The Jedi And The Warrior

A Hidden Act

Obi-Wan swung his lightsaber, grunting as Qui-Gon met him stroke for stroke. His master yielded a step, backing towards the curving wall that bordered the Combat Training Chamber. To his left, a balance beam and several other obstacles had been placed around the bowl-shaped chamber, but the white mats where other Padawans usually sat to observe were empty.

Qui-Gon swung left, and Obi-Wan parried, lightsaber thrumming through the bones of his arm upon impact. Sweat gleamed on his brow as he danced backwards, sensing his master's offensive before it happened and knocking aside his saber. They'd been at it for three hours now, but Obi-Wan wouldn't stop. It felt good, the ache in his muscles, the sweat that soaked his tunic, the heaviness of his lightsaber in his hand.

It was two days since Flyra had thrown him from her room. And only hours before his Trials began. He couldn't stop seeing the look on her face after he confessed to the thing that had been gnawing at him for hours. Years, really. He should have considered it, that being called his weakness, his enemy, wouldn't sit well with her. Should have realised, because it wasn't true, of course it wasn't, she wasn't his enemy at all. But here... here, that was how it would be seen.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Qui-Gon lunge for his exposed left side in an elegant whirl of colour and movement. Obi-Wan's eyes widened, and he had to leap backwards to avoid the blow, stumbling over his own feet. He should have sensed the attack, should have been concentrating on his master's thoughts, and he stopped, lowering his lightsaber. Qui-Gon would usually make them go over and over any mistake until Obi-Wan could easily negotiate such a situation.

Qui-Gon halted, chest heaving, and his lightsaber fizzled to nothing. "If I were truly your enemy," his master said, "I would have killed you for that hesitation. You know your mistake, do not let it determine the fight."

Obi-Wan nodded, his insides burning with humiliation. "I'm sorry, master," he said. "I should have sensed that attack."

"Do not give up too quickly," his master told him. "Learn to move past your mistakes, my Padawan."

"Yes, master," Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon gave him an encouraging smile, re-igniting his lightsaber. Obi-Wan lunged with his foot and arm, feinting right but sweeping left with his foot. His master leaped his foot and angled his body away from the saber, swinging for Obi-Wan's exposed back as he did so. Obi-Wan twisted, catching the blow and pushing back, shoving Qui-Gon away from him.

They circled each other, stalking in an imaginary circle, each foot placed with calculated caution. Obi-Wan remembered afternoons spent stalking through snow and ice and the cracking of trees with Flyra at his side, his tread as silent as a deer's.

That silence, that hunter's tread, had paid off in his training. He could move like a ghost through tunnels and corridors, could cross the forest floor without a rustle, and had done so on the countless missions he had been on with Qui-Gon. He owed that to her, that part of him — he owed so much to her, and he had never told her.

Get out.

Fool. He was a fool, and he had spent so long pushing her away, even if he had not known it, and how could he expect her not to push back, to simply wait for him like some prisoner of the past?

Qui-Gon moved, and it caught Obi-Wan off guard. He cursed himself inwardly, catching his master's blow on the edge of his lightsaber and conceding step after step, back and back towards the sleek, smooth silver platform suspended in the air above them, another obstacle to add to the environment.

"You are not concentrating today, my young apprentice," Qui-Gon observed, slowing his attack, though he did not stop. "Your thoughts are drawn inwards."