. Your war is a war of pride, no more. Those that live beneath the Temple will go on living as they always have, go on rotting in the throes of their irrelevance, whether it be the Republic or the Separatists or the Jedi who sit up in that high tower." She lifted her chin. "I'll not help you fight a war that means nothing."

Obi-Wan looked as if she'd hit him. He shook his head. "Means nothing?" he repeated, his voice still quiet and calm. She hated that. "We are fighting because there is no one else who will. Because it means everything, because if we do not there is no longer any point in living."