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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: Last part of this fic.
The lineage dinner is a one-shot and will be posting a couple of days after this chapter's up, followed by a one-shot between Dooku and Feemor. (And maybe another one-shot that spawned from a scene in the lineage dinner? That's not done quite yet, so no promises.) Haven't figured out what to fill the 10yr gap between TPM and AotC with, or how, exactly, to handle the clones. We'll just have to wait and see what the muse and characters decide.
For now, enjoy this chapter. And thank you for all the awesome reviews and kudos and love, y'all are great. :D ♥
Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.
Feemor, as it turned out, owed Obi-Wan some serious favours. Because, as soon as he'd realised something was wrong with the elder jedi, he'd politely made their excuses, then hustled Feemor to the first secluded space he could find and did what he could to drag him out of his spiral. Which meant the chancellor very likely had no idea that his voice had caused Feemor to flash back on his future death. (Not that the chancellor would have any idea why that might be important.)
"We need to tell the Council," Feemor said as soon as he'd calmed down enough to think strategically. "We need to start pulling away from the Senate."
"Can't we just, I don't know, call a vote of no confidence on him, like Her Majesty did to oust Valorum?" Obi-Wan asked—almost pleaded—sounding far too young for the burden Feemor had just dropped on his shoulders.
Feemor offered a bitter smile. "That would require the jedi to have a vote in the Senate, and at least enough support to pass that vote, neither of which we have." Or would ever have. "Not to mention, he hasn't even been in office a week, yet; no one would support a vote of no confidence against a man who hasn't even had the chance to kark up."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and visibly gathered himself. "Can we pull apart from the Senate?" he asked quietly. "The Ruusan Reforms tied us to Judicial, and I don't think they're going to just...let us go, not without someone to take our place. Right?"
Feemor grimaced. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know enough to say whether or not we can pull away, or what sort of protections we'll need to put in place if we can't." He did know there was a replacement army for the jedi, or there would be, in ten years, and he should probably let the Council know about that. "The how is not our job, little brother. We only need to warn them that danger is coming; the Council will be in charge of deciding how to face it."
"Okay." Obi-Wan took a deep breath in, held it, let it out. "Okay. Then let's go interrupt the Council."
"Now you sound like our master," Feemor told him, and Obi-Wan's responding laugh was a little cracked at the edges, but honest enough.
They made their way back into the palace and through the hallways to the room the Council had claimed. Feemor knocked on the door and stepped back to wait, trying not to fidget.
Tiin opened the door and stared at them for a beat before he sighed and stepped back, holding the door opened for them. "It's your new headache, Mace," he called in warning.
"Kark it, Feemor," Windu cursed, very firmly not looking in their direction.
Obi-Wan shot Feemor a shocked look, apparently unaware Windu was capable of cursing, or some such. (Wait until he found out that Feemor had said, on average, one curse every two years, before the war.)
"Bad omens, you bring?" Master Yaddle asked, her hologram flickering slightly.
"I'm afraid so, Masters," Feemor agreed as he stepped into the centre of the circle of Councillors, Obi-Wan staying close to his shoulder, like he was still a padawan; Feemor suspected it would take him a few months to stop doing that when he was with a knight or master. He opened his mouth to tell them about Palpatine, only to stop, debating how much to tell them, what they'd need to know to believe him.
Obi-Wan had been simple. Feemor said, 'The Chancellor's working with the sith,' and he took it as the truth. The Council wasn't likely to be as easy to convince. They were going to want proof. Or, in the absence of proof, a clear enough report to show his mental gymnastics.
"Master Feemor?" Yarael Poof prompted.
Feemor drew in a slow, careful breath. "The, in the future, my memories of it, there's– No. We were...fighting. A war. The Senate put the jedi in charge of the army."
"Army? Where could the Senate get one of those?" Mundi asked thoughtfully.
"That's...complicated. And I don't know the whole of it, wasn't involved. I just, I was told to go, with my me– with my soldiers, and we would clean up after battles. Find survivors, unbury the dead for last rites and burials, clear out any of the remaining enemy the rest of the army missed when they got called away."
"Disheartening, such work sounds," Yaddle murmured, her ears lowered.
Feemor thought of ruined school buildings and streets full of corpses with no one left living to claim them. "Yes," he said quietly.
Obi-Wan shifted forward, his arm coming to rest against Feemor's, and support warmed through their bond, bolstering him.
Feemor drew in another careful breath, let it, and Obi-Wan's brilliant presence next to him, give him the strength to say the hardest part. "We were, we'd just finished up an area, waiting for our next ship out orders. One of my, my soldiers, my direct subordinate, he insisted on breakfast in the mess tent. We'd just got news, a few hours before, that the last of the, of our opponent's military leaders had been killed, so spirits were high.
"I didn't– There was no warning. One moment, everything was calm. The next, the Force, it..." He shook his head. "It screamed, Masters. Not like, not like a warning, but like it was in pain."
The Councillors traded worried looks, all of them tense and unhappy, but not a one that Feemor could see looked like they didn't believe him.
"When, during, the screaming, I heard a voice, telling Nehu– telling my subordinate to, to 'execute Order Sixty-Six'. I– The V– the soldiers, they'd been trained to follow certain orders, shorthand for battle movements, I guess, but that one... I'd never heard that one before, never seen it in the brief. So I started to ask, and he shot me."
The room was utterly silent, but the Force swirled around them all, sharing echoes of betrayal and grief and fear, lending far more truth to his story than Feemor had meant to, and he wasn't certain how to draw it all back inside, nor how to release it into the Force, let it be swept away from them all.
"A Trial you faced," Yoda said grimly, his ears gone flat, his claws wrapped tight around the handle of his gimer stick. "Greater, and crueller, it was, than any this Council could design."
Feemor swallowed and shook his head. "The voice, the one who gave the order, I didn't recognise it then, but I heard it again just now. Masters, the one who ordered my death was Chancellor Palpatine."
"A dangerous accusation," Oppo Rancisis warned, and Feemor clenched his jaw against the urge to scream.
"Accusation?" Obi-Wan demanded, stepping forward to stand at Feemor's side, still close enough their arms were pressed together. "The Jedi Order gets dragged into a war and told to lead it! We're supposed to be peacekeepers, not warriors! Something is rotten; why wouldn't it be the man who just got elected to the head of our government is working for the sith?"
"The sith?!" Eeth Koth demanded, hologram straightening in the very real chair it was occupying. "Knight Kenobi, you go too far."
"I just killed one," Obi-Wan shot right back, before it seemed to occur to him that he was sassing a Councillor and he hunched in on himself a bit, pressing closer to Feemor.
"Masters," Feemor said in as firm a voice as he could manage, "the sith are involved. Maul's existence should be proof enough of that, not to mention the darkness permeating the Force. And–" he took a deep breath "–during the war, the leader of the opposition openly called himself a sith. He was not Maul's master, and it was made clear to the Council, at the time, that the sith who trained him was still alive and directing things behind the scenes. There was a rumour, one that started early in the war, that the, that Tyranus' master was somehow directing the actions of the Senate.
"No one believed it, then, because how could one being direct the actions of the entire Senate? Especially without any jedi noticing when they reported to various senators or the chancellor for meetings related to missions and deployments. But, Masters, with the war, with the way the Senate so often gets gridlocked over minor matters, it was believed that the Supreme Chancellor should be granted emergency powers, more and more every month. By the final year of the war, he ran the Senate, and the army, and the jedi."
The Council traded uncomfortable looks.
"Say Palpatine is working for—or with—the sith master," Windu said at last, very studiously not looking at Feemor. "What, exactly, are you expecting the Council to do with this information? Without hard proof?"
Feemor straightened, setting his shoulders. "Pull away from the Senate."
Shock and indignation rang in the Force.
Koon let out a humming sound. "So, Knight Kenobi emulates his master, while Master Feemor emulates his grandmaster."
"Master Yan isn't wrong," Feemor replied, grimacing a bit at the taste of those words on his tongue. "The Senate is a hive of corruption and greed, barely held together by those few among its number who truly want what's best for the sectors and planets they represent. And the Order, acting at the Senate's direction, too often oversee treaty signings and political functions where we aren't necessary, while conflicts that could have been avoided or shortened with our timely intervention result in the deaths of thousands. Or, worse, unverified information sent through back channels is taken as trusted fact and leads to a genocide."
Yoda tapped his gimer stick on the ground, silencing any retort the Council might have had to that; Galidraan was a sore point, in their lineage especially. He looked tired, old in the way he had during the war, and Feemor swallowed against a knot of grief at the realisation that he had done this. He had set this weight on his great-grandmaster's shoulders—on the shoulders of Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon and the whole rest of the Council—and he couldn't even regret it.
"Much to discuss, we have," Yoda said in a firm tone. "Feemor, Obi-Wan, to your reconstruction efforts you should go. Rebuilding, heals the soul, it does," he added with a smile that Feemor suspected was forced, but looked real enough to pass muster.
He bowed, Obi-Wan a beat behind him. "Thank you for your time, Masters," he murmured, and turned to go.
"Master Feemor," Depa Billaba called, and he glanced over at her. She smiled at him and said, "The Force is with us."
Feemor bowed to her, unable to articulate how much of a reassurance that simple phrase was. The Force had sent him back, back to this time, this place, with his memories of tragedy and death. It had sent him to fix things, to right the wrongs they had been blind to for too long.
He wrapped an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders as the door of the meeting room fell closed behind him. "Let's go fix something," he said.
Obi-Wan put his arm back around Feemor in return and leant into him, a trickle of hope coming through the bond. "That sounds good," he said, and they quit the palace—leaving behind as much of their concerns about Palpatine, the Council's decisions, and the future as they could—for the rest of the day.
The Victory Parade was everything an over the top celebration of freedom should be. The streets were packed, everyone in their finest and most colourful clothing, waving flags and streamers made of some material that caught the light from the sun and dazzled onlookers. Queen Amidala—and it was her, not a decoy—was resplendent in a feathery white gown, the Force alight with happiness and pride around her.
Palpatine was standing with a group of Naboo ministers, the visiting members of the Jedi Council, and Wangui, back from the place of pride, but still very obviously placed to show his importance.
(Okay, Feemor could admit he might just be projecting his suspicions, there. The man was the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, and the former senator for the Chommel Sector, of which Naboo was a member; of course he would have a visible position in the proceedings.)
Feemor, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Skywalker had all been directed to stand further forward, in a place of pride that was meant as a recognition of their part in Naboo's victory. Skywalker had been supplied with the pure white robes of a jedi initiate, and one of the queen's handmaidens had somehow convinced him to cut his hair short, which looked far better than the bowl cut had done.
Someone—Feemor suspected his former master—had managed to convince the palace staff to find them all undyed tunics, so Feemor, Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan were all dressed in the brown robes over bland beige tunics and tabards over dark leggings that most people associated with the jedi. (As much as Feemor had wanted to rebel by wearing one of the orange tunics in the wardrobe in his room, he understood the point of showing a united front, especially given his most recent conversation with the Council, and had even talked Wangui, who also hated the lack of colour in conventional jedi wear, into leaving her orange tabards behind for the parade.)
Feemor, Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan had all arrayed themselves around Skywalker, a little bit like an honour guard. Partially to keep him safe—Feemor had told his former master about Palpatine as soon as he'd been able to get the man alone, and he knew they were all even more wary about leaving the boy unattended, now they knew the sith master's ally/servant was so close—and partially to keep him from wandering; he'd already complained about being bored once, while they'd waited for the Gungans to make their way up from the city gates.
(Qui-Gon kept trying to convince Feemor that Skywalker had been much better behaved before he'd tagged along. Feemor held to it that the boy had probably just been nervous and probably a little intimidated before he'd seen Qui-Gon getting yelled at for being a complete idiot, and realised that the three jedi were as human as him.)
Once the Gungans came through the ceremonial arch and Boss Nass stepped up to take the Globe of Peace, the public part of the ceremony was essentially over. Qui-Gon, Feemor, and Obi-Wan followed the two Naboo rulers and their entourages into the palace, having been requested to serve as witnesses in the signing of the more formal declaration of peace and alliance between the two species. Wangui slipped in at Feemor's elbow almost as soon as they'd entered the palace, doing a very good impression of a serious, well-behaved young woman.
Skywalker, much to his apparent displeasure, was stolen away by Yoda before they made it to the room the formal treaty signing would take place in (the troll had decided that it was his job to catch the boy up on crèche studies before they returned to Temple). Mundi and Tiin remained with the Chancellor's party, joining them in the room for the formalities, while the rest of the Council vanished. (Feemor assumed they were either communicating with their fellows on Coruscant, or preparing things for leaving that evening; the Chancellor had apparently apologised to Amidala over breakfast that he couldn't remain any longer, and since the Council had come on his ship, all of the jedi would be leaving with him.)
The Gungans and humans had already done their minor quibbling over the wording of the treaty, so the signing was quick and as light-hearted as the parade had been, Nass' booming laughter filling the room at something the queen murmured.
Before they could make their escape to pack, one of the handmaidens motioned for the four jedi to stay a moment.
Amidala did a quick circuit of the various ministers and dignitaries, then approached them with a faint, almost fond smile. Once they'd bowed to her, she said, "Masters jedi, as we have said it before, we will say again: Thank you. Naboo—humans and Gungans—owe you a debt for your part in our freedom. Should ever you find yourselves in need, know you have friends, a bed, and a hot meal here." Her gaze flicked to Wangui, and she added, "And you, Padawan Wangui."
Wangui's delight was a nova-burst in the Force, even as she followed Feemor, Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan's example of responding with a bow.
"We will always be grateful to have assisted the Naboo," Qui-Gon said for all of them, "and we have little doubt you will have been victorious on your own; you are a brave and true leader, Your Majesty. As they are to have you, Boss Nass," he added as the gungan leader approached.
"Isa no falling for yousa fancy speakings thisa time, Masta Jinn," Nass warned, though he was grinning.
That sounded like a story.
Qui-Gon simply bowed in response, and the gungan chuckled before settling himself in a more serious manner. "Jedi, mesa have learnen, maken very bad enemies, but very good friends. Gungans are same."
Qui-Gon's moustache twitched. "It does appear that way," he agreed mildly. "Perhaps it would be best for both of us to be friends."
Nass grinned at him. "Isa thinken so, too," he agreed, and then clapped Qui-Gon hard on the shoulder. "But, Masta Jinn, friends no usen mind tricks."
Obi-Wan coughed, amusement flickering around him in the Force.
"No more mind tricks, I promise," Qui-Gon replied.
Nass watched him for a moment, then nodded and left them to go speak with another Gungan who was trying to get his attention.
Amidala's mouth had turned up with a small, amused smile during the interaction. "We hope your trip back to Coruscant goes smoothly," she offered.
"Thank you, Your Majesty." They all bowed to her, and she let herself be drawn away to a conversation with Palpatine by one of her handmaidens.
Wangui waited until they had left the room and started back to their suite before informing Feemor, "I want to be like her when I grow up, Master."
"And here I thought you wanted to be a jedi," Feemor replied mildly.
"You know what I mean!"
Feemor chuckled, inclining his head; Queen Amidala certainly had a degree of poise and gentle strength that would appeal to his padawan.
"You realise, Padawan, that you're already the same age as Queen Amidala," Qui-Gon commented.
Feemor blinked. He'd known the queen was young—the makeup disguised a lot, including the wearer's age, but he'd seen her out of it—but he hadn't realised how young.
"She is not," Wangui returned.
"I'm afraid she is," Obi-Wan correlated.
Wangui let out a pitiful moan and drooped.
Feemor chuckled at her dramatics and reached over to tug gently on her padawan braid. "I, for one, like you quite the way you are, my precious padawan, and I'm sure Her Majesty would say the same."
Wangui flushed plum and offered him a shy smile. "I'm not so sure about that last, Master, but...thank you."
Feemor didn't try arguing with her about it; his padawan would learn in her own time how amazing a woman she could become.
"Master Feemor," Palpatine called from behind him, and Feemor let himself close his eyes in defeat, "you are a remarkably difficult man to catch up."
Feemor pasted on the politely blanked expression he had shaped for dealing with exceptionally difficult politicians as he turned and gave a bow of greeting. "I'm afraid that's one of the dangers of having a padawan, Chancellor," he replied.
Palpatine's smile was as genial as Feemor recalled it being from the many, many public speeches he'd given over the years of the war (both those speeches praising the jedi and the Vode, and those castigating them), and Feemor struggled with the urge to punch that expression from his face. "Yes," he said, tone inviting Feemor to join in the joke, "I imagine caring for such an excitable child would be time consuming. I can't imagine how you manage."
"Our young are our future, Chancellor. To guide them along their path is an honour and a joy," Feemor returned stiffly.
Palpatine blinked. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to overstep. Your padawan seems to be a singularly bright and loyal girl; she was quite worried about you on our trip to Naboo."
Stay away from my padawan! Feemor wanted to snarl, but he swallowed the reaction down and inclined his head. "Yes, I suspect the Naboo healers underestimated how quickly a jedi can heal."
Palpatine smiled that genial smile again. "So it seems. It was a relief to all of us, I'm sure, to see you standing and moving without assistance upon our arrival."
"As it was a relief to me; it's no comfortable thing, being burnt by a lightsabre." He inclined his head. "Was there something you needed of me, Chancellor? Or was this simply an opportunity you couldn't refuse, to finally converse with an elusive prey?" he asked mildly, forcing back a wince as he realised how telling his word choice might be.
The chancellor chuckled. "I admit that I was a little curious if I might actually manage to have a proper conversation with you. However–" his smile dimmed slightly, taking on a more serious air "–it did occur to me, hearing about how Master Jinn was so indispensable in the wording of both the treaty between Naboo and the Trade Federation, and between the Naboo and the Gungans, that I have been ignoring a resource during my time in the Senate. I understand that you're one of the vaunted jedi ambassadors, and I wonder if you wouldn't agree to serve as my personal advisor."
...what?
"I...admit that I'm not quite certain how to respond, Chancellor," Feemor managed to get out in a steady voice.
Palpatine smiled his genial smile again, warm and friendly, and promised, "You needn't respond right now, of course. I understand you might have other responsibilities that might make such a position more of a burden than an honour. However, given your part in the protection and freeing of my people, I'm certain you'll provide the steady, honest voice I—and the Senate—need as we work to clean up the corruption that has made such a tragedy possible."
If Feemor were a less jaded man—if he hadn't struggled through literal warzones and been killed on this man's order—he might have been swayed by his words and the easy, friendly manner he wore around himself. As he'd been at this point in his life originally—disgraced, clinging to the lineage he'd started to build from the ashes of what he should have had, and grieving for the loss of the master who he'd believed hadn't wanted him—he very likely would have jumped at this opportunity to make something of himself, to be other than just another faceless member among the many and more distinguished jedi consulars.
But Feemor was not that man, and he knew that Palpatine was a snake lying in the shade of flowers, waiting to do the biding of the sith master holding his strings. He didn't trust him, and he didn't trust his motives.
And yet, was it not because he didn't trust him—knew he was dangerous—that he should take the position? Keep as close an eye as possible on the enemy he knew, in hopes that he might lead him to the enemy waiting still in the shadows?
He'd never been one for the sort of subterfuge he suspected he would need to discover and pre-empt whatever danger Palpatine and his puppet master had waiting in the wings. This was more Rún's forte.
(And he was finally starting to understand why his friend had sworn she would never take on a padawan; could he stomach bringing Wangui into constant contact with someone being influenced by the sith? Did he dare endanger her that way? And, if he did, how much of the truth should he tell her? She was strong and brave, but she was still just a girl, growing into the self-assured woman he knew she would become, but still so vulnerable to the poison-laced honey the Senate was rife with.)
"I am...extremely honoured by the offer," he said in as steady a voice as he could manage. "However, it's something I would have to discuss with my padawan, and, unfortunately, such appointments are always at the discretion of the Council."
"I have every faith that the Jedi Council will agree that you're suited to the job," Palpatine assured him, "but I understand you must put your padawan first. Do give my best to her, and let me know what you both decide."
Feemor bowed. "Of course, Chancellor," he agreed, and took the opening to turn and walk as sedately as he could down to the room his former master was sharing with Obi-Wan and Skywalker. He could sense Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan within, while Skywalker was a brilliant presence at the other end of the ship, likely suffering more of Yoda's tutelage. (Or, potentially, making friends with the ship's array of droids; Wangui had mentioned something about there being an especially mouthy one who reminded her of R2-D2.)
Obi-Wan opened the door before he could knock, his expression twisted with concern. "Feemor?"
"Can I come in?' Feemor asked quietly, and Obi-Wan immediately stepped back to give him space. Throwing all thoughts of decorum out the airlock, Feemor walked over to where Qui-Gon was sitting in his meditation position on the floor, eyes open and watching him with concern, and knelt next to him, leaning forward to rest his forehead against his former master's chest.
"Feemor? Padawan, what's wrong?" Qui-Gon requested, one hand coming to rest on his nape, the other on his shoulder.
"Palpatine asked me to serve as his advisor," Feemor said, the words shaky, too small from being forced out past the blockage of uncertainty and fear clogging his throat.
Obi-Wan dropped down to the floor next to him with a loud exhalation of breath, while Qui-Gon's hands tightened. "He what?" Obi-Wan breathed. "Can he– Is that something he can do? Request a jedi to advise him in Senate matters?"
"Serving as advisors to members of the Senate, as requested, are one of the duties of the jedi ambassadors," Qui-Gon murmured in his teaching voice, and hearing the familiar cadence soothed some of Feemor's turmoil. "The duty of serving as advisor to the Chancellor, however, usually falls to a member of the Council; Adi served as Valorum's advisor."
"But what if we start to pull away from the Senate?" Obi-Wan asked, even as he shuffled a little closer to Feemor, his knee coming to rest against his thigh, and rested a hand against the middle of Feemor's back, over the centre of the lightsabre scar.
Feemor sighed and shook his head, even as Qui-Gon replied, "Separating ourselves from the Senate and Judicial is best done slowly, over the course of many years."
"Why? To avoid backlash?"
"In part, yes. But, also, because neither the Order, nor Judicial, are truly prepared for the complete severance that will be necessary to remove us as fully from the Senate's oversight as will be necessary to avoid being forced into the position of leading an army in war.
"Until that point, we will have to continue to act at the Senate's directions, if only to keep the sith master and those he controls from realising our intentions and working to stop us. That will mean that someone will have to serve as Palpatine's advisor, and we will continue being sent on the diplomatic and peacekeeping missions that the Senate believes are the most necessary."
Feemor couldn't quite stop a snort at the bitterness in Qui-Gon's voice. "You're starting to sound like Master Yan," he warned.
Qui-Gon sighed, thumb rubbing comfortingly against the shorter hairs at the back of Feemor's head. "As much as it pains me to admit, Yan is right. We're doing the galaxy no favours, being beholden to the whims of the Senate. If Finis hadn't stepped in and sent Obi-Wan and myself to Naboo, it very likely would have ended in many more deaths than it did, and a treaty signed in the Trade Federation's favour."
"You don't bring an army, unless you're planning to use it," Feemor added quietly, sensing Obi-Wan's scepticism at the suggestion that even more of the Naboo—humans and Gungans—would have died without their intervention.
Obi-Wan drew in a sharp breath, and Feemor suspected he was remembering that he'd led part of an army, himself, and had been speaking from hard-won experience.
Qui-Gon sighed. "Unfortunately, Feemor, I can't advise you on the best course to follow. My heart says to keep you as far from Palpatine as possible, but my sense says you may be one of the best equipped to keep an eye on him."
Feemor choked out a laugh. "I know. I wasn't really looking for guidance, just..."
"Just me," Qui-Gon finished quietly, and shifted his hold to pull Feemor into a hug, his Force presence a familiar cocoon of pride and affection.
Feemor squeezed his eyes shut and let himself cling to his former master, just for a moment, just long enough to rebalance his centre and siphon the worst of his tumultuous emotions off into the Force.
As he pulled back, twisting so he was kneeling perpendicular to the other two, Qui-Gon murmured, "I'm sorry, Feemor."
"I know." Feemor sighed and ran a tired hand down his face. "I...don't know what to do about Wangui," he admitted, and Obi-Wan stiffened, while Qui-Gon's mouth pressed thin. "I'm not comfortable with the idea of having her so close to someone answering to the sith, especially while unaware of the danger, but I'm not certain she'll be able to hide her knowledge in Palpatine's presence, once she knows. And I fear that simply refusing to allow her to accompany me, without explaining why, will do her far more harm than telling her the truth."
"So tell her," Obi-Wan said, like it was simple. "She can stay with one of us, or one of your friends, when you need to go to the Senate. If anyone in the Senate asks, you can just say she had a class or an assignment she needed to work on."
Qui-Gon hummed an agreement. "She has only just discovered her lineage is more extensive than she had believed; it wouldn't be unheard of for you to leave her with myself, Yan, or Obi-Wan, so she can learn more about what she's been missing, and perhaps learn some skills that you mightn't have thought or been comfortable enough with to pass on."
Feemor stared down at where his hands were worrying the ends of his sleeves in his lap, not really seeing them as he weighed the ideas proposed. They were all excellent suggestions to explain why his padawan wasn't attending the Senate with him, and he was far more comfortable with the idea of leaving her with a member of their lineage or one of his friends, knowing she understood why he'd preferred to leave her behind, than upset because he wouldn't tell her why, or bringing her, all unknowing, to visit someone would could influence her in damaging ways.
(And he didn't doubt that Palpatine would attempt to influence her, not after the way he'd been wording things while speaking to Feemor: Complimenting Wangui once he realised Feemor didn't appreciate any suggestion that she wasn't important, suggesting that the position as the chancellor's advisor would be an honour and that saying no would imply it was a burden, complimenting his integrity and decrying the Senate's in the same breath, implying that the Council would be fools to refuse Feemor the position, even closing with a well wishing for Wangui, proving he'd understood that she was extremely important to him. It had been a subtle manipulation—made more so by the friendly air he wore about himself like a cloak—which only made it that much more dangerous, especially to someone as young and willing to please as Wangui.)
"None of this will matter," he murmured, "if the Council prefers to send one of their own number to advise him."
"That is true," Qui-Gon agreed. "However, before you leave to further Mace's headache, would you like to join us in meditating?"
Feemor was feeling sufficiently settled to get by without meditating, but he wasn't about to say no to spending time his his former master and brother-padawan. "I would enjoy that very much," he replied, and both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan smiled, before they all closed their eyes to meditate, dropping back into the Force and finding what comfort they could in it and in each other.
The Council very obviously didn't like the idea of sending him to serve as Palpatine's advisor, Windu eventually admitting, "You are clearly in need of a mind healer, Feemor, and probably a year or two of light missions and a holiday."
"We don't have that kind of time," Feemor returned, feeling tired. They hadn't had it during the war, either; no time for holidays, no light mission loads, barely enough time to visit the mind healers once every three months. Force, they'd barely had the time to get healed of injuries that usually would have seen them Temple-locked for months.
"Time is not the issue," Mundi returned. "While your foreknowledge is an impressive and—by all appearances—much needed boon, a written report of everything you recall will serve us just as well as having you guide our actions in person. You are not so invaluable that we cannot make do without you."
Feemor barely managed to stop a wince; he recognised that the Cerean master hadn't meant that cruelly, probably hadn't even processed the emotional impact of the words, but that didn't stop the blow from landing.
"However," Mundi continued, "you are uniquely qualified to serve as Chancellor Palpatine's advisor. Not only are you more familiar with him and his policies than anyone else in the Order, he is familiar enough with you to request you."
"In the past," Piell interrupted, "when a newly elected chancellor with little to no contact with the Order during their previous Senate term requests a specific jedi, we do our best to honour that request, for the sake of the Order's relationship with the chancellor. If the requested jedi doesn't have consular training, or doesn't have the experience to act as an advisor to the leader of the senate, we pair them with a member of the Council or, when none of us are available, with a senior ambassador.
"Neither of these things are true, in your case. You have over two decades of exemplary service as a diplomat and ambassador, are known for keeping a cool head when tempers flare, and are apparently the most popular jedi among the Senate staff and younger diplomats; if the Council refused you this appointment, we would have to have a very good reason."
"Which isn't to say you cannot decide to say no of your own accord," Koon added, and Piell inclined his head towards him.
Windu took a deep breath, then looked up and met Feemor's eyes for the first time since he'd woken in the archives. "Feemor, it's your choice; what do you want to do?"
What did he want to do? He wanted to go back to meditating with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, where he'd felt safer than he could honestly remember ever feeling. He wanted to be in the cargo hold, walking Wangui through her katas and let her introduce him to all of her new droid friends with Skywalker. He wanted to be home, in the Temple, sharing a dinner with the whole of his lineage, that once-impossible dream that was finally in his grasp. He wanted to sit in the Garden of a Thousand Fountains with Kei and Roimata and Rún and share all manner of gossip.
He wanted to not have the sith around, to have decades of peace ahead of them to look forward to. He was so tired of war and loss, of the constant weight of the darkness in the Force suffocating him.
He opened his eyes—when had he closed them?—and met Windu's stare. "I'll take the position," he said, voice as firm and certain as every time he'd had to make the hard choice during the war. "But I need the Council to back me if anyone questions why I'm leaving Wangui in the Temple."
"Done," Windu agreed, the word coming out with such force, Feemor suspected he would have had to fight the Council if he hadn't decided to keep his padawan away from Palpatine.
"What do you intend to tell her?" Piell asked. "You have never made a habit of leaving your padawans behind, even after Knight Kudzulek's rather...juvenile reaction to Senator Esper's, I believe it was, comment on their piloting skills."
Feemor closed his eyes against the memory of his first padawan's decision throw the senator in question over their shoulder, carry him to the Temple speeder they'd borrowed for the day, and then crash it through the window of the senator's office. "Please don't remind me. We're both still banned from Meshakia."
"I had no idea Meshakians had such long memories," Windu commented.
"It's not about the memory, it's about the grudge," Feemor explained, and thought, for a moment, that Windu's mouth might have twitched like he was going to smile. He shook his head, refocussing his thoughts on the original question. "Wangui already knows I had some sort of vision of future events. Facing Maul on Naboo lends more than enough credence to the validity of the vision, even if certain crèchemates of mine are unlikely to stop quibbling over the possibility of me getting a vision. I intend to tell her that one of the things the vision hinted at is that our newly elected chancellor is answering to the sith. And I need to know she's safe, so I can focus on finding the evidence to lead us to the sith."
"Will she remain quietly in the Temple if she knows you're putting yourself in danger?" Mundi asked.
Feemor shrugged. "For now. I expect that, in a couple years, after she feels herself a capable enough duellist, I'll have a fight on my hands. But I'll plan that jump when I reach it; I suspect she won't quite grow up into the young woman whose braid I cut," he added a bit helplessly. After all, that Wangui had never been left in the Temple while he advised the chancellor, and nor had she been able to count two of the greatest duellists of their generation among her lineage. Three, if Yan decided to stay and train her in Makashi.
Force help him, he was in danger of having a master duellist as a padawan.
Mundi blinked. "Of course."
"Feemor," Windu called, and when Feemor refocussed on him, he found the Head of the Council refusing to look at him again, not that he really blamed the man. "The Council will handle informing the chancellor that you'll be serving as his advisor. However, due to the fact that you're only recently returned from a mission, during which you were wounded, you've been confined to the Halls of Healing for a week." He raised his eyebrows at the wall. "I don't expect the healers to be able to keep you in the Halls for more than a day, if that, so use that week wisely and get some damn rest."
Feemor chuckled and bowed. "Thank you, Master Windu."
"You're welcome. Now, get out."
Feemor left and went in hunt of his padawan. He had no intention to tell her about Palpatine until they were safely in their quarters in the Temple, but that didn't mean he couldn't spend time with her.
Given how he'd left and that he'd been wounded while on Naboo, Feemor supposed he shouldn't, really, have been surprised to find a small crowd waiting for them by the doors of the speeder bay. Truthfully, he'd mostly expected Kei, since his friend only rarely left the Temple, but Ace and Vega were a welcome surprise.
"Hello, my most troublesome former padawan," Feemor greeted as Ace stalked up to them.
"How broken is he?" they demanded of Wangui.
She shrugged. "It looks nasty, but Ani says he got in a bacta tank, so he's healed."
Ace blinked. "Who the kark is Ani?"
"Me!" Skywalker chirped from where Qui-Gon was attempting to keep tabs on him. (Obi-Wan had abandoned them in favour of his own small crowd of waiting friends.)
Ace's expression went cold. "Master Jinn," they said icily, and gave a jerky bow.
Feemor sighed and tugged his first padawan into a hug.
"Yes," Qui-Gon commented mildly, "this lineage dinner is going to be interesting. Knight Kimura," he added as Kei and Vega made their way over.
Kei looked Qui-Gon up and down once, then very pointedly turned to Feemor and said, "You missed Rún, but she said you owe her a round in the salles when she gets back."
Feemor hummed, suspecting Rún might not find beating him quite so easy as she was used to. "Are you ready to be civil?" he asked Ace when they tried to pull out of the hug, refusing to let go.
Ace snarled, but relaxed against Feemor and finally returned the hug.
Feemor smiled down at his grandpadawan while her master grumbled unpleasantness in Bocce against his shoulder. "Hello, Vega. When did you two return to Temple?"
She shrugged as she reached out and traded a fist bump with Wangui; she'd never been comfortable with a great deal of physical contact, so she and her agemates—she and Wangui were only two years apart, and while they hadn't been friends in the crèche or as initiates, they'd developed into good friends since Feemor had taken Wangui as his padawan—had settled on fist bumps in lieu of more physical greetings. "Yesterday. Master's been fuming since Wangui comm'd him, though. Guess that was right after you pulled a disappearing act."
"Ah. My apologies."
"Where's my apology?" Ace grumbled.
Feemor shook his head and finally let his former padawan go, catching their shoulders before they could escape completely. "I'm sorry I worried you, Ace," he said, completely honest. "That was never my intention."
Ace deflated. "Yeah, okay. Accepted."
"You do not get to punch your grandmaster," Feemor added.
"Wait," Vega called as Ace let out a disgruntled sound and cast Qui-Gon a glare, "I thought Master Je'dyannder was dead?"
Wangui snickered. "That's what I said."
Feemor sighed and looked over at his former master, who offered a slightly helpless, pained smile in return. Next to him Skywalker was looking more than a little lost. "Vega, this is my master—my second master, the one who saw me through my Trials—Qui-Gon Jinn."
Vega leant around her master and stared at Qui-Gon for a moment, then proceeded to punch Ace in the side, hard enough they let out a wheeze and flinched. "When the kriffing hell were you planning to tell me we have one of the best duellists in the Order in our lineage?"
"How about never, since he's–"
Feemor pulled his former padawan back into a hug, and Ace went back to grumbling against his shoulder. "Master, I think you remember Ace."
"Better and better as they come up with less and less plausible threats," Qui-Gon agreed wryly.
Ace, apparently surprised that Qui-Gon both understood Bocce and had excellent hearing, shut up.
Feemor snorted and rubbed Ace's back. "This is Vega Naidu, their padawan."
Qui-Gon smiled. "Hello, Padawan Naidu."
She tilted her head, considering him. "There's a story here, and I probably won't like it."
"An astute observation," Qui-Gon agreed. Then he glanced down and ruffled Skywalker's hair, startling him out of his pout. "I should take Ani to the initiate dorms."
Feemor held up a finger to request he wait a moment, then asked, "Ace, are you capable of greeting your grandmaster without insulting him?"
"...do I have to have dinner with him?" Ace grumbled.
"Yes."
"Then, no."
Feemor sighed and shook his head. "Anakin, I'll come down and see you in a day or two, once you've had the chance to settle in, if that's okay?"
Skywalker's face lit up. "Yeah!"
"And I'll come visit as soon as I can convince R1 to sneak away with me," Wangui added.
"Excuse you, little sister," Ace called, twisting in Feemor's hold so they could scowl down at her without actually loosing contact, which told Feemor—if he hadn't already figured it out based on how Ace wasn't actively fighting him to escape like they'd normally do—that his former padawan was not handling either the return of their grandmaster, or Feemor vanishing and then getting wounded, well at all. "I don't remember giving you permission to steal my droid."
"R1 is their own being and perfectly capable of deciding they like me more than you," Wangui informed them.
"Which they do," Vega added before her master could start arguing about who was their droid's favourite.
"Couldn't you have picked a different padawan, Master?" Ace complained. "This one's rude."
Feemor sighed and looked to his former master, who was doing a terrible job of hiding his amusement. "As it turns out, Master," he said drily, "I do understand why you tried to keep Xanatos and I apart as much as possible."
Qui-Gon chuckled. "I'm afraid I was more worried about you finally punching him, than any amount of bickering."
"Little bastard would have deserved it," Kei snapped, turning a glare on Qui-Gon. "Maybe, if he'd had his nose broken a time or three, he wouldn't have tried to, I don't know, blow up the Temple."
A very loud, strained silence fell over all of them, Ace's hands tightening in Feemor's cloak, while Vega wrapped her arms around herself and stared down at the ground; she had been one of the younglings trapped in the turbolift over the Room of a Thousand Fountains during Xanatos' reign of terror, and Feemor knew she still woke from occasional nightmares about it and struggled with a fear of enclosed spaces.
Into the silence, a male voice said, "Pretty sure Xanatos had the facial disfiguration bit sorted out all on his own. There were way better places to punch him; which, related, why are we punching a dead man? No offence, Master Jinn."
"None taken, Padawan Muln," Qui-Gon replied in a tired tone, as a young human man, a young Mon Calamari woman, and Obi-Wan stepped around Kei to join the group.
"Qui-Gon was just leaving with Anakin," Feemor commented, turning a flat stare on Kei.
"Yes, the sooner you get settled, the sooner you can start making friends and plotting against stodgy old masters," Obi-Wan agreed, winking at Skywalker, who beamed at him and gave a vigorous nod.
"An excellent point," Qui-Gon agreed, and took the opening to escape.
"Kei, that was uncalled for," Feemor said once his former master and his young charge had left.
Kei very pointedly ignored him, instead turning to look over the new arrivals. "Hm. Ace's rival, pretty boy, and the water girl," he said.
"Thought I heard you, Muln," Ace called without moving from Feemor's hold; Feemor was honestly starting to get a little worried.
"Wait, hold the kriffing comm!" Kei was staring at Obi-Wan, who had pinked slightly. "Where's you braid? Fee, what happened to his braid?"
Feemor turned his gaze up to the ceiling of the hanger.
"The...Council decided I'd passed my Trials?" Obi-Wan said a little uncertainly.
"Fee," Kei stressed.
"He killed a sith," Feemor informed his friend drily. "In what galaxy wouldn't that count as passing your Knighthood Trials?" He turned to Obi-Wan. "The idiot is Kei; I've already apologised."
"Apologised for what?" Kei demanded.
Obi-Wan let out a quiet laugh and agreed, "I remember."
"The leech is Knight Ace Kudzulek, and this is Padawan Vega Naidu," he finished, motioning to his grandpadawan.
Vega, unexpectedly, walked up to Obi-Wan and said, "Thank you," then gave him a quick hug before beating a strategic retreat behind Feemor and Ace.
Obi-Wan looked completely flummoxed. "I– You're...welcome? Why?" he asked, looking at Feemor.
Ace, finally, tugged away from Feemor, who let them go without complaint, and turned to face Obi-Wan. "You carried her to safety twelve years ago," they explained quietly.
Obi-Wan blinked once, twice, and then his eyes went wide. "Oh. The, the turbolift." He swallowed and shook his head. "You're very welcome, Vega, and I'm delighted to see you well, but I didn't do it alone. Master—Qui-Gon—he helped, too, taking the younglings on the catwalk and getting them downstairs, and the Councillors held the turbolift and the shaft steady. And Bant–" he motioned to the Mon Calamari, whose cheeks darkened "–she's the one who ran to get the masters."
Vega took a breath and stepped out from behind Feemor, looking so very young it hurt. "But, you're the one I remember," she said. "You were, were light. You carried me out of the dark."
Feemor doubted Obi-Wan really understood how important light was to Vega, who was a Zelosian, a sentient plant species, but he seemed to understand the gist, at least, because he bowed to her and said, "I'm glad, then, that I was there."
Vega smiled. "Me, too."
Obi-Wan looked up at Feemor, once it became clear that was all Vega wanted or needed to say. "These are two of my friends, Bant Eerin and Garen Muln. Bant, Garen, this is Master Feemor. He was Qui-Gon's first padawan."
"I thought Xanatos was his first padawan," Muln said.
"Fortunately, no," Feemor said drily. "I don't want to know how much more of a wreck Qui-Gon would have been after Xanatos' Fall if he'd been his first."
"Dunno, would've saved the rest of us some grief," Kei muttered.
Feemor turned an unimpressed stare on his friend, then narrowed his eyes as it occurred to him that someone was missing. "Knight Kimura," he said flatly, and Kei flinched, because Feemor only called him that when he was in trouble, "I sincerely hope your padawan isn't wearing your armour right now."
Kei cleared his throat, starting to look just a little uncomfortable. "I should...probably go check on that."
"Yes, you probably should."
Kei beat a hasty retreat, while Feemor turned a raised eyebrow on Vega; she was good friends with Kei's padawan, Marcus—Mac to his crèchemates—and usually knew how the boy was planning to get back at his master for his latest stunt.
She flashed him a smirk. "Mac was going to add dye to the guard showers and let everyone blame Master Kei."
"It would serve him right," Feemor muttered, while everyone else made noises of amusement. "I swear, ever since Marcus hit his last growth spurt, he spends more time in that armour than Kei does."
"Joke's on Kei; there's no way Marcus is done growing," Ace pointed out. "He'll be taller than his master soon enough."
"What a tragedy," Feemor deadpanned.
Wangui snorted as she came up and wrapped both hands around his. "Okay, Master, you've met Obi-Wan's friends. Now you need to go to the Halls."
Ace spun around so fast they wobbled slightly. "You said he's not broken!"
"I'm not," Feemor insisted. "I am fine."
"Okay, yeah, I can see the resemblance, now," Eerin said, and Obi-Wan let out a long-suffering sigh.
"He's not broken," Wangui promised. "Master Che is just terrifying." She gave a dramatic little shudder. "She comm'd the ship almost as soon as we dropped out of hyperspace and made him promise to come see her first thing."
"I don't even know why," Feemor muttered, still annoyed about the whole thing. When Windu had told him he was going to use being trapped in the Halls as an excuse as to why he couldn't immediately start working with Palpatine, he hadn't intended to make it fact. "I was cleared by the Naboo medics nearly a week ago."
Wangui nodded to the stare Ace turned on her. "He was up and waiting for us when the ship landed; I did say bacta was involved."
"Still not sure I believe it," Ace muttered, then raised their voice to say, "You take your bags, I'll take our master."
"Agreed."
Feemor sighed and looked over at where his brother-padawan was clearly enjoying the spectacle. "Let me know if you need help moving to new rooms, little brother."
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him. "Sure. If Master Che doesn't strap you to a bed and sedate you."
"Speaking from experience?" Feemor asked sweetly.
"Yes," Eerin interrupted before Obi-Wan could respond. "Yes, he is. Does everyone in your lineage avoid the Halls?"
"No," Ace and Wangui said, nearly simultaneously.
"Only Qui-Gon and those of us trained by him," Feemor admitted. "Xanatos hated healers, too."
Obi-Wan got a constipated look on his face. "I'm not certain I wanted to know I have that in common with him," he muttered.
Feemor chuckled.
Obi-Wan shook his head. "Once you're free of Master Che, let Master know, so you can work out the night for dinner."
"I will," Feemor promised. "And, yes, you have to come, Ace."
Ace huffed at him and grabbed his arm, using it to pull him towards the doors. "Halls of Healing, Master, let's go. Bye, Uncle Obi-Wan!"
"What?!" Obi-Wan yelped from behind them, while the four padawans broke out in laughter.
Feemor chuckled at the vaguely horrified shock he sensed from his brother-padawan and didn't bother fighting Ace, beyond speeding up a bit so they were walking side-by-side, rather than him being dragged. When Ace just wrapped their arm around his a little bit more, he sighed. "Do we need to talk?"
"No."
"Ace."
Ace pressed their lips into a thin line and kept staring ahead.
Master Che was waiting for them in the Halls. "You're late, Master Feemor," she informed him.
"I had a welcoming party," Feemor replied drily.
Master Che glanced at Ace, who was still practically hugging his arm, and hummed. "Come along. I want to see how bad it is. And I'm running your neurochemistry again."
Feemor grimaced, but didn't argue.
Ace finally let him go so he could disrobe, standing back out of the way and clutching Feemor's robe like it was a security blanket.
"This has healed remarkably well," Master Che said, her fingers lightly skimming over the long scar Maul had gifted him. "Who used the Force healing, Master Jinn?"
"I did," Feemor admitted.
She was still for a long moment, then stepped around him to consider him with a narrow-eyed look. "Lie down," she ordered, instead of asking any questions about how he'd suddenly excelled at Force healing, and he wondered what the Council had told her, if anything.
She had the computer run the scan once he was lying down, tutted at the results, and said, "I'll be back. You can get dressed, but if you leave this room before I release you, I will track you down, sedate you, and drop you into a bacta tank until it's needed for someone else."
Feemor grimaced as he ducked his head. "Yes, Master Che," he agreed, and she left with an irritated noise. Sighing to himself, Feemor pushed himself back up to a sitting position and reached for his undertunic. Before he could do much more than get a finger on it, however, Ace was next to him again, their hand tracing over his back.
When he glanced over his shoulder, he found terror and grief writ across his former padawan's face. "Ace," he said quietly, "I need you to talk to me."
"Why him?" Ace asked, their voice quiet and small. "All he ever did was hurt you. Why would you– Why did you risk your life for him?"
Feemor closed his eyes and let out a slow, pained breath. He'd only just taken Ace as his padawan two days before Qui-Gon comm'd the Council and declared that he had no padawans, then vanished. It should have been a happy time, but Feemor had spent months struggling with depression and his insomnia, instead, while Ace tried desperately to keep their new master from crashing and burning.
"Because he's my master," he replied quietly. "It never would have hurt if I didn't love him."
Ace let out an angry sob and hugged Feemor from behind, pressing their face into the crook of his neck and clinging to him.
"And for Obi-Wan," Feemor added as he covered Ace's arms over his chest with his own, because it was true. "I don't need Qui-Gon, not any more, but he does."
"He has us," Ace said, the words bitter.
"He does now," Feemor agreed. "But a sibling is not a master, especially when you've only just met them." He squeezed Ace's hand. "What's done is done, and I'm here now. Alive. Safe. I'm not leaving you, Padawan."
Ace tightened their grip.
Feemor sighed. "I know you despise him, but could you give him a chance? For me?"
Ace was silent for a long, weighted moment, then they agreed, "One chance."
"Thank you. Now, do you think you can let me get dressed?"
"No."
Feemor sighed again. "You may as well come back in, Master Che. It seems I'm stuck for a while."
Master Che's smile, as she came back into the room, was not comforting. "In that case, Master Feemor, there are some other tests I'd like to run."
Feemor closed his eyes and squeezed Ace's hand again when they let out a near-silent sniffle into his neck, resigning himself to being trapped for a while. "If you can run them without upsetting Ace," he agreed tiredly.
Master Che grinned, showing her sharp teeth, and Feemor had a sinking feeling he was going to regret this.
Oh, well.
For the sake of his padawans and grandpadawan, for Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, for his family—alive; whole; here—there was very little he wouldn't suffer, not now that he knew how it felt to lose them.
1-So Much For 'Ever After' || 2-One Day Changes Everything
3-Never Thought You'd See the Day || 4-Looking Through Distorted Eyes
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