𝕮𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄
━━𝑨 𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑳𝑬 𝑫𝑨𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑯𝑨𝑺 𝑵𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑹 𝑯𝑼𝑹𝑻 𝑨𝑵𝒀𝑩𝑶𝑫𝒀 !

❝ 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙠?

𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨𝙣'𝙩? ❞

━━ 𝘊𝘌𝘝𝘈𝘙𝘠𝘈
𝟭𝟬 𝗱𝗮𝘆𝘀, 𝟬𝟳 𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀, 𝟬𝟯 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝘂𝘁𝗲𝘀

𝕿𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗢𝗡𝗦 𝗔𝗥𝗘 at their highest, and all a stranger might see is the beauty of the scenery lit by those pale blue orbs: a luminous dining hall atop an obsidian rock spiking up amidst the raging ocean like a balled fist, the delicious food presented on golden plates, the courtiers leaning over the balconies to catch nocturnal butterflies on their hands, filigrane wings emitting a warm glow on their palms.

Neira sees a battlefield under a starry sky. She sees humans dressed up as gods who don't pretend to care about the dice they toss, a struggle of power and about who plays their part the best. She sees a place where words are even more cruel than weapons, and where nobody needs to be armed heavily – at least not with knives made out of steel and metal.

The most beautiful battlefields are the cruelest ones: blended by it's grace you don't even realize what you lose before it's too late.

In stark contrast to Obi-Wan, Neira has already learnt to navigate in this turbulent, goldlaced waters that are Cevarya's politics, she is actually one to dare to try and control it. So she sees words yielded like swords and sentences shot like bullets, bright smiles and clenched fists, facades on the verge of crumbling. Stakes so high even the gods would flinch.

The Cevaryans don't.

Politics is a war on Cevarya, a war that is a well-known game to Neira.

A game of which she is on top, one that she hates and loves at the same time. She is good at it, these fights – her smile is the most dangerous weapon of them all, slightly curled red lips are a sign that her opponent has lost before he even realizes. No bulletprood wests, why would she need such thing? A dress is more powerful than these could ever be. Black midnight silk wrapped around her silhouette held by small straps on her shoulders gives sight to her tanned arms and shoulders, powdered with shimmering gold. The soft skirt swings around her legs with every step, its surface catching the aureate light of the candles and absorbing it into the fabric until no one is sure whether she is a flame or girl.

An armour of protection to hide what is hidden beneath, buried deep down. But from herself or from the world, Neira doesn't know.

She spots the Jedi in the crowd again, his auburn hair and simple beige and brown robes standing out between all the courtiers. Obi-Wan Kenobi, that is his name – she heard him introducing himself to a courtier earlier.

They have met briefly earlier, and from what she has deducted from their short meeting, his bright eyes and relaxed posture, he carries a calmness in him that nobody else here has – and there is kindness in him as well, unfortunately. Unfortunately, since it will make him a harder opponent to face – Neira doesn't like the thought of betraying what is good in this world, but the stakes are just too high for such sentiments.

Even now as he moves between the courtiers, an aura of peace and tranquility emerges in gentle ripples off him, she can even sense it from the other side of the room – wind washing over a silent aquamarine ocean, the smell of old books and wisdom, a gentle hand yielding a sword in the name of peace. He must have noticed her glance, because he looks up and Neira quickly turns her face away.

He will be a threat. He already is. Their plan – a product of a mother's finesse and a daughter's dreams - is so close to succeeding, they cannot leave any pieces hanging.

Neira has to get closer. Entangle him in their web of lies and plans until he is predictable like the others, carefully guiding his attention away from what he might find suspicious, find out how much he knows, in what patterns his brain works.

To understand your opponent is the first victory.

And she knows how.

A dance is quite a unique situation – for a certain amount of time two people, strangers even, are tied together just by music and a pattern of steps, inevitably exposing information even without a word being spoken. But most importantly it gives a chance to analyze, to lace a casual conversation with questions, investigating ever so subtly that – if you're good enough – the other one doesn't notice. A dance has the habit of catching us off guard.

It turns the floor into a game of chess, a board of squares Neira can control. One she can reign.

She knows those things. And is certain that the jedi has to become a piece on their board. 

𝕾𝗢𝗠𝗘 𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘 𝗛𝗔𝗦 passed since Obi-Wan had spoken to Bryaenna – but the evening is far from over. First, the courtiers have gathered around circular tables covered in expensive snow-white linen, sitting down on delicate chairs. After they sat, servants brought large, generous amounts of food Obi-Wan had never seen before. They dined on golden plates – a rich, flavourful, menu, every bite gracing his mouth with spices unknown to him.

But it was light enough to let them all dance half an hour later again. He watches from afar, back leaned against moonlight stone, occasionally engaged in a conversation with different Councilmembers and Ministers.

Neira Alberya is not far from him on a balcony outside, a neutral smile playing upon her lips and the light of the lanterns shining in her dark eyes. From what he has heard this evening she is designated a calezny, directly translated a "daughter of the council" – not yet as powerful as her mother, but still quite high-ranking and equipped with special rights and duties.

Obi-Wan is looking over the city, mesmerized by its lights and so he doesn't notice that Neira is now standing in front of him.

"Will you grant me a dance, Kenobi?"

He cannot quite hide his surprise upon her question, opens his mouth and closes it again while thinking of a way to answer.

He doesn't dance. He has never.

But this is a new court and maybe a tradition here – he is here as a guest, and most importantly as an investigator.

And so Obi-Wan says: "It would be an honor."

An honor. And his doom?

She sets her glass of sparkling champagne aside, taking his hand. Guiding him to a free spot between the all the other dancers while the music arises again. Obi-Wan glances to both sides descreetly, a bit clueless about what he is meant to do.

Neira must have seen his hesitation, because she says: "Don't worry, it's an easy pattern."

They stand opposite of each other, a conductor gently raises his hands and music washes over him, now hitting him fully for the first time since he is now in the centre of it. A beautiful melody, a harmony that belongs as an echo between the stars, not from this world and not from this universe. It sings of freedom to him, of honey sweet like starlight, being lost in an ocean of bold dreams crowned by a starry night.

The choreography is easy indeed, it doesn't take him long to get used to the light, beautiful steps until he forms a unit with the dancers, until they are whirling over the shining dancefloor.

"I am Neira, by the way," she introduces herself without any further explanation.

"I know."

She arches a brow, taking a graceful turn to the side. "Looks like we both know each other's names before we even met. You're quite famous, you know. Even here."

He smiles slightly, and they find themselves opposite from each other again. "Am I? Well, that's flattering to hear."

"I saw you talking to my mother earlier," she picks up the conversation again after a few heartbeats of silence filled by the heavenly symphony. "What was it about?"

"She asked me to guard in the afternoons since there is an increased danger through the rebellions."

"Oh." She seems pleasantly surprised and almost a bit puzzled.

Again, they fall silent, lost in those divine melodies, in the lights above and beneath them, hovering somewhere in a blistering sky. The fabric of her dress is soft underneath his hands, the wide skirts floating around them.

"You don't seem to be dancing very often, do you?"

"It's not really a main part of my life as a Jedi."

The edges of her mouth lift slightly, and as they turn again the lights around them start to blur, and so do the conversations – until they fade out, replaced by the music and the sweet night, until the world around them is nothing more than a cocoon of light. "What is it then, if not dancing?"

"How does keeping the peace sound?"

"Very bold regarding the fact that the galaxy is at war." She rises a brow. "Don't get me wrong, I am deeply grateful that you will watch the rebellions here."

Obi-Wan nods, finding himself enjoy the way her words challenge him. It is the first conversation like that this evening. "It is my duty. My duty as a peacekeeper."

"Peacekeeper or soldier?"

He doesn't look away. "Peacekeeper. And we have to remember that now more than ever."

"Solving this war by remembering who we are?" she tilts her head to the side, narrowing her eyes. "Sounds easy, provided that you know who you are first, of course." Their silhouettes are mirrored on the alabast floor, whirling over it so energetically.

"I most certainly think that remembering our roots and moral sometimes solves problems before they even rise." He stretches out a hand and she takes it.

And once again, the melody arises, filling his heart with gold and mercury light to the brim. He has never experienced anything like this, it almost makes him forget his name. "You've met the council and the court. Do you think they are willing to remember their roots? Or rather, do you think they should?"

"I haven't known this court for long enough to have an opinion about that," Obi-Wan says carefully even though he definitely already has an opinion about the people here. Not a very good one, though. They dwell in to him unimaginable luxuries, seeking for fleeting pleasure between champagne and excellent music while the galaxy bleeds, crimson flecking innocent hands.

Neira searches his expression for any hints of his true feelings. "Don't be afraid to say what you really think. It's not like your opinions would hurt anyone here – most of them are hiding behind a mask, never showing their real face."

"And what about you, are you wearing a mask?"

For a second she seems out of balance by his direct question, but the moment passes so quickly that Obi-Wan must have just imagined it.

Finally, Neira answers. "And you don't?" As he doesn't reply she continues softly: "I don't think this is a question to ask someone you just met."

She turns and he pulls her back. "But isn't the real question: who doesn't?"

𝖂𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗬 𝗔𝗥𝗘 caught on a battlefield, a chessboard or a moonstone dancefloor – they won't escape it anymore.

The cosmos rose and the stars bowed to create this one moment, to set the path for what is to come. As the music fades out and the crowd drifts to a falling night, the game isn't over yet, pieces are still moving.

But neither Obi-Wan nor Neira see which ones.

✧･ﾟ:* 𝕬𝘜𝘛𝘏𝘖𝘙'𝘚  𝘕𝘖𝘛𝘌 *:･ﾟ✧

sums it up pretty well ig

OMFG IM SO SORRY THAT THIS TOOK SO LONG yuh every week kinda was a lie then 😳 but i'll try to update soon next week since i am kinda hyped myself for what is to come

BUT YES HERE WE GOO tbfh i was vv unsure about this scene, but i hope you liked it!! i'd love to her your thoughts about it!!

not me having this idea since last may or june or so...bro i even tried to draw it but nope didn't work out

also massive thanks again to miss char who dealt with beta reading this again ilyy

TYSM FOR READING & SEE U NEXT TIME!! 💗💗