Dance Away from the Blade
by obaona
A/N:
Thanks to Gabri for (briefly) looking this over. I found this in my docs (along
with two other fics I will finish ... someday), after forgetting about it for a
while. *blush* I've fiddled with a lot, but I'm tired of fiddling, so here
we are. :p
Endless vagaries were being created; movement was sharply defined now. Breath
had meaning, significance, consequence. He did not dance away from the blade; it
danced away from him, clumsy and inarticulate, fighting against the smallest of
ripples in the Force, missing him by a moment and eternity, that strike forever
gone. He moved within the waves, untouched and swept away.
Precision was all. He exhaled to it, obeyed every flicker and warning. There was
no thought; there was existence within action.
Again, it broke the wave, failing to heed every caress and failing for it. The
blue blade's heat did not touch his cheek, so close but not felt. He heard her
sharp breath, preparation for another strike, and she had already failed,
breath, body and movement no longer in concert.
The blow almost seemed to land as he gracefully turned his body, but it had
never been close in his mind, the whispers of the Force unconcerned.
He could feel her frustration, how she reached out for the Force in greater
depth, determination guiding her. Closer now, the whispers sharper and more
intent, and she failed again, as he remained untouched.
"Do you see now?" a voice said, creating more eddies, waves tilting in reaction
to the softly spoken words.
She twitched, and a great enough error was caused he slipped through her
strike, into her guard, beyond her walls of defense. She stumbled back just
briefly, but more than enough, and she brought out her leg, trying to kick him
and bring him to his knees as her lightsaber swung around.
Yet she still possessed that single moment of breath, the body and the Force
becoming unaligned.
"The Force is capable of many great things," the voice continued, not heedless
of the effect of words in the Force. Aware.
He stepped away and around her, watching her green eyes narrow. He knew that
look well, but listened to the Force with the same carefulness, never presuming.
A feint and a slash, and she got closer this time, inhaling and exhaling, her
guard disappearing as she moved closer into the Force. He felt the heat of her
blade, the tension in her regard, but he did not fear. Her defense was falling
but not failing, reaching at last for that final breach. Defense was the result
of scars, and within the Force, all scars passed away.
There was movement, there was now, not fear of what will be, of what was.
The standards of saber technique faded from her repertoire. Now there was him
and her, the currents of the Force, the tiny shifts and variations.
He had to be perfect now, to escape her forceful strikes. The blade sizzled it
came so near, not quite burning, but its presence was known.
"What is a warrior?" the voice continued. "Do you see the precision of their
battle, the inequality?"
He listened to the smallest of differences, obeying them, moving within them.
Still her blows did not land, but she was more graceful now, the empty strikes
not putting her off-balance, but he could see now her becoming aware of those
strikes and the variations they created, the movements they demanded in turn.
"Who is greater? She has the weapon, yet he is untouched."
She was learning every moment, every strike becoming more refined, like the
softly spoken, perfect poem. Each line brought her closer to the end, becoming
part of a greater whole. The whispers were spoken to her, as well, and he
listened, waiting for when hers would equal his.
"And what, then, when equality is reached? What is a warrior? A fighter?"
He closed his eyes, dodging, his movements becoming bigger, wider, with each
sharper strike. His every breath, his body and every movement were open to the
Force. Hesitations that were scars of past struggles were non-existent. There
was now. There was trust.
Her frustration had faded, her joy had increased.
"A warrior is a teacher."
She was leaping now in what appeared to be aborted movements, fractures of
strategy. Every call, every whisper was heard. Her defenses were nearly gone,
now, but there was no vulnerability in trust. The Force demanded it of its
servants, and in return, guidance was given.
"And what is taught?"
He moved, and though the strikes were getting even closer, every one perfecting
the next, he did not feel fear. There was knowledge. There was serenity. There
was no death. There was the Force.
"To overcome the enemy with what you believe, with the truth; that is more than
victory, and to die as such is to live forever in your student."
She was attuned to the slightest vagary now. He went completely still, the waves
stilling around him, decision made, and the Force rejoiced at it, perfection
achieved, if only briefly, in surrender.
The blow did not fall.
Luke slowly opened his eyes. Mara stood before him, her lightsaber in hand, her
blade at his neck. She slowly shifted out of her ready stance, the blade moving
away and then extinguishing. Her red hair clung to her face and neck, wet with
sweat, and her body was similarly soaked. But she had a broad grin on her face,
one that Luke slowly matched. He could still feel the Force between them,
intense in the way of a quiet whisper when there is nothing else to be heard.
He exhaled carefully, wiping his sweaty forehead, realizing he was probably in
no better shape than Mara was. That had been physically demanding, though the
Force flowed through him even clearer than before the fight, and he still felt
breathless in awe of it
"And that, you see, is what a warrior is," Ben Skywalker finished softly, fondly
watching his parents, and meeting his father's gaze with his ice blue eyes. His
lanky form looked graceful in stillness, as he sat beside his students.
Luke walked over to him, the shifts and variations in the Force still swaying in
rhythm to Luke and Mara, and ruffled his son's short, reddish hair
affectionately. "But to live and see your student is just as great a gift," he
added quietly to his son's words.
Ben shoved his hair into a semblance of order, grinning. He looked at his
mother, clearly to Luke's eyes noting that their reactions to each other's
movements hadn't diminished, even though the battle was over.
"Thanks, Dad." He grinned crookedly at Luke, with the exact same sort of swagger
his uncle put into it. It remained a mystery to Luke how the two could be so
alike, and yet not be related by blood. Ben looked over at his still speechless
students. They varied in age, these ones taking the first full steps towards
becoming Knights, as Ben himself was now a Master. They were young and old,
coming from all parts of the galaxy to learn to be a Jedi, and learn what it
meant to be one, as well.
"Do I get a thanks, too?" Mara teased, walking to stand beside Luke, him moving
automatically to allow her into his space. "I was the other half of the
demonstration, if the less impressive half," she added, giving Luke a dark look
and taking his hand in hers.
"Of course, Mom," Ben replied. He turned to his students. "Well? What else is a
Jedi?"
"Polite?" a young woman said archly, raising an eyebrow.
"Exactly," Ben said dryly, shooting her a quelling look. Luke had a feeling that
young woman in particular was going to make an interesting Padawan for someone.
Ben, maybe. The Force was still on the matter, like someone who didn't want to
tell a secret.
"Thank you, Masters," they all murmured, not exactly in harmony.
Ben rose to his feet with the ease of an athlete, giving Mara kiss on the cheek.
Then he gestured to the group of students. "Well, come on," he said, and as they
clumsily rose, still shooting Luke and Mara disbelieving looks, Ben set off out
of the room without another word. There was no point in dallying, was Bens
sometimes strict way of looking at things. The students followed, minds still
clearly dwelling on what they had seen.
Mara lay her head on Luke's shoulder, watching them, and her arm came around
him, her hand resting lightly on his stomach. "That was quite a demonstration,
Master Jedi," she whispered into his ear, smiling broadly.
"You looking for a more personal one?" Luke teased.
She slapped him on the stomach, hard. "Maybe." She slipped away as he turned,
becoming like water as he tried to grasp her wrist, but the brush of her skin
against his was warm. He turned around, meeting her even gaze.
"You did well," Luke commented. A demonstration like that wasn't something they
often did, and Mara's mastering of it in the process hadn't been a play she
hadn't ever gotten that far before. She had been the one to make him realize the
truth, in listening to the Force instead of using it, but she had never been
able to strike him even weaponless as he had been. She had been the first to set
him firmly on the path to understanding why Jedi only carried lightsabers and
he had realized, eventually, that he need carry nothing at all, if he could hear
the Force, and trust it.
She shrugged lightly, though Luke sensed a heavy, overwhelming peace in her.
"I'm still learning. Always learning," she said softly. Luke was still learning
to listen to the quiet voice of the Force, to understand what the Force was.
Love took new meaning every day, when he looked into Mara's eyes. She added, "I
learn from you, you learn from me, it's a good bargain."
Luke smiled. "I get to spend a lot of time with the person I love more than a
good bargain, for me," he said, moving forward, holding out his hands. The Force
still spoke, in its voiceless way, telling a tale of equilibrium.
She stepped into his arms, and a dance of a different kind began.
[finis]