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batsutousaiTitle: What Have We Become
Series: Make a Brand New End
Fandom: Star Wars
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Alternate Universe, Time Travel Fix-it, character suffering from PTSD, jedi are terrible at all relationships, war flashbacks, angst, hurt/comfort, found family, jedi families, Qui-Gon's trying, Obi-Wan needs a hug, Feemor needs a hug, everyone gets a hug (eventually)
Summary: One of Feemor's greatest regrets, was that he never had the chance to get to know his brother-padawan, but the Force is willing to give him one more chance. And maybe, if he's lucky, he can finally make amends with his former master and save them all in the process.
A/N: I'm so glad people are excited about having Feemor the time traveller! This chapter he gets to start being the overprotective big brother Obi-Wan deserves.
I made a very minor change in the first chapter, changing all instances of 'clone(s)' to 'Vod(e)', because I'm working on another fic in this series and Feemor kept getting twitchy about how derogatory 'clone' sounded, so I let him change it. Which also meant changing it in the part of this already posted. So. *shrugs a bit* Anyway, it's uppercase because he's treating it like a proper noun, like a nationality (worldity? planetity?) or race/species, rather than just a term. Idk, it made sense in my brain? That was probably my first mistake...
Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.
Feemor had ended up hiding in the ship while Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Skywalker waited for the rest of their party, borrowing Qui-Gon's travel pack and picking through his former master's belongings for the spare tunics and leggings. It was hardly his preferred colour—Qui-Gon had always preferred the classic dull beige, while Feemor much preferred a more orange shade of brown—and the arms of the tunics and legs of the leggings were a little long, but at least it wasn't patient robes, so he'd make do.
(And maybe shred the patient robes to make himself a belt for his sabre.)
He was just finishing shoving his feet back into his boots, when Obi-Wan stormed into the room, looking a little like he wanted to murder something.
"Obi-Wan?" he asked quietly.
Obi-Wan flinched, head snapping up to look at him, and then he deflated. "How much do you know about, about Ani? The boy," he asked in an uncertain voice.
"Skywalker?" Feemor asked, and Obi-Wan nodded, dropping tiredly onto one of the two sleep couches. "I know–" He hesitated, debating how much to tell his brother-padawan about what had happened in the future. He cleared his throat, twisting his fingers together behind his back. "I know that, when our master died, you took him on as your padawan."
Obi-Wan jerked, his head coming up to reveal eyes wide with disbelieving shock. "Me? Take a padawan? Oh, no, that is– I mean, uh, don't, don't take me wrong, I love the crèche and the younglings just fine, but I'm, well–" He held his arms out to either side. "Look at me. I'm still a padawan! And Master Qui-Gon might have said I'm ready for my Trials, but I know that's only because he wants to take Ani as his padawan–"
"I'm sorry," Feemor interrupted as warning bells went off in his head. "Why do you think Qui-Gon would send you to your Trials just to train Skywalker?"
"I– Be–because that's what he said. To the Council."
The rage that washed through him wasn't really a surprise, even if it should have been; he'd spent almost twenty years trying to talk his friends down from outright attacking Qui-Gon in some misguided defence of Feemor's trampled honour. Between Qui-Gon's death and the (presumed) proof that he'd managed to raise at least one padawan without destroying something inside him—because Obi-Wan Kenobi had always seemed the best of them, though Feemor had allowed himself some private glee at the thought of Qui-Gon's face if he'd been alive to see one of his padawans join the Council—he'd finally started to let the old pain, the whisper of anger at being repudiated because of Xanatos, go.
Except, apparently, Obi-Wan hadn't managed to survive their master without some scars, and while Feemor would never have called Qui-Gon out in his own defence, there was no way he was going to let his little brother go on thinking he was some sort of, of stepping stone on Qui-Gon's path through life.
The door to the cabin opened again, admitting the very focus of his anger, who was saying, "I told Her Majesty that we had one more, and–"
Feemor stepped up to Qui-Gon and punched him in the middle of his crooked nose, causing him to stumble back out into the hall, almost tripping over Skywalker before the door closed between them.
"Master!" Obi-Wan called, rising from the sleep couch in a rush. "Why did you do that?!" he demanded.
"Because he karking well deserved it," Feemor replied, and was a little disturbed at how much of a snarl was in his voice.
The door opened again and Qui-Gon and Skywalker stepped through, Qui-Gon holding a hand over his nose. "Feemor," he said, disapproving and only slightly nasally, so it was unlikely Feemor had managed to rebreak his nose.
"Qui-Gon," Feemor returned icily. "Do you actually care that you've done the same thing to Obi-Wan as you did to me?"
Qui-Gon blinked and shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said after a long, tense moment of silence, gingerly lowering his hand from his nose as he spoke. There was blood staining his moustache and beard, but little enough that Feemor suspected he'd applied Force healing nearly automatically.
"So you didn't repudiate him in front of the Council?" Feemor demanded.
Qui-Gon jerked back, his eyes jerking over to where Obi-Wan was standing just behind and two steps to the right of Feemor. "Obi-Wan, that's not–"
"You have a problem, Master," Feemor interrupted, and Qui-Gon, unexpectedly, looked down at the floor, like he was actually ashamed of himself. "When we get back to Coruscant, you need to go to the Council and take back everything you said to them. I will help you argue for Sky– for Anakin's placement in the crèche, because I've seen what an excellent knight he can become, but I will not support your claim on him, not after this. Stay in the Temple and teach a few classes, if you feel the need to be a teacher, but I think you've had enough padawans."
"Do you, now?" Qui-Gon growled, no longer looking even the slightest bit ashamed.
"You've repudiated me, Xanatos Fell, and you just repudiated Obi-Wan," Feemor shot back, refusing to back down. "You're three for three, and now you want to kriff up with a fourth? Even Master Yan knew when it was time to quit."
Qui-Gon straightened, using the five centimetres height difference to loom down on Feemor. "If not for Yoda's meddling, I would have stopped after Xan," he bit out.
Obi-Wan let out a nearly silent wounded sound, and Feemor had to grip his hands behind his back to keep from punching his master again.
"Right," Feemor bit out. "Blame the troll, that always helps matters."
Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes.
Fingers plucked at the sleeve of Feemor's borrowed tunic, and shame washed through him; Obi-Wan should not have had to listen to Feemor dredging up all of the old wounds their master had inflicted, and neither, honestly, should Skywalker, who was standing just inside the—thankfully closed—door, back to the wall and his eyes wide and a little terrified.
Gritting his teeth and leashing his anger, Feemor asked, "Queen Amidala wanted to meet me?" in his most diplomatic voice.
Qui-Gon's jaw clenched and he gave a jerky nod, before saying, in an equally diplomatic voice, "Yes, she'd like to be introduced to all of her protectors."
"Of course," Feemor agreed, turning to Obi-Wan. "Might you be willing to show me the way, while Master Jinn washes his face?"
"Yes, of course," Obi-Wan got out in a rush, relief chasing across his face. "Ani? Did you want to stay here, or–?"
"I wanna see Padmé," Skywalker said quietly, sounding so very much like a terrified youngling.
Feemor was really wishing he'd picked a better time to have it out with Qui-Gon.
"I'm sure the queen will know where she is," Obi-Wan promised, holding down a hand for the boy, which Skywalker hesitated for a moment before taking.
Feemor and Qui-Gon traded places without touching or looking at each other, and Feemor followed Obi-Wan and Skywalker out of the room, leaving the elder master to clean the blood off his face in peace.
"I'm sorry," Feemor offered once the door had closed behind them. "That...should have been done in private."
Neither Obi-Wan nor Skywalker responded for a half-dozen steps, and then Obi-Wan said, "I had wondered, why he'd never mentioned you."
"Xanatos would have been delighted to know he'd overshadowed me to such a degree that you didn't even know I existed," Feemor said, and he couldn't help how bitter the words were on his tongue.
"Shadows and hatred were all Xanatos was good for," Obi-Wan offered, glancing over at Feemor with a slightly hopeful air.
"Oh, I don't know, he was pretty good at unnecessary amounts of drama, too."
The corners of Obi-Wan's mouth turned up with the beginnings of a smile. "I always thought the drama was learnt from Qui-Gon."
Feemor coughed against a laugh. "If so, it really originated with Master Yan."
"Master Yan?" Obi-Wan repeated.
Feemor blinked, then frowned in thought; had Obi-Wan never met their grandmaster? "Yan Dooku, our grandmaster." He cast a quick glance at Obi-Wan, taking in the furrow between his brows. "He's never got on well with the Council, less so even than Qui-Gon; he doesn't spend much time in the Temple."
"I didn't realise you could get on with the Council less than Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan muttered.
Feemor grimaced, aware of exactly how far against the Council their grandmaster was destined to go.
Thankfully, before they could get any further into that minefield, they reached what appeared to be queen's ship-based throne room.
"Padawan Kenobi," the queen greeted as they stopped in the middle of the room, Obi-Wan and Skywalker in the lead. "And Anakin."
"Is Padmé here?" Skywalker asked quietly.
The queen looked over to where one of the women dressed in orange was standing, and she stepped forward. "I am, Ani."
Skywalker dropped Obi-Wan's hand and rushed over to her, hiding in her skirts.
"What's happened?" the young woman demanded, looking between Obi-Wan and Feemor with the sort of authority that Feemor wouldn't have expected from a handmaiden.
"My fault, I'm afraid," Feemor offered, stepping up to stand beside his brother-padawan and offering a bow to the queen. (Well, the woman sitting on the throne, at least; Naboo certainly wouldn't be the first world he'd treated with that used a decoy system to protect their rulers.) "I am Jedi Master and Ambassador Feemor."
Next to him, Obi-Wan twitched at the 'master'.
Turning to 'Padmé' and Skywalker, he explained, "Master Jinn and I have...history. Some things needed to be said between us, and I'm afraid they were said without thought for bystanders."
'Padmé' frowned, but nodded, her fingers carding through Skywalker's mop of blond hair. "I always thought jedi were supposed to be calm and collected, especially jedi masters," she said, just a little too pointed.
Feemor shrugged, keeping on his polite, diplomatic smile. "We are all yet beholden to the species we were born to, miss," he offered. "Just as you have emotions that can get the best of you, so do we jedi. We're simply better at hiding them."
'Padmé' hummed an acknowledgement, turning to focus her attention on Skywalker.
Feemor sensed Qui-Gon approaching and stepped off to the side, leaving space in the centre of the floor for the elder master, which he stepped into as soon as he arrived, bowing to the 'queen'.
With everyone gathered in one space, they set about hashing out their plans upon their arrival. Feemor was relieved that he wasn't the only one who felt sceptical about the queen's plan to involve the Gungans—Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and the captain of the queen's guard, Quarsh Panaka, all felt very uncertain as she laid out her plan, while their Gungan contact, Jar-Jar Binks, was practically bleeding low-level panic and anxiety into the Force—but none of them bothered trying more than a token effort to talk her out of it.
(In truth, it was very likely the only possible plan, given their numbers and the numbers that could be assumed the Trade Federation had.)
By the time they broke for the night, nearly everyone was yawning, including Feemor—clearly, he still hadn't slept enough to fix whatever the Force had done to him—and Skywalker had fallen asleep and been taken from the room by one of the other handmaidens, which just made Feemor that much more suspicious of 'Padmé's' identity.
There wasn't much space on the ship, which Feemor had to admit hadn't figured into his choice to tag along.
"Ani's sleeping on the bench in the galley," Obi-Wan told Feemor and Qui-Gon after he'd checked in with the handmaiden who had taken the boy from 'Padmé' earlier. He cast a quick, uncertain look between them. "I'll go stay with him."
"Yes," Qui-Gon said in that mild tone he always used to hide something, "that may be for the best."
Feemor didn't sigh, but it was a near thing.
It was...strange, how easy it was to fall back into the old patterns he and Qui-Gon had developed over the course of his apprenticeship, easily staying out of each other's way as they traded using the 'fresher and changed into clothing for sleeping—Feemor used the patient robes, a little glad he hadn't yet had time to turn them into a belt.
It wasn't until they had both settled down on their sleeping couches and the lights in the cabin had been turned out that Qui-Gon said, "I'm sorry."
"For me, or for Obi-Wan?" Feemor asked, and he hated how bitterly the words came out.
Qui-Gon was silent for a beat, then he said, "Both."
Feemor sighed. "Just...make things right with Obi-Wan. Before we get to Naboo."
Qui-Gon was quiet for long enough, Feemor honestly thought that was the end of the conversation, but just as he was starting to drift off, his former master said, "You've never been prone to visions."
"No," Feemor agreed tiredly; leave it to Qui-Gon Jinn to start questioning him about this now.
Qui-Gon shifted on the other couch. "My death, Ani becoming an excellent knight... Anything else you saw?"
"Obi-Wan joining the Council," Feemor offered.
"He what?!" Qui-Gon demanded, sounding horrified.
Feemor laughed; yes, he'd known Qui-Gon would have been aghast at that.
The lights of the cabin flared back on, and Feemor squinted over to see his former master sitting up and glowering at him. "Not funny, Feemor."
Feemor coughed against another laugh. "He really did. He took Master Billaba's spot."
Qui-Gon frowned. "What happened to Depa?" And then, before Feemor could answer, he shook his head and said, "No, I'm sure you've no idea."
"I do...mostly," Feemor offered, not quite certain why he wasn't accepting the easy out. Maybe because a part of him missed having Qui-Gon to lean on, had for a very long time. "A...mission on Haruun Kal went poorly. She was in a coma for almost two years."
Qui-Gon was very, very still, watching Feemor with his sharp, too-clever eyes.
Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, Feemor sat up himself, slipping his hands under the blanket so he could fidget with them without Qui-Gon seeing, the same way he'd always done as a padawan.
Qui-Gon's eyes flickered down to his lap, but he didn't comment on the old bad habit, just said, "This doesn't sound like a vision, Feemor," in a quiet, careful voice.
"No," Feemor agreed just as quietly. "It– Master, it didn't feel like a vision, either. It felt like, like–" He let out an irritated breath and loosened his hands from each other so he could reach up and rake one through his hair, fingers catching on knots between the strands. "It feels like a second chance. To, to fix everything that went wrong. The sith came back and there was a war and just–" He gave a sharp shake of his head. "You, Wangui, Rún, Roimata, Vega, Ace, even Master Yan. I– Kei and Yoda were all I had left, Master."
It wasn't until Qui-Gon was settling on the couch beside him and curling a hand around his shoulder, that Feemor realised there were tears on his face. And he twisted and pressed his face against his master's shoulder, sobbing out thirteen years' worth of loss and trusting that, for once, there was someone there who would keep him safe.
"I'm sorry, Padawan," Qui-Gon whispered as Feemor started to calm down.
Feemor let himself take another moment of the comfort he'd lost a long time ago, then pulled away. "What's done is done," he said quietly, brushing a hand over the stain of tears on his face. He snorted, couldn't bring himself to look at Qui-Gon as he added, "And it seems the Force saw fit to give me a second chance. For some reason."
Qui-Gon reached out and squeezed his shoulder, the grip warm and familiar. "I'm glad," he said. "I have...missed you."
Feemor scoffed and cast a tiredly unimpressed look at the older man. "Whose fault was that, I wonder?"
Qui-Gon winced and inclined his head. "That's– Yes." He took a deep breath and caught Feemor's gaze. "What I did... Feemor, I'd never meant to hurt you. I was just–"
"You forget, Qui-Gon," Feemor interrupted flatly, because he wasn't certain he could listen to the excuses he was certain were coming, "I know how you get when Master Yan starts picking at you for some stupid reason or another. I know you were just reacting, badly, to Xanatos throwing you and the whole Order under the speeder. If it had been personal, I'd have let Kei have at you."
Qui-Gon snorted. "I'm not afraid of Kimura," he insisted.
Feemor nodded and politely didn't call him on that bantha poodoo. (Although, to be fair, he may not be aware of exactly how difficult his life would have got, having a member of the Temple Guard out for his blood. He wasn't even completely certain Qui-Gon knew Kei was a member of the Guard; he hadn't taken the position until after Xanatos left, and Feemor would never buy his insistence that he hadn't done it for the chance to anonymously give Qui-Gon hell.)
Qui-Gon's brow furrowed, his thoughts clearly tracking away from the matter of Kei's attempts at vengeance. "You said...Yoda and Kimura, they were the only ones who...survived?"
Feemor threaded his fingers together in an attempt to keep from fidgeting. "In my circle, that I knew about, yes," he admitted quietly.
Qui-Gon's eyes closed, grief passing over his face. "Then, Obi-Wan–"
Oh, Feemor felt a bit like an idiot. "He was still alive, when I, when I died." Was shot. By someone he'd trusted.
Qui-Gon looked at him, brow lined with confusion. "But, then...?"
"I...never got to know him. Master Yoda, he helped me keep tabs on him, kept me updated, but I didn't– I, I never knew how to approach him. You died and he took on Sky–Anakin as his padawan–"
"Oh," Qui-Gon whispered, looking a bit surprised.
"–and he, Anakin, he was struggling. Too far behind, no way to relate to other padawans and no common ground with any of the initiates. Obi-Wan had his hands full, and I didn't want to add to that, make everything worse. And then, then Wangui was knighted and died on her first mission, and I–"
"I know," Qui-Gon said quietly, squeezing his shoulder again, and Feemor suspected he did, because Xanatos may have left the Order of his own volition, but he'd still been gone, and Qui-Gon had responded by pulling away from everyone and everything to mourn. And then he offered Feemor an uncertain smile. "Wangui, she's your current padawan?"
Feemor nodded. "She's, well, I left her back at Temple. Taking a fourteen-year-old to fight a sith lord seems like a bad idea."
"Ah." Qui-Gon looked away, towards the door of the cabin. "I expect you would have preferred Ani remain at the Temple."
"Absolutely," Feemor returned flatly, and Qui-Gon winced. He sighed and reached up to squeeze his former master's arm. "But I understand. The Temple isn't willing to accept him, not quite; it would be cruel to leave him somewhere he feels unwanted. And–" he huffed "–from what I heard, he was—will be?—essential to Naboo's freedom."
"Well, that's..." Qui-Gon grimaced.
"Disconcerting?"
"Rather."
Eerily in sync, they raised their eyebrows at each other. Feemor broke first, looking away with a quiet huff of laughter.
Qui-Gon's hand left his shoulder to muss his hair as he stood from the couch. "Get some sleep, Feemor. We'll see if Her Majesty will let you and Obi-Wan use the throne room to practise tomorrow; I expect it's a bad idea to face a sith with people you've never fought beside."
"Ah." Feemor nodded. "Yes. Also, I've—well, the me that's more immediate in my memories—I've been using Soresu."
"Soresu?" Qui-Gon repeated as the lights went out, sounding wounded. "What happened to Ataru?"
"Ataru is well and good against one or two opponents, Master, but I've spent the last three years of my life trying to protect as many people as I could from a hail of blaster bolts."
Qui-Gon was silent and still for a long, long moment, then he said, "I don't think I like this future you experienced."
"Nor did I."
Qui-Gon settled himself on his couch, Feemor following suit. "Good night, Feemor," Qui-Gon offered into the darkness of the cabin. "I'm glad you're here."
Feemor swallowed against a lump in his throat, and whispered back, "Good night, Master."
Whether it was a reward for catching Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan up and inserting himself into their mission, or if he'd just purged the most immediate of his fears and grief during his cry, Feemor couldn't say, but he had one of the most restful sleeps of the past...
Actually, he really couldn't remember the last time he'd managed to sleep the night through and woken feeling rested.
"Are you two okay, now?" Obi-Wan asked when Feemor joined him and Skywalker in the galley. Given Qui-Gon had decided to go and ask the queen about using the throne room before breakfast, so it was just him, it was a bit of a valid question.
Feemor nodded as he looked through the shipboard ration packs, grimacing a bit at the options; just because he was used to rations, after three years at war, didn't mean he liked them. "As much as we'll probably ever be," he admitted, because he knew himself far too well to believe he wouldn't pull the whole mess out and use it to hurt Qui-Gon if they got into another fight about something and he felt like he was losing.
(He wasn't always the best jedi, but he had learnt that it was better to acknowledge his failings, at least privately, than to ignore them and end up endangering someone else with his ignorance. It was something Yoda had tried to get him to see after Wangui's death, when he spent almost an entire year avoiding the Temple, but it had been Doc and Pomp—trying so very hard to get him to stop pretending his insomnia wasn't a problem—who had finally taught him the lesson.)
"Qui-Gon went to ask Her Majesty if we can use the throne room to practise fighting together," he added as he joined Obi-Wan and Skywalker at the table.
"That...is a good idea," Obi-Wan admitted with a wry smile.
"You're going to practise with your laser-swords?!" Skywalker asked, perking up.
"Lightsabres," Feemor corrected gently, and Skywalker wrinkled his nose. "And, yes, we are. Obi-Wan and I have never fought together, and Qui-Gon and I... Well, it's been a while."
Skywalker looked down into his lap, looking uncertain. "You and Mr Qui-Gon, you don't like each other?"
"What?" Feemor blinked a couple of times, thrown by the question; what had even given Skywalker that idea? He'd got into a fight with Qui-Gon, sure, but that didn't mean they didn't like each other!
"No, it's, hm." Obi-Wan tugged on his braid twice, looking thoughtful. "You have friends, back on Tatooine, right?"
Skywalker glanced over at Obi-Wan with a small frown, nodding. "Kitster and Banai, yeah."
"Did you ever get into a fight with either of them?"
Skywalker nodded again, glancing at Feemor. "Then, you and Mr Qui-Gon, you're just having a fight?"
"It's a bit more complicated than that," Qui-Gon said, announcing his entrance to the room. "Think of it more like, I did something that hurt Feemor, a long time ago, and never apologised like I should have." He dropped a gentle hand to Feemor's shoulder and squeezed.
Feemor offered him a wry smile.
"Oh," Skywalker said, sounding dejected.
"Unfortunately, Ani, even jedi masters make mistakes," Qui-Gon told the boy with that helplessly apologetic smile he tended to pull out when he wasn't certain how to fix something. He squeezed Feemor's shoulder again, then pulled away, heading for the cupboard of rations. "Her Majesty has agreed to let us use the throne room for the morning, but has warned that some of the others on board may wish to observe. I told her that should be okay."
"Really?" Skywalker asked, perking right back up. "We can watch?"
"So long as you stay in one spot, close to the walls, it shouldn't be a problem," Feemor agreed with a shrug, while Obi-Wan nodded. He glanced at his brother-padawan and asked, "Ataru?"
Obi-Wan offered a crooked smile in response. "What a surprisingly good guess," he said in a dry voice, and Feemor chuckled. "Ataru as well?"
Feemor raised his hand to make a so-so gesture. "I've actually been using more Soresu, of late. But, yes, Ataru. And some Makashi."
Qui-Gon scoffed. "Makashi," he muttered, as disgusted as ever as the form Yan swore by.
Obi-Wan hid a polite cough into one hand—he might not have ever met their grandmaster, but he'd clearly been subjected to their master's view on his favourite form—while Feemor rolled his eyes and said, "Given we're expecting to face another lightsabre wielder, Makashi might be the best choice."
Qui-Gon turned an honest-to-Force horrified look on him.
Obi-Wan choked out a laugh and ducked his head towards the table.
Feemor turned a serene smile on his former master. "I didn't say you had to use it yourself, Master, though I expect you're the best of the three of us with it."
Qui-Gon looked like he wanted to refuse, but then he grimaced. "Using Makashi is something I wouldn't have done without you here," he said.
Feemor stiffened, while Obi-Wan went very, very still next to him.
Qui-Gon sighed. "I'm rather out of practice, I'm afraid."
Feemor looked down to watch his fingers smoothing over the edges of his empty ration package, wondering exactly how long he'd been fidgeting with it. "It sounds like we all need some time practising, then," he offered in a perfectly neutral voice.
"So it seems," Qui-Gon agreed in the same.
Obi-Wan let out a explosive gust of air and slumped in his seat, leaning a little bit closer to Feemor.
Feemor—whose first padawan, Ace, had used the same move to request a hug when they weren't certain it would be allowed or welcomed—shifted closer and wrapped his arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders.
Obi-Wan tensed for a second, like he hadn't expected the contact, then relaxed against Feemor with a nearly silent, "Thanks."
Feemor tightened his arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders in a silent acknowledgement, even as he picked up his wrapper with his free hand, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it in the direction of the recycling unit, using the Force to ensure it went in.
Skywalker let out a delighted cheer, while Qui-Gon said, "Feemor," in a disapproving voice.
"The thing," Feemor informed his former master, "about being a master myself, is I no longer have to listen to you and your 'inappropriate use of the Force' lectures."
Obi-Wan ducked his head down, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
"Wait, that was bad?" Skywalker asked, looking between them with a furrowed brow.
Qui-Gon sighed and shook his head, sliding gracefully into one of the chairs across from them. "The Force is an extremely powerful source of energy, capable of a great many wonderful and terrible things. We must respect it, which means not using it to do things we're perfectly capable of doing without it," he finished a bit too pointedly.
Feemor raised an eyebrow at him. "And who was it who kept using the Force to turn the lights on and off in the cabin last night?"
Qui-Gon straightened, expression going a bit self-important. "As you have pointed out, the perks of being a master–"
Feemor chuckled and shook his head fondly; it was hardly the first time he'd called out his former master for using the Force for minor things, though he'd still been a knight the last time they'd had this debate. "As you say, Master."
Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, then made a bit of a show of crumpling his own wrapper and tossing it over his shoulder, using the Force to direct it into the recycler.
Skywalker laughed, clearly delighted, while Obi-Wan let out a huff and shook his head. "If you're done being inappropriate, Master," he said in a dry tone, "perhaps we should relocate to the throne room?"
"Of course," Qui-Gon agreed. "Feemor, if you could go ahead with Ani? I need to speak with Obi-Wan for a moment."
Obi-Wan stiffened, and Feemor gave his shoulders another squeeze before finally withdrawing. "Of course," he agreed as he stood. "Come along, Anakin. We can decide on the best vantage point for you."
Skywalker slid off the bench and hurried around to join him at the doorway, and they left together, the boy chewing his bottom lip. "Obi-Wan isn't in trouble, is he?" he asked once they were out of hearing range of the galley.
"No." Feemor reached down and ruffled the boy's hair gently, and received a grin in return. "I'm not the only one Qui-Gon owed an apology to."
Skywalker frowned at that. "Because of...what happened with the Council?" he guessed.
"Yes."
The boy scratched the back of his neck. "I don't really get it," he admitted. "Mr Qui-Gon, to me, it sounded like he thought Obi-Wan was ready? To face his....trials?"
"The Trials of Knighthood," Feemor explained. "They're a series of five trials, or tests, that all jedi padawans must surpass to be considered jedi knights."
"Oh. Are they hard?"
"They were some of the most difficult things I have ever had to do," Feemor admitted honestly.
Skywalker shrank in on himself a bit.
Feemor sighed and stopped, kneeling down next to the boy and gently catching his shoulders, turning him so they were facing. "The Trials aren't meant to be something simple, Anakin. Being a jedi knight is a dangerous and often lonely life, and the Council needs to know that knights can keep themselves and any others with them safe. If a knight cannot wield a lightsabre in combat, or runs when faced with danger, would you want to send them out on a mission where they might need to protect a group of children?"
"No," Skywalker admitted, looking miserable.
Feemor nodded. "The Trials are difficult because the galaxy is a dangerous place, and the Council doesn't want to send anyone to their death, if they can help it."
"Oh."
Feemor sighed and gently squeezed Skywalker's small shoulders. "I don't know, exactly, how everything happened in the Council Chamber," he admitted, "and it is nice that Qui-Gon believes Obi-Wan is ready to take the Trials; it's something I agree with him about."
"Really?" Skywalker asked, clearly curious. "But you've only just met, I thought."
Feemor smiled and shrugged. "We did, yes, but I knew about him before now, and I've observed enough of him to know he's ready."
Skywalker nodded his understanding. "Okay. So, the Trials are really hard, but thinking someone is ready for them isn't a bad thing."
"Exactly," Feemor agreed. "It wasn't anything related to the Trials that Qui-Gon did. At least, not directly; Obi-Wan told me Qui-Gon only said he was ready for his Trials so he could train you."
Skywalker gave a slow, uncertain nod. "The Council wouldn't accept me, otherwise," he said, and the words sounded bitter.
Feemor sighed; he was getting a better idea of why Qui-Gon had mis-stepped so badly, this time. "Unfortunately, Qui-Gon doesn't always think when he'd butting heads with the Council."
"I thought...you said I should be trained," Skywalker said, hunching in on himself a bit.
"Oh, Anakin, I do," Feemor promised, tugging the boy into a hug.
He was a little surprised when Skywalker clung to him in return; clearly, the boy was in desperate need of human contact.
"You're going to make an amazing knight," he murmured against the boy's hair, "but you're older than any other prospective initiate we've seen since the Sith Wars, and that makes people—makes the Council—nervous, because they don't know how best to train you, and they don't want to kriff it up. For your sake."
"That's not what it sounded like to me," Skywalker whispered against his shoulder, sounding a little like he was trying not to cry.
Feemor grimaced. "Well, you remember what Padmé said last night? She thought jedi masters were calm and collected all the time, because that's how we try to portray ourselves, especially when we're nervous or scared."
"Yoda said jedi aren't supposed to get scared," Skywalker muttered.
"Yoda is a nine hundred-year-old troll, who needs to stop telling other people how to live their lives," Feemor returned drily.
Skywalker let out a startled giggle.
"Jedi are allowed to get scared, and we do. It's what you do with that fear that really matters."
"I don't...understand."
Feemor sighed, wondering how best to explain a concept that he'd understood since he'd been a youngling.
"Feemor?" Qui-Gon called as he and Obi-Wan approached, concern bleeding into the Force.
"We're getting side-tracked by the Order's basic philosophy," Feemor explained a bit helplessly.
"Ah." Qui-Gon folded his hands together, sleeves overlapping to hide them. "Which part are we caught on?"
Feemor huffed a slightly helpless laugh at the familiar teaching voice his former master had slipped into. "How to handle fear."
Qui-Gon glanced over at Obi-Wan, who looked startled for a moment, before saying, "By releasing it into the Force?"
Qui-Gon's moustache twitched with a suppressed smile. "Generally, yes. But what must you do with that fear before you can release it?"
Obi-Wan blinked and tilted his head to the side, one hand reaching up and tugging on his braid.
In Feemor's arms, Skywalker had twisted so he could watch the byplay, expression interested, though he hadn't let go of Feemor's borrowed tunic.
"Master it," Obi-Wan decided. And then, upon spotting Skywalker's confused frown, said, "You're a podracer, correct?"
The boy nodded, face breaking out in a grin. "The best!" he agreed.
Ah, pride. Feemor suspected that had been something Skywalker had struggled with even as a knight.
"Podracing is dangerous," Obi-Wan continued, "and I'm sure there have been times when you've been afraid while doing it."
"I, erm, yeah, a few times. Like, during the Boonta Eve, one of my engines started choking. But I got it fixed." He grinned again.
"Because you mastered your fear," Obi-Wan replied, inclining his head. "You were afraid, yes, but you didn't let it stop you from doing what needed to be done to fix your engine. Once you mastered your fear, you let it go, rather than dwelling on it, right?"
"Oh," Skywalker said, his eyes gone wide.
"If you'd frozen because of your fear, or turned it on others by attacking them, or lingered on it, let it fester, after the race was over, that would have been wrong," Feemor offered. "That's not the jedi way."
"That," Qui-Gon agreed grimly, "is the path to the dark side."
Skywalker nodded, looking thoughtful as he turned back to Feemor. "So, the Council, they were...afraid?"
"Ah. This is about what happened in the Council Chamber," Qui-Gon realised.
Feemor sighed and nodded. "Yes. I'd ask you to clarify, but I don't trust you to see things from the Council's view."
Qui-Gon's offended huff was mostly for show. At least, Feemor was pretty sure it was.
"I think," Obi-Wan offered hesitantly, "that the Council's... I don't know that I would call it fear, more...concern. But, well, you're older than any other initiate, and you come from a...hard life. Very different from growing up in the Temple. That, that's–"
"It's a complication," Feemor offered when it became clear that Obi-Wan was struggling a bit. "And no one likes complications, especially when you have to keep in mind the safety and well-being of a thousand other sentients, every one of whom has access to a form of energy capable of doing both wonderful and terrible things."
Obi-Wan nodded his thanks. "That, yes. And Master Yoda, he's seeing darkness in the future, in your future, and that makes him nervous."
Skywalker slumped. "Oh."
"It's not just your future that's dark, Anakin," Feemor said, hating, a little, the way his voice shook. "The sith are coming out of hiding for the first time in a millennium, and they'll seek to destroy everything we hold dear. Joy, love, freedom, the entirety of the jedi order, even. Because, the sith..." He swallowed and shook his head, unable to look at any of the others. "They want power, to be better than everyone else, and the quickest way to do that is to destroy anyone who might threaten you, to leave broken and beaten down whoever they cannot turn to their own purposes or kill."
"Feemor," Qui-Gon breathed, his Force presence lunging forward and wrapping warmth and comfort around him.
Feemor closed his eyes and made himself take a breath, let his former master's presence ease the lingering fear and grief, and put on a smile for Skywalker, who responded by leaning back in and giving him a far more physical hug. "We'll talk to the Council, Anakin," he promised quietly, before casting Qui-Gon a hard stare and adding, "Talk to them, Master, not give them an ultimatum. I will never understand how you can be lauded as one of the Order's best diplomats, yet be incapable of getting through a single meeting with the Council without needing someone to mediate."
Qui-Gon had the grace to wince, but then he turned an unimpressed look on Obi-Wan when he attempted to muffle a rather unconvincing cough in his fist.
Feemor shook his head at the pair of them and turned back to where Skywalker was looking between them with wide eyes. He ruffled the boy's hair, recapturing his attention, and promised, "Let's get through this mission and see the Naboo freed, then we'll focus on having you admitted to the initiate program."
"Not a padawan?" Skywalker asked, looking a bit disheartened.
"I think," Feemor replied as diplomatically as he could, "that you would be best served by mingling with others your age for a couple years, rather than immediately being sequestered in the padawan/master quarters. That way, you can make friends and ignore your coursework and stay up late planning pranks to pull on unsuspecting masters, without an adult running herd on you all hours of the day."
Skywalker had relaxed and broken out into a grin by the time Feemor was done talking, clearly especially cheered at the thought of planning pranks with other initiates—he suspected certain Council members would be regretting refusing the boy admittance sooner, rather than later—and he agreed, "That sounds way wizard."
"And how much of a menace were you as an initiate, Master Feemor?" Qui-Gon asked drily, as if he hadn't heard plenty of stories about the trouble Kei had dragged him into over the years, before the prankster had learnt the art of subtlety. (Sort of.)
"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Master Jinn," Feemor replied in a formal tone.
Skywalker giggled.
Qui-Gon shook his head, clearly amused. "Did you have any other questions, Ani?"
Skywalker glanced between Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, then shook his head. "I'm good," he decided, which Feemor took to mean he wasn't completely comfortable returning to his original line of questioning with the other two jedi there. "Lightsabres?"
"Lightsabres," Qui-Gon agreed, and stepped forward to offer Feemor a hand up, once Skywalker had finally let him go to race down the hall to the throne room. "I'm fairly certain, former padawan of mine, that the Council would disapprove of you teaching the boy jedi philosophy."
"I'm equally certain, former master of mine, that they're going to be far more upset at me tagging along on your mission, given I'm supposed to be in the Halls," Feemor returned drily.
"If this is a sign," Obi-Wan said in a bland tone that was belied by the amusement threading through the Force around him, "that I'll spend the rest of my life being a headache for the Council, perhaps I would have been better off in the AgriCorps."
Feemor chuckled and clapped the younger jedi on the shoulder. "Don't worry, little brother, I'm sure you're more likely to end up on the Council."
Qui-Gon closed his eyes, looking pained. "Please stop."
"I am...not Council material. At all," Obi-Wan insisted, shaking his head and waving his hands as though to ward off the possibility. "The Council is for the wisest and most accomplished masters, not– I mean," he hurried to correct when both Qui-Gon and Feemor turned frowns on him, "I, I'm sure there are...hundreds of masters who are proper Council material. Much more, uhm, deserving? Of a seat. Than me."
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said in a gentle voice, "Councillors aren't given seats for being the wisest or most accomplished jedi in the Order, they're given seats because they bring a perspective that's sorely needed to matters involving the Order. You're a clever and observant young man, and I know you'll only grow more so in future; the Council would be lucky to count your voice among their number."
Obi-Wan flushed and ducked his head, shoulders hunching inward. "As you say, Master," he mumbled.
Qui-Gon sent Feemor a pained look, one that very clearly said, 'This is my fault and I don't know how to fix it'.
Feemor huffed. "Well, one of the two of us should end up on the Council, now, just so we can turn Qui-Gon's nightmares into reality."
"Feemor," Qui-Gon growled, unimpressed.
But Obi-Wan let out a quiet, choked-off giggle and peeked up to flash Feemor a small smile. "We could suggest it as a way to return on all the headaches Master has caused the Council."
"Master Windu would probably jump at the chance," Feemor agreed.
"Throne room. Both of you. Now," Qui-Gon ordered, giving them not-so-gentle shoves in the proper direction.
Obi-Wan tried very hard to hide his grin, but Feemor didn't bother trying to be surreptitious with his chuckling, and he got a Force-push from his former master in retaliation.
Skywalker wasn't the only one waiting for them with the intention of watching their practice: Two of the handmaidens—'Padmé' and the young woman Feemor was fairly certain answered to Rabé—and Captain Panaka were waiting just inside the throne room, Skywalker standing close to 'Padmé' and telling her and the other handmaiden about how using the Force to bin your food wrappers was inappropriate.
"Try not to share all our secrets," Qui-Gon requested drily, as he entered the room.
Skywalker, flushed and ducked his head. "Sorry, Mr Qui-Gon."
"It's okay," Qui-Gon promised, then set about ensuring their audience would remain safely out of the way, while Obi-Wan and Feemor started stretching.
"Mind your jumps," Feemor warned, eyeing the height of the ceiling.
Obi-Wan sniffed. "It's for the best that I'm the one focussing on Ataru; you and Qui-Gon would crack your heads as soon as your feet left the ground."
Feemor raised an eyebrow. "Really."
Obi-Wan shrugged, the sparkle in his eyes belying the nonchalant air he was exuding.
As much as Feemor should have liked to make him eat those words—it was hardly the first time he'd fought using Ataru in a room with a low ceiling, and this one wasn't even that low—he knew he needed to focus on using Soresu, instead; he'd have to make his brother-padawan eat his words some other time.
The first twenty minutes or so were an absolute speeder wreck. For all Feemor had the memories of three years using Soresu on the field, he lacked the muscle memory, and Qui-Gon was clearly struggling with using an unfamiliar form, himself. Obi-Wan, for his part, seemed to be struggling as much with matching Qui-Gon's change in form, as he was incorporating a third fighter into their pair's teamwork.
"Stop," Qui-Gon finally ordered, and they all flicked off their lightsabres and straightened, taking the chance to breathe.
Feemor shook his head. "Maybe you should just stick with Ataru, Master; I think we're trying to change too much of your familiar dynamic all at once."
"I'll get it," Obi-Wan insisted, expression twisted with self-flagellation.
Qui-Gon sighed and reached over to squeeze Obi-Wan's shoulder. "It's not just you, Padawan." He withdrew his hand to stroke over his beard a couple times, then said, "Right. All of us, Makashi's first kata." Then he snapped his lightsabre back on and settled into the correct position.
Feemor sighed and followed suit, with Obi-Wan a slightly uncertain half-step behind him. "You've run Makashi before, right?" he had to ask.
"As an initiate," Obi-Wan agreed, grimacing.
Feemor shook his head; he didn't doubt their master's distaste for the form had kept Obi-Wan from practising it any after he'd been accepted as Qui-Gon's padawan.
Qui-Gon ran them all through Makashi's kata sets three times, and by the time he let them all relax, Feemor felt like his movements were a lot smoother, less hesitant, and Obi-Wan looked a lot more relaxed and sure of himself than he had done at the start.
"Water?" 'Padmé' offered, motioning to where Rabé and the last handmaiden were stopped in the doorway, holding glasses of water.
"Much obliged," Feemor replied with a grateful smile, and the three of them accepted and drained the glasses.
Once the two handmaidens had accepted the empty glasses and turned to leave, Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon and guessed, "Soresu?"
"Soresu," Qui-Gon agreed.
Obi-Wan sighed, but shifted into Soresu's starting stance with far more familiarity than he had done Makashi's.
Three repetitions of Soresu's kata-series left Feemor feeling far more secure in the form. There was no way he'd be as good as he'd been after three years of using it, but at least he wouldn't be constantly catching himself slipping into an Ataru move.
Qui-Gon had them run through Ataru twice, after Soresu, and by the time they finished, the two handmaidens had returned with water for them, and Skywalker had apparently got bored, because he'd vanished.
"He's talking with R2-D2," the handmaiden whose name Feemor didn't know said when Qui-Gon enquired after the boy's whereabouts. "I'm fairly certain I heard him say he was going to build his own lightsabre."
Qui-Gon sighed. "Of course he is."
"I'm sure the design will prove most unique," Feemor offered diplomatically.
"At least he's missing a key component," Obi-Wan muttered.
"There is that," Qui-Gon agreed. "Thank you, ladies," he added as they returned the empty glasses to the handmaidens again.
"Of course, master jedi," Rabé replied, then left again with her partner.
The three jedi returned to the centre of the room. "Let's try this again," Qui-Gon said, and they all activated their lightsabres and set about trying to work together.
It went much, much smoother that time, all of them a little better about accommodating the others, and Feemor and Qui-Gon both more familiar with their chosen forms.
When they finally called an end to the practise, bowing to each other as they slipped their sabres away—and Feemor really needed to sort out his belt issue—they were all three tired and sweaty, and Feemor, at least, was debating the merits of catching a nap.
(Given his insomnia, probably not a good choice, not if he wanted any chance of sleeping before they reached Naboo.)
Qui-Gon excused himself to go find Skywalker and 'check on the status of his lightsabre', which left Feemor and Obi-Wan with 'Padmé', Captain Panaka having left ahead of the elder jedi.
"Master Feemor," 'Padmé' called before he and Obi-Wan could quit the room, and they both turned to look at her. "I couldn't help but notice you seem to be lacking a belt."
"Ah." Feemor folded his hands together inside his sleeves, grateful for the extra length that would disguise any fidgeting. "My joining the mission was rather last minute, and I'm afraid I wasn't as prepared as I should have liked to have been."
'Padmé's' mouth twisted with a wry smile. "Yes, I can understand that; if the cruiser hadn't already been stocked with a full wardrobe, Her Majesty would have run out of clothing to wear before we even reached Tatooine."
Feemor let slip a quiet chuckle. "In this, jedi may have it simpler; it's not uncommon for us to wear the same outfit for days on end."
"There's certainly less preparation involved, but I'm afraid it's not the Naboo way to wear the same thing day in and day out."
"While I can appreciate the aesthetical value in different clothing for different days or events, I'm afraid I'm far too attached to our more simplistic dress. It's easier to fight in, for one."
'Padmé' grinned outright, at that. "We do have clothing for fighting in, but I understand your point; the invasion would have gone much differently if Naboo were more inclined to war."
Feemor shook his head. "An inclination to peace is hardly something to be ashamed of," he insisted. "Naboo is a world that has no need for weapons, and your culture reflects that; sentients need the arts and the clean spaces of nature untarnished, just as much as they need to feel safe and cared for. And it is the greatest tragedy that the Trade Federation's greed has endangered all of those things."
'Padmé' tilted her head, considering him with intelligent brown eyes. "Yes," she said quietly, before shaking her head. "As to your belt, I believe there's something that will suit in the security lockers, if you wanted to try them?"
Feemor gave a short bow. "If there is a belt I might borrow, I would be most grateful for it."
She smiled and turned towards the door. "I'll show you where they are."
Feemor inclined his head, but paused in following her to focus on Obi-Wan. "If you want to use the sonic or steal a couch for a nap, you're more than welcome to," he offered.
Obi-Wan blinked a little too slowly to be natural, then frowned. "You're not going to need it? The couch?"
He shook his head. "No, I'm afraid sleep and I have a contentious relationship at the best of times; better I meditate for an hour than try to nap." He unfolded his hands so he could reach out and squeeze Obi-Wan's shoulder, smiling a bit when the padawan relaxed into the contact. "Go get some sleep, little brother; you look like you need it."
Obi-Wan huffed, but agreed, "A nap does sound like a good idea."
Feemor squeezed his shoulder, then shifted his grip to tug the padawan out of the throne room, sending him off with a gentle push towards the lift to the lower level of the ship.
'Padmé' had waited politely for him to finish talking to Obi-Wan and join her. As the padawan made his way down the hall ahead of them, she commented, "I thought the jedi didn't approve of familial attachments."
Feemor folded his hands together inside his sleeves again and shrugged. "Given the age of most initiates when they're brought to Temple, we rarely retain any memories of our birth families," he explained. "In lieu of blood relations, jedi become as family to each other. Not unlike, I expect, how you and the other handmaidens are as close as sisters?"
'Padmé' nodded her understanding.
"Over the course of our apprenticeship, our masters tend to become as parents to us, or elder siblings, depending on the age difference. As he is currently Obi-Wan's master, Qui-Gon was mine; in causal Temple terminology, that makes us akin to siblings."
"So you call him 'brother'," 'Padmé' said, nodding. "And that explains, a bit, why you didn't have any problem taking orders from Master Jinn, despite you both having the same...rank?"
Feemor shrugged. "He's been a master longer than I have, and this is his mission, so I would have deferred to him anyway. But, yes, it does feel more natural to follow his directions than it would have any other master."
'Padmé' flashed him a quick, slightly apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't be asking quite so many questions."
Feemor shook his head. "It's fine. I know we jedi like to keep an air of mystery around ourselves; there's a certain amount of pleasure one derives from always leaving others guessing. But..."
He remembered the way the propaganda had started shifting, as the war drew on, questioning the jedi, their way of life, their loyalty to the Republic and her citizens, whether they would be willing to give up the power they'd been granted with an army at their beck and call. He remembered, too, the empty spaces in the crèche, the stories of parents refusing to give up their young to the jedi because of the war, or the jedi's secrecy.
He remembered a mother spitting in his face when he told her that her daughter had the potential to be a jedi; her words, 'My daughter will be raised by a mother who loves her, not you heartless droids,' cutting him far deeper than he would have expected, ripping away the scabs that had formed over the empty spaces where Qui-Gon and his padawans and grandpadawan should have been.
"Perhaps," he murmured, "it's time we let some of that mystery go."
'Padmé's' only response was a noncommittal hum, and then she was palming open the door to a small cabin that looked nearly identical to the one he and Qui-Gon had shared the night before, save a tall locker bolted into the wall just inside the door. The young woman tugged it open, revealing what looked to be two uniforms similar to the one Captain Panaka wore. Two belts were rolled up on a shelf, black instead of the more familiar dark brown, and lacking the narrow outer belt that gave it a little more durability, while also allowing for a thinner buckle, so it didn't dig into their stomach during some of the more acrobatic moves, but it would certainly serve him better than going without.
"Thank you, for this," he said as he picked out one of the belts.
"I'm happy to be able to help," 'Padmé' insisted with a smile.
Feemor slipped the belt around his waist and fastened it, then pulled his lightsabre out of the fold of his outer tunic, where he'd been storing it, and attached it to the belt. The clip felt a little loose, designed for the slightly thicker Order belts, but it wasn't so much so that it would slide around and be a hazard when he moved. "This is perfect," he promised. "Pass on my gratitude to Captain Panaka for me, please?"
"I'll make sure he knows," she agreed.
Feemor offered her a bow, then left her to find somewhere quiet he could meditate away the memories of that lonely future that he was trying so very hard to change.
1-So Much For 'Ever After' ||
3-Never Thought You'd See the Day || 4-Looking Through Distorted Eyes
5-Now We Are What We Have Become
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