Day 5 and thus the final day of my final finale! Obi-Wan Kenobi has found Elanor; now, all it will take is time to heal. . .
Chapter Six: F
F is for Fantasy
Elanor is living in a fantasy.
Or so she thinks.
She awakens to find herself tucked into a large and very soft bed.
Or at least she thinks it is soft. Since she has grown used to sleeping on dungeon floors, her perception on such things is a little bit off.
She then realizes that she is wearing new clothes. They are a little bit big for her, but they feel nice against her bruised skin.
She has also been cared for. Her hair is washed and brushed, and for the first time in so long she can run her fingers through it and not find a tangle. She notes with surprise that her vague memory is right; she does have gold-brown hair. Before, under all the muck and dirt, she couldn't tell.
And her wounds are treated. Bacta has been applied to most her more serious wounds, for she turns slightly and for the first time pain does not twinge through her back. Her bruises and scratches are healed completely.
To complete this, a strange scent permeates this whole place. It lingers in the tunic and pants she wears, the sheets of the bed – everything. She knows that it is a masculine scent, but for some reason it does not scare her.
Actually, it makes her feel safe.
Then she hears a sound, and suddenly the man enters in a swirl of brown and cream robes and the pat of boots. She cringes away instinctively, and as if knowing she is uncomfortable, he stops at the door, splaying his empty hands as if to assure her that he means her no harm.
He is well-built, as she noticed when they first met, and has broad shoulders and a muscular chest. He has chestnut brown hair and a chestnut brown beard that frame powerful blue-green eyes that lock onto hers with an intensity that sends an electric shock coursing through her.
After that, she doesn't need to see the lightsaber hanging at his hip or the robes he wears that she vaguely remembers as that of a Jedi. She knows who he is, because she remembers only one person whose eyes could send that shock through her.
It is Obi-Wan Kenobi, the man she was searching for before she was captured.
She starts to relax. She doesn't remember exactly why she feels like this, but for some reason something deep inside of her, something she faintly remembers, whispers that she can trust him, that he would rather cut off his arm that deliberately caused her pain.
His voice is soft and gentle when he speaks, and his tone is full of emotions she hasn't heard for so long. Compassion. Concern. Little things like that, but they mean so much to her.
She closes her eyes and is tempted to pinch herself. It seems so real and yet so unbelievable that for half a heartbeat she thinks that she must have died and joined the Force.
But when she opens her eyes again, Master Kenobi is still there, his face still full of concern for her, his eyes still pleading with her to understand that he will never ever hurt her.
His eyes. When she sees the emotions swirling in his eyes, she starts to believe. She starts to believe because although Master Kenobi is a famous diplomat and a powerful Jedi who can assume a politician's mask without blinking, she has always been able to read the emotions in his eyes.
They are beautiful swirling depths of the most perfect combination of deep sapphire blue and brilliant emerald green. And they are full of emotions and completely soulful, as if they really are the windows to his soul, to his very being.
She has never seen any eyes that come close to Master Kenobi's, and inwardly she doubts that she ever will.
She breathes out slowly, and as she does, she feels her body start relaxing. And not the slow, relieved movements after the danger has passed. No, this relaxing is more profound, as if her heart and mind and soul are finally unwinding now.
For a moment she puzzles over it, for she has never felt this way since she was captured, but then she realizes what has happened.
The Force has returned to her.
Her hands fly to her neck where that loathsome collar used to be – but it is no longer there. It is gone, broken, cast away.
She looks at Master Kenobi, and he smiles slightly, as if he knows what she was thinking just then. She knows then that he was the one to remove it, and from the emotions flickering in his eyes, she guesses that he did it as soon as he could, for she knows of his disgust for Force-suppressants.
She closes her eyes again, hugging herself.
Elanor is living in a fantasy right now, and although she doesn't know yet whether it is real or not, she does not wish to come out.
F is for Fragile
Elanor is fragile.
Obi-Wan can see it in every flicker of her eyes, every shadow that crosses her face, every tremble that move through her slender figure. She is fragile both physically and mentally, and it pains him greatly.
Physically, she is still very weak from her ordeal. He has put her in several healing trances, but her wounds are severe and there are many of them. And she has been weakened more still by her receiving a very small amount of food and water during her captivity – barely enough to keep her alive. It will take a while before she will recover the strength and power that she once had.
Mentally, her mind is fragile too. He does not know the true extent of what her captors did to her, but he knows that they used a great deal of violence to push her this far. While placing her in the healing trances, he has probed the edges of her mind, and he knows how weak and open it is.
But it is her fear that concerns him the most.
Even now, when he uncrosses his arms, she trembles, as if she expects him to storm across the room and backhand her. He is careful to move slowly and visibly around her, but sometimes it is not enough. Sometimes even his mere proximity to her makes her flinch away.
Like now. He takes a few steps and extends his hand to give her back her lightsaber. She shies away from him at first, and he waits patiently, as if trying to tame an animal. Finally, she slowly reaches out to take the lightsaber back.
When she has, he notices how her eyes dart back and forth, wanting to focus on her lightsaber but not trusting him enough to take her eyes off of him completely.
With a sigh that he locks inside of him, he takes the decision from her and backs up to give her room.
She relaxes visibly, and pain twists his heart.
He remembers her as being lively and energetic and rather cheeky sometimes. He remembers how her green eyes lit up with an inner brilliance when she was happy, and how they dulled to a faded green when she was disappointed. He remembers how skilled she was with the blade for her age, and how well she did when she sparred with Anakin.
Now she is none of these.
Now she fears his every movement.
Pain twists his heart again, and anger flares. What possessed her captors to injure her so much? To break this beautiful young child and instill fear in her heart? To take away the Force from her and torture her to the extremes?
He calms himself with difficulty when he realizes his clenched fingers are digging almost painfully into his palms. Anger will get him nowhere. Now, his focus must be on the present and on the future – not on the past.
When he returns his attention to the present, he is shocked to see tears are slipping down Elanor's face, crystal droplets that sparkle in the sun as they fall. Her lightsaber has fallen from her small hand onto the floor, and suddenly she looks vulnerable, like a child.
Unable to stop himself, he sits on the bed and reaches out to wipe away her tears. He sees how part of her tries to get away while the other wants the comfort, and her internal struggle begins. Eventually, to his joy, the part wanting the comfort denied to her since – oh, since the wars began, practically – wins out, and she tentatively leans into his hand.
In a voice even softer than his, she whispers the reason for her tears – she can't hold her lightsaber. She's too weak.
He sees the fear in her eyes. She fears that he will repulsed by her and her weakness. She fears that he will think her not worth his effort or time. And her greatest fear is there too – that he will use her weakness to take advantage of her as the others did.
He takes her hands gently and reassures her that he will never think of her that way. She has been through an ordeal that has drained her of almost everything she had.
As she looks down, shy in his presence and unused to the contact, he notices how her hands fit within his . . . and how delicate they seem. He searches her face and sees the same delicacy and vulnerability there as well.
Elanor is fragile, and it will take a long, hard road of recovery before she has healed.