Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or any of its associated characters; they all belong to their respective owners. I only own any characters or plotlines that you do not recognize.
12. Not to Plan
Rest was something that Obi-Wan Kenobi had needed after the hectic whirl of the previous evening. His head had been in a tizzy upon being struck with the realization that for the rest of their stay on Gleann, he and Elara would be perceived as a betrothed couple. This meant that the peoples of Lárnach would be showering them with gifts of congratulations. Those congratulations were also conveyed in the form of local, traditional blessings in Gleannish. It also meant that their host family insisted that they share a bedroll. They claimed that if they could not share a bedroll, they would not do well with married life; but they held every belief that they would be alright, because Obi-Wan had been meant to find the Snow Blossom. The whole of the situation had caused the Jedi's head spin.
Such was why he had slept so easily and so heavily the night of the betrothal mix-up. Upon rousing from this deep, much needed sleep, Obi-Wan was contented to acknowledge that he was very comfortable. Gleannish blankets were just heavy enough to be comfortable, keep warm, and yet also remain suitably cool. The bedroll was one of the more comfortable ones that he'd slept on in his lifetime, and the pillows were of similar quality. It was in this overall atmosphere of comfort that the Jedi awoke. He stirred gently and realized that there was a warm presence pressed to his front. Initially, Obi-Wan thought nothing of this; he sought out the pleasing warmth by shifting himself closer. It was only when that warmth shifted against him and made a quiet sound as it roused that he barely realized what––who––he had sidled up against. It would seem that, in their sleep, Obi-Wan and Elara had cuddled up to one another. One of his arms was draped loosely over her waist, and one of her hands had snuck into his, which hung limply against her stomach. His chest was pressed flush to her back and their legs and feet had somehow gotten tangled beneath the blankets. They were very nearly breathing in sync, Obi-Wan could feel it. He could feel the warmth of her skin through her inner tunic, feel the softness of her hair tickling his nose, and feel her fingers shift between his. It was all quite overwhelming.
Both simultaneously seemed to realize their positioning and reacted similarly. Obi-Wan, suddenly alert, rolled aside while Elara flipped onto her stomach, cleared her throat, and briefly hid her face in her hands. The Jedi Knight also cleared his throat and pushed himself into a seated position. He attempted to ignore the flush of heat that was burning at the skin of his cheeks. He grimaced to think how pink they must have looked. Both of his arms were looped around his knees, and he was dutifully staring at the curtain that acted as their door.
"I, uh…" he began, voice rough with sleep, "I apologize." What Obi-Wan was apologizing for, he wasn't quite sure––he just felt as though he needed to. He supposed it was a need born out of the fact that he had never before, in the whole of his lifetime, had to share a bed with anyone. Necessity had simply never called for it. He figured that, perhaps, one day it would; and it had. But he'd never have guessed that it would have resulted in him waking up with Elara Skywalker in his arms. Nothing about the experience had been unpleasant, it had just been a surprise to discover that, in the night, he had reached out and held her close.
Obi-Wan chanced a glance at Elara from the corner of his eye and watched as she waggled a hand that then pushed into her endearingly sleep-mussed hair. It was falling into her eyes and stuck up in a couple of places, which was remedied by a couple passes of her fingers and a half-hearted ruffle.
"No, no, it's fine… there's no need to apologize," she assured him, voice sleepy. "I know that I woke up holding Anakin more than a few times––we used to share a bed when he was small. Sometimes it just… happens."
Obi-Wan resisted the urge to inform her that that was different––Anakin was her brother, Obi-Wan was not. There was a distinct difference. He caught eye of a blush on Elara's cheeks, which led him to believe that she, too, realized the difference. But she had been trying assuage his embarrassment, so he nodded his silent acknowledgement and smoothed hair away from his forehead. They lapsed into a silence that was not as easy as quiet usually was between them. There was a faint twinge of awkward hanging in the air, an unspoken recognition that neither quite knew how to address––or if they should address––how they had woken up. Common sense told Obi-Wan to think of it as an embrace; he and Elara hugged often. But there was something distinctly more intimate to the situation. They had been sleeping, for one thing, and for another, it was a distinctly intimate action that had been carried out unconsciously, subconsciously. The thought of it caused Obi-Wan's cheeks to flush with heat once more.
"So, we're to attend the Council meeting again, yes?" Elara inquired a few minutes later, grabbing her boots. She started to worm her feet into them, hair flopping into her eyes while she pulled. Once they were on, she tucked the legs of her trousers into the tops of her boots, adjusting them till they fit just right.
"Yes, that's correct," Obi-Wan agreed, the words coming out on a slight sigh. He started to pull on his boots as well, feeling more alert and thankful for the change in subject.
There was a quiet laugh as Elara rose to her feet and started to adjust her sleep-rumpled tunic. "More fighting, then?"
The corner of his mouth quirked a little. "More than likely. Though I do believe the Senator said that he believed he would have an answer for us and his Council in the next day or two. Perhaps there will be good news."
Elara cocked a brow skywards and snatched up her outer tunic from where it sat with her pile of clothing. "But with good news would come more arguing. I am starting to believe that some of these Council members survive solely on arguing for argument's sake…"
Obi-Wan chuckled as he rose to his feet and started to re-dress as well. He was quick with adding his layers back on, a life-time of wearing the same style of clothing coming to his aid. Not only was the Jedi quick, he was percice; there was little tugging or re-adjustment after the fact. But from the corner of Obi-Wan's eye, he could tell that his companion had a very different way of dressing. Elara made sure everything was perfectly placed and adjusted before the next layer was added, and she adjusted as she went. By the time she finished dressing, everything was perfectly in place, not a hem out of line, not a layer out of place. Elara had been wearing the uniform of a Jedi for six years, but there still seemed to be a reverence with which she donned it. It was something that Obi-Wan admired, something that he respected; it endeared her to him even more. The Jedi robes had always suited her––and she had always suited them. And he considered himself very lucky to have gotten to know her so well.
OOOO
"I believe congratulations are in order," Proc Noth intoned, tone almost teasing. Elara, who had been standing outside the council chamber for the senator, responded with an inquiring look. He chuckled knowingly, eyes gleaming with mirth. "Congratulations on your betrothal, of course––I heard that Master Kenobi offered you a Snow Blossom. Though I was under the impression that the Jedi did not participate in intimate entanglements."
Elara laughed a little, ducking her chin upon hearing his explanation. She attempted to ignore the heat flaring in her cheeks, but it was impossible when all she could focus on was her blush and the way that her heart had leapt. "Intimate encounters are completely justifiable under the Code. They aren't banned, they aren't frowned upon. If one wishes to engage in such activities, they may, but they have to be careful. It is what those encounters may lead to that is frowned upon. Long lasting, close relationships such as marriage are considered dangerous liabilities, something that we would become more focused on than our duties," she explained, relaying what had once been told to her. "It is a… common misconception birthed from the fact that most Jedi stray from intimacy for fear that they may fall into something deeper than just attraction."
Proc nodded, though a smile started to crawl across his face. He waggled a thin finger at her, which prompted her to raise an eyebrow.
"And yet you and Master Kenobi choose to ignore your Code and act upon your feelings. It is admirable."
The padawan looked up and down the spacious hall before she sidled closer to the Senator of the planet. He blinked at her expectantly and clasped his hands behind his back with patience. "There… wasn't exactly a way for us to tell anyone… but––" Before she had a chance to let Proc in on the misunderstanding, he laughed and placed a hand on her shoulder. It was clearly meant to be a reassuring, comforting gesture.
"Your secret will be safe with us; here, on this planet, we believe in love above all else. Love for your neighbor, love for your family, love for your guests. We will not tell your Jedi Council, young padawan," he winked as he spoke his reassurance. "Now, come, there is much to discuss! And you must pass my congratulations on to your Master Kenobi."
With that, Proc swept into the room with a swirl of brocaded fabric, a cheeky wink sent in her direction. Elara blinked after him, mouth still hanging open in a half-formed word. She simply stared at where he had once been, bringing her hands up to press against her cheeks. There was a warmth that clung to her cheeks and bled into her palms, betraying the fact that they were still flushed. The meeting would only start once she entered the room, but Elara had to take a second to recompose herself. It had been decided it would be easier to just accept the fact the city thought that the Jedi and padawan were betrothed; Elara had expected it would be a simple congratulations here and there. But it was very much forefront in the minds of everyone that they bumped into.
The idea of marriage was not one that Elara had ever really entertained. For the whole of her life, she had been focused on the family that she already had. She focused on helping her mother, keeping Anakin safe, and surviving the life of a slave on Tatooine. Marriage was common amongst slaves, it happened every so often, but there were no guarantees it would be a long and happy life. More often than not, someone either died or was sold to a different slave master and taken far away. The idea of marriage had always been very romantic to Elara. It was an idea that she never thought she would have the pleasure of knowing. It was very dream-like, a dream that she had decided would likely never come true. It was a dream that she shouldn't even entertain given her new life as a Jedi, as they didn't flat-out did not marry. But it was a thought that Elara was now entertaining because an hour did not pass where it was not brought up. And it was a thought that centered around her and Obi-Wan, the disasterously handsome and charming Jedi Knight, getting married. But the meeting seemed as though it would be a reprieve, because it would be all business, no talk of betrothals or marriage.
Upon entering the council chamber, Elara took her spot at the foot of the table, seating herself beside Obi-Wan. He quirked a brow at her, eyes lingering on what pinkness still remained in her cheeks. She smoothed her hands over the tops of her thighs, fingers gliding along the fabric of her trousers.
"The Senator passes on his congratulations regarding our betrothal," Elara explained quietly, voice hitting a slight deadpan.
"How very thoughtful of him," Obi-Wan chuckled, a faint smirk clawing at the corner of his mouth. That damned smirk––she had known it would be trouble one day, and it seemed that trouble was the fact that she found it far too endearing. That, and it made her eyes linger on his lips just a few seconds too long. Elara rolled her eyes at him a little and directed her attention to Senator Noth, who was seated comfortably at the head of the table.
The meeting started off as it normally did. Proc called the meeting to order and light arguing struck up almost immediately. It was just the way that it always began; the senator would interject, ask them to calm themselves, and the situation would only elevate. It seemed that the meeting would be another hours-long arguing session, which would end without result. This possibility was cut short when Proc rose to his feet with an elegant smoothness, his presence suddenly commanding the attention that sent the room into silence. He stood like a senator should, expression cool and decided, exercising his right to bring the meeting to a direct halt.
"Over this past week I have listened to your arguments with equal interest and opportunity. I have labored over each possible decision, each possible outcome. And I must thank you all for the time you have given, and for the devotion you have showed to our beautiful planet. I also must thank our guests from the Jedi Order for the time that they have taken to oversee our talks and give their great insight. In light of all this… arguing and debate, I have come to a decision," Proc paused here and clasped his hands over his stomach. The room filled with a heavy tension, which weighed down on the shoulders of everyone in the room. Elara's hand shot out to rest atop Obi-Wan's knee, apprehension flooding through her system. She felt him tense a little at the sudden point of contact, but his hand slipped atop hers reassuringly after a beat. "I have decided that Gleann will remain with the Galactic Republic and work on exercising our voice in a constructive manner. If exercised correctly, we can make a great change."
A smooth, relieved exhale slipped from Elara's mouth, though she did not let that bleed into her expression. Simultaneously, her fingers tightened around Obi-Wan's knee and he squeezed her hand. They had succeeded in their mission. But it was clear that the day was far from over as the room erupted into noise, shouts of relief and anger cutting into the air with a near violence. But despite the uproar, Proc stood at the head of the table with a calm, decided expression, eyes scanning the faces of his council members. With his mind made up, he appeared to be the picture of the Senator that they had been promised he was. No longer was he weighed down by doubt or worry, no longer was he being pulled and pushed in every direction. He had made up his mind and nothing would move him from that steadfast position. As council members started to rise from their seats, gesticulating wildly, Proc raised a hand in a halting motion. The room eventually dissolved into silence when Proc made it clear he was waiting for just that. Once he had achieved the desired quiet, he ticked his head to the side and fixed his eyes on the only council member that had not risen from his seat.
"Councilman Keer, you have been vocal throughout this entire process; yet now you remain silent," Proc pointed out.
Councilman Keer, one of the younger members of the Senator's Esteemed Council of Gleann, sat slumped back in his chair, expression stiff, lips pursed. He had, indeed, been one of the most vehement voices that campaigned for Gleann to secede from the Republic. But as Proc had pointed out, he had been deathly silent since the announcement had been made. After another quiet moment, Keer sat forward and braced his elbows on the arms of his chair. He fixed the senator with a cool look, face decidedly impassive and unfeeling.
"I believe that you are making a mistake, Senator Noth. You are doing this planet a disservice by remaining with the Republic, which will only see our culture and everything we hold dear torn asunder. We will be dragged into war. We will be assuring the death sentence of our culture; the Republic cannot be changed," Keer voiced, a steady intonation keeping his words flat. But in that flatness there was an anger. A deep-seated anger that was being repressed with great force. But he then lifted a hand and swept it through the air, a brow twitching upwards. "That is all."
Proc inclined his head to the council member. "Thank you, Councilman Keer, for voicing your fears. I believe that these fears can be assuaged through further––diplomatic––discussion. If everyone would please take a seat, I believe we can continue."
OOOO
The day was greyer than usual and rain had been drizzling for most of the afternoon. The dirt between the stones on the cobble-paved roads had turned to mud, the air smelled fresh and dewy, and a faint mist had gathered in the forests outside of the valley in which Lárnach was settled. Elara thought that the day was perfect, that it was beautiful, and had decided to explore the city's marketplace. It had been four days since the Proc had decided that Gleann would remain part of the Galactic Republic; but the outrage the decision had sparked within the council saw that Obi-Wan and Elara stayed for a little longer to assuage fears and keep everything diplomatic. It was hard work and tempers had to be constantly kept in check, but things had started to calm down. Obi-Wan estimated that they would be able to leave in the next few days, once Proc felt wholly comfortable he had a grasp on the situation.
So with the daily council meeting called off for a day of rest, Elara had braved the rainy weather and started to explore. The marketplace was a web of streets around the city center, and boasted many shop fronts and vendor stands, all elaborate and impressive. Her hair was damp with rain and droplets of it rolled along her cheeks and neck. Rain, like snow, was impossibly amazing to her; after living on a planet where they had to harvest water, to have it falling from the sky on a near regular basis was almost miracle-like. Such was why she had been walking around with the hood of her robe down, simply enjoying the feel of the droplets spattering against her skin, soaking through the layers of her clothes, and sticking down her hair.
"You have a hood for a reason," teased Obi-Wan. Elara looked over her shoulder to find him smirking at her as he approached, his own hood drawn up over his head. She shrugged and smiled, rain blurring her vision for a brief second.
"I know, but the rain is so… lovely," she replied. Elara tipped her head back, eyes scrunched shut as the cool drops of water languidly rolled across the planes of her face. She heard Obi-Wan chuckle behind her, and then felt a slight tug on the hood of her robe.
"Lovely as it may be…" Elara lifted her head just as Obi-Wan raised her hood, "you could catch your death if you leave yourself improperly exposed to it for too long." He draped the hood over her head experly, the already damp fabric now protecting her from the drizzle.
Elara chuckled as the two continued to walk along the row of vendors and those brave enough to attend the market in the inclimate weather. "What a way for a Tatooine girl to die––caught her death in the rain. I would be a legend."
Her companion hummed as they walked, a teasing yet disapproving hum rumbling in his throat. "I'd prefer if you reached legendary status through your actions, not your death."
"The sentiment is shared."
"Let us keep living, then." Obi-Wan smiled at her, eyes crinkling kindly at the corners; she had come to realize that that smile was a special one. One so genuine and happy and pure. Sometimes it showed his teeth, sometimes it was content not to. But any time it was directed at her, Elara felt her heart flutter a little. He had smiled at her like that, once, after they had just woken up––in each other's arms for the third time in a row––and she'd had to turn away to hide the blush that had painted itself madly across her cheeks.
A smile spread over Elara's lips in response to his happy look. She adjusted how her hood sat, slightly chilled fingers pulling at the rain-soaked fabric. They chatted personably as they walked, stopping at stalls and stands to admire the local wares. Just as Elara was curiously thumbing through a pile of elaborately woven shawls, something very out of place caught her ear.
"U wamma wonka? (You gonna pay for that?)"
"Ne tastta slemo poy! Uba wanna wonka, koochoo. (It tastes like drool! You pay for it, idiot)."
Two voices––one male, one female––had spoken Huttese on the other side of the street. The very guttural, throaty, spittal-laced language was so completely out of place against the lilting, musical Gleannish language that hovered in background noise. It was rare to hear anyone speak Huttese outside of the outer-rim. And to hear it there, just behind her, through Elara completely off-guard. She'd gone completely still, hand hovering over a pile of folded fabric.
"Elara?" Obi-Wan asked, light concern lacing his tone. It was then that she realized her eyes had gone wide. "Is everything alright?"
Instead of answering, Elara slowly turned her head and shifted her hood aside, stealing a glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, two people stood on the opposite side of the street looking just as out of place as the language they had been speaking. They appeared to be grimacing over a local drink, the consistency of which did, indeed, look a little drool-like. Their clothes were made up of rough-spun fabrics native to desert planets, light enough to keep cool but thick enough to endure the elements. Heavy belts sat slung across their hips, the pouches attached were made of leather and had clearly seen better days. They wore sporadically placed armor, which had clearly seen combat and had been abused for years. One man wore heavy-duty bracers and thick gloves while the other had sleeves pushed up to his elbows and gloves cut off at the knuckles. Most notable––and most concerning––was that both toted blasters and blaster rifles, one of which was fitted to be shifted into a sniper configuration. Elara's head snapped forward and she slowly started to resume perusing the shawls.
"There are two people behind us," Elara started, voice quiet, eyes downcast. "They're speaking Huttese. There are select few people that speak Huttese outside the Outer Rim."
Obi-Wan quietly cleared his throat and carefully turned his head to appear that he was glancing down the street; though his eyes danced towards the pair that she had mentioned. "And what sort of people, aside from yourself, speak Huttese in the Inner Rims?"
"There's only one sort of person that dresses like that and speaks Huttese outside the Outer Rim. Bounty hunters. You'll hear bounty hunters hired out by the Hutts speak it when they're out on the job, particularly in places where people don't speak it. It gives them a way to discuss options and plan things openly without worrying someone might overhear."
Elara was quick to pop open a pouch and stick her fingers inside to root out some credits. She selected a greyish-purple, heavily brocaded length of fabric and raised it, locking eyes with the vendor. Once the price was given, and it was paid, Elara sloughed off her robe and thrust it at Obi-Wan without so much of a word. The man, though mildly startled at the sudden, silent insistence he take the robe, wadded the fabric up in his arms and watched her curiously. Elara draped her newly acquired shawl over her head and wrapped the rest of its considerable length around her shoulders and torso. It disguised the majority of her tunic, which was a dead give-away of her chosen profession. Before she could start out to cross the muddy street, Obi-Wan caught her by the elbow. He arched a brow at her, his expression almost chiding; Elara suspected this was a look Anakin received often. His voice was low when next he spoke.
"What are you doing?"
He had leaned in close, head bent, which shielded her a little from the rain. She raised both brows in an almost prompting manner. "Two trained killers showing up on a typically peaceable planet isn't normal; bounty hunters don't exactly take leisure trips. They travel so they can work, which means they are either here to take someone in for reward or kill them for reward. I want to find out why they're here, we could save a life if they are here to do a job."
"I agree with you, I would just like to be privy to your plan because you clearly have one. You pride yourself on having more impulse control than your brother––exercise that," Obi-Wan prompted. His breath clouded in a puff of condensation, the coolness of the air combating with the warmth of the air leaving his mouth. Elara bobbed her head in an almost apologetic nod; if she had just run off, plan kept to herself, then both Jedi Knight and padawan would have been at a grievous disadvantage.
"I can follow them and listen to what they are planning to do; if they divulge any pertinent information, we can be ten steps ahead of them."
Obi-Wan nodded, eyes jumping back to the two bounty hunters, who were walking away from the vendor after slapping down a couple of credits for their drink. "I will follow you at a respectable distance, in case something should happen. If you don't have to engage with them, don't engage. I trust that you are aware of how cautious you have to be around their sort. Keep your comm link on hand and I shall do the same."
With that, Elara crossed the street, clutched the shawl closed over her chest, and started to tail the two bounty hunters. In following them, she would stop at vendors and peruse their wares briefly, letting the distance grow before she started to close in again. She kept one ear in their direction, focused wholly on trying to pick up words over the sound of the rain and market chatter. Despite the background noise, Elara did catch ear of the words 'lorda,' which meant 'boss' and 'ootmian,' which meant 'outlander.' Both of her brows furrowed as she pieced the information together. She lifted the comm link to her lips and lagged behind a little to ensure they wouldn't hear her.
"They've been hired by an outlander," she told him.
"An outlander?" Obi-Wan's curious voice inquired.
"Someone who isn't from the Outer Rim, or Tatooine. You were an Outlander to Anakin and I when we first met."
"Is it unusual for an… outlander to hire out Outer Rim bounty hunters?"
Elara thought the question over, considering the unsavory conversations that she had heard whilst working for Gardulla. She had heard contracts of all kinds be negotiated, and she winced to think of how many people's fates she had heard sealed. She had seen bounty contracts be fulfilled, pleading patrons being dragged out by grim faced––and sometimes smiling––bounty hunters. She had seen those that had wronged Gardulla be wrenched into the back rooms, knowing that they would not be limping back out. All these incidents had happened in dark corners, muttered in the spittle laced words of Huttese. Elara had always known better than to ask questions, or to look like she was listening in, but there were some things that she couldn't ignore, and there were some things that ran her imagination in loops.
"It's… rare. There are bounty hunters in every Rim of this galaxy, but I suppose Outer Rim hunters are renowned for being… particularly ruthless. If they were hired out by someone here, then they must really want the job done," Elara muttered into the comm link. Her eyes followed the two hunters as they ducked into a cantina. "They've just gone inside the cantina, probably to get out of the rain. I'm going to follow."
"I'll be behind you; be cautious."
The cantina was much nicer than those that Elara had spent extensive amounts of time in. It was fairly large and clearly catered to the locals. It smelled as cantinas usually did, of stale liquor, but there was something distinctly cool and mossy in that smell, too. The assembled patrons that were scattered across the establishment were distinctly less seedy than what she was used to, too. Elara hung back by the door for a moment, scraping the mud off bottoms of her boots on an iron shoe scraper just outside the door. Once the bounty hunters had retrieved drinks and found a table, she entered and retrieved her own drink. With the shawl still swathed around her, Elara seated herself at a nearby table, hunched over her drink and kept an open ear.
"Jee-jee jujiminmee hoohah, tagwa, Gaeriel? (We're kidnapping them, right, Gaeriel?)" asked the man. Elara chanced a glance towards them while she lifted her head to take a drink from her cup. The man looked grin and weather-worn, with brows pulled low over his eyes ane a scar pulling one lower than the other. His hair was patchy and short, and some spots were completely hairless and covered in ribboned scars.
The woman––Gaeriel, Elara presumed––who sat opposite him looked to be no-nonsense in nature, though her features looked as though they could be gentle if she wanted them to be. She fixed her partner with a look and heavily slouched back in their booth. "Nobata, uba stupa. Ootmian coo wamman uus oto killee hoohah. Sendee wankee. (No, you fool. The Outlander who paid us wants us to kill them. Send a message)," she responded, tone slow and deliberate like she was explaining things to a child.
A chill ran through Elara's body upon hearing the intent of their presence on Gleann. With the cup still held to her lips, she did a quick head-to-toe scan of the two now that they were out of the rain and grey light. She looked for tell-tale signs and found them quickly––the wrappings on their shins, the scarves around their necks, the flush of sunburnt flesh across their faces. They were tell-tale signs of time spent on a sandy, dusty planet with two suns. There was a twang to their voices that suggested a life on Tatooine. Then the most damning piece of evidence peeked out from under the sleeve of the man's shirt. Just below his elbow was a tattoo––a tattoo of the symbol of the Hutt Cartel. It was so blatant that Elara had to wonder if the man was, indeed, a fool.
The comm link was discreetly removed from its pouch and Elara brought it up to her lips as she pretended to cover up a yawn. "This could be worse than I initially thought," she quietly uttered.
"And why would that be?"
"They come from Tatooine, they work for the Hutts; and they aren't here to collect a bounty. They have been paid to kill someone. No bounty, just murder."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I do not believe that murder is necessarily in their job description," Obi-Wan's voice crackled.
Elara hummed grimly, lips pulling into a sharp frown. "If paid enough coin, Hutt bounty hunters will become assassins, no matter who's paying. Albeit, those that actually accept those contracts are usually idiots; the Hutts typically don't take well to being double-crossed in any kind of way."
There was a crackling, displeased grunt from Obi-Wan's end of the connection. "Have they named who their target is?"
"No." Elara chanced another look towards their table and saw that the two had leaned in closer, speaking in much more hushed tones. "And despite the perceived language barrier, they have decided to be secretive. I have to get closer…"
"Elara…" It was a warning and an expression of worry.
"I worked in a cantina for years, I know how to go unrecognized."
With that, Elara tucked the comm link away, left her half drunk cup on the table and started to weave her way towards the bar. She dropped the shawl from her head and let it slouch around her neck. It remained tightly wrapped around her torso to hide her clothes as best as they could be hidden. Elara also reached up and wrapped the thin length of her padawan braid around the base of the small tail that was almost hidden amongst the rest of her hair. Upon passing by the bar, she swept up a tray meant for delivering and collecting drinks, and kept moving. With a ducked head and down-cast eyes, Elara slowed her pace and started to collect empty glasses. She was ignored, just as she had been back at Gardulla's, and that was just what she wanted. The closer she got to the bounty hunters' table, the more time she took in reprising her role as waitstaff. She caught snippets of their conversation here and there and was able to piece some things together.
Whoever they were sent to kill was hard to get so––they were discussing the difficulty of getting close enough to fulfill their job. Whoever had hired them was a native to the planet, but they'd never met them. Elara had been collecting a handful of glasses from a table directly adjacent to their table when their target was revealed to her.
"Da noa nee choo senatee. (The senator will die)," assured the man, who had been called Wyle.
Startled by the information, Elara jerked a little and knocked a glass over. It fell to the floor where it shattered and spilled. The noise seemed to go mostly unnoticed. Those that did seem to take particular, sharp notice were Gaeriel and Wyle, who were eyeing her critically. Elara realized her mistake in not immediately apologizing and fix her mistake. The reflex to do so had finally left her automatic responses after years of working hard to ignore it. She decided it would be best to just try and carry on. She started to collect the rest of the glasses, heart hammering violently inside her chest.
"Chuba! (Hey, you!)" Wyle barked. Instinctively, Elara's head ticked towards them at the harsh call. She had heard it too many times from across cantinas, from the front of Watto's shop, and at the podracing track to ignore it.
"Tagwa? (Yes?)" The word had tumbled past her lips before she could stop it. She flinched and grimaced. Jumping at the call could have been shrugged off as a member of waitstaff recognizing that they were being called upon. Responding in Huttese, however, was unignorable. Instead of shying away, as Elara might have done a few years prior, she straightened up, façade dropped, and turned to the table.
Both Gaeriel and Wyle were staring at her. Gaeriel had her eyes narrowed and Wyle's eyes were wide and stricken. The air around them grew disastrously still and tense. That stillness was broken by the seemingly casual shift of Gaeriel's hand; it dropped from the table to her thigh––where it slowly unholstered a blaster. That blaster was kept low, as not to cause a scene, but aimed up at Elara, who could see it perfectly well.
"Ah'chu apenkee? Uba coo toup linguo Hutt dey? (Who are you? You who speaks the language of the Hutts?)"
"Dolpee kikyuna. (I am a friend)," Elara stated blandly, letting little emotion to infiltrate her voice. Gaeriel scoffed at this, an almost amused smirk pulling across her face. Her head cocked to the side, and her whole demeanor became dangerously casual. Wyle scanned Elara from head-to-toe, eyes stopping suddenly at waist level.
"Jeedai. Gaeriel, dee peedunka Jeedai. (Jedi. Gaeriel, the girl is a Jedi)," Wyle hissed. He jerked his chin forward, eyes focused on something on Elara's hip. She swore upon realizing the brocaded fabric had not been able to hide the hilt of her lightsaber well enough.
"So… ah Jeedai pooee Tatooine… (So… a Jedi from Tatooine…)" Gaeriel drawled. If she had been feigning amusement before, a genuine form of the emotion had crossed her just face. A laugh started to bubble out of her mouth. "Amusee. (Funny)."
Elara took a slow breath to steel herself, inhaling the sticky smell of the air. Her eyes slowly slid to the other side of the room, where she quickly took notice of Obi-Wan, who was seated at a corner table. His hood was still up but she could tell, even through the shadow, that his expression had become tense. Her eyes jumped back to the two at the table, who were scrutinizing everything about her––from the way that she breathed, the twitch of her fingers, she slip of her eyes.
"Why don't you sit?" insisted Wyle, slipping into Standard effortlessly.
"I would prefer to stand, thank you," Elara replied easily.
Gaeriel sat forward and switched off the safety of her blaster. She cocked a brow. "It would be rude to refuse, don't you think? Sit, Jedi, or we will add a few more names to our contract."
Elara cleared her throat and reached up to remove the rain dampened shawl. She straightened out her tunic and tabard, set the shawl aside, and seated herself next to Wyle. With a carefully kept composure, she met Gaeriel's eyes and arched an eyebrow.
"I have a hunch that whatever Hutt you're working for will not appreciate that you have accepted a contract so far outside of the Outer Rim," she theorized. The woman sat across from her smirked and shifted, likely re-angling the blaster under the table.
"He doesn't have to find out."
Elara hummed. "They always find out, one way or another."
There was a sharp jab as a second blaster was prodded violently into her side. Elara jumped a little and instinctively brought a hand to her hip, palm placed over her lightsaber. "You threatening us?" Wyle ground out.
"I am simply warning you both that the Hutts will find out you have taken a contract without their permission, and that they will see you suitably punished. All three of us know that their punishments are never kind."
Wyle cocked his head to the side curiously, eyes searching her face with a critical gaze. "And how would you know? You're too… well-kept looking to work for the Hutts." There was a pause before Wyle started to laugh, a frustratingly hearty sound. "Ohh… ah shag! Uba ah shag! (a slave! You were a slave!) Slave turned Jedi, imagine that!"
"She's not even a full-fledged Jedi yet, Wyle, look at that braid. All the Jedi-in-training have them." Gaeriel jerked her chin at Elara, eyes trained on the braid that had slumped back to her shoulder. Elara's fingers started to curl around the hilt of her lightsaber. "Ah, ah! Hagwa boska punyoo (don't go for that weapon)––put it on the table." Slowly, Elara slipped the hilt off her belt, raised it, and placed it in the middle of the table. "Good."
"Doe jee-jee killee dee peedunka? (Do we kill the girl?)" Wyle inquired, sitting forward in his seat, blaster still firmly poked into her side. Years ago, the inquiry would have chilled her straight to the bone; but, now, she was determined and the threat did not scare her. Not only did Elara know she had a number of outs, and that she could probably take down both bounty hunters with a fair amount of ease, but she knew she had back-up. Though, from a quick glance towards his table, she realized that Obi-Wan had disappeared from her field of view.
"Tagwa. Peedunkaee nowa mucha mucha. (Yes. She knows too much)," Gaeriel confirmed, her eyes never leaving Elara.
"Whoever hired you must really want Senator Noth dead; why else would they hire two koochoos (idiots) from the Outer Rim?"
"Koochoos? (Idiots?)" Wyle stressed, offence heavy in his tone.
"Yes, koochoos. Because if you were both intelligent, you would have realized that, yes, I am in training to become a Jedi––and that means that I have someone overseeing what I do," Elara pointed out calmly. Gaeriel's expression slowly deflated as her eyes started to dart about the room. A huffed breath puffed from her nose and she sat forward in preparation.
"Kark. (Shit). There's another one…" she muttered. Her chin jutted forward at Elara, who sat there as though they were having a casual afternoon chat. "Shoot her."
"What?" Wyle seemed mildly startled by the sudden command. Gaeriel glared at him before she continued to scan the room. Tension started to build.
"Shoot her, idiot! It will give us enough time to run, the other Jedi will be too occupied with trying to save her."
Instinct prompted by foresight sent Elara's hands to Wyle's wrist, grabbing it and forcing it upwards just as he pulled the trigger. The bolt of blaster fire hit the ceiling and sent cries of shock through the cantina. Elara then threw her knee up into the table and knocked it over and into Gaeriel. Drinks spilled, glasses shattered, and curses were uttered. Her lightsaber tumbled to the floor. The padawan then slammed Wyle's own blaster and hand down into his face, the hilt of the weapon cracking into his nose. As he cried out, she let go and launched herself out of the booth. Elara then made the mistake of grabbing for her lightsaber, which allowed a very frustrated Gaeriel to tackle her.
With a grunt, the two women hit the floor and rolled. They knocked into a table, which tipped over with a clatter. Elara felt Gaeriel pin both of her hands to her lower back with an armor cald knee. She sank all weight onto Elara's wrists and the muzzle of the blaster was pressed firmly to her temple.
"Kee baatu baatu. (You bother me)," Gaeriel hissed out.
There was a flash of brown and white, the whooshing hum of a lightsaber activating, and Obi-Wan slid into view.
"Hello there," Obi-Wan drawled. Elara groaned into the stick cantina floor and shifted uncomfortably; the movement prompted Gaeriel to shove the blaster harder against her head.
"Coona tee-tocky malia… (What took you so long…)" Elara mumbled breathlessly, instinctively speaking in Huttese thanks to the re-exposure.
"Advance and she dies," Gaeriel threatened. Her knee jostled as she shifted her weight, which caused to Elara to groan as her ribs were crushed against the floor.
The room had gone silent save for Wyle's muffled cries of pain. Elara's gaze had locked on Obi-Wan, who stood at the ready, eyes dancing between the bounty hunter and the pinned padawan. He was trying to calculate how to placate the situation. How they could get out of it without injury or casualty.
"You don't have to do this," Obi-Wan informed evenly.
"Oh, I think I might have to. Now, why don't you save your comrade's life and deactivate that light sword of yours. It would be a shame for me to put a hole in her pretty little head, wouldn't it? You keep staring at her, so I presume you'd want her face to stay the same."
There was a pause after Gaeriel's words, a pause in which Elara watched Obi-Wan tighten his hold on the lightsaber. She met his eyes and his steeled a little more with determination. Above Elara, Gaeriel huffed in annoyance and shifted the blaster so it sat level with the top of her ear, the muzzle pointed at the bar. There was a surge of searing heat that cut across the tender flesh of Elara's ear as the blaster bolt just barely burned past the top of it. Elara sank her teeth as not to cry out in pain, but her eyes screwed shut and her legs instinctively twisted. The air smelled of burnt flesh and singed hair, and she could feel blood trickling into her ear. The blaster returned to its position at her temple; it was a heavy threat now that Gaeriel had made it perfectly clear she held no qualms with injuring or killing the Jedi trainee under her knee.
"Now would be good," Gaeriel stated with an emphasised smugness. Sound had gone a little muted for Elara, blood pooling into her ear uncomfortably. But through that muffled liquid barrier, she could still make out the sound of a deactivating lightsaber; and upon opening her eyes, Elara watched Obi-Wan holster the hilt. He then raised his hands to signal that he would comply. The weight on her hands disappeared, only for them to be tightly pinched in Gaeriel's grasp. She was hauled to her feet and the muzzle of the blaster found a new home under her jaw. "No funny business, Jedi, or she dies. Wyle––we're getting out of here."
"Jee-jee taka dee peedunka!? (We're taking the girl!?)" Wyle exclaimed, voice muffled behind the bloodied hand that cupped his fractured nose. Elara felt Gaeriel shake her head as she was slowly prompted to walk backwards.
"Nobata––peedunkaee dee shooree na. Bolla balla da speedee. (No––she is our insurance. Go get the speeder)," Gaeriel muttered. There was shuffling as Wyle darted off to do as he was told.
Elara knew that she was correct––Obi-Wan would not act unless he knew that the outcome would be advantageous. And it wouldn't be so long as Elara was being used as a blast shield. There was nothing that could be done without harming the eldest Skywalker; and there was nothing that she could say to convince him otherwise. Jedi were loyal––sometimes to a fault. Gaeriel used that knowledge to her advantage, because so long as she had Elara in front of her, they couldn't be stopped. The heels of Elara's boots hit the bottom stair that led up to the door. She locked eyes with Obi-Wan, their gazes unwavering as she was pulled up the stairs. He was breathing fairly heavily, jaw tense and nostrils flared. And there was something in his eyes that Elara was almost surprised to see––anger. A small flame of anger flickered in his eyes and the hands that he held aloft by his shoulders were slowly curling into fists.
"Must be nice to have such a loyal partner," Gaeriel hissed into her ear. She had spoken into Elara's bloody ear, which meant the words had sounded garbled and watery. "He must care more about you than your mission, which is saying something for the Jedi. Loyal they may be… but the job always wins out in the end."
"I'm guessing that you would sell out Wyle for a handful of credits," Elara shot back. Her shoulders were starting to ache from the strange way they were being pulled back. She shifted them a little and earned a harsh tug on her wrists. The woman with the blaster chuckled, the sound amused yet dark.
"Just as he would sell me out."
Elara caught ear of the sound of splattering rain, the whirring of a speeder engine, and she felt the cool air touch the back of her neck. The next thing that Skywalker felt was a swift push and a drastic change in gravity. The stairs tipped towards her face, and with a quick twist, Elara's shoulder met the stone steps, and she went tumbling down them. There was an initial shock of pain, but as she rolled there was little else of it. When she rolled to a stop on the sticky cantina floor, a groan pushed past her lips, and she pushed herself onto her hands and knees. Two hands fitted themselves under her arms and hauled her upright. Obi-Wan's lips were poised to ask a question, but Elara was quick to shrug him off and speak first.
"We have to move, they're going to assassinate the senator," she informed. She wobbled her way over to the first overturned table and grabbed her lightsaber, hooking the hilt back onto her belt. She fit a pinky into her ear and scrubbed away what blood she could. The world started to sound a little normal again.
"Are you alright?" Obi-Wan stressed, gently catching her by the elbow. Elara looked up at him and was stopped by concern that had flooded his eyes. It was in the crystalline blue of his eyes that she became momentarily lost––the top of her ear didn't sting, her body didn't throb, and the bruises that had already started to form weren't so angry. After a beat, she broke herself out of it and nodded. Obi-Wan released her elbow and bobbed his head in a single nod."How do you propose we catch up with them?"
"Well," Elara sighed out as they jogged up the stairs, "I was a podracer––I'm sure someone will let us borrow their speeder."
Afterword: I… did not intend this to be a three chapter long mission, but it looks like that's what it's gonna be. I got carried away. And to spare you all from having to read another, like, fifteen pages, I'll conclude this mission in the next chapter. Also, as a note, most of the Huttese is referenced from Ben Burtt's 'Galactic Phrase Book and Travel Guide,' along with some stuff that I made up because there was only so much of it in the book.
Review Replies!
Arkytior's Song: The 'betrothal' has certainly added a little something to their relationship; and it's so much fun to write. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter just as much as the last one! Thanks again!
Robinbird79: I really wanted to get some good Obi-Wan/Elara moments in before the Attack of the Clones comes into play. It's all leading up to a something good. The next chapter will have some real good fake betrothal fluff, as this one is heavy on the mission stuff. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!
1MoreInMe1: Obi-Wan is probably having more difficulty in this situation than Elara is, and it's fun to write the struggle. I hope that you enjoyed the new chapter; and thank you again for taking the time to read!
DallysTUFF: I was thinking over a ship name for them and I settled on a nice Obilara/Obi-Lara. Every other option was kinda weird. I'm very glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and am very flattered you are a fan of my writing style. I hope that you stick around to read more Obi-Lara goodness, as there is so much more to come. Thanks again!
themagentacolor: I agree about there not nearly being enough stories about Obi-Wan out there; I'm constantly on the search for a good story about him, be it fanfiction or published fiction. I'm very happy you enjoyed the last chapter! I had a lot of fun figuring out how Elara fares in politics––and how she and Obi-Wan tag team diplomacy missions (and in this chapter, stealth mission stuff). I also adore writing the Obi-Wan/Elara moments just as much as you seem to enjoy reading them! I work so hard on finding the right moment for them to actually HAVE A MOMENT, because their lives are so crazy and Obi-Wan's got a lifetime of being taught that long-lasting romantic relationships are a no-no. And the sparring tension… I'm glad it read ;) That was the sole purpose of that scene, was just for the tension. And YES, yes he DID do the Thing where he was looking at her/referencing her when Elara was calling the mountain range beautiful. And I think that Elara and Obi-Wan being called 'goofs' fits them perfectly when their around each other. Because Obi-Wan around Anakin is very well-composed, while Obi-Wan around Elara is just insufferably flirty and, well, a little goofy. Also, I love long reviews, because it means I get to spend time replying to them in depth (as you can see). I am so glad that you are enjoying the story! I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!
LoveFiction2018: Thank you! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
And thank you to those who have added this story to follows/favorites; it means a lot!
Kinda thinking of making an 8tracks playlist of the songs that make me think of Obi-Wan and Elara––let me know if y'all would be interested in listening to it.
And one last fun fact––Gaeriel is actually a character that I played in a Star Wars RPG a couple years ago. I tweaked her home planet and her attitude for story purposes, but it was nice to dust her off for a while.
Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!
~Mary
