Before the Saga Schism--Complete

Glad she's smiling and Pelt is more tactful/restrained because That haircut! Whew! Yes, I guess she thinks it's trendy or something? Purple?! Quite the amusing update!

 

"The Padawan makeover" is the title of a crack!fic waiting to happen

Okay, I loved this chapter for two very superficial and egotistic reasons. The first is that I also wrote a hairdresser in the GFFA (mine's a Hutt) and it was a blast. The second is that I have a character who sports a purple mohawk, and for a long time I imagined her as a Rodian (she turned out to be a Sullustan in the end).

More seriously now, I loved the irony in this chapter, with Hilaal doing something crazy but good crazy, and Pelt being completely flabbergasted. And the padawan braid was an awesome little detail.

Great reversal of the situation here -- after not even knowing her name back in chapter 1, now Pelt wants her to acknowledge him just as badly as she does.

And the makeover is working, apparently, since she's more confident and smiling now. He really is a good teacher!

PS:

Did you click 'reply' on the post you wanted to quote (bottom right, next to 'more options')? In principle, it should make the entire post appear in the reply box at the bottom of the page.

 

I haven't caught up to this re-posting, but I just wanted to say that I enjoyed the original version and I'm very glad that you're posting the un-truncated version for everyone to enjoy.

 

Thankya! I wanted to go with something less traditional for human Jedi.

Awesome. I'm a loser baybeeee, so why don't you kill me. I did it before, reliably, and then chucked my brain out the window. What can I say, I'm special. Thanks for your kind words! Your words and reading are muchly appreciated!

Thanks for reading this again! I'm both happy and sad with this fic, because it's the best thing I've written. Now that I'm rereading, I like it, but I see lots of things I'd do differently now. And when I try to write it, it comes out like lumpy mashed potatoes with bleh chunky gravy and an empty corn cob sticking out.

I appreciate everybody reading! I'm posting EARLY this time. Gotta make up for my late postings from last week.

Hilaal and her tall purple hair finally vacated the ‘fresher, completing her before-bed routine. She plunked herself down on her bed and dropped her head onto her pillow tiredly before reaching down and grabbing her datapad. Pelt thought he heard a crunch as her mo-hawk finally lost complete rigidity.

They had spent the rest of the day together and were still nervous in each other’s presence, but between today and the days they had spent together in the hospital, they had gone a long ways towards building a bridge that might one day connect the two of them together.

After the haircut, Hilaal walked more confidently through the elevated streets of Coruscant. She did a fair job of ignoring the stares of the population around them as they took in her hairstyle.

Before visiting the tailor she insisted they find some food. Hoping to put a little more meat on her bones, he agreed and stopped. After finishing a meal that stuffed him to the point of illness, they continued on towards the tailor’s. Hilaal insisted on a snack before they went in, so he stopped again. She ate as though she hadn’t eaten half an hour before. He pondered stopping her to prevent her from turning into an excessively round Padawan, but decided she needed more than a few big meals; she was a growing girl, after all. Besides, if she ever started getting too chunky, he would increase her physical activity and burn the excess fat off. Briefly he wondered what she’d give up first…food or the mandatory twenty kilometer runs.

At the tailor’s, she argued bitterly against robes that matched Pelt’s own midnight blue ones, but in the end they compromised and though she would still wear the blue robes, she got to pick out tunics and trousers. While they didn’t necessarily compliment Pelt’s blue robes perfectly, the colors at least blended well enough that most people weren’t liable to notice the slight color clashes. Pelt could only shake his head but play along, realizing most people probably wouldn’t look much beyond her hair anyway. After another few hours of walking around the city, they found themselves yet another meal and returned to their small room.

“Time for sleep,” he announced.

She groaned, but her heart wasn’t in the sign of frustration tonight. “Fine.”

With an outstretched hand, Pelt used the Force to flick the lights off. “Good night, Young one.”

“’Night,” she responded. Her bed squeaked a little bit as she rolled over.

Pelt stared at the ceiling, hands behind his head, pleased to be in bed rather than sleeping in that chair in the healer’s wing. He listened to her breathing for several minutes before he sensed her changing position again. When she suddenly spoke, her soft voice surprised him.

“Um… Master?”

His cheeks flushed with warmth as she acknowledged him for the very first time, and his heart beat more swiftly. He didn’t think he’d ever get through to her. Never in a million years did he think she would call him “Master” at all, to say nothing of doing so so quickly. Pelt was startled to realize that he respected this young girl, both as an individual and for the way she picked up his instruction this morning, and survived her ordeal on the streets of Coruscant without becoming bitter. He wanted Hilaal to become a wonderful Jedi and not for his own sake.

“Yes, my Padawan?”

“I might not have had a horrible day today. Thanks, I guess.”

He rolled over onto his side, facing her, even though he couldn’t see much at all in the near-darkness. “I had a good day with you, too. You can teach me more things in the morning.”

She made a noise that sounded like a stifled chuckle. “As you wish,” she said, her tone one of royalty granting a lowly peasant audience.

Though she couldn’t see it, he smiled broadly.

Her bed squeaked again as she repositioned herself. It wasn’t long before her breathing drifted into soft snores.

Pelt went to sleep immediately after she did, still wearing his silly grin.


“Oh c’mon,” she complained, surprised to find herself in the same hallway as they had spent the previous morning in. “More walking? I thought we covered that already.” The tall purple fan of her hair bobbed as she shook her head.

“We did,” he admitted. “Just one lap today, then I want to show you something else.”

She glared at him. “I’m holding you to that.”

“Make it count, then. Remember everything from yesterday. Head up, chin back, back straight, long strides, all that stuff.”

As she flounced away, he set down the holo-recorder in roughly the same place, capturing her exponentially-improved posture. Meanwhile he went to a nearby computer terminal and asked that a few items be brought to another room.

“Satisfied?” Hilaal demanded when she finished her circuit.

He gave her a reassuring grin. “Almost. I want you to be as confident with your eyes closed as they are open. To that effect, we’ll be doing some Force perception training today. Follow me.” Quickly he put the holo-cam into his pocket.

They didn’t go far. As Pelt led them into a small, enclosed training room, a trio of protocol droids dropped off several rectangular pillows each, sizes ranging from only a few dozen centimeters wide to almost two meters.

“Don’t tell me. We’re having a pillow fight,” she guessed, not seeming particularly pleased by the idea.

“Perhaps,” Pelt answered, grinning. “But first, one by one I want you to levitate those pillows over your head. You can stand or sit, I don’t care. For now, I just want to see how you fare at levitation.”

Pelt sat in the corner, out of the way, watching her. She took a few deep breaths and sat away from him, in the middle of the room. He closed his eyes, allowing his senses to tap into the Force. Soon, the surging power and serenity of the Force was the only thing he felt. Pelt could sense his apprentice in the middle of the room, struggling to bring her breathing under control. She wielded the power, but she wasn’t comfortable with it yet.

“Relax,” he said, his tone matching his words completely. “Don’t hurry, there’s no rush. I know you can do this. Feel the Force flow around us. Sense my presence, feel the pillows on the ground. Allow the Force to guide you.”

Pelt kept his senses on her through the Force as Hilaal spent several minutes centering herself. After she had finished doing that, she seemed to have more control over her thoughts and the Force itself. Perhaps out of spite, she enclosed the largest of the cushions with her energy.

“That’s it. Now, focus fully on the pillow with your power. Lift it a meter or two and try to hold it steady.”

Not really needing to see to know what going on, Pelt opened his eyes anyway. There the pillow hovered, just like it was supposed to.

He counted to ten, just for good measure before letting her relax. “Good! Now put it down, close your eyes, and try again.”

Pelt was slightly surprised when she didn’t make any disparaging remarks or frustrated sounds. Instead she immediately plied herself to her task. He watched with interest as the pillow levitated off the ground, but only by a dozen centimeters or so. Pelt could sense Hilaal struggling to lift the pillow higher, but after a few moments of straining, she dropped it back to the ground.

“That was…harder,” she panted.

“Well, it’s not as easy as it sounds,” he said, his tone confused. “But it’s not that hard, either. Keep your eyes open and try again.”

This time the pillow practically sprang into the air, coming barely a meter from reaching the ceiling.

“Huh,” he said, still puzzled. “Move it from side to side if you can.”

Hilaal did as she was asked with a moderate amount of success. The pillow wasn’t moving at any real rate of speed, but it still hovered from one end of the room to the other.

“Okay, try closing your eyes now.”

As she did so, the pillow slowly started drooping towards the ground. Hilaal stopped focusing, causing the thing to make a muffled whump onto the ground. “What’s going on?” she asked, turning around. “It’s like the Force abandons me when I close my eyes…”

Pelt shrugged. “No clue, Young one. It’s a pretty simple leap from eyes open to eyes closed, once you have the hang of feeling things through the Force. You obviously have that, so I’m as confused as you are.” Realizing she was truly frustrated and needed an emotional boost, he changed his voice to a monotone, and added, “It’s probably because you’re a girl.”

He saw the Force-flung pillow attack coming—he’d pretty much asked for it. But the speed at which it accelerated towards him was startling. The medium sized cushion impacted his forehead with precision despite the high velocity and knocked him flat onto his back. “Oof!”

Pelt ‘s head was ringing from the blow, but he still heard Hilaal’s laughter. Continuing to stare up at the ceiling, he sent the largest pillow careening into the back of her head, pitching her forward.

“Hey!” she complained, her voice muffled by the massive cushion. Immediately she floated the pillow off her back and sent it towards Pelt, who rolled out of the way as the thing headed towards him. Quickly he rolled to his feet, noting that Hilaal was doing the same thing. Her expression was twisted into a concentrating glare as she brought the pillow back around.

Pelt leapt aside and her attack missed, though she hastened to correct her mistake. Now the pillow was floating between the two of them with each trying to manipulate it into the face of their opponent. Hilaal was struggling mightily and having a little success.

Pelt wasn’t fighting as hard as he could; her powers were modest, as the Jedi’s evaluation had suggested. Unless something changed as she matured, Pelt would be able to out-Force her every time, and it wasn’t like he was a powerhouse himself. Most of the Masters and many of the Knights could easily take him down in a similar exercise. That didn’t mean she would be less of a Jedi, it simply meant her strengths lied elsewhere.

The pained expression on Hilaal’s face as she concentrated was amusing. Sweat was beginning to drip down the side of her face while she moved her arms forward as though trying to physically push the pillow into him. Still letting her inch the pillow towards him, Pelt split his concentration and hurled a couple of the smaller cushions towards her.

“Hey!” she complained again as they bounced off her back and legs. The large pillow started moving towards her before she reasserted control and tried to dodge the wind-storm of pillows that were pummeling her.

“You need to think defensively. By now you should know that aggression isn’t our way,” Pelt said. “If what you’re doing isn’t working, it’s time to try something else.”

Hilaal tried to use the Force to deflect the pillows, but she couldn’t do that and maintain control of the large one at the same time. For a few moments she had great success dodging them with inherent agility, but began losing ground to the large pillow even more rapidly.

Suddenly she sprang into action, running out of range of the smaller pillows and into the larger pillow, where she physically pushed the large cushion into Pelt.

Completely surprised by her tactics, he was bowled over and soon found the pillow—and his apprentice—sitting on top of him.

“I win!” she exclaimed.

“Now wait a minute,” he countered, putting his arms up to heave the thing off of him. She chose that time to start bouncing, throwing the balance of the pillow into flux, causing him to lose his handhold.

“Oof—oof—oof!” he grunted, laughing as she used him for a trampoline, all the while cheering her victory.

“I win! I win! I win!”

Just as she landed, Pelt tilted the pillow just enough that she lost her balance and fell onto her side, only to cause her to start laughing harder than he was.

“Come back later, should I?” an amused voice asked from the doorway.

“Master Yoda!” Hilaal exclaimed, sobering instantly as she clamored off the pillow and Pelt.

He shoved the giant pillow off of himself and sat up, rubbing his nose, trying to free the tickle that had taken residence there as she had bounced. “Sorry Master,” he said as he stood respectfully. “We were just…training.”

A toothy grin split his green face. “That, can I see. Your hair, Padawan Yuchee, is very interesting.”

She ran a gentle hand along the fan of her mohawk. “Do you really like it, Master?”

The grin gave no evidence of deception or condescension. “I do.” He turned his attention back over to Pelt who was still surreptitiously rubbing his nose. “Feel you ready for a mission?”

Pelt glanced the question at his apprentice, who nodded excitedly. “Yes Master, I think so. Just as long as we’re not going to a pillow factory.”

Yoda nodded. “Then go you will to Malastare to settle yet another disagreement between Gran and Dug. Details will I give you before you go.”

“Yes Master, we’ll leave shortly.”

“Very good. And Pelt?” Yoda gave the human time to look up before the verbal warning. “Catch!”

Like a falling meteorite accelerating beyond terminal velocity, the giant pillow was screaming back towards Pelt. He was able to grab a hold of it in the Force and slow it down to the best of his ability, but his attempt felt as useful as trying to blow out a bonfire with the breath from a single pair of lungs.

As the pillow impacted him, Pelt flew at least four meters across the room.

“My favorite game when I was a youngling, that was,” Yoda murmured, laughing to himself as he waddled through the door.

Hilaal watched him go with an awe-struck expression on her face before rushing over to help a sputtering Pelt sit up. “Are you all right? Why didn’t you stop it?” she asked.

“I did,” he replied, once he stopped coughing. “I gave it all the power I could.”

“….Oh.” She turned to look out the door, as if expecting to see a giant rancor stomping through the halls. “Wow.”

Pelt gave her his best grin. “Yeah. Wow. Come on, we need to go pack.”

Much to his surprise, Hilaal offered him a hand and helped heave him to his feet. As they followed Yoda through the door, he put his arm proudly over his Padawan’s shoulders and gave her a brief squeezing hug. “You’re doing very well, Young one.”

She looked into his eyes before responding. “Thank you, Master.”

They were the oddest Master/Apprentice team in the entire Temple, but with the way the comfort in each other was growing, that didn’t bother Pelt as much as it would have.

 

Them getting comfier with each other - aww. Assigned a mission - sounds exciting. But the capper, the absolute was the pillow fight! And Yoda that was terrific!

 

I've just read the first three chapters and it was really enjoyable.
You setup a strong situation with first an interesting inner conflict for the main character and then a kind of "clash of points of view".
You depictions are sometimes a little bit light although enough to figure out scenes. Maybe you could improve this point later.
However, do not worry. This does not remove my curiosity to know how a Schism will happen. Keep going on!

EDIT:
Read the rest of your chapters. Nice ones. I felt you did a good job, especially at describing characters' feelings.
Hilal's troubles around the spatioport were a great moment and the pillow fight was memorable. It makes me even more interested to see how the mental barrier set around Hilal's spirit will break out... ;-)

 

love the pillow-fight and how they are becoming a master-padawan pair

 

The reason I love this fic is that it manages to be very funny and entertaining and very moving at the same time, and this entry didn't disappoint! The whole scene before bedtime with Hilaal calling Pelt 'master' was an absolute awww moment. And his musings about her appetite and her weight were nothing short of hilarious. He visibly still needs to learn a few things about teenagers.

And the pillow fight -- there's got to be a reason why Hilaal can't manage so well with her eyes closed, and I'm sure we'll find out in future chapters, but the scene was immensely fun and Yoda's intervention was perfectly well-timed. Plus, Yoda letting his hair down (pun and in-joke totally intended) was a major bonus.

So a mission to Malastare, uh? I'm curious to see what they find there.

 

Thankya! I enjoyed writing that scene a lot. It's one of the first things I'd do if I could use the Force.

I appreciate you taking the time to read all the chapters so far! One of my reading styles is to skim over a pile of descriptions. Sure it's nice to get a better idea of what something sees, especially when it's important to the scene. But if you're gonna spend eight chapters describing a drinking straw in a serious fashion, I'm out. So, I tend to write like that too. I agree that I could be more descriptive.

Thanks EB!

Much appreciated! Thank you for more of your kind words and your attention!

What'll happen on Malastare? Only the excitement of diplomacy! <eyeroll> Don't worry though, something will happen. I promise! And actually...I guess I could show you what happens next...

__________

Hilaal watched Pelt deal with the last minute posturing of the Gran and Dug representatives, each trying to get the last word and curry the most favor. When he was finally able to extract himself from the awkward political standoff, his expression was tightly controlled, still with the neutral smile plastered across his lips. It was obvious that neither of those ambassadors had any experience in reading human faces though, because if they did they would have realized that all the brown-nosing in the world wasn’t going to help them or their cause. They also might have figured out that Pelt’s frustration was beginning to shift into agitation. Fortunately for the two Jedi, this mission was at its end.

The blaster bolts aren’t firing from your eyes, Master, you must need to glare harder, she thought wryly to herself as she did her best to look impassively from the top of the transport’s boarding ramp.

Pelt looked at her as if he had been jabbed with a stun baton, but only for a moment before the surprise faded away and a true smile took the place of his previous expression. Together, the pair waved respectfully to the four sentients as the ramp began to close.

~Can you sense my projected thoughts, Young one?~

It was her turn to be surprised. Hilaal didn’t think they would have that sort of mental communion so soon, though spending the last two months with him must have helped. They had been together for almost three months of constant contact, if you counted the time she had been in the Healer’s ward.

~Apparently I can.~

“Good. Our bond is strengthening nicely.”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “So the Council knew what they were doing when they forced you to take me?”

Pelt looped his arm around her shoulder and gave her fatherly one-handed hug as if trying to squeeze a little bitterness out of her. “As much as I hate to admit it, maybe they did. The Council is right about too many things, as far as I’m concerned.”

Hilaal tolerated the embrace, though she didn’t reciprocate. As the engines kicked in, the ship shuddered and there was a soft creak as the weight lifted off the landing struts.

As if lifting off was the point where she could finally speak her mind after two weeks of silently supporting Pelt as he negotiated, Hilaal let out an exasperated groan. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for politics. Why do we help people like that, Master? Why does everybody seem to be so focused on their own wants that they don’t care what happens to other people?”

Pelt dropped himself into one of the comfortable chairs along the transport’s wide, cylindrical passenger seating area. A glimpse through the window gave a magnificent view of swirling gray methane mists, tropical blue waters and dense green foliage. Despite the planet’s unique beauty, he only spared it a glance as the ship shot skyward, preferring to keep his attention on his student.

“I’m afraid most cultures are egocentric,” he said by way of explanation. “You should know that better than I, going through what you did. Even growing up in the temple where we’re taught to be compassionate, things don’t always work the way they’re supposed to. Sometimes even the best of us can be oblivious to the suffering of others. For you to have kept your optimism speaks highly of your personality, if not your training.”

She waved the compliment away. “But Malastare is the Dug’s home planet. They were born there. What gives the Gran the right to take over Dug continents, make anti-Dug laws?”

“Nobody can take advantage of you, without your consent,” he answered seriously. “I’m not saying it would have been right, but the Dug could have fought the Gran and prevented them from turning Malastare into one of their colony worlds. They could have rallied harder for representation in their government.”

“But even way back then, there were far more Gran than Dug. Based solely on population, the Dug could have been destroyed, permanently wiped out.”

“Maybe. But with one capitulation after another, the Dug…er…dug themselves a hole that they may never be able to climb out of. Once you allow someone to walk on you, they’ll think they can do it as often as they want.” He leaned forward in his seat, fighting against the g-forces of the ship as it rocketed out of the atmosphere. “That’s another reason for self-confidence. Bullies usually pick on the timid. If the meek show teeth, the bullies will usually turn tail and run.”

“I see. Can I build a lightsaber?”

The abruptness question and change of topic caused him to start. “What? Why?”

She shrugged. “Because it’ll make me more intimidating, among other reasons.”

“You don’t need a lightsaber to be intimidating. Look at Master Yoda.”

Hilaal smirked and let out a little snort. “Yoda isn’t intimidating until he gets riled up. He’s had centuries to learn how to loom.”

Pelt couldn’t argue that point, so he cocked his head and flicked his fingers, inviting her next comment.

“Besides, you keep telling me that attitude begins with the superficial. Having a lightsaber at my hip will give people pause, even if I never have to use it.”

“Aren’t you a bit young for a lightsaber?”

“Not up here,” she said, tapping her forehead sharply. “I know most Padawans won’t make their weapons for a few more years yet, but I’m ready.”

“Well, I’ll think about it. Thirteen seems too young for that kind of responsibility. Have you even been taught the combat forms to practice?”

She briefly glanced at the floor as if embarrassed to speak, but soon her eyes met his again. This time, there was a sparkle of true confidence in her blue gaze . “I have. Master Yoda has acknowledged my fluency in all beginners’ forms, all intermediate forms, many of the advanced, and I was this close to unofficially passing one of the Master’s forms.” She held her thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart to make her point.

That made him sit up straight. Most students were only taught the beginner’s forms, maybe the intermediate ones. No one who wasn’t yet a Knight learned anything beyond intermediate. As far as Pelt knew, this was unusual in the extreme. “You’ve learned a Master’s form? Who taught you that?” he demanded.

“Master Pul did. He watched me take my intermediate exam and approached me afterwards. He showed it to me twice and then let me try. He said my footwork was almost right. Then he left.”

Feeling ridiculous with his mouth hanging open, Pelt snapped his jaws together. Master Pul never said anything good about anybody’s form. To have him almost compliment her in that way was astounding.

Pelt glanced out the window and noted they were entrenched in a hyperspace lane. He pushed himself out of his chair and beckoned her to stand, too. “All right then. Show me. Let’s go through the two-person intermediate drill. We’ll pretend we’ve got weapons. You’ll be the hawk-bat. I’ll be the attacker, the mole-rat. Ready?”

Hilaal glanced about, noting the pattern of seats scattered about their makeshift training area and adjusting the kata appropriately. She pretended to hold a lightsaber with both hands. “Ready.”

Pelt started off at about half speed, opening his stance so he could bring his invisible weapon in a diagonal slash towards the left side of her neck.

“Hawk-bat protects her egg,” Hilaal whispered, naming the defensive maneuver as she stepped just out of normal lightsaber blade-length range and batting the blow aside. “Hawk-bat’s charge,” she whispered, counter-attacking with the flapping wing-like series of left-right-left blows aimed at Pelt’s collarbone. Were she truly wielding a weapon, each strike would have followed exactly the same rainbow-shaped arc over his head. Careful footwork led her in for another pair of strikes, each a quick stab aimed at the hawk-bat’s favorite organ to eat, the lungs. “Hawk-bat’s dinner.”

“Don’t mutter the name of your moves,” Pelt warned, beginning to feel strain on his own lungs as he defended himself. Hilaal was moving with surprising fluidity and more skill than she should have been able to draw on. Pelt tried not to think of how close she had come to striking through his defenses already. “It could give away what you’re about to do.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she continued to follow the form, attacking, parrying, evading and countering as the kata dictated. From hawk-bat’s dinner, she propelled herself out of Pelt’s range, landing and balancing on the top of one of the seats for only a moment before leaping around to the other side, performing the maneuver called hawk-bat circles around. Blunting the fangs followed tearing the flesh, which led to hawk-bat’s dive and hawk-bat circles the nest, designed to dodge mole-rat’s faint, where Pelt dropped his body into as low a crouch as he could and swiped at her feet. Back and forth they danced, performing the scripted battle like a play. They danced through their choreography, accelerating each move until they were moving at the blinding speed that only Jedi were capable of. When it was time for the final series—the hawk-bat pursues—Hilaal and Pelt leapt the entire twenty-meter length of the passenger area, jumping mightily off the floor and bounding off chairs and walls.

Mole-rat escapes was preempted by the door to the cockpit hissing open. “What in all nine Corellian hells is going on back here?” As the captain saw the torn fabric sloughing off the luxury seats and the dirty footprints on the walls leading nearly to the ceiling, his face grew redder, blushing through many shades of crimson stopping just before it reached a deep purple.

“I demand you desist at once or I will terminate my contract with the Jedi immediately!” His hands were clenched so tightly his fingers were turning white. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly as he tried to think of something else to say, but he was too angry to get any words out. Still irate, he whirled around and charged back into the cockpit.

Pelt turned, breathing far more heavily than Hilaal was, to see what the man had been staring at. “Oooohhhh,” he said softly, surveying the damage, though not remembering either of them running on that much of the ceiling. “That’s coming out of my monthly stipend.”

Hilaal glanced at him, startled. “You get a monthly stipend?”

“No. Not really.” He sighed heavily. “Come on, let’s try to clean up some of our mess.”

Using handkerchiefs they went to work on the scuffmarks on the walls. After they finished cleaning the ones they could reach individually, Pelt lifted Hilaal up by her feet to get the ones they left on the ceiling.

“So,” Hilaal began, feeling the way Pelt’s arms had started to vibrate tiredly. “How about that lightsaber?” she asked, scrubbing away.

“I knew you were going to hold that over my head,” he joked, fully aware of how unsteady his arms were as he tried to keep her held in place. As he briefly reviewed their battle in his mind, he had to admit that her form was better than good. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say she was good as he, but despite it being an intermediate form, he had only mastered that form in the last five years. For a Padawan to have absorbed the little intricacies of the hawk-bat/mole-rat kata was startling.

She groaned at his terrible joke. “I’ll just make sure I get all these tiny little marks off the ceiling,” she retorted. Her previously rapid wiping slowed considerably. “I can do this all day…”

“Okay!” he breathed, trying not to laugh and lose concentration. “Okay! We’ll start building you a lightsaber.”

“Thank you,” she answered, taking the last boot mark off. “I’m done.”

“Thank the Force,” he muttered, gently setting her on the ground. “You may only weigh twenty kilos, but you still get heavy after a while.”

“Hey. I’m thirty seven kilos now. You’re doing a good job of fattening me up.”

Pelt held his hands up in a warding gesture. “I never said you needed fattening up,” he said in a disagreeing tone.

She whirled on him, a wicked grin playing across her features. “No, not in words. Instead you keep stuffing my gullet with high-fat or sugary foods, sixteen times a day.”

“Maybe not that frequently,” he shot back. “And I don’t directly recommend a high sweets intake, it’s just that most of the ultra-caloric foods have sugar as a primary ingredient.”

“When I’m two hundred kilos, I’m blaming you. You know that, don’t you?”

“The guilt is crushing me already,” Pelt said blandly. “Whatever can I do to alleviate the tension?”

Hilaal’s wicked grin returned even wider than before. No words were necessary.

“Right. Lightsaber. Let’s go see what we’ve got for supplies, then.”

 

Their talk about egocentric cultures - right on the mark.

Intrigued by Hilaal's unique competence with the forms. And amused by her persistent "request" to build a saber.

 

Serious things with the cultures followed by big Fun fight with Hilaal showing her skils update

 

I like the way you described the planet through Pelt's eyes

Also, the fighting practice of Hilaal with Pelt is well described. Curious to know how she will fight with a real ligthsaber.

 

I never knew that Jedi training could be so much fun I want to leave footsteps on the ceiling too!

Ahem. It's nice to see how the master-padawan bond between them is strengthening, even if Hilaal didn't get over the initial rejection yet -- which makes sense, since she was subjected to years and years of rejection from pretty much everyone.

And I really like how Hilaal turns the conversation about the Gran and the Dug into a lesson about herself. She comes across as really driven now, wanting to prove herself. And apparently she has talents that she -- and everyone else -- failed to mention so far. There's definitely more to this girl than meets the eye

I loved the description of the lightsaber combat training form. Is this something you picked up from the EU, or did you make it up?

And, well, as usual, waiting for the next instalment...

 

THank you very much! As far as lightsabers go...Hilaal is gonna surprise a whole lotta people.

Thanks for reading!

I see you really like your descriptions. That's awesome. I'm glad you liked this little passage. Thanks for keeping up with this!

I'm not worthy of your but thank you anyway.

The lightsaber combat descriptors was something I stole from Robert Jordan's Eye of the World series. I liked it, adapted it to the SW universe. I think you'll like the next surprises I've got in store for Hilaal as well.

Tankya for reading!

____________


“I still can’t believe you had the thing practically built already,” Pelt told her, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice as they strode through the halls towards their room. The surprisingly advanced hilt of her lightsaber weighed his pocket down. “If the Council ever found out, you would be in serious trouble.” What she had done wasn’t terribly unique; most Younglings tried their hand at lightsaber construction a time or two, but usually a Master would see an unfinished product and confiscate it. Punishments for finding unsanctioned weapons, nearly finished or just begun, were usually very harsh. With Hilaal’s blatant disregard for the rules, Pelt’s adherence to the Code was being tested here, and he didn’t like it. In fact, it was making him a little angry and that heat had unintentionally come out in his tone.

“But you won’t,” she said, too confidently. After stealing a glance at his face, Hilaal looked disconcerted. “Will you?” He continued to lead her down the hallway until they stood outside their door. “Are you going to tell them?”

He palmed the door to their room open and closed it behind them. Pelt gathered her shoulders in both his hands, holding them a little more roughly than was strictly necessary. “I haven’t decided yet,” he said at last, turning her body so he could look into her vibrant cobalt eyes. “But I’ve been far too lenient on you. You must know that I’ll never intentionally attack your spirit, but I can’t turn a blind eye to rule bending, especially not one as serious as this. If you are to be disciplined, you will accept the punishment without complaint. Understand?”

Her eyes meekly found the floor. “Yes, Master.”

Pelt loosened his grip and pulled her in for another fatherly hug. “Okay. I need to go report to Master Yoda. You’ll stay here, and so will this.” He put the completely chrome cylinder on his pillow, memorizing the way it sank into the fabric. “You aren’t to touch this. I’ll know if you move it.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Meditate while I’m gone, and no boot marks on the ceiling!” he said severely, drawing a small smile out of her despite his frustration. “I’ll be back shortly.”

_____

Even though he had an enjoyable time with his Padawan over the weeks they had been on the mission, it was still nice to be away from her for a little while. In truth he could have submitted his report from Malastare to the Council via datapad, but he needed to speak to someone about Hilaal’s martial skills. Given that the Jedi Order was built on pacifism and conflict avoidance, there was no reason that a thirteen year old should have learned that many advanced dueling techniques.

“Enjoyed the diplomatic life, did your apprentice?” Yoda asked, sidling up to him as if he knew where Pelt would be coming from. Knowing Yoda, he probably did know.

“No, Master,” he answered, unable to suppress the grin despite his palpable concern. “Her exact words after the mission was completed were, “I don’t know if I’m cut out for politics.””

Yoda’s lilting laughter always gave him a warm feeling in his chest. “Soon perhaps will she come around.”

Pelt didn’t reply. Instead, he tried to keep his thoughts to himself and organize his question in such a way to not sound as egotistical as usual. He opened his mouth to ask a question, then thought better of it and re-analyzed his approach.

“Out with it,” Yoda said finally. “Red as a Correlian sunfruit are you turning.”

If Yoda wanted him to dispense with tact, he’d happily do so. “Master, did you really witness Hilaal’s mastery of combat forms?”

“Finally told you, did she.” The small green sentient nodded affirmation.

“She said she had even completed some of the advanced forms.”

His gimer stick rapped softly on the ground as they walked in silence briefly. “Completed all but one, did she.”

Pelt stopped immediately and Yoda took two steps before realizing it. “But Master,” he argued. “I haven’t even passed that many and I’ve been part of the Temple for a long longer than her.”

“Not a case of experience this is, but ability.” The three fingered hand pat Pelt’s leg firmly to take any sting out of his words.

“Is the Council out of their minds? She’s just a girl!”

Yoda’s serene eyes took in Pelt’s. “At an early age did we see her potential. That was why confiscate her lightsaber, we did not.”

“You knew?” he demanded loudly. “You knew and you did nothing?”

Deadly serious eyes radiated confidence as he explained. “Nothing we did because to do so would damage her true nature. When ten years old she was, a practice duel between Davip and another Jedi did she witness. Three days later, in its entirety did I watch Hilaal secretly reproduce the advanced form. Perfect, it was not, but so close was it that of her mistakes, many wouldn’t have seen. Decided the Council did, train her we must.” Yoda’s potent stare finally looked away from Pelt’s eyes and looked tiredly at the floor. “The first weapon master in many generations is she.”

“But Master, that’s not the Jedi way.”

The little green sentient nodded firmly. “Indeed it is not, but mistakes the Force does not make.”

The incredulity of it all was enough to make Pelt’s legs give out. His back slid along the wall as his buttocks hit the ground. “So why me? Why did you force me to teach her? I can’t teach her any blade work that she doesn’t know already.”

He emphasized the point with his gimer stick, touching the end firmly to Pelt’s chest. “That, one reason was. No bad fighting habits will you teach her.”

Pelt scoffed. “I hope there are better reasons.”

“Over-ruling did her timidity need,” Yoda answered, nodding. “A powerful warrior lacking self-esteem also lacks conviction. Who better than you to teach her how to use her ego?”

Pelt was less than amused with Yoda’s dry humor. “Don’t we want her humble, Master? Yes, I am arrogant, but compared to other Jedi, I don’t have the power to back up my ego. With ability and too much self-confidence, she could be lured to the Dark side. I’ve never trained anyone before, so I’m more likely to make a mistake in her training. Why me?”

“Suffice it to say, good reasons had we for choosing you. Need to know them all, you do not. Know we do, despite your attitudes, a true servant of the light are you.” For a brief moment, Yoda looked tired, as though he were baring an extremely heavy burden, but the Master banished the impression quickly. “A dark future do I worry about. Something comes that puts all of us in danger. When or how, I know not, but come, it does. Ready, we must be. Ready will you be, and your apprentice most of all.”

“But—” he protested.

“My final word on this subject, this is,” he said clearly and very firmly. While Yoda may not have been the only leader of the Jedi Council, his command was obvious and his tone brokered no debate and nonsense.

“Yes Master.”

“Hmm,” he grunted, slamming the door on that conversation and dismissing Pelt from the audience. Slowly, Yoda began trudging back the way they had come. Just before he rounded a corner that would have taken him out of Pelt’s line of sight, Yoda spoke again.

“Finish her weapon, Hilaal must. Lightsaber trainers will come daily to instruct your apprentice. In two weeks, the Padawan tournament is. Compete, she will.”

Strength returned to his legs and he shot to his feet. “But the minimum age is sixteen. She’s three years too young—”

“Pelt.” Never had the human heard his name spoken with such power before. “Combat experience, she must have.”

Even though Yoda hadn’t turned around, Pelt bowed, acceding to the Master’s words. “As you command,” he replied, fighting frustrated anger to keep his tone neutral.


As Yoda stepped around the corner, there was an eerie frisson that tickled over his skin, causing a cold shudder to run through his entire body. Though the Jedi Temple was a haven of life and healing, the wind of death had just silently howled through the corridors. Unable to prevent his body from giving in to another series of wracking shivers, Pelt sought the serenity of the Force and began the trek back to his room and his apprentice.

 

Ah, intriguing revelations about Hilall's precocious and unique abilities. Pelt was surprised at learning that the Masters knew about those and particularly her weaponry skills and also that Pelt was the perfect match because of attitude Whew, that last bit there, a strong sense of foreboding.

 

What does Yoda know? Nice to see the match between Pelt and Hilaal

 

Thanks for your comments and thanks for reading, people! Not much time and a big update today so I'm just gonna lay it on ya. Have a fantastic weekend!

___

He found Hilaal right where he had left her. While she wasn’t meditating now, a powerful calm aura surrounded her like a warm fuzzy blanket in direct opposition to his roiling thoughts.

“It was hard not to touch that,” she greeted, referring to the weapon on his pillow.

“I’m sure it was.”

Even a distracted teenager could see something was bothering him. “Master, what’s wrong?”

Pelt sat heavily onto his bed and picked up Hilaal’s unfinished lightsaber. “I just had a very odd conversation with Master Yoda, that’s all.” He let his Force-senses flow over the chrome cylinder, examining the craftsmanship he had been too distracted to see before. As near as he could tell, there were no flaws anywhere, not even the tiniest, most insignificant crack in the casing or circuitry.

She looked at him skeptically, but had the good sense to remain silent.

After a minute, he forced himself out of the funk. “Here,” he said, floating the weapon over to her. “Master Yoda said you could finish this.”

Her eyes lit up like fireworks. “He did? That’s great! I didn’t really—” her expression morphed from giddy pleasure to optimistic suspicion in an instant. “Wait. Did he really say “finish?””

Damn! Why’d I have to promise never to lie to her?

Words failed him; Pelt could only nod.

The optimism faded from her expression, leaving only suspicion. “Master, what’s going on?”

“Yoda told me you could be one of the most gifted warriors in a long time. As such, he’s sending instructors to teach you, so you’ll be ready for your destiny, whenever it comes.”

“But…me? I mean, most of the Jedi in the Temple could hold me up with one hand without even thinking about the Force. How am I supposed to—to—?”

Pelt gave her a comforting smile and sat next to her on her bed. “You should already understand that lightsabers have a lot more to do with finesse than strength. Combat is an art, a dance between body, mind and Force. The Jedi just want to make you one hell of a dancer.”

There was a little too much moisture in her blue eyes and her voice wavered slightly. “So are you still going to be my Master?”

“Are you kidding?” he answered, practically laughing. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. No, Young one, the only way I’ll ever stop being your master is for you to become a Jedi Knight. Even death won’t hold me back. All right?”

Her smile was tremulous. “Okay.”

“Good. Now, I’ve got more news for you. Yoda has insisted that you take place in the Padawan duels in two weeks.”

“What? But I’m too young! The other students—”

He enveloped her small hand with his. “Won’t have your level of talent. There’s nothing to be worried about. The dueling weapons won’t hurt you beyond a bruise. And this will give the entire Jedi Temple an excuse to see how good my Padawan is. Win or lose, Hilaal, I am very proud of you. I just wish I could take more of the credit.”

That finally worked a grin out of her.

“Look. You have a lot to learn yet. We’ll just take things one day at a time and the Force will guide both of us.”

She nodded, still not sure of herself, but at least she wasn’t shivering anymore. “I did want to go watch the duels,” Hilaal admitted.

“Being part of the action is far better than watching. Trust me, you’ll see.” Pelt patted her hand supportively. “Now, all your lightsaber needs is a crystal. Let’s go see if any of the ones in our storeroom sing to you.”

Pelt stood first, but his Apprentice was quickly beside him, grabbing at his hand for reassurance. The irony wasn’t lost on him. One of the most promising weapon masters in the Temple was holding onto his hand like he was her rock in a raging tempest. Even though she could probably wipe the walls with him in a duel while she slept, she was the one who needed reassurance. He had a long ways to go before she had enough self-confidence to truly flourish.

______

“And now, the last and the smallest, but not the least of the sixty-four competitors. Hilaal Yuchee, please step forward,” said the human head of Jedi weapon training, Master Grii. The tall man had closely-cropped white hair—what was left of it, anyway. His ceremonial robes were snow-white, embroidered with blue and gold around the collar and cuffs. Two lightsaber hilts dangled from either side of his gold belt. One weapon was his own—a matte black piece that tapered towards the blade emitter, only to widen again. The other was the prize of the tournament. It was perfectly cylindrical and made of a purplish metal. There was no other ornamentation. If one didn’t know better, it could have been an expensive courier’s tube, designed to hold important pieces of flimsiplast.

Almost instantly, all sound in the coliseum faded away as the girl mounted the stage. Her red hair and tall purple mohawk stood out as she glanced neither right or left as she approached Grii. Signs of her nervousness already shone through her fragile serene façade. Her hands twitched slightly, her gait was a tiny bit too fast. As Hilaal bowed and held her lightsaber over her head—though not above the tall fan of her purple hair—for the Master to take and examine, an outcry roared through the crowd. Master Grii let the angry disbelief go on for only a few moments before holding up a confident hand. Section by section, the building quieted with the un-spoken command for silence.

“Hilaal Yuchee is three years younger than anyone else in this competition,” Grii confirmed. “But I have taught her myself and I will vouch for her skill. Furthermore, the Jedi Council has mandated her inclusion in this challenge. Your objections are noted, but Hilaal will compete today.”

She tried her best not to wilt under the powerful sounds of hostile argument that assailed her from every direction, including the stands that arced across the dome of entire stadium above, and below, underneath the transparisteel flooring.

Suddenly, Pelt’s reminder to wear undergarments echoed softly in her mind, causing a small nervous smile to cross her features. Now she understood why. Having spectators observing from above seemed logical, but she hadn’t predicted anybody directly below her.

The snap-hiss of Hilaal’s bright blue blade quieted the crowd far more quickly than Grii’s outstretched hand did. Every eye immediately stared at the powerful glow. “This is Hilaal’s lightsaber. The craftsmanship of this weapon is not that of a youngling, or apprentice, or even a Jedi Knight. This is a Master’s work, and it is only her first. My friends, today is unusual, I fully acknowledge it. But today will bring some of the most exciting Padawan duels in memory!” The pleased tone of Grii’s voice truly sounded very enthused, even infectious. “Never have I seen as many pupils with as much skill competing, as I do this day. Since I am older than dirt itself, that is saying something.”

Quiet laughter filled the stands as the crowd’s curiosity was piqued. Here and there were sounds of complaint as Jedi insisted their under-aged apprentice was ready too, but the mumble of the crowd had lost its angry edge.

Grii pitched his voice to Hilaal alone. “You will do us proud, Padawan. May the Force be with you.” With practiced ceremony, the Master handed the now extinguished blade back to her using both hands. As Pelt had taught her, she bowed, accepting her weapon back the same way she had given it. As confidently as she could manage, she clipped the lightsaber to her belt and turned about.

Hilaal tried to keep her head up high as she slowly walked down the steps, but she was afraid that everybody could see her rubbery legs and still shaking hands. There were hardly any cheers, though there had been enthusiastic clapping for all the other competitors. The only exceptions were Pelt who was sitting in the front row along with Uvhall and his apprentice. The two Jedi Knights clapped and whistled with abandon, while Hayrl was far less supportive with his modest applause. Somewhere above, the sounds of more cheering echoed over the otherwise silent crowd. She glanced several dozen rows up towards the sound and saw a short, round blue Twi’lek man and a young Duros woman on their feet, both cheering for all they were worth. Horhey, Pelt’s barber, and his assistant had somehow managed to get tickets. That brought an unexpected smile to her face and made her happy that she had taken the time to make her hair perfect this morning.

The flitnats in her stomach were gamboling like speeder-tanks at a demolition derby, but knowing there were at least four people who were fully behind her gave her a modest boost in confidence. She stood up straighter, able to ignore the wavering muscles in her legs.

As Hilaal took her seat next to her Master, Pelt patted her back reassuringly. “That was the hard part, Young one. You’ll do wonderfully.”

She offered him a tremulous smile and thought back to the whirlwind of the last two weeks. Her days had been spent in self-reflection and confidence training with Pelt, and lightsaber training with various blade masters. Despite the soft practice weapons they had used, Hilaal still had bruises from shoulders to feet resulting from times she hadn’t been fast enough, or predicted the wrong attack to block. Each time a Jedi penetrated her defenses, their sparring was paused and her instructor would ask her if she knew what happened. Sometimes she did, sometimes she didn’t, but in almost every case, Hilaal didn’t repeat those mistakes. She spent hours and hours every day with the blade masters, while Pelt watched on and continually offered her reassurance.

To herself she listed all her instructors, including Masters Grii, Yoda, Pul, even Hruuvokka, the Wookiee. There were others, too, whose names she didn’t remember. Oddly, Master Davip hadn’t taken part, despite all the work she had done with him in the past. The absence of one of the Order’s best warriors nagged at her. In fact, she hadn’t seen him at all since the time she had spent in the infirmary. She frowned, trying to remember if he had visited her even then. “Are you all right?” Pelt asked, touching her slender forearm.

Hilaal started. “Yeah. I was just…reviewing.”

Pelt grinned and pointed a surreptitious finger at Master Grii, who had limped a pair of steps to the other end of the stage in order to address that section of the crowd with his rambling speech.

Suddenly amused, Hilaal covered her mouth with a hand to muffle her soft giggle. She had given Grii that deep bruise just yesterday. As he had hobbled around their sparring room, Grii had alternated between complimenting her on the attack and moaning in pain.

“And so,” Grii was announcing to the crowd, his hands gesticulating dramatically as though he were the ringmaster in the galaxy’s biggest circus. “It’s time for this old windbag to shut up and for the competition to begin. May the Force be with you, and with all our participants!”


Returning to the flimsy podium in the center of the room, Grii picked up the datapad and read the names of the first duel. “Padawan C’chKor and Padawan Rwrlaroo, step forward!”

 

Awww wonderful stuff with Pelt and Hilaal. They really are getting along splendidly! I am very amazed and happy she is participating in the competition. You can certainly say her skill earned her a spot.

 

Nice teasing before the fight. I did not expected Hilaal to use a lightsaber that soon, but that sounds cool!

 

Okay, I went through a crazy period at work, but now I'm back with a vengeance -- and a review.

Entry dated 02 Dec 2015

Sneaky, snarky old Yoda. I'd be seriously pissed off if I were Pelt -- I wouldn't like to have such a responsibility bestowed upon me without previous warning. And that last line...

It looks like Hilaal's skills will come in useful sooner rather than later.
Entry dated 10 Dec 2015

Awww I've said this before, but I love how you built the relationship between these two, and your latest entry didn't disappoint.
I loved the Dumbledore-ish Master Grii, and the final reveal that he was limping because of Hilaal was the cherry on a scrumptious cake. It's nice to see the unruly side of the Jedi temple -- I always thought that having hundreds of Force-sensitive kids in a single place would result in mayhem, but it's a cool idea to show that the mayhem extends to adults too. And I really liked how you showed that Hilaal, deep down, doesn't need so much in terms of support to come into her own -- knowing that a few people are behind her is enough to help her overcome her timidity.
I can't wait to see how she'll do in the duels, and I'm also very curious to know what happened to Master Davip. My flair tells me that there's something going on there
PS: Since it seems that this story does not borrow from the Legendsverse, shouldn't you revert the tag to Before the Saga in the new tagging system?

 

Thank you for sweet comments and for reading!

I hope it turns out to be so! I appreciate your reading!

Sorry Chyn, my attempt to do chapter numbers has failed miserably. I've lost it too far to turn back and fix it now. I leave myself up to your mocking. But thank you for bringing my attention to the tagging change. I hadn't noticed that. I haven't had much time to do much of anything...hence missing last week. Sorry! Thank you for your kind words! I won't bore you anymore. Let's get back to the show!

______

As the two sentients—a Kel Dor female and a Wookiee male—strode onto the stage, they acknowledged the roaring applause with confident waves. The two young adults shook hands warmly as though the pair were friends. After they bowed to Master Grii, he waved them to the table of practice lightsabers. Each had been checked, double checked, and triple checked to make sure that a strike by one of them would not be fatal no matter how hard the blow. All the weapons were balanced just a little bit differently to match the preference of the wielder. There were two of each hilt style to make sure that each competitor wouldn’t be denied an opportunity to use the one that suited them best.

Once the hilts were selected, they brought the weapons to Grii, who asked them each a question. The padawans answered in one word while the Master nodded, fiddling with something at the base of each hilt. “C’ChKor has selected yellow,” Grii shouted, igniting the blade. The weapon’s sound was just a little off; a higher pitched hum versus the lower throb of a regular lightsaber. As the sulfuric yellow blade glowed in front of him, Grii struck the podium several times in rapid succession. A real lightsaber would have cleaved the cheaply made thing in half on the first try, but seeing no damage done—not even singeing—Grii handed the weapon back to the Kel Dor woman.

“Rwrlaroo has selected green.” Again he adjusted the inner workings of the dueling lightsaber and tested it on the podium. Satisfied, he distributed that weapon to the Wookiee.

“Remember to control your passions, to strike without the intention of killing or maiming and show respect to your opponent at all times.” As the older man backed off the stage, he raised his arms a final time. “You may begin!”

Each combatant saluted each other with the flourish of their glowing blade before closing to just outside of weapon’s range. Both seemed comfortable with the other, as though they had sparred together on a regular basis. Understanding each other’s weaknesses, they slowly circled, trying to find an opening.

Immediately the crowd became rowdy, cheering for one or the other, offering tactical suggestions both educated and otherwise.

“The wind tears through the forest!”

“Try the pouncing rancor!”

“Bite her, bite her!”

Hilaal muted all of the crowd’s input as she watched the blades finally collide. Bright sparks danced around them as they struck and whirled, attacking with obviously well-practiced grace. Their movements were so quick that those spectators without the Force, or greater than human-level eyesight, wouldn’t be able to discern exactly what was happening. The crashing sizzle of yellow and green lightsabers wasn’t quite sufficient to drown out the grunts and aggressive roars. After a particularly rapid exchange of strikes, the Kel Dor went down after a sharp blow to her ribs. Immediately the Wookiee dropped to one knee and extinguished his weapon, making sure his friend wasn’t hurt.

There was an electronic-sounding cough as C’ChKor nodded and accepted the furry paw-up. She stretched her body to one side as if working out a kink before nodding again and bowing to both Grii and Rwrlaroo.

“One point to Green!” The roar of the crowd temporarily deafened Hilaal and she instinctively slapped her hands over her ears. Glancing over at a clapping Pelt made her wonder how he could stand the volume.

Noticing her stare, he grinned and handed her a pair of earplugs, which she accepted and put in gratefully.

In that moment of distraction, Hilaal had missed the second point, scored swiftly by Yellow. The pair exchanged bows again and began the mostly-fluid exchange that culminated with the massive Wookiee sliding backwards two meters.

The furry sentient immediately stood and roared in disappointment before rushing over and congratulating his friend on her victory with a crushing hug.

Hilaal clapped with the rest of the coliseum as the pair left the stage and the next pair was led on to begin the lightsaber assignment.

“That was a pretty good duel,” Pelt said appreciatively.

“Not bad,” Hilaal answered, disagreement underneath her tone.

He looked at his apprentice incredulously. “Only not bad?”

Hilaal nodded. “Their blade work was decent but their footwork was atrocious.”

“How can you tell?” Pelt asked, watching the next pair battling on stage. “It all happens faster than I can see.”

She shrugged. “I could be wrong.”

“Point to Red!” Master Grii announced loudly.

Hilaal turned to clap, ignoring her Master’s doubtful expression.
______

And so the battles went. One by one, another student would be eliminated from the competition while the other would move on to the next round. Right before those semi-finals began though, the inevitable happened.

“Hilaal Yuchee!” Master Grii shouted. “Antho Gwarth! Step forward!”

Pelt put his arm around her and squeezed firmly. “Go get ‘im.”

She didn’t answer. In fact she was so nervous, Hilaal was having trouble clipping her own lightsaber off her belt. Once she finally accomplished that, with shaking hands she placed her weapon into Pelt’s lap.

“You’ll do great, Hilaal,” Uvhall said warmly.

“Good luck,” Hayrl told her. His tone was far from supportive and earned him a stern glare from his Master, but the teenager’s doubting tone was what she needed to force a semblance of confidence from her terrified mind.

As she approached the stage, the young man graciously gestured with his arm, allowing her to precede him up the stairs. She grinned tremulously at him and nodded, doubting the steadiness of her voice, unable to thank him audibly.

“Choose,” Grii told them after they had bowed respectfully to each other, and to him.

There were so many hilts to select from. Most were too big for her smaller hands, but even after eliminating the ones that were too large, there were still close to fifty that she had to weed through before finding the right one for her. Meanwhile, Antho had already handed his blade over to Grii.

“Antho Gwarth has selected blue.” There was the telltale testing of the lightsaber’s blade against the podium before Grii held out his hand for her hilt.

I wanted to be blue, she complained silently to herself.

“What color would you like?”

“Um,” she began, entwining her fingers together as she thought. “Er…”

Laughter from the stands greeted her indecision and she turned bright red in shame, nerves amplifying her blush.

“Hilaal? Choose.”

“Purple,” Antho suggested, whispering to her softly.

Her eyes brightened. “Purple,” she announced shyly, nodding. She silently mouthed “thank you” to the young man as the Master made the adjustments. “Hilaal has chosen purple!”

“Like her freakish hair!” someone from the crowd shouted down over the amused murmur of laughter.

That produced a louder spurt of amused chuckles that earned the spectator who had taunted Hilaal a hard stare from Master Grii that wiped the smile off the joker's face instantly. It didn’t do much to slow the mocking laughter, but it was enough to make her feel a little better.

“Face each other in respect!” Grii said loudly. “You’ve all heard the instructions so many times, I’m sure you all understand how this works by now. Begin!”

“I’m sorry, Hilaal,” Antho told her softly.

Sorry? Sorry for what? The rude crowd? Choosing my lightsaber color?

Unsure of what he meant, she bowed a shallow acknowledgement. “It’s all right,” she whispered back, still confused. “I’m sorry too.”

What am I sorry for? She thought again, just as confused by her “sorry” as by his. Concern over all the apologies were suddenly shorn from her mind as Antho ignited his blue lightsaber, saluting her with a flourish of the blade.

After her vibrant purple blade lept free of its casing, she returned the salute. Taking a deep breath to clear the worst of her nerves, she assumed one of the basic defensive stances, shadowmoth on a leaf. Her left foot was forward, toes just lightly touching the ground with most of the weight on her rear leg. She outstretched her left arm. Two of the fingers on that hand were half-folded down while the other two were just barely bent and paralleled by her thumb. Hilaal’s right hand held the blade steadily over her head, parallel to the ground.

The crowd roared to life, assaulting her plugged ears and shaking the ground slightly in its fervor. While the noise of hundreds and thousands of sentients was a new experience for her, dueling an opponent was not. She used the memories of her practice matches with the Masters to bolster her spirits and lift her confidence.

Seemingly satisfied that she knew what she was doing, Antho nodded and charged, swinging his weapon in an easily predictable fashion the moment he was within striking distance.

Hilaal brought her weapon down into a more defensible guard. She dodged all three of his attacks easily, only being forced to shift her weight slightly, twisting her body just enough so that all the attacks missed her by centimeters. With a quick jerk, she tapped his blade as it came towards her, nudging it so that it missed her entirely and continued awkwardly along a slightly different path. Taking advantage of the giant opening she had created, Hilaal brought her blade directly in towards his stomach and earned her first point with the slap of blade on torso.

“Point goes to Purple!” Grii shouted.

Raising his voice was completely unnecessary. The entire stadium was so quiet Hilaal could hear the electronic whoosh of the respirators used by the non-oxygen breathers.

Antho was unharmed, but otherwise in as much shock as the rest of the stadium.

Hilaal gave him an abashed grin before raising her weapon back to a guard position.

“Blue, are you ready?” Grii asked after a moment.

Finally startled free of his shock, he nodded. “Yes, Master,” he answered just as he stepped into a guard position of his own.

“Begin!”

Antho waved his blue blade towards her, inviting her to begin on the offensive this time. She nodded, accepting his challenge. With her knees slightly bent, she began by crossing her left foot in front of her right, taking a step towards him. Replicating the move with her right foot, she moved closer again.

He shifted his stance accordingly, though Hilaal was still not in range.

Barely flexing her legs, she gathered her Force energy and lept, easily reaching a height of five meters and effortlessly closing the four meter distance between them.

Able to anticipate her jump, he struck at her once and defended against her first attack. He didn’t predict Hilaal being able to attack a second time in the air though and was barely able to throw his head to one side to prevent her purple blade from smacking him between the eyes. Off-balance, he allowed himself to fall onto his stomach and rolled quickly away from the blows he envisioned coming from his opponent. As he bounded back to his feet, he swung blindly, expecting Hilaal to be nearby. He was startled to find her exactly where she had landed, her posture relaxed except for her lightsaber, which was pointing at his heart from six meters away. Antho acknowledged her nod, appreciative of his reactions with nod of his own.

The crowd was still silent, so each combatant heard their soft boot steps as they slowly closed on each other’s position. Both of their stances shifted with each subtle adjustment of lightsaber position. Once they were back within range, the true blade work started.

Antho’s mountain’s avalanche was evaded by bending willow, which allowed her to spring into hawk-bat’s meal. A well-adjusted hawk-bat’s flight—normally an attack—blocked both of Hilaal’s strikes and allowed him to squeeze in a strike of his own, only to be evaded. She answered immediately with sand panther’s leap and the white wind’s fury almost simultaneously. Unable to defend against the massive flurry of swift blows, Antho went down as Hilaal’s blade rapidly struck the right side of his ribs and the left side of his temple.

The crowd’s silence became more pointed, if that was even possible.

“Point, Purple! Winner is Hilaal Yuchee!”

She had disengaged her weapon the moment her opponent had crumpled.

As he tried to blink his eyes back in focus, she offered him her hand, as she had seen the Wookiee do to her friend.

Antho grinned at her unsteadily and then reached out for the array of blurry hands, still trying to blink away his double vision.

Hilaal caught his hand as it practically flailed for hers, and helped heave him to his feet. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what?” he asked, grinning. “You deserved the win.” After he gave her a deep bow, he took a couple unsteady steps back and began clapping.


The entire crowd didn’t join in, but there was acknowledgment of her victory with the soft sounds of sporadic applause echoing in pockets around the stadium. That of course, excepted Hilaal’s Master. Pelt was on his feet and screaming for all he was worth.

 

Excellent Hilaal was poised and more than competent! I think the audience was too awestruck to given an ovation.

 

I'm going to repeat again how much I love this story (yes, I know, I'm running out of creative ways to say that). This scene was awesome!

Fantastic contrast between the first dueling pair and Hilaal/Antho Gwarth. The former know each other and are friends, Hilaal and Antho are meeting for the first time, yet we see that they immediately respect each other. I sense that Hilaal has made a new friend here, or if not a friend, at least someone who gives her the respect she deserves. Antho has class

The other element of contrast that was really well-depicted in this scene was the rambunctious mood of the crowd for the first pair, as opposed to the absolute silence for Hilaal and Antho. The crowd may not be friendly to Hilaal, but the fact that they remained silent throughout her duel shows that they were, if nothing else, exceedingly curious about what they would see. And the lack of applause at the end may come across as a mark of lingering hostility, but also as a stunned silence. Those beings in the audience still have a lot to understand about her, it seems.

I already mentioned this in a previous post, but your description of the dueling moves is fantastic world-building. And Hilaal's comment that “Their blade work was decent but their footwork was atrocious” was a great touch of her true self showing through her timidity.

Lastly, this scene was a wonderful throwback to the Padawan selection ceremony early on in this story. Some of the ugliness and nastiness is still there, but we also get to see the good side of the Jedi this time, and this will undoubtedly help Hilaal find her place in this strange microcosm.

 

Binge read this today. Really fantastic stuff. The pacing is perfect. The characters and their development come off as natural and believable in every way. You have a very unique style that always manages to flow with ease.

At first, I didn't really like the named lightsaber techniques, particularly in the most recent chapter because it was weird to imagine mountain's avalanche or bending willow when I didn't know what exactly the technique involved. There's enough in the name to infer, and I was able to appreciate how it moved the fight along after a second reading, keeping it tense while also keeping it from dragging and putting me to sleep.

Thanks for writing.

Also, Hilaal is absolutely my favorite character in anything ever.

 

Thank you! I know I was a little awestruck when Hilaal told me what her talents were too.

I very much appreciate your enjoyment of this story! You can tell me how much you like the story any time you like.

Antho is a good kid. You'll definitely be seeing more of him. As far as the crowd goes...we'll just have to see if they come around or not.

Thanks heaps for reading!

I'm humbled and awed at that last line. Thank you very much!

I do understand about the lightsaber techniques being named. It was weird trying to create names that sorta described what was going on, without spewing hundreds of words of combat. I'm a fan of descriptive action, but not so detailed scenes that bore me writing them (and presumably the reader too). I'm not ashamed to say I borrowed that from the late, great Robert Jordan.

Thanks for reading!

Now,...where were we? Ah yes....

_____________________

“You upset the flow of the whole tournament,” Pelt told her as they waited in a main refreshment area. He was making sure she ate and drank plenty of fluids between rounds.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Antho was the third seeded competitor.” Seeing her continued confusion, he explained further. “According to the Masters’ estimations, he was the third best warrior in the competition. Usually the ones the Masters pick out do very well but since you knocked Antho out, now nobody knows what’s going to happen.”

“Well, he was pretty good.” Hilaal’s admission of “pretty good” sounded like “a lot better than average.” “In any case, he was very nice.”

Pelt gave his apprentice a wry grin. “Careful, Young one. You’re beginning to sound a bit like me.”

She looked horrified. “No, that’s not the way I meant it,” Hilaal argued.

His grin widened. “This probably won’t help, but that’s never the way I mean it either. I’ll try to let you know if you sound as arrogant as me again.”

Hilaal nodded thoughtfully. “Thanks. One of you is enough for the entire Order.”

Pelt shook his head, giving her a mock-angry glare that dissolved quickly into another smile. “I’m very proud of you, Hilaal. More proud of you for the way you’re holding up under the pressure of the audience and the stress of competing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you won, but being able to withstand the doubt and the jeering of the crowd is a far more important ability.”

“Thank you Master. It’s…difficult.”

“Even for people like me with humongous egos,” he agreed.

Pelt’s friend Uvhall came around the corner, holding a piece of flimsiplast. “How’re you holding up, Hilaal?”

“I’m okay.”

Uvhall moved to ruffle her hair but she stepped out of arm’s range, preserving the integrity of her mohawk. “Good. Master Yoda handed this to me personally.”

She snatched the flimsiplast that he had offered instead.

Your Force leap attack was executed perfectly, Padawan. We couldn’t have done it better ourselves.

The page was signed by all of her lightsaber trainers.

“See? I told you that you were doing well,” Pelt said, reading the page from over her shoulder.

“Thank you very much, Master Uvhall.” Hilaal fought the tears gathering in the corner of her eyes and handed the note over to Pelt. “Try not to crease this,” she told him around the small lump in her throat.

“The second round is progressing pretty quickly, you should probably get ready for another match.”

“Yes Master. I’m ready.” Her stomach burbled an anxious disagreement, but she was as ready as she could be.

The three of them took their seats again, only to have Hilaal’s name be called next.

Hilaal’s second battle against a Twi’lek male ended just as quickly, though not as amicably. Because of the aggressive stance the Twi’lek took, Hilaal had to counter-attack a little harder than she would have liked. It didn’t help that the blue-skinned humanoid stepped directly into her rising sidekick, either. He flew lekku under teakettle to land hard on his stomach for Hilaal’s final point of the match.

After her second victory, Antho Gwarth began gathering Hilaal’s ‘vanquished’ foes. They sat on the floor in front of Master Pelt and shouted encouragement to her throughout the next duels. Soon, most of the defeated apprentices—defeated by her or by another—had gathered there, cheering and giving standing ovations. Victory by victory, the crowd was being won over by this small young woman who continued to defeat her opponents. Though still thought of as an underdog to the general public, that status won her more admirers among the non-Force sensitive crowd. To the Jedi who now understood how much natural ability she wielded, and how solid her technique was, she had become the one to beat. Those who had detracted the most from her capabilities at first now agreed that she had indeed earned her place in the final three rounds.

The third battle was even more intense and lasted as long as all her other matches combined. The flurry of blows they exchanged went on for several minutes before the first point was scored by her opponent. She was out of breath by the end of that exchange and had to find her center before the next, which evened the score with Hilaal’s sliding scissor kick that sent the young man on his back only to have Hilaal’s lightsaber clip his thighs. Frustrated, the man had charged her, leaving an easily exploited hole in his defenses, which she quickly utilized by employing a graceful spin and jabbing her weapon into his kidney.

Simultaneously incensed and impressed at his own defeat, he had been gracious in the end, bowing deeply to her before leaving her alone on the stage to bask in the crowd’s growing applause. His mouth widened in a grin as he went to go join Hilaal’s growing fan club, that now sported a large banner that read in big block letters: “Go Hilaal Yuchee!” Underneath her name in a smaller font and by a different hand was another line. “The little Jedi who could.”

Mortified beyond reason, she quickly turned away.

When called to her fourth duel—the duel that would dictate who would be in the final duel of the day—she was still out of breath from her last battle. Fortunately though, so was her opponent. As Hilaal squared off against a Rodian female at least four years older than she, the first two points were scored so quickly that only the expertly trained eye of Master Grii, and each Padawan’s honesty announced anything had happened. For the final point, Hilaal’s purple blade was such a blur of motion that many of the Masters could only see the indistinct trails of light left behind and not the blade itself as she switched to aggressive offense. Completely overwhelmed, the Rodian was driven back and put into a more and more awkward defense until at last Hilaal disarmed her and held her purple blade at the Rodian’s throat, scoring the final point.

Cheers from Hilaal’s fan club and the now fully-appreciative crowd roared, vibrating her brain in her skull despite the earplugs she wore. As the two duelists bowed to each other, the Rodian shook her hand warmly.

“No offense,” she said softly. “But I’m going over there.” With a suction-cup tipped finger she pointed towards another gathering of apprentices. One of the group was toting a banner on which someone had written “Anyone but Hilaal Yuchee!”

Hilaal grinned back at her, trying to ignore the exhausted muscles she suddenly felt, or the way sweat that dampened her hair. “No offense taken. It was an honor to challenge you.”

“Likewise.”

As Hilaal watched her join the ranks of the opposing fans, she had a chance to really look at the sentients who made up that group. Many of them were making disparaging gestures at her like pointing their thumbs at the floor, or waving their hands dismissively, or sticking their tongues out at her or even booing. But their intentions didn’t seem to be mean-spirited. In many of those faces, she saw appreciation for her abilities. In fact, the vast majority of apprentices in that group seemed to hold her no ill-will at all. Having withstood ridicule, dislike and exclusion throughout her whole life, Hilaal was deeply touched by their friendly display of competitiveness. While she had never considered the people who mistreated her as enemies, sentients like these were like a salve to her longsuffering soul as they showed their respect to her in such a way.

Putting on a mocking grin, she bowed deeply to the opposing fan club, which caused them to burst into louder jeers. Those made her laugh. Turning to face her own supporters, she gave them a serious bow, touched that a group of people would show her a sign of loyalty, however temporary. The cheering suddenly amplified, led by her supporters. It took Master Grii a whole minute to get them under control.

“Another wonderful duel!” he told the crowd. “I told you she deserved to be in this tournament and now she’s in this year’s final battle—the test of the best. Why don’t the two finalists come up here? Hilaal,” he said, holding one hand out to her and the other out to her competitor as he mounted the stage. “And Grotto.”

The floor vibrated again as the crowd exploded in tumultuous applause. Hilaal took the few steps that brought her to stand on the left side of Master Grii. Her final opponent, a shaggy yellow haired human male who was at least five years older than she and stood a good half meter above her climbed to the stage and held out his hand.

Of all the competitors Hilaal had seen fight today, this man deserved to be in the final battle. He was the only combatant who seemed to have a firm handle on all aspects of swordsmanship. As she watched him fight, she was repeatedly reminded of other Jedi she had trained with—perhaps Master Grii most of all—and how deadly they all could be when they wanted to. While she hadn’t really thought of herself as being powerful enough to be his opponent, she knew he had a very good chance at beating her. As that thought crossed her mind, her competitive spirit blossomed.

He might be able to win, she thought to herself. But if I don’t win, he’s going to know that he was in a fight.

“I watched all your duels,” Hilaal told him, pumping his hand appreciatively. “You’re a wonderful swordsman.” Even though her shyness made the words almost painful to say, she didn’t regret them even as the violent blush reddened her features.

Grotto Ghuuthic squeezed her hand gently in response. “So are you. I bet you could give Master Grii a run for his credits.”

“I heard that, Grotto,” Grii said, both quietly and amusedly, placing a hand on each of their shoulders as he came to stand between them. He shot Hilaal a wink. “And you’re right, she could. On the other hand, so could you.” The Jedi sword master pitched his voice loudly so the rest of the coliseum could hear his words.

“I mean no offense to anybody who has ever fought in this arena, but in my opinion, this match-up will be the best duel the Temple has seen in fifty years. Let’s give our champions a few minutes to rest and then we’ll get the action started.”

Grii leaned in towards the two competitor’s ears and spoke softly. “Since Hilaal just finished her duel, she can dictate when the next battle begins. Mount the stage when you’re ready.”

“Okay,” she answered, allowing herself to be steered down the steps and into the waiting arms of her master. Hilaal was suddenly grateful for his presence and she clung to the embrace willingly. She squeezed him back hard, almost driving the wind out of him.

“Ungh!” he grunted. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the hug but try to leave some bones intact, will you?”

She giggled, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Pelt turned her gently around to face the crowd and scanned for a moment before pointing up into the stands. “Look right there,” he said.

Seeing they finally had her attention again, Pelt’s Twi’lek barber Horhey stood to see over the seated crowd, waving his arms like a madman, trying to get her attention. Horhey’s Duros assistant quickly stood as well, gesticulating wildly.

Hilaal pointed at them and waved, prompting an even more energetic wave. “Go Hilaal!” Horhey shouted at the top of his lungs.

Though she could barely hear him, the rest of that section of stands picked up the cheer. “Hilaal Yuchee! Hilaal Yuchee! Hilaal Yuchee!”

She fought to keep from covering her eyes in embarrassment. Instead she gave a shy little wave and turned around so she wouldn’t have to face the crowd. When she turned, though, she came face to face with Antho and his host of screaming fans who all seemed to want to touch her black tunic or shake her hand.

“We had never heard of you before today, but that doesn’t stop us from thinking we’re your biggest fans,” Antho said with a silly grin.

Her face reddened, even though his words made her feel good. She forced an abashed smile. “Thanks. I uh…” She looked down, still too mortified to look into his eyes. The group of people surged around him, trying to get closer to her.

“Uh, could I have some space? Please?” she asked.

Antho grinned. “Sorry, Hilaal. May the Force be with you!” With that, he turned around and started shouting for people to back away. “Come on guys, give her space. She needs to prepare!”

There was a general groan of disappointment, but someone else took up her name like a war cry and the group loudly made its way back around the stage.

Pelt was finally able to rejoin her. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, taking a long pull on a tall glass of cool water. “Yeah. I’m…I’m good. Just a little nervous, I guess.”

He grinned warmly at her discomfiture. “You’ll do fine.” Again, Pelt enveloped her in a hug. While her arms came up around his back, she didn’t try to crush the life out of him this time. Once the embrace was finished, he held her out at arm’s length.

“When you win,” he began, but she cut him off right away.

“When?”

He let the smile split across his face again. “I’m taking the optimistic route. When you win,” he started again. “How are you going to react?”

She matched his smile. “I’ll do whatever you wouldn’t do. And if I lose, I’ll do my best not to cry.”

Pelt rolled his eyes. “Yeah, great. Are you ready?”

Hilaal nodded firmly. “I think so.”


“Then go out there and give it your best shot, Young one.”