The Jedi And The Warrior

Love Is More Powerful

Obi-Wan awoke to the whir of the ship's engine and bright light upon his face. He blinked against their harshness, squinting up at the white roof of the ship. By the low hum that surrounded him, he knew they were in hyperspace.

For a second he saw Flyra. Suspended in the air, an exquisite carving frozen in time and space, as lovely as a dark swan, as cold as a spring flower crippled by winter's chill. He'd let her go, and he did not know. If it had been right to do so. If he would ever see her again.

It didn't feel right, somehow.

Obi-Wan pushed himself up on his elbows, groaning slightly as his muscles protested. Anakin was sat in the cockpit, though he was not steering the ship — perhaps he was merely adjusting their coordinates.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, his voice a hoarse rasp. "What happened to her?"

His friend shot to his feet at the sound of his voice, stepping from the cockpit and hurrying to his side. Anakin bent down, sliding an arm under Obi-Wan's shoulders and easing him into a sitting position.

"How are you feeling?" Anakin murmured. "I can't believe you passed out."

Obi-Wan ignored him. "What happened to her?" he said again, twisting in Anakin's grasp to face the warrior's blue eyes.

Anakin's mouth tightened. "She was drawn into their ship and... they flew away," he said, almost reluctantly.

Obi-Wan hung his head. He had let them take her, both times, he had not fought hard enough for her. She was changed, but he could still see her, the woman he had loved, and he knew a part of her despised the Warriors of Fate. What had he done, in letting them take her?

He had failed her too many times.

"Obi-Wan," Anakin said, and then corrected himself. "Master. What makes you care so much for her?"

Obi-Wan again lifted his gaze to Anakin's, and wondered why he glimpsed a spark of hope in the young Jedi's eyes. He bit his lip, unsure how to voice the web of experiences, of life, that would forever bind him with Flyra.

"She is..." he trailed off, frowning. "Anakin, she is my oldest friend. I should have protected her many years ago but I didn't, and it is my fault she has gone to the Warriors of Fate."

Anakin pulled his arm from Obi-Wan's shoulders and sat back. "Is that really all?" he challenged. "Guilt and duty?"

Obi-Wan stared at him. And found himself saying, "She is the best of me. Was. She is... she is too precious for me to leave her to their torment."

"Then why didn't you tell her?" Anakin's eyes had filled once more with that strange hope, a longing that Obi-Wan had never seen there before.

Obi-Wan's throat tightened, and he fought against tears. "The Jedi Code would never allow it, Anakin," he reminded him, more impatiently than he had intended. "I had to let her go, like all attachments."

Anakin was silent. For long enough that Obi-Wan thought the conversation was over, but then his apprentice said, "Have you ever considered that the Code might be... old-fashioned?" he said, his tone tentative. "That what applied when it was written might not apply now. I... Love can be more powerful than light or dark or anything practised by the Jedi."

Obi-Wan frowned. "Anakin..."

But Anakin got to his feet and stepped towards the cockpit again, his shoulders so tense it was as if he thought Obi-Wan would reprimand him. But he just stared after his apprentice.

Perhaps he still had much to learn, even from Anakin.

***

The Crystal of Amarth was gleaming upon the pedestal, and the quiet of hyperspace was all around them.

The Warriors of Fate had gathered in a circle, a tight ring around that swirling stone, and their hoods were up. They were faceless, formless, and not one of them made a sound.

A figure stepped forward — two measured steps, until she was stood a hair's breadth away from the Crystal. Flyra removed her hood.

Her face was pale, but her eyes were full of steel.

She reached out her hands, cupped in the way a beggar might at the passing of a stranger, and wrapped them around the Crystal. They were shaking.

Her eyes lifted, and for a fraction of a moment they met the mirthless blue of the pair opposite her, before she got onto her knees in front of the pedestal. Level with the Crystal.

And then she locked her eyes with its seething depths, as though she were gazing into a supernova turned liquid.

The only sounds were the hum of the ship, and Flyra's sharp breaths. Not a sigh passed from the Warriors' lips. Those mirthless blue eyes peered at her, but they could not pierce her face, for it was bent upon the Crystal.

Minutes passed. Flyra's breathing hit the walls and reverberated back upon the gathered company, a cacophony of transfixed impotence.

Then her hands broke from the Crystal, falling upon the pale cloth beneath it. Her head remained bowed, hair falling like liquid night across her face as she got to her feet. Her hands still shook, but her shoulders were no longer steeled with determination. They were heavy, immobile, lifeless with burden.

"Flyra Botkin," said a quiet, silky voice. Still she did not look up. "Welcome, at last, to the Warriors of Fate."

She raised her head, and tears gleamed in her heavy eyes.

Malco strode forward, past the pedestal. Took her pale hand. "What did you see?" he murmured, his voice a caress.

She did not look at him. "I saw fate," she said bleakly. "I saw this."

A curl of a smile pulled Malco's mouth. He leaned in, and spoke against her ear, "You are to come to my chambers tonight, young one."

When he pulled away, Flyra closed her eyes, and twin tears spilled down her cold cheeks.