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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: Okay, so this is...not really a nice chapter? I mean, there's lots of hugs, but, well, Feemor's struggling, just a little bit. (Which is a large part of the reason for the hugs.) I mean, the big stressor of saving Qui-Gon is done with, so now his brain can focus on all the other shit he's been through, right?
First up, warning for a panic attack/flashback. (If you need to skip it, it's when Feemor starts cursing at Yoda, lasts maybe eight paragraphs; skip down to the line that starts with 'Naboo'.)
Second, the dream sequence includes child death, just jump to the next scene break to skip it. (I added a warning in the scene break, so should be easy to avoid.)
Last, there's a flashback at the very end of the chapter. You'll probably see that one coming.
Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.
The morning of the day the Council and new chancellor were expected to arrive, was spent assisting with clean-up. Feemor somehow ended up on Skywalker watching duty, which meant he joined the droid recycling crew, while Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon left for parts of the city that had seen a firefight during the occupation and, as such, had suffered structural damage. The Force was one of the greatest assistants, when it came to shifting heavy rubble, or holding up unsteady structures while more permanent bracing systems were put into place, and the people of Naboo were extremely grateful to have jedi willing to assist with the clean-up efforts, based on some of the comments they heard at dinner.
Feemor, unfortunately, had never been particularly fond of droids—his strength in the Living Force meant he much preferred working with living things—and the war had completely turned him off battle droids. So dropping the carcases into the recycling unit turned out to be extremely cathartic, even if it was accompanied by Skywalker rattling off random facts and observations he'd made about the droids.
They were eating lunch in a large dining room, with the queen, her entourage, and various ministers, when Feemor sensed a firm nudge in his mind. He traced it back to its source, felt relief and a sense of scolding from his padawan, and said, "They've dropped out of hyperspace," loud enough for the whole table to hear.
"Wangui?" Qui-Gon enquired quietly with a knowing smile.
Feemor nodded. "Wangui."
Obi-Wan hid a subtle cough in his water glass, while Anakin looked between them with a confused frown.
"Captain, please have our guests collected," Amidala said to Panaka, and he gave a quick bow, then left the room with three security officers. "Until we have confirmation of their exact arrival time, we may as well continue the meal," she added to the table at large, and had another delicate bite of the pasta dish.
They ended up having enough time to run back to their suite and change into clean clothing—all far more colourful than any of them were used to, as the Naboo seemed to detest shades of brown; Skywalker seemed delighted, and Feemor had been relieved to find shades of orange in the wardrobe in his room, but the other two jedi looked very much like they would have preferred to wear dusty tunics—before they had to join Amidala on the wide boulevard the senate shuttle had been directed to.
Panaka took the lead towards the shuttle, once the ramp opened, leading Gunray and Haako, while the three jedi took up the rear, Skywalker hop-skipping every few steps in an attempt to stay between Obi-Wan and Feemor.
Chancellor Palpatine led the way down the ramp, his familiar, kindly smile in place. He had just reached the group of jedi and opened his mouth, when a loud, "Master!" echoed from inside the ship, and an orange and purple blur dodged around Panaka and the Neimoidians, and crashed into Feemor, who had stepped forward and held open his arms for her.
"My precious girl," Feemor whispered into the mass of her hair as he wrapped his padawan up in a hug.
Wangui clutched tight to the back of his robes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like one of Kei's favourite Umbarese insults.
"Language," Feemor warned, and she huffed, but obediently kept any other insults to herself. (And he didn't, for one moment, doubt there were plenty more; knowing Kei, he'd taught her a few in hopes that she'd use them at an improper moment.)
When he unwrapped his arms, she let go and stepped back, flicking her braid over her shoulder with one hand and scowling up at him. "You better not have run out of hospital against the medics' orders again, Master."
Feemor shook his head, far too happy to see her again, alive, to be bothered by her mothering. "I promise I was released properly."
She looked extremely sceptical.
"He really was," Obi-Wan offered in a careful tone. "Master checked with the medics."
Feemor sighed and shook his head. "Of course he did," he muttered.
"Who are you?" Wangui asked, clearly trying for diplomatic, but the words came out sounding a little too suspicious.
Feemor caught his padawan around the shoulders and turned them both to where Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon, and Skywalker had turned their attention to them, Palpatine having moved on to talk to Amidala. "This is Wangui, my padawan. Wangui, this is your grandmaster, Qui-Gon Jinn, his padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Anakin Skywalker."
Wangui turned a wide-eyed stare on him. "But, I thought Master Je'dyannder was your master!"
"She was," Qui-Gon offered mildly. "I took Feemor as my padawan after her death."
"Why haven't you ever mentioned him before?" she demanded, looking between him and Qui-Gon. "Master Jinn's a legend!"
"Am I, now?" Qui-Gon asked, still in that mild tone that Feemor knew was masking laughter.
Wangui's cheeks flushed a dark plum and she ducked behind Feemor.
Feemor chuckled and shook his head, probably a little too amused by his padawan's embarrassment.
The clicking of Yoda's gimer stick on the stone walkway had all of them turning to bow to the six Council members: Yoda, Mace Windu, Plo Koon, Saesee Tiin, Even Piell, and Ki-Adi-Mundi.
"On the ship, you were meant to remain, Padawan Wangui," Yoda said.
"Sorry, Master," Wangui said to her feet.
Feemor gently rested his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sure none of you expected me to be on my feet, Master."
"I believe you're already in enough trouble, Master Feemor," Mundi told him in an unimpressed voice.
Feemor met the Cerean master's eyes and said, in a perfect imitation of his former master, "I was only following the will of the Force."
Obi-Wan made a choked noise.
"As must we all," Qui-Gon agreed serenely.
Yoda's ears went flat, while other members of the Council developed twitches or, in the case of Koon, made a noise that could have been construed as a chuckle.
For his part, Windu reached up and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "This should be an interesting debrief," he said, sounding strained, "given I can't even look at you properly right now."
Feemor couldn't stop his eyebrows from raising at that. But then he realised that Windu probably meant there were tens of shatterpoints converging on him, which made sense, him having memories of a possible future.
"Interesting, yes," the troll agreed, then lifted his gimer stick and waved it between Feemor and Qui-Gon—Feemor was a little ashamed to admit he flinched, but felt a little better that he hadn't been the only one—and asked, "Speaking again, are you?"
"We are," Qui-Gon agreed. And then, with just a hint of uncertainty, he added, "I have some...things to take back, records to set to rights."
Windu muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Who packed the holorecorder?"
"Time, long past it has been," Yoda announced, and his gimer stick returned to the stone walkway with a click. "Your reports we will hear, then his words Qui-Gon will eat, hm?"
Qui-Gon gave a short bow. "Her Majesty has lent us the use of one of the smaller meeting rooms for the rest of the day, if you'll follow me?"
As Qui-Gon turned to lead the way, Obi-Wan falling in at his shoulder, Feemor caught Skywalker's shoulder to stop him from following as well. "Anakin, could you show Wangui to our suite?" he requested. "She can put her things in my room, for now, and we'll sort sleeping arrangements after dinner."
"Yeah, okay," Skywalker muttered, kicking at the ground a bit.
"You're welcome to show her around the palace, after," Feemor offered. "She'd probably love to meet R2." Because Wangui was hardly as much of a droid maniac as the boy, but she had struck up a quick friendship with Ace's astromech the first time they'd met, and he didn't doubt the same would happen with R2-D2.
Skywalker perked up. "R2's the best! Wait 'til you meet him!"
Wangui cast a questioning glance at Feemor, and he smiled and made a shooing motion with his hands. Sighing a bit, she nodded and turned her attention to Skywalker, leaving Feemor to hurry after the Council, Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan, without worrying about the youngest two.
The room Amidala had leant them had more than enough chairs for all of them to sit, but sitting during a Council debrief was a foreign and slightly uncomfortable prospect, so Qui-Gon, Feemor, and Obi-Wan all stood in front of the half-circle of Council members as they explained all that had transpired on Naboo.
"There's a distinct lack of explanation for your part in this, Master Feemor," Piell said, once they'd got through the death of Maul and the drafting and signing of the treaty.
"Master Che reported that you believed yourself to have had a vision of Master Jinn's death," Koon said. "By all accounts, the first one you've ever had."
Feemor twisted his fingers together hard enough to ache under the cover of his sleeves, and glanced over at Qui-Gon, debating. He could continue telling everyone it had been a vision, with only his former master aware of the truth, or he could tell the Council—and Obi-Wan, because he was hardly going to kick his brother-padawan out, that would be cruel—that he'd seen one possible future, the whole of it for the next thirteen years.
"It's your story to share, Padawan," Qui-Gon offered quietly.
Feemor closed his eyes, drew in a slow, deep breath, and then opened his eyes and looked at Koon, since he'd been the one to broach the question. "So far as my memories are concerned, I died five days ago. Thirteen years in the future."
The Council members traded looks, some disbelieving, some thoughtful.
Windu, for his part, closed his eyes and started massaging his forehead. "Time travel," he said flatly.
Feemor inclined his head. And then, in deference to Windu's shatterpoint-born headache, said, "Yes. A future where Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan returned with Queen Amidala to Naboo alone, faced the sith apprentice, Darth Maul, and Qui-Gon was slain. Obi-Wan bisected Maul, who was assumed dead until he reappeared ten years later, murdering innocents to draw him into a fight with the intention of getting revenge for his defeat."
Obi-Wan shifted closer to Feemor, his shoulder brushing Feemor's bicep, and he felt a brief sense of understanding across their fledgling bond, followed by a flash of a memory: Maul's head cleanly removed from his body.
Feemor had heard more than enough stories about Maul's attempts to get revenge on his brother-padawan; he had no more interest in watching that misery play out again, than he had in losing Qui-Gon to a sith a second time.
Feemor swallowed and lifted his chin, staring at the detailed rendering of one of Naboo's myths, painted onto the wall between Yoda and Windu's chairs. "There is war, and the sith, and so much darkness in that future, Masters. I do not know as much as I wish, but what I do, if the Council deems it wise, I will share. In hopes that it might ease our way forward, and save more lives."
The room was silent for a beat, two.
"This darkness you have seen, sensed it we have," Yoda said grimly. "Ever changing, the future is, hard to predict. Already, different it is. With great care, such knowledge must be shared. A decision for today, this is not."
Feemor bowed his understanding, torn between relief that he wouldn't have to re-live the wars and his personal losses right that moment, and disappointment that they wouldn't get it all out of the way right then.
"Is there anything currently or soon-to-be relevant that you wish to share now?" Koon asked.
"Anakin Skywalker," Feemor said immediately, and Windu grimaced, rubbing harder at his forehead. "He became a truly excellent knight, and it was a common belief that we would have lost far more than we did during the war without him."
"And who, then, was his master?” Piell asked, staring at Qui-Gon.
"Obi-Wan," Feemor admitted, and the padawan twitched behind him. "The Council declared his battle against Maul to have been his Trials."
The Council members traded speaking looks, and Feemor glanced over at Qui-Gon, whose mouth quirked up ever so slightly; they had both read that exchange as the Council having intended to claim that battle his Trials again.
"I don't understand why I would take on Ani immediately after being knighted," Obi-Wan said, as bewildered now as he'd been the first time Feemor had mentioned this future to him. "He's a sweet boy, but, Feemor, you said he should spend some time in the initiate dorms before being picked as a padawan."
"Too old he is," Yoda muttered stubbornly.
"And if he's not trained?" Feemor demanded. "There's a sith master out there, somewhere, and they're down one apprentice. Do you really want to hand them a boy that's as powerful as Anakin is? Gift wrap him with a rejection from the Order because he 'too old'?"
Yoda's ears went up in surprise. "Betray you, your emotions do," he said in a warning tone.
Something inside Feemor snapped. "Kriff my emotions! I lost nearly my entire lineage because this karking Council let the Senate lead them about by the choobies, sending us to lead a war we had no business being a part of! I am not going to just, just stand back and let you make the same kriffing mistakes all over again! I can't–!"
Hands gripped his shoulders tight enough to ache as something—someone—blocked his view of his great-grandmaster. "Breathe, Feemor," Qui-Gon directed from a distance.
Feemor tried to draw in a breath, choked on nothing because there was nothing there, because he was trapped, trapped under the rubble of a building that had been declared structurally sound, and he couldn't–
A forehead knocked gently against his, and a hand cupped the back of his neck, the same way the Vode always did to each other. "Padawan," Qui-Gon said, voice quiet, but firm, "listen to the sound of my voice. You're on Naboo, in the palace. You're safe. And so am I, and so is Obi-Wan. And so are Wangui and Anakin. Everyone is safe."
Feemor gasped in air, choked on it as it rushed in too fast.
"Slowly, with me," Qui-Gon directed, and took a slow, steady breath.
Feemor tried to match him, a little too fast in, but he let it out slower, in time with his master, and the next breath in came easier, didn't hitch in his throat or stumble to his lungs, out again, like a sigh, pushing away the billowing of duracrete dust that had never been there to begin with.
In, the familiar scent of safety and home that decades couldn't remove from his sense-memory; out, the two points of concern shining like beacons in his mind, one more distant than the other, padawans who had always done their best to shove a shoulder under his when everything started to drag; in, the warm-worry-affection reaching out a little uncertainly through the new bond with his brother-padawan, like he wasn't certain it would be welcome; out.
Naboo. Safe. He'd been yelling at the Council.
"Feemor?" Qui-Gon asked quietly, their foreheads pressed tight together, his hands warm and familiar on Feemor's nape, on his shoulder.
"Sorry," Feemor rasped.
Qui-Gon squeezed the back of his neck, then pulled back and said, "Obi-Wan, take him back to the suite."
"Of course, Master," Obi-Wan agreed, and when Qui-Gon let him go, Obi-Wan's arm slid around his shoulders, just the slightest bit hesitant, like he wasn't certain if it would be allowed, or like he didn't really know how.
Feemor let himself be directed out of the room, feeling drained and sluggish, but he still found the energy to lift his arm and slide it back around Obi-Wan's shoulder, tugging his brother-padawan in a little closer, more comfortable. Obi-Wan huffed, but didn't fight him, settled into the new position and kept walking.
"What happened?!" Wangui shouted as they approached the suite, hurrying down the hall from the other direction, Skywalker on her heels.
"His, his vision," Obi-Wan replied, a little hesitant, and then he shook his head. "Something he saw in it, it was...disturbing. Visions are, they're hard. Harder when you're not used to them, probably. He just needs to lie down, sleep it off."
"If he can," Wangui replied with all the certainty of a padawan who had woken to find her master sitting up and working on something at the oddest hours, insisting he wasn't tired for days on end, because a couple of hours of meditation was enough to keep him going until his current insomnia cycle let off.
They helped him to the bed, Wangui holding the doors open and Skywalker pulling down the bedsheets and Obi-Wan helping him out of his robes and pulling off his boots once he was sitting down.
Wangui was the one to tuck him in, warm concern weaving around him through their bond. "Get some sleep, Master. You probably need it."
"One of us will be in the common room," Obi-Wan added.
And that, that was a relief. So Feemor closed his eyes and let himself fall back into the darkness of unconsciousness.
Child death warning
BREAK
"General!"
He looks up, catches sight of the wildly waving arms—Rube, it looks like, and almost certainly Snipe; those two are practically attached at the hip, will end up dying together—and makes his way over to the blown-in front of the building they're in front of. When he recognises the local symbol for a learning centre, shattered at the very edge of the spidering cracks in the building, his stomach drops.
"We weren't sure what to do," Snipe says, hands clenched tight around his DC-15A. "What if there's survivors?"
"There aren't," he says, wishes so very desperately for it to be a lie, but there are no signs of life in the Force, only the echoes of terror and agony, of lives ended before their time.
Rube's shoulders slump, and Snipe clutches his rifle a little harder, a unhappy creaking sound coming from either his gauntlets or the weapon.
"I'll help," he promises, patting Rube's shoulder, since he's closest, and then turns his attention to the ruined building, asking the Force to help him move the duracrete so they can get in to safely collect the dead.
The first body they find makes his insides clench, the brilliant purple of Wangui's skin gone a dull lilac, her padawan braid paled with building dust. The second is almost worse, Ace's bright green eyes gone dim and lifeless, the long curl of their padawan braid thrown across their neck like the parody of a noose. The third, green blood pooling out from where something has smashed in the side of Vega's head, staining the auburn of her padawan braid an ugly brown. The fourth, Skywalker's expression twisted with an agony he's never seen, a cut just above his right eye a nod to the famous scar he'll now never have.
He knows who the teacher is before he reaches him, lifts the plank of broken desk off with his own two hands and stares down into the face of his brother-padawan, his blue-green eyes gone grey and empty, yet still somehow staring at him, deep into his soul. An accusation.
'Why didn't you save us?'
End child death warning
BREAK
It wasn't the first time he woke himself sobbing, but it was the first time in a very long time that there was someone there, their hand warm and grounding on his back, while whispered assurances—"It's okay, no one's dead, everyone's okay."—gave him something to focus on, a truth that pushed back the nightmare images.
"Sorry," he whispered once he'd managed to settle himself enough that the tears had mostly stopped.
"I think," Obi-Wan replied, "that you, of any of us, are allowed to have nightmares."
Feemor snorted, but didn't disagree. Instead, he said, "I'm giving up sleep."
Obi-Wan let out a choked sound that might have been a laugh. "That never actually works out as well as you want it to," he said with the voice of experience.
Feemor squinted in his direction, though the room was too dark to actually make out more than the shadow of him. "If I didn't know Xanatos was an absolute terror if he didn't get eight hours every night, I would think Qui-Gon made a habit of picking chronic insomniacs."
"I'm not...chronic. Or, well," he corrected, sounding a little uncertain, "I...wasn't?"
Feemor closed his eyes. "Please, lie to me if you have to, and tell me our master didn't somehow manage to train you out of sleeping."
"He didn't! I just, well, there have been a...few missions where going to sleep was dangerous."
Feemor had been on missions like that, certainly, and they were the sort that the Council actively tried to not give to partnerships involving a padawan. Of course, from the publicly available reports of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan's missions—and, later, Obi-Wan and Skywalker's—they tended to have a lot of bad luck with missions that should have been simple, taking a hard left into a Hutt's backside.
"It's probably for the best," Feemor said, rather than commenting on Obi-Wan's mission luck, or what he thought about Qui-Gon not doing more to keep his current padawan from developing poor self-care habits (not that he should be throwing those stones, though he didn't think Ace or Wangui had ever been in danger of neglecting their own health quite the way he did). "Sleep is overrated."
"It really is."
Feemor snorted and pushed himself up to a sitting position in the big bed. He checked on his bond with Wangui and, upon finding her asleep, asked, "What time is it?"
"Uh, two-ish, I think? There's some food left for you, from dinner, if you're hungry?"
Feemor considered that for a moment, then sighed and nodded. "I should. Wangui will sit on me and start shoving things in my mouth if she finds out I woke up and didn't eat."
Obi-Wan snickered as he got up from where he'd been sitting on the edge of the bed. "As entertaining as that might be to watch, let's avoid it."
"Let's," Feemor agreed drily. "Is Anakin still next door to me?"
"Oh, no. Wangui's in there, and Ani's in my room. I'm technically sharing with Qui-Gon, but I wasn't tired."
"Not going to complain about the company," Feemor offered, and felt a burst of warmth through his bond with Obi-Wan. "I am going to visit the 'fresher first, though."
"I'll check on the food," Obi-Wan promised, amusement in his voice, and quit the room.
He relieved himself, grimaced at the exhaustion still lining his face and the ten-day-old stubble he should probably do something about—he'd never had his former master or brother-padawan's luck with growing a beard—then returned to his room to find something to wear that he hadn't slept in.
Feeling a little more like a living person, he joined Obi-Wan out in the common area, where the lights were on low enough to not blind anyone, but high enough that they could easily see each other. He sat across from his brother-padawan, where a tray of fruit, bread, and vegetables had been left for him. "Thank you," he offered, picking up one of the rolls.
And then he stopped, and looked up again at Obi-Wan, who was rather obviously pretending not to be expecting a reaction to the empty space behind his right ear. "Congratulations, Knight Kenobi," he offered, pushing a sense of pride down their bond.
Obi-Wan flushed and grinned, reaching up to tug on the braid that wasn't there, and tugging on the lobe of his ear instead. "Thanks. The Council, they decided that, between Maul and, and what happened with Qui-Gon, with him repudiating me, even if he hadn't meant it that way, that I'd passed my Trials."
"Good. And you are going to be one hell of a knight," Feemor returned.
Obi-Wan ducked his head towards his chest. "I'm going to have to take your word for it," he mumbled. "I don't feel very knightly."
"You never do," Feemor admitted a bit helplessly. "And the same goes for being a master. Especially, it turns out, when your old master is around. Or Yoda."
Obi-Wan choked out a laugh, at that. "I suppose Master Yoda makes everyone feel like a crècheling."
"It's the gimer stick."
"And the way his ears droop in disappointment."
Feemor chuckled and ducked forward to focus on eating, warmed by the banter.
There was a datapad on the table on Obi-Wan's side, and he picked it up, fingers pressing along the edges. "Ani, the Council accepted him."
"That's good."
Obi-Wan nodded. "Master told them, though, that you think he needs to spend time with other initiates, in the dorms. So no one's allowed to take him as a padawan until he's twelve. He keeps vacillating between being excited about sleeping with other initiates in the dorms, and being upset about having to wait a little over two years to be picked."
Feemor snorted. "So, he's exactly like every other initiate his age."
Obi-Wan coughed and nodded, amusement flickering at the edge of the bond. "He did, though, get promises out of Master and me, that we'd visit him when we're in Temple." Feemor snorted; that didn't really surprise him. "And Wangui, she told him that you like spending time in the crèche, sometimes, so you'd probably be willing to visit him."
Feemor sat back, picking at the stem of the pear he was holding. "Younglings are easy, tend to actually say what they mean; they're a refreshing change from dealing with the Senate and diplomatic envoys."
Obi-Wan grimaced. "Okay, yeah, that's true enough. And they're always happy to see you."
"Also a point in their favour."
Obi-Wan grinned and shook his head. "The initiates would probably be equally excited to see us."
"Less so me, since I already have a padawan," Feemor had to point out, and Obi-Wan shrugged. "You don't have to sell me on visiting Anakin, Obi-Wan; I like spending time with the younglings."
"I– Oh. Right." Obi-Wan stared down at the datapad, the screen flickering as he fingered the power button.
Feemor sighed and set the pear back on the tray. "What is it?"
Obi-Wan's mouth twisted into an unhappy frown. "Something Master said. About, about your, ah, your memories?"
Feemor frowned and settled back in his chair, frowning himself. "Which part?"
"He...implied, sort of, that we didn't...talk? At all?"
"Ah." Feemor sighed and made himself meet his brother-padawan's uncertain gaze. "I...never made up with Qui-Gon. Obviously. So he never introduced us. And I...didn't really know how to approach you? I mean, you had a new padawan, and I know how...exhausting that can be, getting used to having a youngling around. And then Wangui became a senior padawan, took her Trials, and died on her first mission."
Obi-Wan's eyes went wide and he whispered, "Feemor," in a voice that ached.
Feemor flashed him a sharp smile. "Not happening, not this time," he said, and Obi-Wan nodded, still looking a little like his heart had broken.
Feemor sighed, had to look away as he said, "Obi-Wan, I didn't...know. If you knew about me or not. And, well, Xanatos leaves an...impression."
Obi-Wan let out a disgusted, if slightly strained, snort.
Feemor shrugged. "I didn't know if you'd even want anything to do with our master's repudiated padawan. Especially since you always looked so put together."
Obi-Wan choked. "Me?"
Feemor offered him a helpless smile. "It may have just been a very good act, but it...well. I thought I would just end up being in the way, so I left it. Yoda bruised my ankles for it when I finally admitted that to him."
Obi-Wan huffed and shook his head, his expression held blank in that same careful way Feemor recognised from his memories. Except, now, he could also feel the swirl of confused emotions tickling the edge of their bond.
After a moment of silence, Obi-Wan cautiously said, "I...can't speak for that, that version of me, because I don't, I'm not...him."
"No," Feemor agreed quietly. That Obi-Wan had probably never got an apology from Qui-Gon for his words to the Council, had had no idea he had another brother-padawan who had a pretty good idea what he was going through, and he'd lost his master and been left with a new padawan. No master, no grandmaster, no one left in their lineage to turn to when he needed someone to lean on.
Force, Feemor had been an idiot.
"But, I think I, he, would have wanted to know you."
"Yeah," Feemor whispered. "I'm getting that." He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at them, smearing drops of unshed tears. "I'm sorry. I should have– I knew how Qui-Gon could be, I should have guessed that you wouldn't have got through your apprenticeship entirely unscathed. And Master Yan–" He choked, laughed a little at the very thought of Obi-Wan trying to go to Yan if he'd needed help.
"I didn't even know he was around," Obi-Wan muttered, sounding just the slightest bit petulant.
Feemor snorted, the sound coming out harsh and angry. "He wasn't," he said, bitter. "He left the Order after Qui-Gon's death, went back to Serenno and accepted his noble heritage."
"You...sound like you really hate him," Obi-Wan said, cautious. "Why pressure Qui-Gon into inviting him to dinner?"
Feemor sighed and picked up the pear again, pressing a crescent into the skin with a nail. "I don't, actually, know how much of his leaving was to do with Qui-Gon's death, and how much was him just being that fed up with how attached to the Senate the Order was. But, after he left, he..." Became a sith, led half the galaxy in a war against the Republic, cut off your padawan's arm. "He made a lot of bad choices. I...don't really want to have to listen to Yoda tell me he'd been killed again. That was...rough." It had been a victory, yes, but Yan had been Yoda's padawan, had been Feemor's grandmaster, and Obi-Wan's, too. Fighting against him for three years had been hard enough, but then for Anakin to have been the one to kill him?
Force, their lineage was such a speeder wreck.
"Poor Master Yoda," Obi-Wan whispered, shaking his head. "So you want, you're hoping that, with Master still alive, maybe he won't leave?"
"Maybe," Feemor agreed. "And, maybe, too, if he realises he still has a, a family in Temple, that he's got a grandpadawan he might actually like–"
"How promising," Obi-Wan muttered.
"–that he might be willing to stick around. If only to yell at me for letting Wangui do that with her hair."
Obi-Wan choked out a laugh. "I don't know, it sort of suits her? Makes her look bigger than she is. Fits her personality."
"You can say that again," Feemor muttered, rolling his eyes, and Obi-Wan coughed into his fist, mouth pulled wide in a grin. "It takes a fair bit of upkeep, honestly. I told her she could wear it however she wanted, but taking care of it is her job. She'll get sick of it in a year or so, beg me to take her down to the lower town so a salon can do tiny braids; they apparently require a minimum of maintenance, if done right."
Obi-Wan shook his head. "Is it...weird? Knowing what's going to happen like that?"
Feemor considered that for a moment. Was it weird knowing how and when Wangui was going to want to change her hair? Maybe a little. But it was comfortable, too, in a way. "A little. But it's also a bit nice? Because I know things like Qui-Gon's death, things I can change. And, well, I can only assume that, eventually, I'll have changed too much? Even now, maybe she'll decide to change her hair earlier because something about Qui-Gon being alive and a part of her life makes her decide it's too much effort, or that she likes a different style far more. Or maybe Master Yan will talk her into a more conservative style."
Obi-Wan snorted. "I haven't known her long, but I'm pretty sure 'conservative' is not something she'd be interested in."
"Ah, but you haven't met Master Yan, yet. He can be very convincing. Though rarely in a good way."
Obi-Wan grimaced. "Maybe I don't want to meet him."
Feemor snickered and finally took a bite of the pear he'd been abusing.
Obi-Wan fidgeted with the power button of the datapad a few more times, then started tapping on and scrolling the screen.
Feemor honestly couldn't tell if Obi-Wan was just one of those people who fiddled with things if they had it in their hands—Feemor certainly was, despite all of Qui-Gon's attempts to get him to stop, though he'd learnt that he could fold his hands together and keep them under the sleeves of his robes to keep them occupied without anyone noticing—or if he had something else he wanted to ask and the fidgeting was a sign of nerves. Rather than push and chance a misstep—he doubted Qui-Gon had taken to Obi-Wan's fidgeting any better than he had to Feemor's, and he didn't want his brother-padawan to feel like he had to be perfectly behaved around him—he focussed on the pear, then got up to drop the pit into the recycler.
And then, since he didn't have a datapad to keep himself distracted with, he decided, "I'm going to meditate."
Obi-Wan glanced up, a whisper of hope skittering at the edge of the bond.
Feemor offered him a smile. "Did you want to join me?"
Obi-Wan nodded and pushed himself out of his chair, dropping the datapad back onto the table. "Yes. If it's not an imposition."
Feemor shook his head. "Not in the least. I enjoy meditating with other people, though it has been a while, for me."
"But– Oh, right." Obi-Wan nodded in understanding, relaxing a bit.
"Also," Feemor added as he knelt in front of the large windows that overlooked a garden; he was fairly certain it faced the direction the sun rose in, so he could use the dawn to bring himself out of the meditation, if something else didn't do it before then, "I tend to use meditation in place of sleep, when my insomnia is particularly bad."
Obi-Wan offered him a slightly wry smile as he knelt next to him. "I do the same thing."
"Hm. Well, at least I'm not the only one with that bad habit in this lineage, any more."
Obi-Wan snorted, and then they both closed their eyes and opened themselves to the Force.
In the Force's embrace, Obi-Wan shared the thought he'd been worrying at earlier: Whether or not he should take Skywalker as his padawan.
You have time, Feemor thought at him, sending a soothing wave to blanket the concern. Learn yourself, get to know him as he learns the Temple and our ways, and then decide. No one will shame you if the answer ends up being no.
Obi-Wan relaxed a little further into the Force, letting the thought and the fears attached to it float away on the eddies around them.
Meditating with Obi-Wan, it turned out, was easy in a comfortable way. He had a steadiness to him that reminded Feemor of Qui-Gon, something that neither Ace nor Wangui—both far too active, too get-up-and-go—had ever had, and it soothed away the wary antsiness the war had left him with almost without Feemor noticing. The brilliant light Feemor had seen at his core helped in its own way, too, pushing away the edges of darkness both in the Force and in Feemor's own memories, easing the way for a far more relaxing meditation than he'd had in a...very long time.
Feemor eventually became aware of someone moving around nearby, but there was no danger in the Force, and Obi-Wan thought a quiet, Master, which was when Feemor recognised his former master's signature, just a hint darker and more worn around the edges than the last time he'd seen it from so deeply in the Force.
Qui-Gon settled near them, sending a silent request to join them through the Force, and when neither of them refused, settled into meditation with them. Without really thinking about it, Feemor drifted closer to Qui-Gon's familiar, steady presence, Obi-Wan doing the same, and their master wrapped them both up in a sense of comfort and pride.
It was so easy to let go of the lingering irritation at Qui-Gon, like that, and he let it drift off into the Force.
What seemed like no time at all after Qui-Gon joined them, Skywalker's blinding presence came into the common room, and his confusion swept over them.
Amusement and resignation shared between all three of them, and they withdrew from the Force.
Feemor opened his eyes and smiled a bit at the pink staining the horizon, while Obi-Wan got up to check in with Skywalker.
Next to him, Qui-Gon shifted out of his meditation pose with a quiet groan. "That used to be easier on my body," he murmured.
"Maybe if you didn't annoy so many people into shooting at you, your joints would be more appreciative," Feemor returned drily.
Qui-Gon huffed. "Thank you for not telling me to go see the healers."
Feemor snickered and glanced over at his former master. "And let you call me a hypocrite?"
Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, then glanced over as the last room door opened and Wangui peeked out.
"Yes, Padawan, it's safe to come out here now," Feemor promised drily. "No one is going to make you meditate."
Wangui straightened and stepped out of her room. "I just didn't want to disturb you, Master. You looked so peaceful."
Feemor raised an eyebrow at her, far too familiar with her studied avoidance of meditation whenever she could manage it to buy that particular story.
"Sitting in one place looks boring," Skywalker announced, and Wangui's face lit up at the entrance of an ally.
"You'll understand the draw when you're older," Qui-Gon announced as he got up, then held a hand down to Feemor, who accepted the help more as a way to show there was peace between them, than because he needed it.
"Ace still hates meditation and they're lots older," Wangui informed her grandmaster.
When Qui-Gon turned a questioning look on Feemor, he huffed out a laugh. "Ace prefers moving meditation, Wangui, which is not the same as hating meditation."
"Okay, fine, Ace hates boring meditation."
Feemor resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"Hm. She is definitely your padawan," Qui-Gon decided, and Obi-Wan let out one of his unconvincing coughs while Wangui beamed.
Feemor turned an unimpressed stare on the elder jedi. "Master, quibbling over the minor details is something I got from you."
Qui-Gon folded his arms together inside his sleeves. "I'm certain I have no idea what you're talking about," he said in that hoity tone he'd got from Master Yan, which Feemor had spent most of his apprenticeship wanting to punch one or both of them for. (Watching Qui-Gon use it on Xanatos, and the little bastard's annoyed flailing over how to respond to it, had won the tone a lot of fondness.)
"Only because you quibble over all of the details, simultaneously," Obi-Wan offered.
Qui-Gon let out the longest, most suffering sigh Feemor had ever heard from him. "I think," he announced, while Feemor bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, "it's time for us to find breakfast."
Skywalker and Obi-Wan both needed to change before they could head out, while the rest of them needed to collect their boots and robes, so they all retreated to their rooms.
When Feemor returned to the common room, he found Qui-Gon waiting by the door, and walked over to join him.
"Feemor," Qui-Gon said in a quiet, serious voice as Wangui quit her room. "I've rescinded my repudiation of Obi-Wan to the Council, and I want to do the same for you, but I wanted you to be there for it. If you're willing?"
Feemor raised an eyebrow at his former master. "If I wasn't willing, you'd be dead," he returned flatly.
Qui-Gon winced. "I didn't particularly want to spring the Council on you without warning."
Feemor sighed and stepped closer so he could knock his shoulder against Qui-Gon's arm, like he had often done as a padawan, when more overt shows of affection weren't possible or welcome. "I appreciate that."
"Can I ask," Wangui cut in, frowning up at Qui-Gon even as she slid in close to Feemor, and he wrapped an arm around her automatically, "why you repudiated my master? He's a good master."
Qui-Gon inclined his head. "He is, and I'm extremely proud of him."
Feemor ducked his head, not sure if he felt more embarrassed or pleased.
Qui-Gon shifted, folding his arms together inside his robes. "I...had not intended to repudiate Feemor, but I chose my words poorly when I repudiated my second padawan, and no one thought to question me or take me to task over the matter."
"You made that rather difficult when you vanished down a black hole for four years," Feemor returned, refusing to be bothered by how bitter he sounded.
Notably, Qui-Gon didn't dispute that.
"Breakfast?" Obi-Wan suggested into the silence, his voice only a little awkward.
Breakfast mostly involved going by the kitchens and collecting some things they could take with them, though one of the serving folk did say, "There's a bit of a proper breakfast setting up in the main dining room, for Her Majesty and your Council and the sena– Sorry, chancellor."
"I don't believe any of us are prepared for that level of formality this morning," Feemor demurred.
They took their food out to one of the gardens, spread their robes out in the grass, and settled in for a bit of a picnic.
"Other than talking to the Council, is there anything we need to do today?" Obi-Wan asked once most of the food was gone.
"I don't believe so. Why?"
"Well, the parade is tomorrow, and most of the damage along the route has been seen to, but there was a large section by the gates that still looked a bit of a mess, last I heard." Obi-Wan shrugged. "The Council hasn't told us to stop helping, and there's only so much meditating I can do in a day."
"Ha! That's another one!" Wangui crowed.
"I suspect 'only so much' means very different things to you and Knight Kenobi," Feemor pointed out drily.
Obi-Wan reached up, like he was grabbing for his braid, and then side-tracked to rub his chin when he encountered only air. "Yes," he said musingly. "Twelve hours sounds about right for a single day, wouldn't you agree, Master Feemor?"
Wangui and Skywalker let out very similar horrified noises.
Feemor pretended to consider that for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "Yes, yes, I believe twelve hours is optimal."
Qui-Gon chuckled. "I don't see why we can't continue offering our assistance in the clean-up, and I suspect some Councillors will be interested in joining us, if only to get away from whatever politics they would otherwise be dragged into, given our new chancellor is in residence."
"Assuming they didn't get it all out of the way on the way here," Obi-Wan muttered.
"Without a comm connection?"
"Ah." Obi-Wan inclined his head, then cast Qui-Gon a considering look. "You know, Master, it occurs to me," he started, and Qui-Gon closed his eyes, looking pained, "that you haven't had your turn assisting with the droid recycling project, yet."
"Hey, that's true!" Skywalker piped up. "Obi-Wan and I went the first day, and Mr Feemor went with me yesterday."
"I'm surprised he hasn't tagged along sooner, given how much he loves droids," Feemor couldn't resist saying.
Qui-Gon's betrayed look was there-and-gone fast enough that the youngest two likely hadn't spotted it, but by the way Obi-Wan ducked to hide a grin, he hadn't been fast enough to hide it from either of the men he'd trained to knighthood. "I'm not even certain the droid recycling is still necessary," he said.
"We can find out!" Skywalker chirped, clearly delighted at the chance to spend the day with Qui-Gon. "And, if not, we can always help with the maintenance for the droids helping with the clean-up and the reconstruction. R2 was telling us yesterday that their exhaust ports keep getting clogged, because of all the dust in the worst-hit areas of the city, so they need to be checked on regularly."
"Sounds...exciting," Qui-Gon said, almost sounding convincing.
"And I'm sure Wangui would have far more fun with you and Anakin, than tagging along with Obi-Wan and I to shift rubble," Feemor added, mostly because it was true, but also because he was sort of enjoying tormenting his former master. Just a little bit.
"Oh, uhm, yes, probably? I'm...not very good. At fine Force manipulation," Wangui admitted, ducking her head.
Feemor reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "It's a skill, like any other, that requires practise and patience to master. I have every faith that you'll get it sooner, rather than later."
Wangui peeked out at him, her smile shy and hopeful. "Really?"
"Absolutely," Feemor promised with all the certainty his future memories granted him.
She beamed at him and ducked past his hand on her shoulder to give him a hug, which he didn't hesitate to return, pushing pride and affection down her bond with him. She sent him a warm rush of adoration and gratitude in return.
He loved his padawan. So much.
(She was not dying again because of bad intel on a mission.)
"I suppose I can share myself with Ani and my grandpadawan for the day," Qui-Gon said musingly.
Skywalker let out a little cheer, but Wangui pulled back from Feemor and pointed a stern finger at her grandmaster. "After you talk to the Council."
"Speaking of, shall we go see if they've finished breakfast yet?" Qui-Gon replied, raising his eyebrows.
They all stood and collected their robes, then headed back into the palace. Qui-Gon went to check in with the Council, while Feemor and Obi-Wan babysat Skywalker and Wangui, who had wanted to check in with one of the workers the boy recognised about the state of the droid recycling.
"We actually just got a large shipment in from the Gungans overnight, so there's plenty for you to help with," she told them with a grin. While Skywalker cheered, she flicked a finger between Obi-Wan and Feemor. "Do we get both of you gorgeous men today?"
Obi-Wan shot Feemor a slightly wide-eyed look, apparently uncertain how to react to so blatant a come-on—Feemor wondered whether or not he should warn his brother-padawan that Kei thought he was pretty and had a very active sex drive—and Feemor offered her an easy smile and said, "I'm afraid not. Master Jinn has agreed to assist Anakin today."
The woman let out a considering hum, then turned to Skywalker and said, "I'll see you soon, then, young one."
"Yup!"
Wangui politely waited until the woman was out of range, then informed him, "No offense, Master, but, ew. You're, like, fifty."
Feemor snorted. "No offence taken," he promised.
"And you're not that good looking," she added.
"Now that I will take offence to."
She flashed him a wide grin while Obi-Wan choked on a laugh and Skywalker made a bit of a production of rolling his eyes at all of them.
They made their way back to the dining room, reaching it just as Qui-Gon and the six Council members ducked out.
Windu caught sight of Feemor and winced, reaching up to rub at the point between his eyebrows, and Feemor grimaced in sympathy; he had a feeling Windu was going to be missing most, if not all, of his Council debriefs for a while.
Revoking Qui-Gon's repudiation of Feemor was actually rather quick and far too painless, when weighed against the twenty years that had preceded it. (Which wasn't to say that was it, because there were records to change back at the Temple, and a public announcement would be made on the jedi's internal HoloNet, and he and Qui-Gon would probably face their share of questions from friends and acquaintances, but that would all have to wait until they returned to Coruscant.)
They split ways there; Obi-Wan and Feemor heading for the main entrance of the palace; Qui-Gon, Wangui, and Skywalker heading for the hanger entrance, which was the closest to the droid recycling; and the Council back to the meeting room they'd been leant the day before, apparently needed to see to some Council business by holocall.
They had almost reached the front entrance, when a voice called from behind them, "Master Feemor!"
Feemor and Obi-Wan both turned, then bowed upon spotting the chancellor, who was striding up to them with a pleasant smile. "Chancellor Palpatine, to what do we owe the honour?" Feemor enquired.
"Oh, I just wanted to personally thank you–" Palpatine started saying.
A rushing sound filled Feemor's ears, and he heard—repeating over and over, like a bad matrix on a holorecord— "Commander, execute Order Sixty-Six," said by the chancellor, and the whine of a blaster firing from close range, too close to dodge, to see anything but the blankness in his commander's eyes.
"Feemor!" Obi-Wan shouted.
All at once, Feemor could hear the burbling of a nearby fountain and the twittering of birdsong, could feeling the tight grip of hands around his biceps and warm stone against his back, could see the wide-eyed fear in his brother-padawan's blue-green eyes.
He gasped in a breath, realised he felt a little lightheaded, and sank back against the stone wall he'd been pressed up against. "It was him," he rasped, and he felt like the entire galaxy had just tilted forty-five degrees, everything just enough off kilter to notice.
"The chancellor? What was him?"
Feemor looked up, into Obi-Wan's wide, scared eyes, swallowed against his too-dry throat, and whispered, "He's the one who ordered my death. He's working for the sith."
1-So Much For 'Ever After' || 2-One Day Changes Everything
3-Never Thought You'd See the Day ||
5-Now We Are What We Have Become
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