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seasidewriter1-writes · 4 years ago

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Secret valentine exchange of some sort for Canon era lol (does Canon era make sense? I don't think that's the right terminology but whatever)

I got carried away, this is at least 1K in length! I got to do some fun research about Star Wars holidays, and I thought this fit closes to Valentine’s Day!

Fete Weeks on Coruscant were celebrations that Elara had grown to both love and look forward to each year. They were colorful and lively, and the entire planet celebrated, all the way down to Level 5. It created a kind of comradery that was wholly unique to the citizens of Coruscant. Rivalries between shop owners fell to the wayside. Rival criminal families called a week long truce. Unlikely friendships were formed between strangers, some of which lasted for years afterwards. The types of festivities varied depending upon what Fete was being celebrated. For example, whenever the Festival of Stars came around, it wasn’t uncommon to find flashy speeders cruising the city in impromptu parades. The Festival of Life often involved the exchange of meaningful gifts, but it was the celebration of loved ones that made it Elara’s favorite Fete.

This was the first Festival of Life after the start of the Clone Wars, and it felt particularly poignant. They’d been at war for just about a year, now, and life seemed all the more precious. Being with your loved ones seemed all the more special. And though Coruscant had remained largely unscathed by the war––save for its occasional Senate scandal––its peoples seemed to feel much the same. For this Festival of Life was the most vibrant, energetic one that Elara had ever witnessed. People flooded the streets in droves, music spilled out of almost every shop front, and laughter and smiles were plentiful.

“We’re lucky not to have missed this,” commented Obi-Wan.

With a bright smile, Elara bobbed her head in a nod. “I was worried we would,” she admitted. Both she and Obi-Wan stood observing the Fete crowds from the balcony of a tea house. It was nearing sunset, so the light was positively golden. “I’m glad we didn’t; it makes me feel… hopeful.”

After what had felt like week after week of violence, seeing beings of all sorts embrace and laugh and exchange gifts was heartwarming. A reminder that there was still good in the galaxy; and that, one day, things could be good again. There didn’t have to be blaster fire and explosions and death all the time. That folks exist beside one another in peace. It gave Elara hope that there would be more days like this, where she and Obi-Wan could sit side-by-side at their favorite tea house, enjoying one another’s company in quiet bliss. They didn’t have to worry about being Jedi or Generals––they could just be with one another.

“It does, doesn’t it?” There was a smile in Obi-Wan’s voice, one that Elara didn’t have to see to know existed. But she turned to see it anyway. It was soft and gentle, a blissful juxtaposition to the seriousness that so often creased his face. She allowed herself to admire the beautiful regality of his profile, the peacefulness of his expression. These moments were rare and she savored them when they came. This image of him, bathed in the warm glow of golden light, was something she’d cling to in the hopeless heat of battle. It would give her hope.

Elara slipped her fingers into one of the pouches on her belt. Her fingers touched against something thin and cold. She drew it into her palm and squeezed it there, warming the small metal tag against her skin. It was traditional to give gifts to your loved ones over the seven days of the Festival of Light. While Elara appreciated the sentimentality of it, it had never truly been an imperative part of the holiday. Spending time with those close to her had always mattered most. But the Fete felt different this year; and it suddenly felt incredibly important to partake in this tradition.

Elara angled her body so she faced her companion a little better. A small table separated them, leaving only a foot of space between them; but she found that she wished he was closer. “Obi-Wan,” she said gently. He turned towards her, eyebrows gently raised, a smile still playing across his lips. With a smile of her own, she gestured to him. “Give me your hand.”

With a curious look, Obi-Wan offered his hand to her. Elara placed the thin piece of metal into his hand and curled his fingers around it. He drew his hand into himself before opening his fingers once more. What he saw was this: a metal, oblong shaped tag with rounded corners, across the front of which was etched the image of a flower. The Gleannish Snow Blossom. Obi-Wan stared at it a moment before he looked back to Elara, expression impossibly soft.

“This is lovely,” he told her. He looked back to the tag and flipped it over. On the reverse side was a set of carefully etched symbols. “What do these mean?”

“They’re traditional Gleannish symbols that mean ‘my heart,’” Elara admitted in a manner almost endearingly shy.

Obi-Wan’s thumb swept over the symbols, and the most heart warming smile appeared on his face. That smile was turned her way, and it predictably caused her heart to melt. “I shall keep it with me always. A good luck charm.” He smiled back down at the hand-etched tag, which he then placed on the table beside his tea cup. He reached for a pouch on his belt as he said, “I fear this may be entirely underwhelming, now.”

What he pulled out of the pouch was a small, circular piece of gold colored glass. Twine had been threaded through the top of the ornamental piece and created a loop. He then removed a second one from another pouch, this one a bright, vivid red. As he extended them to her, it caught the light and glowed brilliantly. There was a peculiar wrinkling of his forehead––he appeared worried, almost.

“For your window,” he explained. “You… mentioned, once, that the only thing you missed of home were the sunsets.”

A laugh of pleasant surprise left Elara’s mouth. For as harsh as they were, the suns of Tatooine did create spectacular sunsets. There were none like them anywhere else in the galaxy; every other sunset she’d ever seen had paled in comparison. It was one of the very few things she ever felt homesick for. She reached out to take the glass ornaments from him, which she smiled at as she held them up to the light.

“Not underwhelming at all,” she said as she admired the way they caught the light. Elara lowered them to her lap, her smile softening into a lovely, gentle look. The sunsets of Tatooine were something she’d mentioned in passing months ago. The fact that he’d remembered caused a warm, blissful buzz to circulate through her system. “Thank you, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan, who looked relieved that she appreciated the gift, held his hand out to her. Elara reached out and slipped her hand into his grasp, reveling in the warmth of his skin and the callouses that roughened certain spots. Their eyes met with that wonderful shock of electricity, and he lifted her hand to his mouth. His lips gently pressed against her knuckles in a sweet, subtle, stolen kiss. Their hands then came to rest on the table between them. These moments were rare. It was hard to get a moment alone together, let alone one where they could be openly affectionate in some sort of way. It felt perfect, somehow, that they were allowed this moment during the Festival of Life.

It reminded them there was still a life to live; and that they were lucky to get to live it with one another.

#valentine's prompts #LetObiLaraGetFluffy2k21 #a very balance valentine's day #obi lara blurb

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seasidewriter1-writes · 4 years ago

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For the fluff ask, I would love to see an Obi-lara regency confession scene. I have a little headcanon where Obi-wan uses the line "You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope."

Finally, a chance to delve into the Regency AU! I’ve had a lot of fun with this, and that line you gave? *chef’s kiss!* I need more Regency Obi-Lara, it’s official!

P.S. I’m sorry this is so long, I got... REALLY carried away with this one...

There was much that could be said about Mr. Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was a master of fencing. An excellent mentor. Level headed to the point he almost came off as impertinent. And, in the opinion of Miss Elara Skywalker, absolutely insufferable. Insufferable in the way that he smiled, roguish and charming. Insufferably handsome, with a face the classic sculptors would only have dreamed of creating. Insufferable in his impressive intellect and his ability to make every sentence sound like one of Shakespeare’s sonnets. Insufferable because she was helplessly, hopelessly in love with him, and that was a torture.

For Mr. Kenobi was steadfast in his ways. He’d been many years a bachelor, and found the life quite suitable. A long passed father had insisted he was duty bound to marry for the good of the family estate. That he must marry for money, not love. This idea, drilled into him for so many years, had turned him off from the idea of romance entirely. He was considered to be one of the most eligible bachelors in the county––but he was entirely unattainable.

Elara would not have met Obi-Wan had it not been for her brother. Anakin was a fencing protégé and had flourished under the tutelage of Master Kenobi. There had been a time where Elara had known him only by name; he was the mysterious mentor whom her brother spoke so highly of. Nothing but words of praise would be spoken about him—and then, as was proper, Anakin introduced his sister and his mentor one night at a ball. Much to everyone’s surprise, the two got along smashingly. They bandied words as though they played tennis, kept up with one another intellectually. Elara was a learned, well-read woman; Obi-Wan was a learned well-read man. They discussed Shakespeare and Socrates, debated on the best authors of the day.

Gossip started to circulate and speculations were made––Mr. Kenobi and Miss Skywalker would surely be engaged by the end of the summer.

And then they weren’t.

Which was most confusing, as it was often observed they were in one another’s company. At balls, the first name on Elara’s dance card was always Obi-Wan’s. At parties, they were always seated beside or across from one another. They took turns about the room together. It confounded local gossips that the two were not engaged. And though Anakin did not consider himself a gossip, he, too was confounded. Though he was younger than his sister, propriety required him to be her chaperone if the situation called for it. He had bore witness to the insufferable flirtations, which he tried to ignore by hiding the display behind the pages of a book.

It was in one of the many books in the Skywalkers’ generous collection that Elara had chosen to lose herself in. It was a dreary day, with slate grey skies and an air that foretold an afternoon of rain. It perfectly reflected her mood. She felt positively dreadful. She lay half-reclined on their sofa, head propped up by a brocaded pillow. One hand held the book before her face, and the other picked at the elegant stitching on the front of her dress. And though she was reading the words on the page, she was not absorbing them. She had read several pages, but had no knowledge of what had transpired.

As Elara turned the fifth page, she sighed.

“If you keep sighing that way, you shall forget how to speak entirely,” Anakin commented on the opposite side of the room.

Elara dropped her book to her chest and glared at him half-heartedly. Anakin sat half-slouched out of his armchair, a book of his own open in his hands. His stock had been removed and discarded the table beside him, and the collar of his shirt slouched open at the neck. The position in which he sat did not look comfortable in the least bit, but it was one he often found himself relaxing into at his leisure. He shot her a sideways glance and smirked with a brotherly snark.

“If you keep sitting like that your neck will grow as crooked as an oak branch,” she countered.

Anakin let out an ungentlemanly snort and shook his head, eyes once more returning to his book. “A spat is not the end of the world, sister.”

The spat of which he spoke occurred the night prior at the most recent ball. Elara was unsure it could even be called a spat; it had been more of a heated encounter. Whilst they were dancing, Elara had made a comment about Obi-Wan’s opposition to marriage. Something in him had smarted and an indignance had washed over him. He had launched into a lecture of sorts, commenting on the monetary politics of marriage, which, in turn had caused Elara to prickle. She and Anakin were not badly off by any means, but they were not considered particularly wealthy. His comment had been taken as a direct insult. The dance ended with them parting ways for the evening, ignoring the two other dances Obi-Wan had claimed on her card.

Hence was why Elara had been in such a vial mood. It was difficult to be in love with a man who abhorred the notion.

Elara lifted the book and hid her face behind it. “The end of the world, no. The end of possibilities, yes.”

There was a knock at the front door.

Simultaneously, both Elara and Anakin lowered their books and met one another’s gazes. Neither of them were expecting any callers that day.

Anakin closed his book, snatched up his stock, and started to haphazardly wind it about his neck. He hauled himself out of his chair and disappeared from the room, tucking the ends of his neck-wear into his vest. Once he was gone, Elara righted herself. The parlor was, for all intents and purposes, their receiving room. If whoever had arrived was there to stay, they would be ushered in here. A couple moments passed before Anakin poked his head back into the room.

“You have a visitor, Elara,” he told her. He arched his eyebrows pointedly and stepped aside, gesturing someone in from the hall.

Elara rose to her feet in order to greet her impromptu visitor. The confused pinch of her expression melted away as none other than Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped into the room. There was a hat and a pair of gloves clutched in his hands and his cheeks were flushed from riding. Behind him, Anakin reached into the room, grabbed the handle of the door and pulled it closed as he exited the room.

The silence that filled the room was stifling. It was all Elara could do to stare at her visitor. Obi-Wan stood before her, handsomely harried. Blue eyes wide, blonde hair ruffled, mud spattered up across his boots. He had arrived unplanned and unannounced, with absolutely no pretense. He had a reason for coming; and she was waiting on him to tell her what it was. But in that waiting, Elara could not deny that her heart was thrumming like the beating wings of a terrified bird.

“Miss Skywalker...” Obi-Wan breathed. He shifted the brim of his hat around in his hands, rotating it slowly. “I... fear I have made a grievous error.”

Breath caught in Elara’s throat, hitching so hard that her chest physically and visibly jumped. She watched Obi-Wan wet his lips, tongue darting out between them. He took a tentative step forward, and when she did not protest his further entering the room, he continued. He placed his hat on their sideboard without looking, moving as though he were entranced. Elara folded her hands in front of her stomach, and squeezed them tightly.

“And what error might that be, Mr. Kenobi?”

“The error of my words. I believe I misspoke last night. That is, I let my self-righteousness speak for me.” Obi-Wan stopped before her at a respectable distance. He swept his hands behind his back and did her the courtesy of meeting her eyes. “I did not mean to offend you when I spoke of the politics of marriage. It was not my intent to make you believe that I looked down on you due to monetary standing. I... find it difficult to even conceive looking down on you in any possible way.” For a long, still moment, all Obi-Wan did was stare at her. The guardedness that so often made him appear lofty had disappeared. A vulnerable tenderness had overcome him, and it softened his whole demeanor. “You pierce my soul. It is unexplainable. In your presence... I find that I am half agony, half hope.”

Elara felt as though he had stolen all words from her mouth, all thought from her head, and all air from her lungs. It took a moment for her to gather herself, and when she did, she asked,

“Why agony?”

Obi-Wan chanced a step forward and his hands dropped from behind his back. A shuddering breath passed between his lips before a confession spilled forth. “I love you so wholly... so completely... that my fear that you do not feel the same tears me apart.”

“And hope?” The question had been murmured so softly, it had come out in a whisper.

“The hope that you reciprocate these feelings is incandescently bright; it has guided me through the darkness of my idiocy and led me back to you. And should you find this profession offensive,” Obi-Wan bowed his head in deference, “then I shall excuse myself from your presence.”

Silence once more overcame the room. Obi-Wan remained with his head bowed, waiting for her reply. His confession clung to the corners of the quaint parlor like the most delicate cobwebs. It tickled the air like a pleasant, relieving breeze. Boldly––or brazenly, perhaps––Elara stepped forward and reached for his hands. For the first time, the skin of their hands met. It was breathtaking. His skin was warm, and it was calloused in spots from practicing with his saber. The minute their skin touched, Obi-Wan’s head snapped up. Breath visibly caught in his chest, which stuttered beneath the layers of his clothes.

“I, too, am at fault in this misunderstanding. In my inquiring of your aversion to marriage, I did not mean to offend you. I took offense quickly, and for that you must forgive me.” Elara swept her thumbs across his knuckles. “I will take away your agony. I will share in your hope. I will share in anything you allow me to... if you will have me.”

A stunned flutter of Obi-Wan’s eyelids dashed his lashes over the tops of his cheeks. His lips parted and a soft breath passed between them in a single word. In a name. “Elara...”

A thrilled shudder rolled along her spine at the sound of her name falling from his lips. It was the first time he’d ever spoken it; and she wanted to hear him say it again, and again, and again.

“Obi-Wan...” she breathed in return.

A breath fled from his mouth the moment his name left her lips. Slowly, his hands started to glide up her arms. They danced lightly over the skin of her forearms and paused at her elbows. Elara reached out and grasped the front of his riding jacket. One of Obi-Wan’s hands then rose to hover by her cheek. The tips of his fingers grazed against her skin as he tucked a curl of hair behind her ear. That hand then retreated back to her cheek, which it cupped tenderly. Simultaneously, Elara tiled her head back as Obi-Wan craned his forward. Their movements were achingly slow––but then their lips met in the sweetest, softest kiss. In that moment, everything was perfect. It was harmonious again.

There was no agony; only hope.

#valentine's prompts #LetObiLaraGetFluffy2k21 #a very balance valentine's day #obi lara au #obi lara blurb

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seasidewriter1-writes · 4 years ago

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A Moment of Peace

A valentine’s fluff request from @chasethememori3s–blog : ”sneaking into each others room at 4 a.m. for cuddles!” It’s a wee bit short, but I really loved writing something slower paced; it’s been a while since there’s been anything like that in Balance!

The Jedi Temple was a place seemingly always at peace. There was a reverent sort of quiet that always filled its halls, the likes of which made you want to keep your voice down. Nighttime only elevated this feeling. As the halls darkened and everyone turned in for the evening, the thought of breaking the quietude inspired anxiety. Or, perhaps, that was just what it made Elara feel. For as she wove through the Jedi dormitories, she walked on the balls of her feet in an attempt to stay the sound of her footsteps. It was incredibly late––or incredibly early––and she didn’t want to risk waking anyone up. Though it was known that Elara did enjoy a nighttime stroll when she couldn’t sleep, it would be hard to explain why she was meandering the dormitory halls with a strange, sneaking purpose.

When she arrived at a familiar door, she quickly pressed the button for its chime and then keyed in its access code. The door hissed open, she slipped through, and then immediately shut it via its interior access panel. The room was dark, illuminated only by the cool light seeping in through the windows. It cast a bluish hue across the space, creating inky shadows in the nooks and crannies of the room. Most notably, it allowed Elara to see the sleepy figure half-propped up in the bed to the side of the room. Obi-Wan had propped himself up on an elbow, eyes half open and bleary. Sleep rumpled hair had slouched across his forehead and into his eyes. It was obvious that she had woken him, and part of her felt guilty for that. But there was no grumbling, no sighing in discontent. Instead, Obi-Wan peeled back the corner of his blanket for her and settled back into the mattress.

Elara approached the bed, tiredly shrugging off her robe. Beneath it she wore her sleep clothes, which were just as rumpled as she felt she looked. The robe slouched to the floor in a heap, and once she toed off her boots, they remained beside the haphazard slump of fabric. Obi-Wan’s eyes had fallen shut again, but he hadn’t fallen back asleep yet. He’d unfurled an arm, laying it out flat in an open invitation. It was one that she accepted thankfully and with ease. Elara crawled into bed, worming her way between the mattress and the blanket. She quietly cuddled herself up against Obi-Wan’s chest, and his arm wrapped around her with a sleepy fondness. A contented, sleepy hum buzzed in the back of her throat, and his head lethargically rolled so he could press his lips to the top of her head.

There were no words exchanged. None needed to be. This had become a routine of sorts. These late nights or early mornings were, truly, some of the only chances they got to be together truly, wholly, and completely alone. They were to be cherished whether or not they were sleepy or invigorated, wordless or talkative. These were their moments of peace; and they took them whenever they could.

#valentine's prompts #LetObiLaraGetFluffy2k21 #obi lara blurb

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seasidewriter1-writes · 4 years ago

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First Austen/Bronte prompt request because I have no self-control when it comes to regency!au 😂 feel free to use both or choose one. I'll be a happy duck either way!

"if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more"

"you, sir, are the most phantom-like of all; you are a mere dream"

Ahh, I love both of these so much!! Enjoy some private, sneaky, Regency!Obi-Lara fluff!!

The weather was most agreeable that day, with the sun having finally broken through the constant curtain of grey clouds. While walks were tolerable so long as the air wasn't too cold, having the chance to stroll in the sun was always much welcomed. Much favored. The onset of spring left the air sweet and cool. There were two individuals taking advantage of the temperate day; they were mere dots of color on the peak of a green hill. Both Mr. Obi-Wan Kenobi and Miss Elara Skywalker were strolling side-by-side across his expansive estate. He had taken her arm to support her as they walked, as common decency dictated. But what common decency would shudder at was this:

They were unchaperoned.

This meeting was rather clandestine in nature. It was not known to Anakin, and it had been planned in quiet conversation when last they saw one another. Elara met Obi-Wan on the far edge of his property, and they strolled wherever they couldn't be seen by anyone in the manor house. Though their spending time with one another wouldn't be out of the ordinary; especially given their newly announced engagement. But til they were married, their being alone was still frowned upon. Not that it, quite obviously, had stopped them from snatching some time alone together.

"If anyone should discover us, our reputations would be ruined," Elara pointed out with a cheeky smile. That bright look was turned on her companion, whose lips curled into the most elegant of smirks.

"If that were to happen, I would simply have to marry you sooner. Save you from potential ruin," he replied.

Obi-Wan folded a hand over the one that Elara had placed in the crook of his arm. It was much to her disappointment that she couldn't feel his skin against hers; the soft kid gloves she'd donned prevented that.

"How gallant of you," she hummed.

"You always were quite partial to my gallantry, weren't you? You find it rather romantic."

A laugh tittered out of Elara's mouth, which then curved into a bright grin. One almost as sunny as the sky above. The couple had reached a beautiful, old sycamore tree. It had a number of low branches that provided a refuge-like alcove, in which the both of them had retreated to before. It was an excellent place to lay a blanket, take some food, and read to one another. A spot where they'd exchanged poetry and prose, and luxuriated in each other's company. It had, in a way, become 'their spot'––and it likely always would be.

"Gallantry comes second to your good nature," Elara admitted. She withdrew her arm from his own and strolled into the shelter of the branches. "Besides," she turned a smirk over her shoulder, "romantic gallantry would require you to compose your letters to me with a little more... ardor."

Elara leaned herself up against the trunk of the tree, her hands tucked between her back and the scratch of bark. Obi-Wan's lips curved into something almost roguish. He approached her silently, with assured steps. Once he was wonderfully too close, he reached for her arms. His palms clasped her elbows tenderly, and his eyes bored into hers with a gentle intensity.

"If I loved you less," Obi-Wan started, his hands starting to glide up towards her shoulders, "I might be able to talk about it more." His hands swept up towards her face, which he proceeded to clasp between them. The warmth of his palms bled into the soft skin of her cheeks enticingly. "You are like a phantom of sorts. You haunt my mind and stay my ability to speak."

The teasing aspect of her smile faded into something rather love-struck. Her glove-clad hands reached out to take hold of the front of his coat. "You, sir, are the most phantom-like of all; you are a mere dream. The sweetest of them, the likes of which I do not wish to wake from."

Obi-Wan pressed himself closer, which in turn had Elara sliding her hands up to his shoulders. His forehead came to rest against hers, which had their noses brushing. "There's no need to wake from this dream," he promised softly.

Elara smiled sweetly. "Good."

The warmth of Obi-Wan's lips brushed intoxicatingly against hers, a warmth that she chased after eagerly. The kiss was slow and burning. A result of keeping passions stayed for the decency of the public, of not even being allowed a brief kiss on the cheek to alleviate the desire. There was a tender heat to this intimate moment, stolen under the shade of the sycamore. There were many more of these moments to come with their impending union; but until then, they would linger in these slow, drawn-out kisses. Kisses that were warm as the spring sun above them, the likes of which lulled them into this dream-like state, one that they most certainly did not have to wake up from.

#balance blurb #balance AU #obi-lara au

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seasidewriter1-writes · 4 years ago

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I would love to see pre-confession Regnecy!Obi-Lara with something like this: “Flirting is a woman’s trade, one must keep in practice.” How though they are very close and friendly, there is still teasing behind the scenes (since it is ever so inappropriate to do so in public), And Elara is flirting more so than usual, if she hadn't really done so much before.

I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to get Regency!Obi-Lara into this situation, and this gave me the prefect chance to do so. The Regency period really gets me writing long-windedly, so I hope you’re ready for a read; hope you enjoy it, and the borderline cheap romance novel level innuendos! :)

The estate that Mr. Kenobi looked after was admittedly remarkable. The house was grand, the grounds lush and respectably large. It would be the perfect place to host a ball, but, unfortunately, he had never offered. The home was not open to the public for gawping; and it was rare anyone outside of Mr. Kenobi’s small social circle ever received an invitation to visit. No one got to see his vast collection of artwork. No one was allowed to peruse the titles in his impressive library. He enjoyed his privacy, that was no secret. And though the rooms were large and well furnished, they felt markedly empty. The halls were too quiet. For the only inhabitants of the home were Obi-Wan himself, and the small staff that saw to the upkeep of the estate, who were quiet as field mice as they went about their work. For a place of momentous beauty, there was a remarkable air of sadness about it.

Elara Skywalker was one of those lucky few that had been invited to the estate. She and her brother Anakain––Obi-Wan’s protégé––were often invited over for tea, or to take the air in a turn about the gardens. Those occasions had allowed Elara to admire the lavish paintings and life-like statues, and upon learning her of her love of reading, she’d been invited to peruse the extensive titles housed in the library. And on those rare nights Obi-Wan had decided to host small, private parties, her name always proceeded her brothers on the list of invitations. This, of course, became source of gossip around town. Though, Elara had learned it was the innocent sort––whisperings of courtship and marriage, which were rampant at this time of year, anyways. They did not bother her; and they did not appear to bother Obi-Wan either. If anything, they were a perfect source of amusement.

On this particular occasion, however, Elara was not at Mr. Kenobi’s estate to admire the swaths of paint brushed over canvas. She wasn’t even there to return the last book he’d allowed her to take from his shelves. Instead, she was there to meet her brother, who’d been engaged in fencing practice with Obi-Wan all morning. She was led by a kindly butler to a room at the back of the lavish house, which faced the sprawling green lawn and flowering garden at the estate’s rear. Its large windows allowed for natural light to spill across a warm hardwood floor, and caused the white walls and gold moulding to glow. It was the sort of room perfect for a ball; but it had been reserved, almost exclusively, for the practice of fencing.

This fact was made perfectly evident by the sound of boots harshly trodding on wood, and the tinny sound of blades meeting. This noise only grew louder when the door was opened, and Elara was allowed a glimpse of the activities inside. As the butler slipped through the door, she spotted Anakin making a tactical retreat as Obi-Wan advanced with a swift sort of grace. The rapid racket of blade meeting blade snapped through the air, and only stopped when the blunted tip of Obi-Wan’s sabre pressed into Anakin’s chest. The blade bowed in a gentle arc at the impact. There was a sigh from Anakin, who lowered his own blade in conceded defeat.

“Sir,” interrupted the butler. Both men snapped their attention towards him, breathing hard in the conclusion of their exercise. “A Miss Skywalker has arrived, sir.” Obi-Wan righted himself at the mention of her name, and she couldn’t help but smile softly down at her feet, still mostly obscured by half-open door. “Shall I have her wait in the parlor?”

He shook his head. “No, thank you, she may enter.”

“Of course, sir.”

The butler stepped aside, pulled the door open fully, and gestured for her to enter. Elara offered her thanks as she stepped past him, and he inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“Ah, sister!” Anakin brightly greeted from the opposite side the room. “Just in time as always.”

A gentle, though slightly crooked, smile pulled across her face. “Yes, just in time to see you get absolutely thrashed by your teacher.”

The grin that had sat on Anakin’s face dissolved just as one on Obi-Wan’s grew. The older man slapped his protégé on the shoulder with a fond chuckle.

“I wouldn’t call it a thrashing. Not this time, at least,” he assured.

Anakin snorted. “How grateful of you to say so.” He moved to the rack at the side of the room, which supported an array of fencing swords. He replaced the one he’d been using and made his way towards his sister. “Allow me but a moment to refresh and redress,” he said.

As he passed Elara on the way out of the room, he placed a hand on one of her cheeks and bent his head to kiss the top of hers fondly. A half-laughed, half-displeased sound hummed at her lips––his hand was sweaty and he didn’t smell particularly rosy. Before Anakin left the room he darted his eyes between his sister and mentor with a silent teasing: I shall trust you alone together just this once.

It was with that that Elara and Obi-Wan were left alone. There was a brazenness in both of their silences. They were both unmarried, which meant that one or both of them should have insisted she be escorted to the parlour to wait for her brother. But neither of them did. This, of course, would have been cause for salacious gossip, especially given Obi-Wan’s state of dress. He was in a state of undress, sans his stock and his jacket, which left him in just his waistcoat and shirt sleeves. This was a state she’d seen her brother in many times; it was, of course, a quite relaxed style gentleman wore at home. But Obi-Wan Kenobi was not her brother. And he looked disarmingly handsome in such a state of undress. His face was pleasingly flushed, his hair a becoming disarray. The collar of his shirt had slouched open to reveal the naked column of his throat and a blush-inducing sliver of his chest. Not to be one caught staring, Elara proceeded to direct her attention to the tall windows, which she then strolled towards.

“I’m afraid your brother must have wished to catch me off guard. He did not mention you would be coming by today,” Obi-Wan admitted. With sword still in hand, he moved to the sideboard where a pitcher of water and a set of glasses waited for him. “If I had known, I would have dressed more appropriately.”

“We shall blame my brother for your impropriety then, Mr. Kenobi. We wouldn’t wish to besmirch your flawless reputation,” Elara replied. She stopped at one of the windows, dutifully observing the garden beyond it. “I shall forgive you, in this instance. I cannot be insulted by your state of dress, for one does not expect a gentleman to fence in the restriction of his jacket.”

“I thank you for your kindness, then, Miss Skywalker. It is most becoming of you.”

With the starts of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, Elara proceeded to meander towards the sword rack. Once there, she delicately reached out to gently brush gloved fingers over the pommel of one particular foil. It was elegantly crafted, a subtle sign of the wealth that Obi-Wan did not care to flaunt. Perhaps, she realized, that was why the estate was never open to the public. He was a humble man; he did not wish to flash his good circumstance in the faces of those who were left wanting.

“Are you... familiar with the blade, Miss Skywalker?” asked Obi-Wan from across the room. There was a lilt of something in his voice, which had her turning her attention on him. There was a sly gleam in his eye, a slight up-tick to the corner of his mouth. The aspect that had entered his voice was teasing, almost, bordering on a kind of boldness that would have made others quietly tut.

The smile on Elara’s face grew widely, but she then forced it back into something coy and small. With a demure little shrug, she turned her attention back to the sword rack. “Not as intimately as others may be, but I have been made aware of the many uses and techniques of the sabre. I have always found myself rather intrigued by them.”

There was a slow plodding of boots against flooring as Obi-Wan crossed the room. It was only when they came to a stop beside her that Elara looked up. A light, roguish smirk played at the corner of his mouth. He pointed to the sword that she’d been admiring.

“That, my dear Miss Skywalker, is a foil. This,” he lifted fencing implement in his hand pointedly, “is a sabre.”

Its hand-guard had been elaborately engraved and burnished, and there were a number of scratches and scuffs marring its once pristine metal. It was clearly well looked after and well loved, but it had seen many practices, and likely many showcases. Elara smiled, a demure little look, and tipped her chin in a means to incline her head.

“Thank you for the correction, Mr. Kenobi. It’s a lovely sabre, the detail work is impeccable.” She turned her attention out the window again, a coyness entering her expression. “Perhaps one day you might allow me to handle it.”

There was a shock of silence between them, interrupted only by a quiet, amused chuckle from Obi-Wan.

“If I didn’t know any better, I might say you were daring to attempt a flirtation,” he drawled.

Elara turned a coy smile on him, which glowed in the pleasant warmth of the afternoon sun. “Flirting is a woman’s trade, one must keep in practice.”

#balance blurb #regency!balance AU #obi-lara AU

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