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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: Prefacing this chapter with the warning that fight scenes have never been my forte. I did rewatch the fight with Maul while writing that scene, so hopefully it's not a complete crapshot, but I also went and added in a third person, so... Yeah. Sorry, in advance, if it's shit.
Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.
His meditation ended up lasting far longer than he'd intended it to, and by the time he'd taken a sonic shower and made his way down to the galley, where the three handmaidens were trading off telling a rapt Skywalker bits of history and mythology from Naboo, everyone had collected their evening rations.
Qui-Gon held out a ration pack to him, one eyebrow raised, when Feemor slipped into the room.
Feemor huffed quietly as he accepted it, joining the other two jedi in leaning back against the wall. "I know you're as bad as I am about skipping meals," he muttered, voice pitched to carry no further than the three of them.
"He's not wrong," Obi-Wan offered, before Qui-Gon could do more than open his mouth in an attempt to contest that.
"Hm." Qui-Gon crossed his arms over his chest and refused to look at either of them. "I'm beginning to suspect I will regret letting you two meet."
Feemor used the act of eating his rations to hide his smile, while Obi-Wan coughed into one hand.
Once he'd finished the small serving—it was a sufficiently nutritional meal for an adult human, yes, but they were designed to take up as little space as possible, so those who needed to could carry a sufficient amount in the case of emergencies, so they didn't feel filling—Obi-Wan held out his hand for the wrapper, being in easy reach of the recycling unit, and Feemor passed it over with a knowing smile.
Obi-Wan made a show of sniffing and dropping the wrapper into the unit without using the Force, then turned back to Feemor, his expression going uncertain. "Can I– You said...you're a master?" he said.
"Oh, yes. I took my first padawan..." He glanced at Qui-Gon. "Six years after you started training Xanatos?" Not getting into what else happened that year, not in public.
Qui-Gon tilted his head slightly to one side, expression going considering. "That sounds about right," he decided, before quirking a smile. "And how is Ace? Is he–"
"They," Feemor corrected; ever since his first padawan had admitted, after their Trials, that they hadn't actually been comfortable with their birth pronouns, but hadn't realised that was the actual cause of their discomfort until they'd had to face themself, he'd got very good at correcting other people for Ace's sake.
"Apologies. Are they still beating other pilots' records just to prove they can?"
Feemor chuckled and shook his head. "Not so much, any more. They took a padawan, Vega, about four years ago? And she's mellowed them a fair bit."
Qui-Gon let out a slightly startled breath. "Force. When did I get old enough to have a great-grandpadawan?"
"Four years ago," Feemor replied without any sympathy.
Obi-Wan coughed into a fist, amusement lighting the Force around him.
Feemor grimaced as a thought occurred to him. "I'm...not certain Vega knows about you," he told his former master. "And I only told Wangui about Master Je'dyannder."
"Master–?" Obi-Wan prompted, while Qui-Gon closed his eyes, regret leaking from him into the Force.
"Je'dyannder," Feemor repeated. "She was my original master, but she died while on a solo mission six years into my apprenticeship. Qui-Gon took me on to complete my training."
"Oh."
"And Wangui is my current padawan," he added. "Actually, she might know about you, now, assuming she annoyed Kei or Rún into telling her about the jedi I was so worried about."
Qui-Gon sighed. "I foresee an extremely uncomfortable lineage dinner in my future."
Obi-Wan snorted.
"Master," Feemor said, turning a flat look on his former master, "I am not saving your life just so you can poison me with one of your cooking experiments."
"I only did that once," Qui-Gon complained.
"It's been least twice, then," Obi-Wan corrected, and Feemor couldn't stop a chuckle at the offended air the eldest jedi adopted. "And I can cook, don't worry."
"So can Ace and Wangui," Feemor offered. "We can do a potluck. Just, if Master Yoda gets invited, we can't tell him it's a potluck, or he'll bring swamp stew and make everyone have some."
"Noted," Obi-Wan said, nose wrinkled in disgust; clearly, he'd had an opportunity to try their great-grandmaster's infamous stew. "What about Master...Yan?"
"No," Qui-Gon said without hesitation.
Feemor frowned, remembering how Yan's reason for leaving the Order had been Qui-Gon's death. (Or, at least, that had been the final blow, after a decade of him arguing with the Council about their attachment to the Senate.) There was no guarantee that he wouldn't end up leaving the Order and Falling again, even if Qui-Gon survived, but if there was even the slightest chance he would stay...
"If he knows Yoda is invited, he absolutely won't come," he told Obi-Wan.
"Feemor," Qui-Gon said, clearly disapproving.
Feemor looked up and caught his gaze. "Master Yan deserves a second chance, too," he said quietly.
Qui-Gon sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed his eyes shut.
Obi-Wan glanced between them with an uncertain expression. "You, you did say he isn't in Temple much," he said to Feemor.
"Such an uncomfortable dinner," Qui-Gon muttered, then let out a sigh and promised, "I'll extend an invitation to him."
"If it makes you feel better, I'm fairly certain he'll hate Wangui's hair more than yours," Feemor offered.
Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at him. "Master Feemor, I sincerely hope you didn't urge your padawan to adopt a specific hair style just to get on your grandmaster's nerves."
"Urge, no," Feemor replied while Obi-Wan ducked his head a little too slowly to hide his grin. "Facilitating her interest in trying a new style, however, I might be a little guilty of."
Qui-Gon shook his head, his expression disapproving. As if his delighted amusement wasn't completely obvious in the Force; Feemor had come by the bad habit of doing things to annoy Yan honestly.
"This dinner is either going to be a speeder wreck, or an absolute delight," Obi-Wan decided, laughter in his voice.
Feemor was fairly certain it was going to be a speeder wreck, but he would do everything he could to ensure it happened. Because the dinner would mean he'd managed to save Qui-Gon, and he couldn't imagine not wanting that.
Skywalker called over with a question about something he'd overheard during his brief visit to the Temple, and Qui-Gon stepped towards the table to answer him, leaving Obi-Wan and Feemor to each other.
"Did he apologise to you?" Feemor had to ask, keeping his voice pitched low.
Obi-Wan ducked his head and nodded.
Feemor eyed him, considering the swirl of discomfort and uncertainty he could just barely sense in the Force; the young man had some truly impressive shields. He slid along the wall, usurping Qui-Gon's spot between them, and dropped an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders. "You're allowed to be mad at him, still," he whispered.
"I'm not...mad," Obi-Wan whispered back.
Feemor leant forward a bit so Obi-Wan could actually see his sceptical eyebrow.
Obi-Wan's shoulders slumped a fraction and he leant into Feemor's arm. "I think...I'm too hurt to be mad," he admitted, and it sounded like he'd had to force the words out, just a bit.
"Ah." Feemor tightened his arm around the younger jedi, and was rewarded by Obi-Wan relaxing just the slightest bit more. "That...doesn't ever really go away, I'm afraid." He should know; the wounds of being cast aside had survived Qui-Gon's death, war, and still ached, even though he'd finally got a long overdue apology for his thoughtless cruelty. "It just gets easier to live with."
Obi-Wan nodded. "I know."
Feemor tightened his arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders again, not sure he wanted to know why his brother-padawan sounded so sure about that. What other cruelties had Qui-Gon dumped on Obi-Wan's shoulders while Feemor had been keeping his distance? How much pain could he have saved Obi-Wan from if he'd just been a little less of a coward?
"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan," he whispered, breathing out a knot of self-recrimination. "I knew what he could be like; I should have been there for you."
"It's okay," Obi-Wan whispered.
"It's not."
Obi-Wan turned his head just enough to peek up at Feemor out of the corner of one eye, which looked red and a little too shiny, but there was, too, the gleam of an emotion that Feemor couldn't quite parse, but made him think of the sun coming out from behind dark clouds. "You're here now," Obi-Wan said, just a hint of a question in the words.
Feemor threw all thoughts of decorum out the airlock and pulled his brother-padawan into a hug. "Yeah," he whispered against the side of Obi-Wan's head. "I'm here now, and I will be until you get sick of me."
Obi-Wan hugged him back, tight and maybe the slightest bit desperate.
Qui-Gon came back over after a moment and quietly asked, "Is everything okay?"
"Yes," Obi-Wan said as he pulled away, and Feemor politely pretended he didn't see the padawan quickly wipe his sleeve past his eyes.
Qui-Gon turned a questioning look on Feemor, and he nodded; they were as okay as they were going to be.
"Is it time to retire for the night?" Obi-Wan asked, and Feemor looked past Qui-Gon to find the handmaidens had all cleared out, and Skywalker was pulling out some blankets and pillows from where they'd apparently been shoved in the hollow of the bench.
"We're expecting to drop out of hyperspace in a little over ten hours," Qui-Gon replied, before reaching out and dropping a hand onto both of their nearer shoulders. "Get what sleep you can; I don't expect we'll have much time for rest once we've landed."
"Not if the queen's plan works out," Feemor agreed drily.
They traded good nights, then Feemor and Qui-Gon retired to the cabin, moving easily around each other again as they got prepared for the night and lay down on their couches.
After he'd used the Force to turn the lights out, Qui-Gon said, "Feemor? If the worst happens, and I don't survive this..."
Feemor squeezed his eyes shut, his chest aching at the thought of failing at this second chance. "I know," he said, because he had a pretty good idea what his former master wanted to ask. "He's my brother; we'll have each other, no matter what."
The breath Qui-Gon let out sounded like the relief of a massive weight dropping off his shoulders. "Thank you."
"But, Master?" Feemor had to say.
"Do my best not to die?"
"That."
"There's a lineage dinner I have no intention in missing, never you worry, Padawan."
Feemor smiled into the darkness and closed his eyes to sleep, clinging tight to that promise.
Somehow, improbably, Queen Amidala's plan worked out.
(And Feemor may have used the Force to give himself a pat on the back, because he'd known 'Padmé' was the real queen.)
Getting into the palace hanger turned out to be a lot easier than Feemor would have expected, and while they lost a couple of pilots to the droids that had been lying in wait, most of them made it into ships and out past the droid tank attempting to shoot them down, heading to, with any luck, take out the droid control ship and keep the Gungans from being wiped out.
As they turned to head into the palace, however, the sith made his entrance, and the three jedi stepped forward to face him, while the queen and her party turned off to take another route.
Feemor had never had occasion to meet his brother-padawan's nemesis, though he'd been well aware that the Zabrak had survived their initial encounter and re-emerged during the war, killing anyone and everyone he thought might serve to hurt Obi-Wan.
If he had his way, Maul would not be surviving this fight a second time.
Maul seemed to hesitate for a moment, upon finding himself facing three jedi, and Feemor allowed himself a mean grin at the thought of throwing the sith off his stride.
But then Qui-Gon was rushing forward, stepping in close, trying to get past the lightstaff's guard with a series of Makashi steps, while Obi-Wan took a running leap, doing an Ataru flip over Maul to block an attack, and then switching into a Makashi jab once he was back on the ground.
Maul twisted out of the way, barely, and he flashed a nasty grin when his dodge left Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon having to hurriedly correct to keep from hitting each other.
Feemor took his cue and stepped in, borrowing an aggressive attack from Ataru, then easing back into a Soresu guard when the sith managed to deflect the strike, his momentum bringing the opposite end of the staff around to strike against Feemor's blade.
And then Obi-Wan was next to him, striking low to the side, and Maul was spinning away, stumbling as he had to correct to avoid both a fallen droid and Qui-Gon's rapid-fire strikes as he rushed past Feemor and Obi-Wan to engage.
The moment Maul waved a broken piece of droid to activate a door, Feemor realised, "He's trying to lead us!"
The space behind the now-opened door was lined with narrow catwalks going down multiple levels; hardly the sort of space one would want to be performing Ataru acrobatics in.
"Fall back!" Qui-Gon ordered, and both he and Obi-Wan stepped back from the sith, towards where Feemor had fallen behind a few steps, both of them resettling themselves into Soresu stances, a clear show they intended to stand their ground in the hanger.
Maul snarled and rushed forward, a wave of dark Force energy blasting out ahead of him and causing all three to stumble.
Somehow, Feemor managed to get his sabre up to block Maul's blow, but the strength behind the blow hit hard, throwing him even more off balance, and he let himself drop to the ground, flicking his sabre off as he curled forward so he could roll past the sith.
Agony lanced up his spine, and Feemor couldn't quite hold in his scream, so much worse than any blaster bolt.
"Feemor!" Obi-Wan shouted, and then he was standing over him, stance wide to accommodate Feemor, but still grounded enough to withstand Maul's blows without giving a centimetre.
Qui-Gon must have stepped in to lead Maul away a bit, because Obi-Wan dropped to his knees next to Feemor and grabbed at his shoulder, his eyes wide and terrified when Feemor made himself look up to meet them.
"Go," Feemor hissed.
Obi-Wan gave a jerky nod, then he was up and away, leaving Feemor to close his eyes and drop himself into a healing trance, trusting the other two to keep the sith away while he was impaired.
He missed the end of the battle, but the warmth of his former master's palm on his shoulder was what pulled him from the trance, and Obi-Wan's worried expression was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes, so he knew they must have won.
"Thank the Force," he whispered.
"That we're all still alive?" Qui-Gon asked, and he sounded tired, but he was alive. "Yes. Can you move?"
Feemor clenched his jaw and drew the Force around himself to block out the worst of the pain, then pushed his hands against the floor and shoved himself up.
Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon caught at his shoulders, their hold firm but careful, and they managed to get him sitting upright, legs stretched out ahead of him. "How bad?" he gasped past the pain.
"Bad," Obi-Wan said, his voice heavy with upset.
"He missed your spine, barely," Qui-Gon said, and Feemor closed his eyes, not sure whether he was feeling relief or not; at least severing his spine could have lessened some of the affected pain receptors. "I would rather you not try walking until a healer's had a proper look at it."
Feemor nodded; honestly, he wasn't certain he could manage to stand, never mind attempt to walk. "Agreed. I'll be fine here, if you want to go after Amidala."
Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder, then withdrew. "Stay with him," he ordered Obi-Wan.
"Yes, Master."
Feemor tracked Qui-Gon's Force presence as he hurried in the direction the queen and her party had gone, then said, "I need a wall to lean against."
Obi-Wan's mouth went tight and he cast a quick look around. "They're all a bit of a distance."
Feemor huffed, then winced as his back flared with pain again. "Kriff. Just– Can you lift me, with the Force?"
Obi-Wan shook his head, but not in a no manner. "I'm an idiot. Hold on."
Obi-Wan was as gentle as it was possible to be, but even breathing hurt, and Feemor took the chance to close his eyes and rest against the wall once he was set back down.
"Is Maul dead?" he asked once he felt a little steadier.
"Maul?"
"The, the sith. Darth Maul."
Obi-Wan blinked, evidently uncertain what to do with Feemor knowing their opponent's name, then his gaze went past him. "Yes. I, I took his head."
Feemor breathed out the the last lingering traces of his worry. "Good job."
"Is it?" Obi-Wan asked, and when Feemor looked at him, he found him worrying his braid between his fingers. "I know he's, he was a sith, and they don't– History says they don't surrender, they fight to the death, but if..."
Feemor reached out and caught Obi-Wan's hands, stilling them. "Obi-Wan, little brother, listen to me. If Maul survived this, he would have gone on to kill hundreds, if not thousands of sentients, including any number of other jedi. And those of us who fought him here, today? Sith believe in vengeance, they practically live by it, and anyone we care about—padawans, grandpadawans, friends inside the Order and out—they would have become targets, just another way to break us down and drag us to their level.
"Taking a life is never easy, and it–" he swallowed "–it should never be your goal. But, sometimes, it is the most desirable outcome."
Obi-Wan nodded, his expression troubled. "But, what if I killed him for the wrong reasons?"
Feemor frowned at that. "What do you mean?"
Obi-Wan looked up, meeting his gaze, even though he looked like he really didn't want to. "When you cried out, when he was about to kill you, I was so..." He shook his head, eyes skittering away. "I was angry. He hurt you, and you said he would have killed Master, if you hadn't come with, and I just, I wanted to–"
"Stop him from hurting anyone ever again, no matter the cost?" Feemor suggested quietly.
Obi-Wan gave a jerky nod.
Feemor sighed. "Could you lower your shields for me for a moment?"
That apparently surprised Obi-Wan, because he looked at him again. "My shields?"
"Your extremely impressive, senior knight-level shields, yes."
Obi-Wan pinked ever so slightly, but obediently lowered his shields enough to let Feemor get a proper sense of his Force presence for the first time.
He couldn't stop a smile at the sheer light that burned through his brother-padawan's core. There were some small patches of darkness, certainly, but all jedi had those, especially after a traumatic experience. (It had become a common affliction during the war, to the point that jedi who could, would joint meditate and help smooth over some of the dark patches, because the mind healers were simply too overworked to help everyone. Truly, it was a bit of a miracle that they had lost fewer than three dozen jedi to the dark side.)
"I don't know that protectiveness is a bad reason to have killed him," he said, shaking away the memories of darker days. "Maybe you were angry, but I don't see any of that in you now. Relief, certainly, and regret, but no anger, no sense of victory." He shifted his hand from Obi-Wan's over his braid, to rest against his chest, over his heart. "You're allowed to feel anger, even to let it drive your actions, to a point. So long as, when it's over, you don't hold onto it. And you didn't."
Feemor hadn't realised how tensely Obi-Wan had been holding himself until he relaxed, letting out a relieved breath. "Right."
Feemor smiled a bit helplessly at the padawan. "I don't think you're in any danger of following Xanatos' path, little brother."
Obi-Wan's mouth twisted in a smile that looked like it hurt, but before they could speak any further, they were interrupted by the return of the Naboo starfighters.
There followed a lot of cheering and a confusing mess of voices all attempting to talk over each other as the pilots landed in their bays and jumped out to celebrate with each other. Skywalker, somehow, was the centre of all the attention, and that was probably the only reason that, when he noticed Feemor and Obi-Wan, the celebration immediately switched tracks to sending out teams to find a stretcher and medical team, with another team going after Qui-Gon and the queen, since they hadn't heard anything either way about them.
"Are you going to be okay, Mr Feemor?" Skywalker asked, wringing his hands in his lap. He'd been left with Obi-Wan and Feemor; for all the pilots had been quick to celebrate his achievements in the air, they had eventually cottoned on that he was just a youngling and should probably be left somewhere relatively out of danger and with someone capable of keeping him safe, while more adult-minded matters were seen through.
"I'm not going to die," Feemor replied with what he hoped was a soothing smile. "I suspect I'll be trapped in the Halls of Healing for a couple weeks, once we get back to Temple, however."
"Which of the healers did you escape from to come with us?" Obi-Wan asked.
Feemor winced. "Master Che."
Obi-Wan snorted. "You'll be lucky if she doesn't tie you to a bed for the next month."
Yes, Feemor was rather trying not to think about that.
The stretcher arrived with good news: The viceroy had been captured and was being made to negotiate a treaty that favoured the Naboo, which Qui-Gon was attending as a jedi observer. He had suggested that Obi-Wan and Skywalker remain with Feemor for the time being, so they came along with to the palace's medical wing.
Feemor suffered some concerned noises from the medical staff that had been freed from the closest camp, answered their questions about his pain levels as best he could, then spent almost four minutes arguing against them giving him a sedative.
Finally, Obi-Wan had interrupted, saying, "Feemor is a jedi master. If he says he'll do better without a sedative, he doesn't need a sedative. Arguing with him about it isn't going to change things."
The medic let out a disgusted noise and threw his hands up in the air. "Fine! Be miserable! See if I care!" And then he stormed out of the curtained off area around Feemor's bed.
"He's just rude," Skywalker muttered, scowling after the man.
"He's probably spent the last week in an internment camp, trying to keep people alive without sufficient supplies," Feemor replied tiredly, and Skywalker winced, ducking his head down towards his chest. "I'm going to trance down again," he told Obi-Wan. "Bring me out of it if anything happens that I need to be aware of."
Obi-Wan nodded. "Of course."
"What does 'trance down' mean?" Skywalker asked as Feemor closed his eyes and let himself fall back into the familiar embrace of the Force, leaving it for the padawan to explain jedi healing trances to the boy.
Obi-Wan brought him out of his trance when Qui-Gon arrived. The man looked a little haggard, but he was smiling when Feemor gingerly sat up, preferring to be able to turn and see everyone, rather than continue lying on his front for the conversation.
"I don't remember your healing trances being quite so effective last time I saw you using one," Qui-Gon commented.
"That was a long time ago," Feemor returned, wincing a bit when the words came out more bitter than he'd intended.
(In truth, though, this skill had been honed by war; jedi who couldn't trance down quickly, or had no real skill directing the energy of the Force to speed their own healing, weren't as likely to survive until rescue could arrive.)
Qui-Gon sighed and inclined his head, a clear agreement that Feemor's strike had hit true. "With luck, you'll be on your feet before the Council gets here, then; I don't think you'd appreciate being trapped in a hospital bed while Mace and Yoda questioned your actions."
Feemor grimaced. "Not particularly."
"Masters Yoda and Windu are coming here?" Obi-Wan asked, clearly surprised. "Why not just wait for us to return to the Temple?"
Qui-Gon shrugged. "Well, our original transport is no longer space-worthy, for one."
Obi-Wan snorted.
"And, given Feemor's wounds and the remains of the sith, it will almost certainly be faster for members of the Council to come to Naboo, than for us to find passage back to Coruscant."
"You can't borrow a ship from Padmé?" Skywalker asked from where he'd dragged one of the provided chairs over to the window that happened to be within Feemor's curtained-off area.
"While I am certain that Her Majesty would lend us a ship," Qui-Gon replied diplomatically, "we would have no way to return it to her."
"They may find themselves in need of whatever ships are currently accessible and space-worthy," Feemor added. "We don't know exactly how much damage the Trade Federation's occupation did to their fleet."
"Oh."
Qui-Gon inclined his head when Feemor looked back over at him. "Those Council members intending to travel should arrive within the next two days; their temperaments will keep until then. For our part, Her Majesty has given us a suite in the palace, and is quite insistent that we take the time to relax. There are certainly rebuilding efforts Obi-Wan and I can assist with, but the political matters are settled until Senate officials arrive to take the Neimoidians into custody.
Feemor resisted the urge to insist he could also help with rebuilding efforts; lightsabre wounds weren't something you just bounced back from, jedi healing trance to speed up the process or no, and he'd suffered enough blaster wounds over the course of the war to have a pretty good idea of his body's limits.
Skywalker, however, had no such self-control, and immediately asked, "Well, what about me? I can help, too!"
"I think, for today, it would be best to all take the granted reprieve," Obi-Wan suggested diplomatically.
Qui-Gon nodded. "Just so. We'll look into finding something for you to do tomorrow, Ani."
Skywalker slumped a bit in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine," he muttered.
"Feemor, I leave it to your judgement as to whether you'd prefer to remain here tonight, or attempt to make it to our suite."
Feemor sighed and shook his head. As much as he disliked being held in the clutches of medical staff, he also knew better than to put unnecessary strain on a wound like his. "I'll stay here tonight. Re-evaluate in the morning."
Qui-Gon raised a knowing eyebrow, but only agreed, "Of course. We'll leave you to your rest, then."
"If you see a medic on your way out, send them in here?" Feemor requested, and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan both nodded.
The medic who came in after they had managed to usher Skywalker away from the window, was a different one than before, and she was far less high-strung. When he asked after food, she promised to bring him a light dinner, and then asked, "Are you still refusing sedatives, Master Jedi?"
Feemor sighed. "Yes." He debated for a moment, then explained, "If I'm conscious, I can put myself into a light trance to focus my energy on healing my wounds."
She blinked a few times, processing, before stepping forward. "I'd like to take a look at your back, please."
Feemor obediently leant forward over his legs, wincing when the movement shot a sharp pain through the damaged part of his back. Still, it was lightyears better than it had been earlier, and he was fairly certain that, if he spent the night in a trance, he would be fairly close to completely healed, come morning. Which was far better timing than he would have expected, based on his efforts during the war.
(But, then, he was thirteen years younger, and it was possible he'd been unknowingly borrowing some energy from Obi-Wan or Skywalker; he wasn't used to having other Force-sensitives around when he went into a healing trance.)
"Well," the medic said after a long moment, stepping back. "That's remarkable. From what Eugene said, I would have put your recovery at no less than a week, and that's if we managed to get one of the bacta tanks up here from the main hospital. I'd still like to put you in the tank, to help lessen the worst of the scarring, but I suspect you'll be able to walk down to the main hospital under your own power by this time tomorrow."
"Very likely," Feemor agreed, inclining his head.
She shook her head. "Remind me never to question a jedi about their medical requirements again," she muttered, and Feemor chuckled. "Just so the overnight team knows, is there anything you're likely to need, or any instructions for them?"
"Ah, no. It should appear that I'm simply sleeping. Someone shaking me, or making a loud noise in my vicinity will bring me from the trance, not unlike how it would wake someone who is sleeping. Interruptions slow the process, so I would prefer to remain undisturbed, but I do recognise that some things are out of all our control."
She nodded. "I'll make sure the night team know to let you be, then. And I'll go grab you some food, now, so you can get back to it."
"Thank you."
The evening meal was a far cry better than what he would have expected to receive in the Halls, and Feemor marked that as a point in Naboo's favour as he finished and set the tray down on the small stand that had been left next to the bed for that very purpose.
He did take the chance to, rather gingerly, take a trip to the nearest 'fresher to empty his bladder, as much to test his mobility as anything, then returned to his curtained off alcove and lay down, closing his eyes and giving himself back to the Force for the night.
He did end up taking a trip to Theed's main hospital, the next afternoon, to take a dip in their bacta tank. He was probably healed enough not to need it, but was quick to agree with the palace medic that it was a necessity to lessen the scarring's impact on his mobility. (He wasn't a fan of being immersed in bacta tanks, but it was something he'd had to get used to during the war, as it was both quicker and more effective than using spot treatments.)
No one was in the suite when he finally found it—he'd had to ask three different people for directions, because navigating Naboo's palace was an adventure—and he debated, for a long moment, going out to see if he could help, before deciding he would be better served taking the day to relax.
So he comm'd the Temple, intending to check in with Wangui, only for her to not answer their room comms. So he comm'd Kei, instead, since he was more likely to pick up than Rún.
"Look, he lives," Kei said as soon as the call connected.
Feemor very obviously rolled his eyes, and Kei flashed him a mean grin. "I do, thanks for checking. Do you know why my padawan isn't answering?"
"The padawan who is currently in hyperspace?"
Feemor blinked a couple times. "I– Wait. Wangui is coming here?"
"No, she's leaving the Order because you abandoned her," Kei shot back, tone sharp.
Feemor winced. "I'm not going to apologise for leaving, Kei."
"You could have, I don't know, woken me up!"
"You thought I was crazy," Feemor returned flatly, and Kei looked away. "Or had a nightmare, or something."
"You don't get visions, Fee," Kei insisted. "What else are we supposed to think?"
"The Force works in mysterious ways," Feemor said in as serene a voice as he could manage.
Kei's left eye twitched, a disgusted grimace twisting his mouth. "Kriff you."
"No thank you."
Kei sighed and ran a hand down his face, holding it over his mouth for a moment, like he thought that would keep Feemor from knowing he was trying to hide a smile at his automatic, familiar response. "Arsehole. You still should have woken me up. Or comm'd your karking padawan before you left the system. We spent almost five hours in a panic, trying to find your stupid face, before the troll heard about our search and said you'd left the Temple with Jinn."
Feemor winced. "Sorry. I...wasn't thinking." Wasn't used to having anyone alive to worry about his whereabouts, save Kei and Yoda, and Yoda was always involved in giving him his deployment orders, while Kei's in-Temple information network had expanded to such a degree, during the war, that he often knew when Feemor's orders were changing before he did.
"That was kriffing obvious."
Feemor sighed, then offered, "I punched Qui-Gon in the face?"
Kei's eyes went wide, and then he let out a cheer.
Someone sighed outside of the image pickup, and Kei's padawan, Marcus, asked, "Who did you prank this time, Master?" in a tired, resigned sort of voice.
"Not me, this time, padawan-mine," Kei replied, before flashing Feemor a wide, slightly manic grin. "Was it everything I could have hoped for? Did you break his nose?"
Feemor snorted. "I don't think so, no. Though, he did stumble back through an automatic door and it closed behind him, so he may have just healed it before he came back in."
"I wish I'd been there," Kei said, letting out a slightly wistful sigh. "Seeing you finally stand up for yourself–"
"Ah." Feemor winced and glanced down at his hands, folding them carefully in his lap.
Kei sighed. "Fee. Tell me you punched him because he repudiated you, not because he did something to someone else."
Feemor sighed. "He repudiated Obi-Wan."
Kei went still, his expression slowly morphing to disgust. "Will you let me drug him, strip him, and hang him from the top of the Council tower now?"
"No."
"Dammit, Fee! You can't just keep letting his shit go!"
"I'm not–" Feemor let out a frustrated huff and ran a hand through his hair. "Look. I know he's, that he's hurt me. And he's pulling some of the same shit on Obi-Wan. But I'm not– I– Argh!"
"You're what? Going to keep lying back and taking it?"
Feemor shot his friend a disgusted look. "First off, he's my master, and that's disgusting."
"Calling it like I see it."
"Second," Feemor continued, refusing to acknowledge that, "what, exactly, is stripping him and hanging him from the Council tower supposed to accomplish?"
"Well, it would make me feel better."
Feemor rubbed a hand over his face, muttering, "Stupid question," to himself before straightening and folding his hands together in his lap. "Fine. Well done. You feel better, he's embarrassed and has no idea who to blame it on, who do you think has to deal with his bad mood?"
Kei's expression went carefully blank. "Oh." And then he shook his head and narrowed his eyes. "Not pretty boy's problem any more, is it?"
"Well, he didn't mean to repudiate Obi-Wan."
"Oh, that makes everything better, then."
"Would you–" Feemor let out a frustrated noise.
"No, I will not just 'let this go'," Kei snapped before Feemor could get the words out.
In the background, a door opened.
"That Hutt-spawn broke your kriffing heart, and I am not just going to 'move on', especially not if he's kriffing done it again!"
"Ah," Qui-Gon said, because the door had apparently been on Feemor's end, not Marcus escaping his master's familiar rant. "I assume this is about me, then."
Feemor closed his eyes and rubbed tiredly at them.
Kei, uncharacteristically, was silent.
(Or, perhaps, it was very in character for him; he tended to implement his various misdeeds only when he was certain he wouldn't be caught.)
"Kei, I'll see you when we get back to Temple," Feemor said into the silence, and hit the button to end the call before Kei could respond. He couldn't bring himself to look over at his former master, ducking his head and staring down at where he had clasped his hands in his lap.
Qui-Gon sighed. "I'm glad to see you up," he offered.
Feemor tried on a wry smile. "You know me, happy to get away from the healers at the first opportunity."
Instead of taking the offer of the old joke, Qui-Gon sighed again, the sound tired. "I...don't know how to fix this. Kimura's right, I hurt you, and it being unintentional doesn't make it acceptable."
Feemor shook his head. "No," he said quietly, "it doesn't. But, unlike Kei—and you—I've forgiven you."
"I'm not sure you should have," Qui-Gon admitted, and the words sounded like they hurt.
Feemor glanced up, taking in the grief and regret painted across his former master's expression, the slump to his usually-strong shoulders. "It's not for you, or anyone else, to decide when I forgive someone, Master." He stood from the bench in front of the communication station and brushed his hands over the pale blue tunic he'd been given when leaving the medical wing, since his borrowed tunics hadn't survived the duel with Maul intact. "Attending your memorial service put a lot of things into perspective; it's not worth remaining angry with a dead man."
Qui-Gon flinched.
"If it makes you feel better," Feemor offered, letting his much newer anger sharpen his voice, "I am still very inclined to punch you again for Obi-Wan's sake."
Qui-Gon sent him a tired look. "I think Obi-Wan is capable of doing that himself."
"Like I was?" Feemor couldn't stop from asking, and Qui-Gon looked away. "I'm not going to punch you again, not unless you kark up further, but I'm also not going to forgive you any time soon."
"That's...fair," Qui-Gon decided.
"Glad we agree."
Qui-Gon cast him a tired, slightly chastising look, to which Feemor raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow. He shook his head, then pointed to one of the doors leading off from the common space. "That's your room. Ani is next to you, then Obi-Wan, then me. There's a shared 'fresher between yours and Ani's rooms."
Feemor nodded his understanding. "Kei told me that Wangui is coming with the Council, so we might have to reshuffle a bit when they arrive, assuming we're not all immediately ordered back to Temple."
"We'll worry about that jump when we reach it," Qui-Gon decided, and Feemor snorted in agreement. "Her Majesty has extended us an invitation to join her for dinner tonight, if you wanted to attend. If not, the comm code to request something from the kitchens is next to the panel."
Feemor had seen the list of important comm codes when he'd sat down to comm the Temple, though he hadn't studied it with any intent, far more focussed with checking in on his padawan. "I'm fine to join the queen for dinner."
Qui-Gon nodded. "I'll pass on that we'll all be there, then. We have approximately two hours before we're expected."
"I assume there's water showers?"
Qui-Gon snorted and shook his head. "Yes. There should be a bathtub, too."
A bathtub? Force, Feemor honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd had the time to relax in a bathtub. "Right. I'm taking a bath."
Qui-Gon's laughter followed him as he retreated to the room that was his.
The dinner with Queen Amidala ended up being a far less formal event than any of the jedi had really expected, all three of them more familiar with state meals full of political double-speak and currying favours.
What the queen provided, was a long buffet table covered in a multitude of food options, and a handful of small tables scattered around, where they could sit and eat in smaller groups.
"I hope you don't mind the informal setting," Amidala said when she approached them. She was dressed in her handmaiden disguise, and a quick look around the room showed that she wasn't the only one there, though there was a distinct lack of an obvious queen. "This is easier on the serving staff, and I'm not certain anyone has much energy for formality today."
"An informal meal is quite fine, Your Majesty," Qui-Gon promised.
Amidala grimaced. "Padmé," she insisted.
"Padmé," Qui-Gon corrected.
She smiled her thanks, then turned to Feemor. "Master Feemor, it's a relief to see you back on your feet," she said, and the Force around her was warm with honesty. "When I heard how badly you'd been hurt..." She shook her head.
"I'm no healer, but I have enough of a talent with healing through the Force to keep myself going," Feemor offered with a slight bow. "Wounds dealt by a lightsabre, while painful to bear and disheartening to look at, are actually much quicker to heal than blaster bolts."
"It...worries me that you know this," Amidala admitted, her mouth twisted with discontent. "I thought a jedi ambassador's life would have little in the way of violence."
Obi-Wan let out a quiet snort; as the padawan of one of the Order's foremost diplomats, he knew better than most how quickly a seemingly-peaceful mission could go pear-shaped because of a single dissenting voice. Which was as true for those missions taken on behalf of the Republic Senate, as those taken to mediate between two or more other factions.
"I think," Feemor said in a mild tone, "that if the events of the past week have taught us anything, it's that diplomatic missions are as able to turn into a firefight as any other. Which is why it is jedi that are sent, rather than senators or their aids."
"I...didn't even think of it that way," Amidala admitted, looking troubled. "I always thought jedi were sent on diplomatic missions because of your neutrality."
"That is true, though it is often not the only reason," Qui-Gon offered. "And, unfortunate as it is, we jedi are not always the perfect beings of neutrality that we are held up as."
"No?" the handmaiden who most often seemed to play Amidala's part as the queen said as she stepped up next to her queen's side.
Qui-Gon gave a careless shrug. "If we were truly neutral, we would not have got involved in this conflict at all, and the treaty I oversaw the drafting of would have been equally fair to both the Naboo and the Trade Federation."
"...Oh," the handmaiden said, her eyes gone a little wide.
"In that case," Amidala said wryly, "I'm grateful that you're not quite so neutral." She turned to the handmaiden. "What is it, Sabé?"
"Your presence has been requested," Sabé replied in a dry tone.
Amidala sighed, then turned and inclined her head. "Master jedi, our thanks, again. Please enjoy yourselves."
Feemor and Qui-Gon both gave short bows and, as the two young women moved away, turned to try and find their missing companions. "By the buffet," Qui-Gon murmured, nodding to where Obi-Wan appeared to be doing his best to keep Skywalker from overloading his plate.
"And here I thought Anakin would have attached himself to Her– Padmé," Feemor couldn't quite stop himself from saying.
Qui-Gon sighed. "Growing boys are easily distracted by the chance to fill their bellies."
"Hm."
Qui-Gon cast him a sideways glance. "I don't believe I recall more than one or two of your missions turning into firefights."
Feemor stopped, surprised. "Have you been keeping tabs on me?"
Qui-Gon frowned slightly. "Of course." He shook his head. "You were my padawan, Feemor; I worried about you."
Feemor stared at him for a moment that seemed to stretch out over years, anger and loneliness and old pain knotting up his stomach.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes, letting out a quiet sigh. "I'm sorry."
"I lied," Feemor heard himself say. "I'm still angry with you." And then he pushed past his former master and stalked over to join Obi-Wan and Skywalker, glancing at the food briefly before deciding that, no, his stomach was not going to handle any of that well right that moment.
Obi-Wan shot him a concerned look. "Are you okay?"
"No," Feemor admitted, the word coming out a little too sharp.
Obi-Wan looked over in the direction Feemor could sense Qui-Gon in, then nodded. "Ani, let's go find somewhere to sit down."
"What about Mr Feemor?" Skywalker asked, looking up from his loaded plate with a frown.
"I think you have enough for two people," Obi-Wan replied drily, and Skywalker sent him what was probably the singularly most offended look that Feemor had ever seen on someone before they hit puberty.
The laugh that escaped him was a bit of a surprise, and he reached out to ruffle Skywalker's hair as he turned the offended look on him. "I'm not very hungry right now, Anakin, that's all. I'll get something in a bit."
"Okay," Skywalker mumbled, ducking his head, but straightening his back so he didn't lose contact with Feemor's hand.
Feemor dropped his hand from Skywalker's head to rest over his nape and gently used the touch to steer them towards a nearby empty table. "So, what sort of helping did you get into today?"
Skywalker hopped up onto on the the seats with a grin, and immediately started telling Feemor all about the droid collection and dismantling team he and Obi-Wan had ended up on. Apparently, everything to do with droids was 'super wizard' and it was a little disappointing that he couldn't have any of the spare parts, because he loved building droids, but the Naboo were going to melt down or repurpose everything for use in rebuilding damaged buildings, vehicles, and equipment. Which was also, apparently, 'super wizard'.
While Skywalker talked, Obi-Wan set his own plate down, then left and returned with glasses of water for all of them.
Obi-Wan finally got the boy to focus on eating when he started winding down a bit, and Feemor took the opportunity to collect some food for himself, feeling a bit more settled after listening to the boy's unending excitement about droids.
Who would have guessed that 'The General Without Fear' had been a droid maniac as a youngling?
Qui-Gon, he spotted when he was getting food, had struck up a conversation with a couple of well-dressed, important-looking humans. His body language was relaxed, so Feemor returned to Skywalker and Obi-Wan without any regret about forcing his former master to find an alternate dinner partner for the night.
'Not that,' a mental voice that sounded very much like Kei said, 'you should feel any regret. What sort of jedi master repudiates their padawan and then continues to keep tabs on them?'
Feemor didn't bother attempting to argue that point, just settled back in at the table and let Skywalker's voice—he'd moved on to gushing about how beautiful the city was—wash over him again.
They were eventually interrupted by a crowd of starfighter pilots, who were looking to congratulate Skywalker on his destruction of the control ship, followed by a trickling of officials who wanted to shake hands and 'thank you all personally for your parts in saving Naboo'.
When Skywalker's eyes started drooping, Obi-Wan and Feemor made their excuses to their current crowd of grateful Naboo and ushered the boy back to their suite, where Feemor took over getting Skywalker ready for bed—he had plenty of practise riding herd on exhausted younglings—then joined Obi-Wan out in the common area.
"What did Master do?" the padawan asked in a tired, unsurprised tone.
Feemor shook his head. "Apparently, he's been keeping track of my missions."
Obi-Wan considered that with a frown for a long moment, then said, "Ah. And you had no idea."
"No. Until three days ago, I hadn't even spoken to him since our spar the day he left with Xanatos and Tahl to Telos IV."
Obi-Wan's mouth went tight, and Feemor couldn't tell if it was due to the sheer length of time he and Qui-Gon had spent ignoring the problem, or at the mention of Tahl, given Feemor knew he and Qui-Gon had been there when she died.
Feemor sighed and rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Kei was just telling me I forgave him too easily."
"Maybe," Obi-Wan agreed in a hesitant voice.
"But?"
Obi-Wan frowned down at where he was running his fingers along his braid. "I know he...blamed himself. For Xanatos. And he said, for me, he said he didn't even realise what he'd done, right?"
Feemor frowned. "Are you suggesting he didn't realise he'd repudiated me?"
Sadly, he could almost see it; Qui-Gon, unfortunately, had a long habit of doing stupid things without thinking—almost always insisting it was at the urging of the Force—and then being blindsided by the consequences.
"Maybe?" Obi-Wan offered with a shrug. "And then, when you never approached him, he just...assumed you didn't want him near you or your padawan."
Feemor closed his eyes and let out a strained breath. "Why is everything with that man so complicated?"
Obi-Wan let out a strained, tired laugh. "Good question."
Feemor sighed and leant forward so he could pat his brother-padawan's knee. "Go get some sleep, little brother. We're expecting guests at some point tomorrow."
"I'm not the one the Council wants to yell at," Obi-Wan returned.
"Yes, but someone has to keep my padawan distracted while I'm getting reprimanded."
Obi-Wan straightened, his eyes brightening. "Your padawan's coming? Wangui?"
Feemor grinned and nodded. "According to Kei, yes."
Obi-Wan grinned back for a moment, before sobering a bit and asking, "Kei is...?"
"Ah. Knight Kei Kimura. He, Master Roimata, and Knight Rún Ursu were my crèchemates, and remain my closest friends."
"Oh." Obi-Wan smiled a bit whimsically. "Bant Eerin, Garen Muln, and Reeft, we're the same. I hope we're still friends when we're older."
Feemor snorted. "We're not that old, young padawan."
Obi-Wan made a face at him.
Feemor chuckled. "For Kei, though, he's a temple guard. And let me apologise now, because he's something of an acquired taste."
Obi-Wan laughed. "So's Garen. And Quin, Quinlan Vos; we met on Troiken, during the Stark Hyperspace War, and he comes to annoy me when we're both in Temple."
"Sounds like the sort of friend you love to plot the murder of," Feemor offered with a knowing smile, and Obi-Wan laughed again, nodding. "I look forward to meeting all of them. And introducing you to Roimata and Rún."
"Not Knight Kei?" Obi-Wan asked with a grin.
"I've already apologised for him."
Obi-Wan snickered and pushed himself up from his seat. "Good night, F–" He hesitated for a beat, then swallowed and looked down at Feemor. "Big brother."
Warmth unfurled in Feemor's chest, and he stood so he could tug his brother-padawan into a hug. Obi-Wan hesitated again, but then his arms came up and he hugged Feemor back hard, face tucked in to press against his collarbone. "Good night, little brother," Feemor replied gently.
Obi-Wan tightened his arms around Feemor, then tugged away and hurried into his room, the door falling closed behind him.
Feemor closed his eyes and smiled, reaching out into the Force to touch the thread of a burgeoning Force bond, sensing a faint echo of embarrassment and pleasure. He sent a swell of affection down the bond—partially so Obi-Wan knew it was there, partially because he wanted to—and felt a faint echo of surprise followed by a very purposeful sense of gratitude. So far as he could tell, Obi-Wan didn't try to block the bond on his end in any way, so Feemor let it settle in his mind, next to his bonds with Ace and Wangui and the one-sided bond with Kei (which they had formed during the war, as a way to keep tabs on each other, so the other half of it simply didn't exist).
(Held apart from those four bonds were the shrivelled remains of his shattered bond with his first master, and the cleanly severed bond with Qui-Gon.)
Warmed by the acceptance of the new bond, and having no particular interest in waiting for Qui-Gon to return to the suite, Feemor retreated to his room to meditate until morning.
1-So Much For 'Ever After' || 2-One Day Changes Everything
5-Now We Are What We Have Become
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