The Jedi And The Warrior

A New Road

The scent of warm broth and spices wended its way through the dusty cave, settling upon the evening wind. Flyra was cooking dinner over the clay oven in the corner — something usually left to Obi-Wan, as she hadn't cooked in years. But he had been away watching over Luke for the day, as Owen was in town and Obi-Wan took no chances when it came to that boy.

She was pretty sure the vegetables were over-cooked and the spices were entirely wrong for the dish she was preparing, but she'd decided some hours ago that a plain refusal to look facts in the face would be her best course of action.

She could hear Obi-Wan at the entrance to the cave, pulling off his long, well-worn boots and lining them by the wall. Ever the neat and well-groomed Jedi. She smiled to herself.

"Something smells wonderful," came his crisp voice, shortly followed by his footsteps approaching.

She snorted. "Then your nose is as poor as your piloting."

She heard his laugh, a belly-deep sound that spoke of pure joy, before she felt his arms wrap around her waist and she melted into him. "I just think that flying is criminally overrated and should be banned from the galaxy," he said. "I believe that's a fair request."

"Oh yes," she said, "completely fair and just." She twisted in his grasp to face him, looping her arms around his neck. "And Obi-Wan... I really don't think this is edible." She jerked her chin to indicate the meal gently steaming on the oven.

He chuckled, looking over her shoulder at it. "Oh, move over," he said, pushing her aside. "I can fix it."

Smiling, Flyra stepped back as Obi-Wan took up the wooden ladle, spooning out a bit and lifting it to his lips. He grimaced, but politely, and made no other comment. She glared at him.

"It's not... that bad," he ventured, and she flicked up her brows. "Besides," he continued, "I can think of something I'd rather eat."

Flyra had not been prepared for that.

She flushed, biting her lip, but his answering smirk was something sinful.

"Just... fix the dinner," she told him. "Insufferable man."

He grinned, and she cherished that smile, because it made him look young again, smoothing out the heavy creases of sorrow that the long years had brought.

"Are you complaining?" he challenged.

She shrugged. "No..."

***

Whatever Obi-Wan did to the broth, it came out tasting delicious. They ate it under the setting sun outside their cave, surveying the rippling dunes. They were silent for a long time, each sensing that the other was lost in their thoughts. At length Obi-Wan spoke.

"It seems strange," he said, "that he grew up here. Anakin."

She turned to look at him, finding his eyes fixed upon some invisible spot in the distance. She reached out to bury her fingers in the sand.

"The sand and the slaver's whip taught him more than the Jedi ever could," she murmured.

A ghost of a smile fluttered about Obi-Wan's lips. "He was always reckless," he mused. "Or brave, as I would later call it. As if... his life was of little consequence to him." He shook his head. "I should have told him. Found a way to communicate that I cared what happened to him, even if it seemed no one else did."

Flyra watched the sand grains sift through her fingers, finer than the finest thread. "You did," she said quietly.

"No." Obi-Wan's voice was entwined with unimaginable guilt. "I berated him. I criticised him. I never gave him a word of praise. I should have — should have told him how much I loved him."

Flyra swallowed hard, gathering another handful of sand and letting it fall. "He knew, Obi-Wan," she told him. "He knew."

He let out a long sigh, and she saw out of the corner of her eye as he dragged his hand over his jaw and beard. "Maybe," he murmured. "But if he did, he didn't truly know it. It was fragile enough to break at the mere hint of betrayal."

"The fault lies with him, then, not with you."

"No." The conviction in his voice was contradicted only by the way it broke. "He needed to know that I didn't care, about him and Padmé, that I would have protected them if he'd told me. That... that it is good to love, to care, to need someone. That the Force longs for those connections. He needed to know that, and I... I couldn't give it to him."

Obi-Wan's hand reached out to grip her own, and she looked up at last. There were tears swimming in his blue eyes, ready to spill onto his cheeks, and his mouth was tight, but there was something beyond sorrow in those tears. Something beautiful because of the sorrow, something perfect because it was marred.

"I know this now because... because of you," he said, squeezing her hand, and Flyra had no words. She simply lowered her brow to rest on his shoulder, and let her tears soak his tunic. "I wish I could have told him."

Flyra squeezed his hand right back. "I love you, Obi-Wan," she whispered. "I love you so very, very much."

She felt him sob at the affirmation, and hold her tighter.

***

A few minutes later, Flyra was hurrying around the side of the rock to retch into the sand. She grabbed the still-scorching corner of the rock and heaved, the contents of the delicious meal Obi-Wan had rescued splattering into the sand.

A steady hand settled on her back, the other gathering her hair back from her neck and holding it out of the way. He made soothing circles on her back as she retched, murmuring soft words. At last, Flyra stood up, though she clutched onto Obi-Wan's shoulder for support. He slipped an arm around her, and looked at her with a furrowed brow.

"Can you walk?" he murmured. "Let's get you to bed."

But hot shame was rising on her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, it was absolutely delicious, I'm not sure why I —"

"Nonsense," he told her, urging her to walk a step while he supported her tightly, "I don't care about that." He placed the back of his hand on her brow, his eyes concerned. "How do you feel?" he asked. "You're not burning up, which is a good sign. Do you have any cramps, or dizziness? Do you think it's your monthly cycle?"

She had to smile at his concern. "You mother hen," she chided, but he gave her a look that told her now was not the time for joking. She sighed. "No cramps, no dizziness. I feel fine. And it's not my cycle, I'm not bleeding or anything. Besides, I haven't had a cycle in months."

He nodded, his expression that which he wore when he was solving something. "Good," he said. "But you're not doing anything strenuous for a good while. I'll bring you some water when you're in bed —"

"Oh, Obi-Wan," she said, pushing him away and standing up, "I'm fine. See, I can walk." She took a few steps to prove her point. "I'm not that —"

But Obi-Wan had grabbed her arm and spun her round. There was something in his eyes, something she couldn't quite place, something scared mixed with something hopeful, infused with shock.

"What is it?"

But he placed a hand over her belly, furrowing his brow. She felt something probing, searching, enter her, though it was soothing with Obi-Wan's signature. She stared at him, standing as still as she could, unable not to guess where his thoughts had gone.

And slowly, he looked up at her, his face still indecipherable, caught between fear and hope and surprise.

"Darling..." he whispered, his hand still firm against her belly. "It's..."

Flyra lifted a shaking hand to cover his. "Obi-Wan..."

He swallowed hard, his face ashen. "You're carrying another life," he whispered. "You're pregnant."