The Jedi And The Warrior

A Promise Too Late In The Making

Flyra levelled out the ship, far above the planet of Dantooine, where it had become a sphere of mottled yellow and brown, exhausted and scored with the beams of the new dawn that crept around its edge.

"Keep heading south," Qui-Gon told her, as Obi-Wan hauled himself through the entrance in the floor of the ship, and Flyra shut it behind him.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw her friend stagger towards the wall and lean his head back against it, closing his eyes as a soft groan escaped his lips. She glanced at him.

"Are you all right, Obi?" she asked.

Qui-Gon turned to his Padawan as Obi-Wan opened his eyes. "Fine," he said.

Flyra reached for the lever that put the ship into auto-pilot and slipped from her seat. "I can see the blood on your tunic," she pointed out.

Indeed, his tunic had been slashed down his arm above his elbow, and stained with blood and dust. She hurried over to him and pulled a stool from around the table.

"You should sit," she told him, and he obeyed, sinking down onto the stool and grimacing as his wound throbbed. Gingerly, she pulled at the shreds of tunic that had stuck to the skin beneath, wincing as Obi-Wan sucked in a breath. "Sorry," she muttered. "This looks... What the hell happened?"

He smiled up at her. "I didn't sense an attack fast enough," he said, shaking his head at himself. "I got distracted when I heard —"

"They're following us." Qui-Gon's voice cut between them.

A second later, a blast shook the ship and sent her stumbling into Obi-Wan's arms. She felt his hands on her waist steady her, and she pulled herself rather ungracefully to her feet. Qui-Gon slipped into the pilot seat and took control of the ship, soaring downwards, beginning to weave through the darkness and the stars of space.

Flyra hurried to the window. Red blasters shot past them on all sides. She flinched away, turning back to where Obi-Wan was trying to push himself to his feet. She was about to speak, but Qui-Gon glanced back from his seat.

"Flyra, bind his arm," he said, jerking the ship sideways to avoid a blaster. "Then I need one of you to enter the coordinates for hyperspace."

His face was drawn, the frown tight across his forehead. Flyra hurried to Obi-Wan's side, tearing off a section off her own tunic with a slicing rip and grabbing his arm. She swiftly wound the fabric round the wound, meeting his gaze as she did so and blushing at the intensity of it. She glanced down and watched blood well beneath the white fabric.

"Mother of..." She shook her head. "How sharp are your lightsabers?"

He chuckled, and then grimaced. "Help me up, please," he groaned out. "I need to enter the coordinates."

He tried to stand, but Flyra put a hand on his chest, stopping him dead. "You're no use to anyone half alive, Obi-Wan," she told him. "I can enter the coordinates."

He looked at her, and the look said he was afraid to trust her with such a crucial task. Flyra stared right back at him, letting him see all the fire and all the rage and all the ferocity in her eyes, and his blue eyes flickered with something she couldn't place. He lowered himself to the chair with a groan.

"Coordinates are 51.8889° N, 1.7570° W," he said, voice tight with pain. "Enter them on —"

"I know," she interrupted, leaving his side to hurry to the pilot bay.

A blast shook the ship, and she almost lost her footing, bracing herself against the wall. Qui-Gon cursed under his breath, banking sharply and turning west. Flyra staggered forwards, struggling for balance and wishing for Jedi training of her own, stumbling into the controls at the side of the pilot bay.