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Mara’s lightsaber slashed at Luke. He spun and dodged the main thrust of her swing, but just a second short. The tip of her lightsaber sliced into the skin just below his knee. He grunted and stepped back.
Startled, Mara drew back, deactivating her lightsaber. “Oh—are you OK?” She stepped toward him.
He examined the cut. “It’s not deep. It’ll be fine. Let’s take a break.”
He limped to the ‘fresher, detouring to fetch his robe.
“I’m sorry — I didn’t mean to,” Mara was still stunned she’d landed her first blow on him with the lightsaber’s training mode turned off.
“It’s fine,” he repeated. The ‘fresher door slid open and closed behind him.
She gave a frustrated groan and sat on the floor. She’d gotten plenty beat up in training exercises for the Emperor. She’d never felt bad about hurting any of her sparring partners. In front of the Emperor, she fought to win because that’s all he wanted from her. Winning, killing, outsmarting, outrunning, whatever it took.
This was different. She should have pulled back. What if she’d messed up and taken off his leg? Skywalker was always on her to learn control. She thought she was getting better, but this was a startling reminder that she wasn’t.
In the ‘fresher, Luke cleaned the wound and applied a bacta patch. It truly wasn’t deep, and he supposed it was to be expected as soon as you took a student’s saber out of training mode. He’d gotten close to landing a blow on Master Yoda once, just once. And just close. He’d never drawn blood. Because Master Yoda’s knowledge and ability in the Force so far exceeded Luke’s. And Luke would never attain that, if only because his lifespan was not going to exceed 900 years. Luke thought he was becoming a better teacher, but the look on Mara’s face when she’d seen the blood she’d drawn told him differently.
What had made him think he could teach? Pass on what you have learned, Yoda said. How much had Luke learned thoroughly enough to pass on? Compared to what he was learning about the Jedi of his father’s era, he had spent a fraction of their time in training. And yet Yoda has also said, No more training do you require. Already know you that which you need. He didn’t know how to tell if Mara was ready to go off training mode on her lightsaber. He didn’t know how to tell her to quiet a busy mind for meditation when he was still struggling himself. His use of the Force felt so instinctual. When he tried to tell Mara to just follow her instincts, she’d say, “My instincts are coming up empty. Now what?” Now what, indeed?
He shook his head in judgment of his self-pity. That certainly wouldn’t help the situation; he knew from experience. Already know you that which you need. He quieted his squirrelly mind and focused on Yoda’s voice. Yoda’s confidence. Yoda’s belief in him. He meditated a moment on this. Then he hit the door controls and stepped back into the training room.
“I’m sorry—” she started.
“Really, Mara, it’s fine,” he said, meaning it this time. “It’s just a scratch.” Recalling the first time he’d dressed her wounds, he went for a laugh. “Another scar won’t matter — I’ve collected plenty of them so far.”
She spluttered at the reference. “That’s not the same!”
“I’m kidding — it’s not even going to leave a scar, I’ll bet.” Her shocked and guilty reaction did not shift. “Look, we’ll go back to training mode for a little while but then we’ll come back to this. We have to. We’ll figure it out. We’ve both trained on all kinds of weapons. You more than me, I’ll bet, at least for hand weapons. We’ll get it.”
“I don’t know,” she mumbled. “Maybe I’m not cut out to do this.”
Luke bit back the first retort that came to mind. And the second. Debating the point would do nothing. He tried Yoda’s approach. “You know more than you think. When you trust your instincts, they come through for you.”
She scoffed. “My instincts told me I should serve the Emperor for years. They are completely untrustworthy.”
“Are they? You decided to walk away in the end.” She hadn’t said why, not yet.
“Eventually. If it takes me that long to learn to spar with a lightsaber, there will only be tiny pieces of you left.”
He laughed at that, genuinely. That sound alone was a comfort to her, though she hated to admit it.
“OK, then. How about I join your little pity party and tell you about how I’m not cut out to teach?”
She looked up sharply at the last. He shrugged. “It’s crossed my mind.”
“You are not the problem,” she insisted.
“You only believe you are the problem because of what someone else told you. And he does not get a vote in this room. The fact that he said it is excellent evidence that the opposite is true.”
She chuckled at this. “He didn’t lie all the time,” she said, but it sounded automatic.
“OK, well we’re definitely going to continue to train until you stop defending Palpatine’s methods. Or until we both agree that the problem is either you or me. How’s that?”
That shouldn’t take long, Mara thought. Even the King of Hope will figure out I’m a lost cause at some point. Or, if she was really desperate, she could take the other out he had just offered, knowingly or not. She could pretend to agree that he was the problem after all. If she really needed to.
“OK, deal,” she nodded.
Negotiation, he noted with satisfaction. Yoda would never have made a deal with Luke like that. Clearly, the trick with this training effort was going to be learning when to use the techniques Yoda had used with him, and when to experiment with something new.
He offered her a hand. She rose from the ground, patently ignoring it. He grinned and shook his head at her consistent refusal of help.
“OK, enough sparring for today.” Luke started to jog in place. “How about a run?” He jogged to the door controls and turned around to face her as he jogged backward over the threshold. “Race you to the big tree?”
Mara studied his feet hitting the ground rhythmically and did not see any sign of a limp nor blood seeping through the bacta patch he’d just applied. Looks like he’ll live, she had to admit. Maybe we’ll both survive this process after all. She smirked at this thought, looked at him, then dashed past him toward the big tree.
“Loser makes dinner!” Her voice floated back to him, as he closed the door and rushed after her.