Chapter Text
Around him, the Jedi stir, the very air alight with confusion-wariness-alarm . Anahkeen can’t help the way he startles to full awareness, eyes darting around the room; this feeling meant danger-nearing on Tatooine and it is instinct that is straightening his back. He twists tightly around his bond with Obi-Wan, and squeezes his hand as well, eyes wide.
“The Force, how feels it, to you?” the green elder asks when the room has finally quieted.
Anahkeen blinks at him. “It just—it is. I don’t know—what are you asking?”
The Kel Dor elder leans forward, voice calm and soothing. “Sentients who are Force-sensitive often have a way that they visualize or otherwise imagine their own and others’ connections to the Force. For me, it is the taste of the wind on my skin, and how it swirls around others.”
Oh. He—he mustn’t mention Ar-Amu or the Aether, not here, these are still masters, if of a different type but—“We are all…trees, I think. And the…the Force moves the branches and leaves and sometimes pricks me. But there are—well, they are pooled at us, and different sizes, and you are all holding your branches so still— ” He cuts himself off, mortified, even as Ar-Amu whispers reassurances in his ear.
The Kel Dor makes a noise of understanding. “And how do you see emotion?”
He blinks. “Mine, or others’?”
Beside the Kel Dor, another elder sucks in a sharp breath, radiating realization-shock .
“Both, please.”
Anahkeen frowns, but the Aether is shivering in excitement and his voice is thick with it when he speaks. “It is—emotion. We feel, and the Ae—the Force speaks through it—no, it replies to us. It listens. But it listens to everyone, and it is easy to forget what is yours and what is not, so you can hear something not meant for you.”
“So when you said you were afraid…?”
“I am afraid. But it told me there is no danger, so I should keep it where it can’t hurt anyone else. I feel, but the Force told me there is no need to act. But sometimes there is, and then, it tells me how to survive.”
“You do not release it?” the Cerenean asks sharply.
“Release it where? I feel, and it will return regardless. I know it as mine, know what it means, and act as I must.”
Understanding sweeps through the room.
Qui-Gon shifts, drawing himself upward bleeding devotion-truth-awe . “You see? You hear him, don’t you? He is young, and yet his words are drenched in the Force. How can you not—”
The elders’ attention snaps unto him, and their branches begin to shiver. “Qui-Gon,” the Korun says warningly.
“But you see it, don’t you? He must be trained!”
One of the elders frowns. “Is that even in question at this point? He goes to the crèche, surely.”
The green elder taps his cane on the marble floor. “Too old, he is.”
“I will take him on as a padawan!” Qui-Gon calls out, burning with righteousness-destiny so bright Anahkeen flinches.
“Qui-Gon,” snaps the Korun. “You have a padawan already. He is standing right there.”
From Obi-Wan’s side of the bond, Anahkeen feels a creeping horror-no-please-don’t-leave-me . He whips around to look at Obi-Wan, but his face is carefully blank in that way Anahkeen knows too well. That horrible nothingness of maybe if I don’t react they’ll ignore me . It should not be here, not in a place where they are free-free-free .
Qui-Gon doesn’t seem to notice. He doesn’t seem to be listening to anyone at all, too consumed with whatever awe-worship is filling him to pay any attention. “I am willing to train him, masters,” he insists. “I vouch for him to join the Jedi—”
“ Qui-Gon Jinn .” The Korun sounds furious , his bright-core of emotion flaring like a sun. “Don’t tell me you’re repudiating this one, too.”
“Obi-Wan is ready for his trials—”
“Obi-Wan’s readiness is besides the point , Qui-Gon, you can’t just decide to recommend him as soon as it’s convenient—”
Obi-Wan flinches, hard. His self spikes with betrayal-embarrassment-fear and Anahkeen bleeds for him. The masters start talking over each other, the room descending into a cacophony of noise.
“Anyways,” announces the Cerenean in a raised voice over the others, “he’s young for a padawanship regardless. Better to send him to the crèche for a year or two.”
“ Are you accepting him?” Qui-Gon snaps. “And I see you’ve completely discounted how we met a Sith— ”
The voices of the Jedi rise, loud and panicked, room overflowing with denial-indignation-FEAR as Anahkeen’s presence is long forgotten. Whatever method the Jedi had been using to keep themselves still in the Aether they certainly aren’t using it now, emotions roiling to and fro like a sandstorm.
“Loud. Angry,” Anahkeen whimpers. He inches closer to Obi-Wan until he’s nearly buried in his side. “Too-much burning-bleeding it hurts— ”
Obi-Wan glances at him, furtively, and his expression firms. Gently, he takes Anahkeen by the shoulder and begins leading them out.
“This is no place for a youngling,” he murmurs. “And they seem…occupied.”
Anahkeen shrinks into the warmth of Obi-Wan’s Aether-embrace, like his mothers and-yet-not. He can feel his worry, his concern, and a fierce core of protectiveness-love-understanding that makes Anahkeen think of the wings of fierce Leyah, sheltering her siblings from her brother’s rage.
This, he decides, is what a brother feels like.
“Are you alright?” Obi-Wan asks, brow furrowed in worry. “They were very loud in there.”
“’M okay,” Anahkeen mumbles. “They’re jus’ scared. ’M used to scared people.”
Obi-Wan winces, spiking with righteous-anger-protect . “Indeed.”
“Right then,” Obi-Wan says decisively, “let’s get you all set with the healers.” He’s rubbing the side of his neck as he says this, and with a flash of understanding Anahkeen picks out the faintest traces of a scar there—a band of skin ever so slightly lighter than the rest. He shivers. A bomb collar , he thinks, horrified.
“Ipa,” he breathes, pressing two fingers to his lips then towards Obi-Wan. When he doesn’t react, Anahkeen repeats the motion, but this time presses the fingers to Obi-Wan’s neck.
“Oh,” Obi-Wan breathes. He mirrors the motion, hesitant but with reverence. “You also—wait—” His expression shifts to one of panicked horror. “You—Ani, youngling, have you been dechipped?”
Ani , Anahkeen thinks delightedly. His ipa has given him a nickname! “No,” he replies, leaning into his ipa’s side. His urgency-readiness-wariness from the Jedi chambers has slowly drained from him, leaving him sleepy. “Teacher Qui-Gon took us straight to the elder people, ‘member?”
Obi-Wan sighs. “Really, Master,” he grumbles under his breath, “why are you like this?”
Anahkeen has the distinct impression he wasn’t meant to hear that.
“Well,” says Obi-Wan, blazing with determination-purpose, “let’s get you to the healers, youngling.”
Anahkeen snuggles into Obi-Wan’s side, curling his inner-self cozily around the place where he and Obi-Wan are linked. “T’ank you,” he mumbles.
Obi-Wan smiles at him, his self shining with a hint of sorrow-love . “No, thank you , dear one.”
“Quinlan,” Obi-Wan despairs, pacing the room with his commlink in hand, “he’s so small , Force help me. And he—he—I haven’t thought of Bandomeer in years, but he called me brother and—”
Quinlan laughs. “ Is this how I sound about Aayla? ” he asks, delighted. “ How did you not hit me? ”
“Aayla—? No, no, Anahkeen is not my padawan, absolutely not. I’m still a padawan, if anyone—” he pauses, a grim look on his face, “—if anyone is going to be his master, it’s Qui-Gon. You didn’t see him, Quin, he was— fanatical —”
“ Sounds like he’d be a terrible choice in master, then, ” Quinlan says frankly. “ Obsession is a terrible foundation for any relationship, never mind a master and student. Just look at Dooku. ”
Obi-Wan winces. Komari Vosa’s obsession with her master and later expulsion from the Jedi made her a rather infamous cautionary tale early in their apprenticeships. Obi-Wan had never met her, but based purely on Qui-Gon’s muttering about his own former master, he couldn’t even imagine what she’d seen in the old man.
“ And besides, ” Quinlan continues, “ he’s going to the crèche, isn’t he? I was a padawan when I found Aayla, but everyone knew she was my youngling. ” Obi-Wan swears he can hear Quinlan’s smirk as he continues. “ Just call dibs, Obi! You said you have a Force bond, right? Spontaneous Force bonds are a totally valid reason to claim a future padawan! ”
“Quinlan,” Obi-Wan says, exasperated, “I’m not walking up to the council of Masters and telling them I called dibs on the Chosen One.”
There is a long pause. “ Do you really believe that? ”
Obi-Wan sighs. “I—I don’t know. Maybe? He certainly has an astonishing connection to the Force, and control over it, but he also—” He hesitates, uncertain. “It’s almost—he speaks in a way that almost feels cultural . Foreign. It’s not raw, it’s refined by some method we are unfamiliar with.”
Quinlan hums. “ And this makes you think he is? ”
He makes a sound of frustration. “I don’t—even if he is, I feel like—like raising him that way would be a mistake. Because the prophecy—it’s vague, isn’t it? And if you take someone not raised on the temple teachings and try to steer them towards our interpretations—I just. It seems foolish.” He feels a guilty squirm at his admission of what almost feels like heresy and increases his pacing. “Not that I would tell his Master what to do—! It’s just—”
“ Do you hear yourself? ” Quinlan asks softly. “ Obi-Wan, you care for him like your padawan. I couldn’t imagine a better master for him. ”
He stops. “Really?” he asks, voice softer with something vulnerable.
“ Really ,” says Quinlan. “ I’m your friend, Obi, would I ever lie to you? ”
A pause, then Obi-Wan can’t help the snort that escapes him. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
“ Okay, but in my defense— ”
Obi-Wan laughs, long and loud, and feels a tiny twitch of happiness bubble at the end of his bond with Anahkeen. Maybe everything really would be alright.