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batsutousaiTitle: Where You're Gonna Find Yourself
Series: Make a Brand New End
Fandom: Star Wars
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Alternate Universe, Qui-Gon Lives, time travel fix-it, jedi families, angst, hurt/comfort, past trauma, Feemor needs a hug, Obi-Wan needs a hug
Summary: It's time for Obi-Wan to decide which path he'd like to follow was a jedi knight, but a choice that should have been simple has been complicated by the sith's return, and he's no longer certain that being a diplomat should be his path.
A/N: This scene was originally going to be from Feemor's PoV, but that would have included spoilers for (what I hope will be) the next fic in the series (which starts early morning of the same day as this fic, but covers multiple weeks' worth of time), so it ended up being from Obi-Wan's PoV.
Obi-Wan has a bit of an anxiety attack in this, near the end. It's not marked—he doesn't even really realise what it is that's happened, tbh—just....be aware it's there, I guess?
Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.
Obi-Wan had spent more than he'd like to admit of the ten day since their return from Naboo avoiding thinking about what sort of knight he wanted to be.
As a padawan—as recently as a month ago—he'd fully intended to follow in Qui-Gon's steps and go down the consular path, using all of his hard-won diplomacy skills to smooth over pending wars and get treaties signed. He'd hoped, just a little, that he might take missions with Qui-Gon again, after his initial solo period, because he couldn't imagine not wanting his master there to help him with the stickier situations, as they had been doing for years.
And then Anakin happened, Qui-Gon casting Obi-Wan aside the same way he'd done in the early days of his apprenticeship, because Obi-Wan had never been Qui-Gon's choice. And Obi-Wan...
Well, he didn't suppose it really mattered if he spent the rest of his life running solo missions.
He'd been all set to step aside, to let Anakin have the master he was already so clearly enamoured of. He could be a consular on his own, prove Qui-Gon's teachings true. Prove Xanatos had just been a fluke, someone not meant for a jedi's life.
Except, then Feemor was there. Qui-Gon's first padawan, someone Obi-Wan hadn't even known existed, even though he'd apparently been a knight since before he'd been born. He'd been cast aside, too, left to get by on his own, and he'd flourished.
And he wanted Obi-Wan, honestly wanted him to be a part of his lineage, to be friends, family. A jedi master who wanted him around, who would punch Qui-Gon on his behalf and refuse to back down when their master got that look on face, the one that even sentients who had never met him before quickly learnt to fear.
But, by the end of the mission, they'd faced and killed a sith, and Feemor had been so badly wounded, and he said there was a war in their future? Possibly? And a sith controlling the Senate.
Suddenly, being a consular seemed like the coward's way out. Because did the Order really need more diplomats? Or did they need warriors? He'd been trained by Qui-Gon Jinn; he could easily serve among the guardians, going out to brewing conflicts and stepping out onto a battlefield to force a ceasefire.
"You're going to have to pick eventually, Obi," Bant told him after the third time in the last two hours that she caught him looking at the choice on his personal comm.
"I know," he replied, drooping against Master Fisto and Bant's constantly damp couch. "It's just...hard."
"What's hard about it?" Garen asked from where he was putting the finishing touches on an assignment under Bant's steely gaze. "You wanna be a guardian and stab people with your lightsabre, go be a guardian."
Bant huffed. "That's easy for you to say, future jedi ace."
Garen flashed an unapologetic smile, and Obi-Wan was a little entertained to realise it looked a lot like Ace's; he'd had no idea one of his best friends had a years-long rivalry with his brother-padawan's first padawan. (He hesitated to think of Ace as his nibling, because it was bad enough they kept calling him 'uncle', he didn't want to imply any approval, even just in his own head.) The Temple really was a small place.
"It's complicated," Obi-Wan muttered, because he wasn't certain he could stomach telling them everything he knew, assuming it was even allowed; sometimes, ignorance really was a blessing.
"Why, because there's so many consulars in your line?" Garen asked, rolling his eyes. "That didn't stop Kudzulek from becoming a jedi ace."
"Why don't you talk it over with Master Qui-Gon?" Bant suggested, even as she very firmly reached out and turned Garen's head so he was looking down at his datapad again.
A large part of Obi-Wan was still reeling from everything that had happened since they'd landed on Tatooine, and while he would always love his master, he was struggling to reach out to him, still aching from the latest in a long list of thoughtless hurts.
When Tahl had been alive, she'd been his go-to when he couldn't bring himself to depend on Qui-Gon for advice. After her death—after he'd had to channel so much of his own grief into holding Qui-Gon back from Falling—he'd learnt to get by on his own, or lean on his friends. Not that his friends were being particularly helpful right that moment.
Except, he realised as he sensed Feemor returning to the Temple through their Force bond—and he still couldn't believe that it had formed so easily; that neither of them had even tried, it was just there, like the Force approved of their partnership—he did have someone else he could go to for advice. Multiple someones, even, if he was willing to try Ace's ability to be serious about more than what switch did what in various starfighters.
(Well, to be fair, Vega was clever and competent in a quiet sort of way, so Ace must be a far better teacher than they liked to pretend, because Feemor didn't strike him as the sort of master to step in if they thought their former padawan was teaching their padawan 'wrong'. Obi-Wan just had the dubious pleasure of always seeing Ace when they were plotting against Qui-Gon, or were being over-excited about starfighters and their astromech.)
Obi-Wan sent, Are you free to talk? through the bond.
A warm rush of welcome came back at him from Feemor, and Obi-Wan let himself bask in that, just a little bit. (Feemor was so much freer with feelings of love than Obi-Wan was used to, and it always surprised him, just a little, how hungry he was for that unasked for, constant acceptance.)
Obi-Wan stood as he said, "Good luck with him, Bant."
"You're leaving?" Bant asked, both of them turning unhappy frowns on him.
He waved to his comm. "I'm taking your advice." Well, mostly. He wasn't certain how either of them would react to the idea of him going to someone other than his master for advice, especially since he'd only known Feemor for a few weeks.
(He may have only known Feemor for that long, but it sounded like his brother-padawan had been keeping an eye on him from afar for far longer. Not to mention his knowledge of Obi-Wan's potential future.)
"Well, good," Bant decided, and then turned a pointed look on Garen. "At least one of you is."
"I'm writing, woman!" Garen complained, turning back to his paper.
Obi-Wan chuckled and left them to the continuation of Garen moaning about the tediousness of the topic he'd been given and Bant reminding him that he would have been done by now if he'd stopped putting it off. Obi-Wan hadn't needed to be there, not really, but he felt a little like he'd abandoned his friends the past ten-day, more focussed on connecting with the part of his lineage he hadn't known about and trying to keep up with Anakin and his two friends, when they decided they needed an older jedi accompanying them so their presence somewhere wouldn't be quite so noticeable.
He followed the pull of the bond to one of the small grooves in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, where he found Feemor comfortably settled in a meditation pose, though his eyes were open and watching as Obi-Wan stepped past the low-hanging branches of the massive Alderaanian willow. Feemor was smiling, but he looked exhausted in the way that spoke to a long day, and Obi-Wan hesitated to put more on his shoulders.
"Sit," Feemor suggested in that easy, quiet tone he had. It somehow always reminded Obi-Wan of Qui-Gon in a good mood, and it was soothing in its way.
That, Obi-Wan mused as he knelt across from the master, was probably a large part of why Feemor had seemed so approachable, so quickly. Because so much of him reminded Obi-Wan of Qui-Gon's good days, of the time in his apprenticeship when Tahl had been alive and Qui-Gon had smiled regularly, or the years after Qui-Gon had recovered from her death, when things had been easy and familiar between them in the way of the best partnerships; a little scarred from the early trials they'd faced, but stronger for having come through them together.
"How was the Senate?" he asked, because Feemor's clear exhaustion, given the danger of Palpatine and his sith master, was...concerning.
Feemor's smile turned a little wry. "About what I expected for a first day," he said in a careless tone. "A lot of meeting people who were kissing up to the new chancellor by playing nice with the jedi, some discussion of what Palpatine expects of me, requests to keep an eye on any number of senators he's uncertain of."
"...oh."
"Tiring, but not anything unexpected," Feemor added. "No, I just...had a rough morning."
Obi-Wan swallowed and nodded, wasn't really certain how to ask what that meant, or if there was something he could do to help.
"Did you need me for something?" Feemor asked, his expression attentive, but nothing about him suggesting at impatience. Like he was perfectly content to kneel there and wait all evening for Obi-Wan to get around to the topic he wanted to discuss, if that was necessary. And this, too, reminded him of Qui-Gon on the good days, that patient fondness that made him feel welcome and wanted.
The tangled knot of his worries and indecision was already easing just from being in the Room with his brother-padawan, and he was so grateful he'd reached out to him. Even if Feemor didn't have a concrete answer for him, couldn't or wouldn't point him in one specific direction, the choice felt like less of a weight, now.
"Yeah," he said quietly, and was grateful that his voice came out calm, untainted by his thoughts, even if he was certain Feemor could sense how grateful Obi-Wan was that he was willing to kneel there with him. "Uhm, so, this might be a weird question, but could you...tell me what path I took? Jedi path."
Feemor hummed, closing his eyes. "You haven't picked a path, yet?" he asked, but there was no judgement in his voice, no sense of shame or condemnation through their bond or in the Force around them.
Obi-Wan was half-way to reaching for his missing braid to play with it—a tell that Qui-Gon had mostly managed to cure him of, before Anakin burst into their lives and Obi-Wan found himself returning to old bad habits—when he remembered it wasn't there any more and dropped his hand back to his lap, threading his fingers together to keep them occupied. "No," he admitted. And then, because he couldn't not defend himself, he added, "I thought I knew, that I was going to be a diplomat, like Qui-Gon, but then, but with the sith's return, I thought, well, maybe what the Order needs is warriors? More than diplomats."
"There will always be a need for diplomacy," Feemor murmured neutrally, then opened his eyes, something shattered in them that reminded Obi-Wan uncomfortably of Melida/Daan. "If we do find ourselves at war again, however, diplomacy won't be what the Republic expects of the jedi."
Qui-Gon had told him, while Feemor had been in the healer's wing on Naboo, that he'd been afraid that Feemor wouldn't have been able to keep up with them. "Combat was never his focus," he'd said, looking drawn. "He can fight—I made certain of that—but he rarely has to draw his sabre on his missions, and there is quite a difference between Temple sparring with your padawan, and combat in the field."
"He didn't fight like someone who hasn't seen more action than sparring in the Temple," Obi-Wan had replied, still all unaware of what his new-found brother-padawan had been through.
"No," Qui-Gon had replied, and his expression had reminded Obi-Wan of the months he'd spent mourning Tahl. Because he'd known, already, that Feemor had been forced to give up diplomacy and take up his lightsabre in war.
"I know," Obi-Wan said, careful, uncertain of his footing, "that I don't have to be a guardian to keep up with my lightsabre skills. Qui-Gon is...one of the best duellists, and he's a diplomat. But I..." He shook his head, not sure how to articulate his current mental track.
"You're afraid," Feemor said, still quiet, neutral.
Obi-Wan flinched. "I'm not–" he started automatically.
"I am," Feemor said, and met Obi-Wan's disbelieving stare calmly. "I'm terrified, little brother, because I know what's coming, but not the how or the why, not enough of the participants. What if, for all my warnings, we still end up at war? What if, for all our awareness of Palpatine's true colours, he still manages to turn our me– our soldiers on us? What if, in focussing on saving them from one fate, I set Wangui and Vega and Ace to even worse deaths?"
Obi-Wan didn't even realise he had reached out until he was already hugging Feemor, felt his brother-padawan's arms wrapping around him in return. "It's not– They won't– It'll be better," Obi-Wan insisted. "We'll make it better."
"Will we?" Feemor asked, and he sounded as exhausted as he looked.
Obi-Wan made himself take a breath, to think for a moment, instead of just reacting. Feemor had told him, some days back, that he was prone to very, very bad days, and something about needing medication to stop that from happening. And he'd just said he'd had a 'rough' morning.
He'd told Obi-Wan he would let him know if it wasn't a good time to talk, but it wasn't like he knew what the topic was, or where it would lead. And it wasn't like Obi-Wan wasn't plenty familiar with how something seemingly innocuous could remind him of Satine or Tahl or any number of people he'd had to let go—death or just a 'goodbye for now', it could hurt the same way—and he would find himself overwhelmed by emotions he knew he'd laid to rest years before. Not that the heart seemed interested in letting some things—some people—go.
He didn't know how to help Feemor, if he should stay or go to find someone for him or get his medication or...what. It was like in the months following Tahl's death, when he hadn't known how to pull Qui-Gon out of his grief.
"What can I do?" he asked without really thinking about it, same as he had to Qui-Gon back then.
Qui-Gon had never really answered, but Feemor asked, "Do?"
"Now. Here," Obi-Wan clarified.
Feemor was still for a heartbeat, then he let out a quiet huff that almost could have been termed a laugh. "Oh. Nothing. Exactly what you're doing right now," he said, and tightened his arms around Obi-Wan for a second.
"Okay," Obi-Wan agreed, and let himself relax a little bit, released some of his uncertainty into the Force.
(Feemor, it seemed, was a lot easier to help than Qui-Gon had been.)
"I'm sorry," Feemor said eventually.
"For what?" Obi-Wan had to ask, because he couldn't imagine what his brother-padawan had to be sorry for.
Feemor snorted. "You came here with a simple question, and I got grim about it," he said, just a hint of self-deprecation in his voice.
"Is there some jedi master trick to getting your mind to behave itself?" Obi-Wan asked in a dry tone, without really thinking about it.
Feemor pulled back a bit to give him an odd look. "No?"
"Damn. I was hoping you'd teach me."
Feemor blinked once, then twice, and then he burst out laughing, leaning forward and dropping his head onto Obi-Wan's shoulder.
Obi-Wan was going to have to remember that snark was a good way to cheer Feemor up, because everything about him suddenly seemed so much lighter than it had when he'd first knelt across from him. "Feeling better, now?"
"Immeasurably," Feemor admitted, pulling back again and smiling. "Thank you for that; I don't think I realised how much I needed a laugh today."
"I'm glad," Obi-Wan said, and meant it. Because Feemor had already done so much for him, and if he could repay him with some much-needed laughter and hugs, he was happy to.
Feemor just smiled at him for a moment, then he said, "Peacekeeper."
"Wha–?" Obi-Wan started, before his brain helpfully jumped back to his initial reason for seeking Feemor out. "Oh. I was a peacekeeper, then?"
Feemor nodded, his expression turning pensive. "Yes. I always suspected that Qui-Gon's death at Maul's hands informed that choice," he said in a mild tone.
Obi-Wan couldn't quite stop a flinch; the idea of Qui-Gon's death, as much as he currently struggled with his emotions in regard to his difficult master, didn't sit well with him. A part of him wanted to rail against Feemor for speaking so carelessly about it, but he knew that wasn't fair; he'd had over a decade to come to terms with their master's death, after all, and Obi-Wan could still remember the way he'd grabbed for Qui-Gon at their first meeting, the desperation in his eyes when he'd told them the fate that awaited them on Naboo.
"That–" He cleared his throat. "Yes, probably. I admit that, that Maul and his master, the danger of the sith being back, coming out of whatever hole they'd hidden themselves down, that is a...large part of my uncertainty."
Feemor offered a crooked smile. "The sith and the war are nearly the entire reason I suggested Wangui might ask Qui-Gon to train her." He hummed and rubbed at his chin, gaze going a bit distant. "I'm fairly certain that's also the reason Ace is willing to suffer their grandmaster's tutelage, despite their grudge."
Obi-Wan huffed. "Yes, I imagine Qui-Gon won't be lacking in interested students, as more people begin to believe the sith really are back."
Feemor raised an eyebrow at him.
Rather than let him voice whatever thought that eyebrow birthed, Obi-Wan asked, "You told them, then? Ace?"
Feemor sighed and nodded. "I'm afraid my use of Soresu gave me away. And–" he winced "–they have the right to know, the same as Qui-Gon or you, what we're truly up against."
That was certainly true enough, and Obi-Wan was glad to know there was someone other than the Council and Qui-Gon he could talk to, someone a little more his equal. He did have to ask, though, "What about Wangui?"
Feemor shook his head, expression carefully calm, but Obi-Wan could feel his turmoil through their bond. "She's only fourteen, Obi-Wan. I can't put this on her, can't tell her she died on her first mission."
Obi-Wan had worn a bomb collar at twelve and offered to give his life for Qui-Gon's freedom, had fought in a civil war at thirteen; the idea that Wangui, at fourteen, wouldn't be able to handle knowing they were facing a galaxy-wide war rang false, to him. But, to tell her she might die shortly after being knighted? He could...understand why that would be uncomfortable, why Feemor might not want to tell her that part.
"We are meant to protect our padawans, as best we can. To give them a safe space to learn as much as they can, as much as they might need to survive the galaxy on their own," Feemor said, and he was smiling, but there was something wrong about it.
A part of Obi-Wan scoffed, because he'd certainly never experienced this supposed 'safe space' to learn. But, perhaps because he'd missed out on that, he understood what Feemor wanted, why he refused to take Wangui with him to Palpatine's office. And Feemor, far more than Obi-Wan, knew what Wangui could and could not handle knowing, what the emotional repercussions to learning of her potential future death–
"You didn't fail her, Feemor," Obi-Wan said as his brain made the connection that, perhaps, Feemor didn't wish to tell his current padawan because he blamed himself for her death.
"I know that," Feemor said, voice gone tight. "She should never have been given that mission, but we lacked some important details, so it was deemed an appropriate mission for a fresh knight, rather than requiring a knight team or an experienced master. That fault lays at the feet of the senate committee that sent it to us."
A chill went down Obi-Wan's spine. "The mission came from the Senate?" he asked.
"Most of our missions do," Feemor replied, and while his voice was flat, there was a shadow in his eyes, a grimness to the Force surrounding him that told Obi-Wan that, yes, he, too, believed that had been an attempt by the sith to sabotage the jedi.
All of the missions Obi-Wan had been on that had gone so wrong, that he'd felt would have gone better if they'd been forewarned about something, the complete and utter wreck of the one mission they knew the sith had had a hand in.
"How many?" he whispered, his mouth gone dry.
"I don't know," Feemor admitted. "I wouldn't even suspect it was intentional if not for Palpatine being the one to order my death."
Obi-Wan felt sick, cold, unsteady; the sith was influencing the Senate, very likely had their fingers in the committee that passed on missions to the jedi, definitely had control of their chancellor.
Warm hands wrapped around his arms. "Obi-Wan," a voice said, quiet but firm, even as a presence nudged him, got between him and those haunting thoughts.
Obi-Wan grabbed for Feemor's arms in return, let the stalwart Force presence of his brother-padawan steady him, help him find his centre when his own mind felt shaken loose.
"Deep breaths, little brother," Feemor murmured, and it was only then that Obi-Wan realised he'd been gasping in air. He slowed his inhalations, let the oxygen settle for a moment before breathing back out. "That's it. You're here, you're safe."
Yes, he was safe. They both were. For the moment.
"Stop," Feemor said, a hard, unbending edge to his voice that had Obi-Wan shoving away from the dark path his thoughts wanted to tread almost before he realised he was obeying.
(There had been no Force compulsion, only the authority of a jedi master; Obi-Wan could only dream he'd be half the man his brother-padawan was when he was a master.)
"We know, now," Feemor said, his voice low and firm, soothing and strengthening at the same time. "The Council knows and they'll be watching out, be more careful about their selection process when they send jedi out on missions that look simple, on the surface."
That was, that was good. Was reassuring. The Council knew, and they would find a way around the sith and their machinations, would do everything in their power to keep everyone safe.
"Yeah," he said, and took a deep breath. "Yes, of course. I'm–"
"Don't apologise," Feemor interrupted before Obi-Wan could do just that. He smiled, wry. "Honestly, this is a lot; I'd be more worried if you weren't struggling with accepting some things."
We're at war, Obi-Wan realised, seeing that same, grim knowledge at last in the shadows of Feemor's gaze. They, the Jedi Order, were fighting for their lives, and most of them didn't realise it, wouldn't even believe it if they were told, because so many were still refusing to believe the sith were back.
The Council were doing their part, standing as a shield between the sith and the Order, and Feemor was their spy in the enemy camp. Obi-Wan could try to do the same, snoop around the Senate and try to bring back intel without being caught. Except he was a new knight, a name yet unknown, untrusted, and his strength had always been in his sabre skills.
Feemor was an ambassador, moving among senators at ground zero; Qui-Gon was a diplomat, rubbing shoulders with nobility and politicians around the galaxy; Ace was an ace pilot, guarding them all from the sky. Perhaps it was time their lineage had a peacekeeper, holding back the tide from the ground.
"You know," he said, his voice coming out strange to his ears, "I think being a peacekeeper sounds like a good path."
Feemor watched him for a moment, considering, and then he smiled. "As you will, little brother. But take care your tongue doesn't dull too much; I should hate to have to get used to a new nickname for you."
Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, suspicious of that gleam in his brother-padawan's eyes. "Nickname?"
Feemor's smile widened. "Meditate with me?" he asked, instead of answering the question.
Obi-Wan had a feeling he was going to have to learn what nickname Feemor meant in time, assuming it even came about again, so he huffed out his irritation and shuffled back into a more comfortable position for meditation. "Yes, fine," he agreed.
Feemor's gaze was amused and fond, and Obi-Wan felt himself warm even as they both closed their eyes, giving themselves to the Force.
There, in the familiar flow, with Feemor's presence a calm rock close enough he could reach out and touch, Obi-Wan let the Force pull him along his future path. He sensed hardship, yes—there had always been hardship in his future—but a lightness, too, a warmth he couldn't remember sensing quite so strongly before.
When he came back to himself, he leant forward and hugged Feemor, who let out a quiet, startled sound, but hugged him back almost like it was automatic for him. "Thank you," Obi-Wan whispered, because he didn't doubt for a second where that warmth had come from.
"You're welcome," Feemor replied. "But whatever have I done this time?"
"You're here."
Feemor's arms tightened around him, and Obi-Wan sensed a brief flare of old grief and self-recrimination through their bond. "I always will be," he swore.
And Obi-Wan, who had sensed so much new warmth in his future, smiled and agreed, "I know you will, big brother."
.
