Chapter Text
Sifo-Dyas dragged himself into his hoverchair and sent an order to the kitchens for a meal delivery, and for once, it wasn’t to his own rooms.
Then he considered the vision he’d just had, and what he would need. Right. A full pack, actually. Weighted blanket for himself at the bottom. Datapad, input device, long distance comm, did he have any empty dataclips? Where were they… this one? No, ah! Empty dataclips, check. Cane, in holster on hoverchair. Lightsaber in obi. Now, what else? Yes, a few personal items, his toiletry kit, all the bacta… Then the Force urged him to leave right now, so he did.
He arrived at the apartment door at the same time as the delivery droid, from the other direction. He didn’t offer to take it, as he knew the droids were very picky about deliveries, and pranks were common, but it did trill and recognize him as the one who ordered it.
He rang the door chime and waited. He also sent a soothing wave of calm toward the two occupants of the room.
The door opened to reveal the lover that Sifo-Dyas had a very distinct feeling neither knew him nor recognized him.
“We come bearing food,” Sifo-Dyas said simply. “May we enter?”
Jon stood back from the door, but Sifo-Dyas noted that he did not actually invite them in. The older master turned to the droid. “I can take it from here, kind one.”
The droid handed over the food boxes of three meals and a shared dessert and beeped its thanks in binary, and an addendum that he was fairly certain meant that the record would reflect it did not manage a direct delivery, but an indirect one.
It made Sifo-Dyas smile. Padawans who used the kitchens in their pranks were soon made to realize the error of their ways and even the most grand prank wars never involved the serving droids or the kitchen staff.
Or the quartermaster.
What a nightmare that would be.
“Where are we?” his lover rasped. The other in the room was keeping their distance, and warily. Then again, Jon was all dressed up in his Bounty Hunter garb.
“We’re in a bit of a holding pattern right now, dear one. Shall we do introductions and explanations over food? It is the civilized way, is it not?”
Jon neither confirmed nor denied anything, but moved away and Sifo-Dyas came further into the familiar quarters. He explained the footwear instructions for the sunken pillow pit dining set up, though the Senior Padawan was already toeing off his boots with a little grin. He had the padawan take the boxes for him, then parked his chair next to the accessibility nightmare, put his pack down right by the edge, took his cane, a deep breath, and then braced himself to haul himself out of his chair.
And then he was almost feather light.
He sent a thread of gratitude to Jon, who was his soft, squishy, wonderful Jon underneath the surly protective layer, and got himself comfortably settled in the karyai before his entire weight returned to him. He took several more deep breaths.
“We need utensils, and drinks,” the padawan murmured, hopped back out of the karyai and rummaged silently in the kitchen.
Sifo-Dyas started sorting out the boxes by smell alone. Fish, fish, and more fish to Obi-Wan. Dessert box in the center. Mynock Satay with fried tubers for Jon. Bulgogi with extra kimchi for himself.
Obi-Wan came back with three full glasses of water on a very tacky souvenir tray from Takodana, and an array of eating utensils, and cloth napkins.
“My name is Sifo-Dyas. I am an archivist by training, and a High Counselor to atone for the sins of my past life.”
Jon bristled as he knew he would. Jon had been allergic to mentions of the Jedi High Council at first, but it was best to be up front about it. It would not do for him to find out about it later.
“Primarily, these days, I am a seer.” He gave the padawan a little smile. “Force visions are always rather like being hit by a speeder, as you know,” he said, nodding to the padawan, who now had a rueful grin on his face. “Save for wrapping oneself in beskar, there’s not much to be done about it.”
A hint dropped. Nothing more. Not right now. It wasn’t time, yet. He had learned, as he lost his childhood friends one by one, that timing was everything.
The padawan looked thoughtful though. That was good. Probably this timeline had diverged later, rather than earlier.
The Force swirled around him in happiness and the padawan just smiled deeper, but Jon peered at him keenly.
“Padawan, won’t you introduce yourself?”
The padawan quickly put down his utensils, wiped his mouth and cleared his throat.
“It would be my pleasure,” he began politely. He bowed as deeply at the waist as the present circumstances would allow to Sifo-Dyas, and nodded politely to Jon. “I am Senior Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, of the Jedi Temple at Coruscant. My master is Qui-Gon Jinn, the famous negotiator, and we are in between missions just at present. I’m not entirely sure how I got here, actually. It feels a little like the Temple, but not, so, perhaps we are on Corellia, Master Dyas?”
Sifo-Dyas smiled. “Call me See. No last name.”
The padawan instantly bowed in contrition. “My sincerest apologies, Master.”
Sifo-Dyas turned to Jon. “Would you like to introduce yourself, sir, or would you prefer if I do the honors?”
“You can try,” Jon rasped out.
“Indeed, I will. Originally from Nal Hutta, your name actually is Jon Antilles, and you are an Outer Rim, or Wandering, Jedi. And also a bounty hunter, naturally. Your teacher was my crechemate, An’ya Kuro, though she’s gone a bit off the rails and I don’t at all agree with how she chose to teach you. Absolutely abominable, and should I see her again in this life, make no mistake, I will verbally eviscerate her. I’ve already barred her from taking any further students of any kind. You specialize in freeing slaves and killing Hutts, though you do sometimes take missions with your dear friends Nico, and Knol, and of course, Master Fay.”
Jon sat stoically, but at the mention of Master Fay, the padawan’s eyes got round.
“Your abilities are legend in every Temple creche that is aware of you, I imagine. You are deadly at Sabacc, your complete disregard of authority without wisdom is deeply refreshing, your connection to the Force rivals that of Master Fay, and in a different timeline from your own we were lovers, you and I. Though, clearly only from my point of view, and not yours.”
The padawan was blushing.
Jon sighed, sat back in the cushions, took off his eyepatch and rubbed where the strings had bit into his skin.
Sifo-Dyas turned around and opened his pack. He pulled out a large, unopened bacta tube and slid it across the table. “Keep it. Your throat needs it three times a day.”
Jon sighed again.
“We are in the Temple on Coruscant, and it is slightly altered, though for the better, I think, the changes over the last three years. And the Obi-Wan and Jon whom I know are, I believe, in your timeline, making a few changes so that the Temple and the Galaxy will fare better all around.”
“So… we’ll go back? We’re not stuck here? Meaning no offence, Master,” the padawan assured him.
Sifo-Dyas smiled at him. “No offence taken, young one. It must be awkward and strange to be in your position. Everyone here knows you, but it is not really you that they know. Yes. I do believe you will go back. But it will be a while.”
“Five months, two days, and ten hours,” Jon added, opening his eyes.
Sifo-Dyas gestured with his chopsticks. “See? Amazing connection to the Force.”
The padawan grinned at Jon, who was busy glaring at Sifo-Dyas.
“Will you be attempting to hold us hostage, here?” he rasped out. He hadn’t touched the bacta, or the food.
Sifo-Dyas couldn’t really help that the smile was sad. “No,” he said simply. “Your room is next door. The code is your standard code, though I had imagined you might wish to stay here and keep the padawan company. You’re teaching two classes in the morning, so you know. One is for the Initiates. Basic tethering. The other is for Padawans, Advanced shadow walking. Usually you have a co-teacher, though perhaps not tomorrow.”
The shock was writ plain on the man’s face.
“An’ya would hate it,” Sifo-Dyas whispered. A clear manipulation, an obvious goad. But it would likely work.
Jon took a small bite. It was a nibble, really, but it was also a victory.
“At least classes end next week, which is good, because we need to have a bit of a trip, we three.”
“Where are we going?” Jon asked, taking another small bite, this time of mynock.
“We are going to break rule four into tiny, little, unrecognizable pieces, and then Master Antilles, we are going to take a flamethrower to them.”
Jon stilled entirely.
“And that translates to which sector, Master?” the padawan replied, showing just a hint of his standard sass.
Sifo-Dyas finished his mouthful of food in a leisurely fashion. It really was so good to eat after certain visions. Not everyone, of course, but some of them. He replied to the young man in Mando’a. “We go to the Home of the Soul.”
The padawan’s eyes lit up. Then they dimmed. “I really should get permission of my master, first. He’ll wonder where I am,” the padawan added, then frowned, likely at the Force’s revelation that it was an entirely false statement.
“In this timeline, padawan, things happened a little different for you, but it seems you still had a successful mission on Mandalore. It lasted a year for you?”
“Yes, Master.”
“And your next mission, was it classified?”
The padawan blinked quickly. “No, Master. We had a bit of a break, and then Master Qui-Gon had a solo mission, and then when he came back we went and helped during a treaty ratification in the Expansion Region.”
Sifo-Dyas nodded. “And how many knight trials have you passed?”
The padawan flamed a very deep red in the face. “None, master. My master says I’m not ready for them.”
Jon narrowed his gaze on Sifo-Dyas, then looked back and forth between him and the padawan.
“The Force says you’ve finished four. Only Trial of Insight left.” His gaze was hard when he leveled it back on Sifo-Dyas. “Why is this talented young man being held back? Why is the Order keeping things from him?”
“Point of fact, that was one thing that changed three years ago. The Force witnessed many things the masters of padawans missed. It was rectified all at once, and let me see. You had a solo mission which was wildly successful and you came back and were knighted. After Mandalore. You also let two of the Mandalorians adopt you, to say nothing that you picked up a pair of fiances while you were there, and so gained all of their parents as well.”
The blood drained from the young man’s face. “It… it wasn’t… I didn’t get engaged to the duchess, did I?”
Sifo-Dyas shook his head. “The Mand’alor,” he added, and watched the padawan’s fork flip entirely out of his hands in a spray of food that Jon caught and directed back to his open carton. The fork, Jon stuck dramatically in the top of it, like a dagger.
“She declared herself Mand’alor?” the padawan squeaked in dismay.
Sifo-Dyas smiled gently at him. “No, the actual Mand’alor, and his current spouse. You three all seemed… exuberantly in love.”
The padawan took a careful breath. “So. I’m. I’m. Engaged. And. And. Knighted. At twenty-one.”
“Actually,” Sifo-Dyas started, just as Jon opened his mouth with a mutinous look on his face. But then he stopped and closed his mouth again. “Actually, you figured out time travel on your own, and the Force has borne witness to your mastery. You were due to be Jon’s co-teacher tomorrow, though perhaps you will be busy.”
“So. I… can’t return to Master Qui-Gon’s rooms.”
“No,” Sifo-Dyas said simply.
“There’s something he’s not saying,” Jon said, glaring, but eating at the same time.
“These are my rooms, aren’t they?” the padawan asked, looking around.
Sifo-Dyas nodded and continued to eat. The padawan abandoned his food to get up and look at things. The pictures by the entrance. The contents of the pantry cabinets. The watercolor on the wall, next to more pictures. A bookcase with a little light embedded in it, and a small blooming orchid, the only plant in the room. He gently touched the rice paper painting on a pair of standing screens that shielded the karyai from the entrance. He knelt down to a small kneeling desk in the main area and touched the things on it. He took a little time in the refresher, and each of the private rooms before he came back in silence and started eating his fish again.
“What aren’t you saying?” Jon insisted.
“Padawan, this will be hard to hear,” Sifo-Dyas said gently. “Jon can leave the room for a moment, go get a change of clothes and his toiletries, if you prefer, so we can have a moment to discuss it.”
“If you think it best, Master,” the padawan said, without looking up.
Jon put his fork down forcefully. “Five minutes, Padawan. I’ll be back in five minutes. Is that okay?”
“Yes, Master. Of course, Master.”
Then Sifo-Dyas heard Jon’s voice, unharmed and seething with anger in his head. ‘If you break this child any more than he is already broken, there is nowhere in this galaxy you will be able to hide from me.’
“Call me Jon,” he said gently and almost simultaneously to his telepathic threat, to his other table companion.
“Thank you, Master Jon,” the padawan said.
“Just Jon,” he corrected.
The padawan silently nodded, still looking down at his food that he wasn’t eating anymore.
Jon pulled his boots on and left and Sifo-Dyas took a deep breath and asked the Force for guidance on where to start.
“I know from reading your file, and a few other things that have come out that I’ll give you access to if you like, that your first successful Knight trial was Bandomeer. The second and third were Melidaan. The fourth was Mandalore. During none of these were you accompanied or aided, or even prepared by Qui-Gon Jinn. While it’s true that many masters missed the trials their padawans passed, or only suspected, not many of them were truly neglectful of their padawan. And only one Jedi had the temerity to abandon a child in their care in a warzone without any weapons, food, or medicine. Qui-Gon Jinn taught you many things, padawan, but you learned so much more on your own. He neglected you, in more instances than just that one. He ignored the Force. There are more details we can discuss if you like, a little later, but I know that by the time you took your solo mission, you had moved yourself out of his quarters and into the padawan dorms. You stayed there a few weeks after you were knighted, as this place was being built for you. Three years later and Qui-Gon Jinn is still in mandatory rehabilitation and is very closely monitored. He was demoted to Knight, prohibited for his lifetime from teaching or taking on students, and I believe he is currently serving in AgriCorps, where he has found a measure of happiness.”
The padawan responded with a broken voice. “Who was forced to take on my apprenticeship for the last bit? Or did no one do it?”
Sifo-Dyas snorted. “Fights broke out in the hallways, Padawan Kenobi. There were duels to see who would make it to the top twelve, who were the only ones to be presented to you, after an entire joint session of the High Council, The Council of Reassignment, and the Council of First Knowledge meditated together in an open meditation to make sure there was nothing underhanded about the decision. It nearly caused a Temple Riot. Unsurprisingly, I was out of the running quickly, as it was one of my bad days, but there was literally no one who didn’t want to take you on, despite age, infirmity, alignment, or already having a padawan.”
Padawan Kenobi blinked at him with wide, sad, uncomprehending eyes.
“You are loved,” Sifo-Dyas said simply.
Padawan Kenobi tried to hide his tears.
“To answer your question,” Sifo-Dyas said quietly, “from the twelve presented to you, you choose Plo Koon. Younger knights meant different rules, so you still have your bond with him, and you can keep it until you’re twenty-six.”
Padawan Kenobi was sobbing into his fish.
“May I call him, here?”
A nod was the answer he got.
Plo,
Please come to Obi-Wan’s quarters immediately. Time travel snafu: Our Obi-Wan and Jon are off fixing the ills of the galaxies in other timelines. We have their displacements; a feral Jon new to the Temple, and a padawan Obi-Wan deeply broken by QGJ. I’ve told them some of it. They’ll be here for five months, two days, and nine hours.
-Sifo-Dyas
And then Jon returned.
Padawan Kenobi immediately fled to the refresher. Sifo-Dyas braced himself and layered his shielding as thick as he could quickly make it. He did not want to be Jon’s enemy. Ever. He’d once thought he’d known what his end would be, but that possibility dissolved into the mist after Obi-Wan negotiated the Reparations Agreement.
He didn’t actually want to die in Obi-Wan’s karyai. His own Jon would be very upset about it.
Jon returned to the sunken pillow pit, boots off, dressed as a Jedi. He put a small pack down next to the karyai and quietly sat down to eat the rest of his dinner.
Sifo-Dyas waited quietly. He was wary, and ate slowly.
Then the door chime sounded, and the refresher door opened.
“Master Plo!”
There were the sounds of a crushing hug from the other side of the painted screen.
“Ah, my beautiful nebula. This is a hard time for you, isn’t it? Shall we sit down, or would you prefer to take a walk?”
The padawan stated his preferences and invited the Master of the Order in and offered him refreshment, while Jon caught Sifo-Dyas’ eye and whispered in his mind. ‘Who is that?’
‘Master Kenobi’s second teacher, and original finder. Plo Koon. Infinitely kind. Master of the Order.’
Jon said nothing else.
Sifo-Dyas slowly came to the conclusion that Jon was not going to rip out his mind through his navel, despite the fact that he’d made Obi-Wan cry.
The rest of the meal was in silence. Plo had declined refreshment for the moment but insisted Obi-Wan finish his latemeal, and it was clear the training bond had been reestablished and they were speaking silently with it. In the due course of time, Sifo-Dyas took the lid off the dessert box. There were eight little desserts, two for each. Two puddings for Plo. Two meiloorun tarts for Obi-Wan. Two dark chocolate cakes for Jon. Two citrus cookies for Sifo-Dyas.
‘Is this a bribe?’ Jon asked in his head, though he asked it while eating the first of the dark chocolate cakes.
‘It is, if it’s working,’ Sifo-Dyas quipped back.
‘Just because you order me chocolate, that doesn’t mean I’m going to suck your cock.’
‘I had a vision two hours ago. I can’t get it up right now, even for you. It’s a miracle of the Force I’m still upright.’
‘Then what do you want?’
‘Aside from peace in the galaxy and an end to sentient trafficking?’
‘Nice goals. Yes. Aside from those two things.’
‘Three things.’
‘Which are?’
‘One. I want you to know you’re loved. Two. I want to help you and Obi-Wan achieve whatever the Force has in mind for you for the next five months, two days, and nine hours. Three. I want to suck your cock and then fall asleep in your arms, because in addition to being incredibly lovable, you’re also quite cuddly.’
Jon momentarily stopped chewing. And then he started again.
‘Why?’
‘I thought I knew my fate. I was resigned to it. And then you and Obi-Wan dropped in and changed everything. Obi-Wan in large, systemic ways. You, in very intimate and personal ways. It is my pleasure and honor and duty to return that favor. You know the choice you’re going to make. It’s going to align exactly with what the Force wills. So what is the Will of the Force, Master Antilles?’
‘Call me Jon.’
‘I see. Am I welcome in your karyai, then, Jon?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you.’
‘No, thank you,’ he said, and Sifo-Dyas watched as he pulled his hood back and raised a single eyebrow.
Sifo-Dyas couldn’t help but to smile.
Sifo-Dyas saw them off in quiet gentleness, in the Bamboo Room. Obi-Wan had been wearing a beautiful gorget that his mother, the armorer, had forged for him, and Sifo-Dyas himself had been gifted a set of armorweave robes. Jon’s voice was sounding very slightly better and he promised to look up Sifo-Dyas in his own timeline, when he returned.
He knew that the Rid’alor and Mand’alor had had many long talks with Obi-Wan, but also knew there had been no physical intimacy, there.
It was bittersweet, but short lived, because very suddenly Obi-Wan, with his new pack filled with dataclips and new possessions, and weapons belt filled with things his mother insisted were absolutely essential in addition to his lightsaber, and Jon, also with a new pack with a few new possessions, and all the rest of the items the Force required him to bring, were gone. In their places were…
Obi-Wan and Jon.
Definitely.
Ages four and six, if Sifo-Dyas wasn’t mistaken.
He immediately squatted down and smiled. “Hello. My name is Sifo-Dyas. The Force sent you here to play with me for a bit. Shall we start out with some ice cream?”
Little Obi-Wan looked excited at the prospect. “Are we in the Room of a Thousand Fountains?” he asked. Except it came out, ‘ah we in dah woom of a fousand foutans?’
Little Jon looked confused and scared.
Sifo-Dyas nodded, and flooded Jon with a sense of comfort and safety and watched him visibly relax. Then he noticed that his shields looked like they were made of a hundred half-chewed toothpicks randomly thrown at a screen of adhesive. He quickly worked to rebuild them and reinforce them. Smooth and soft linen on the inside. Sharp prickly beskar on the outside. Jon rubbed his head and sighed.
Sifo-Dyas looked to the littlest one. “Now, you must be Obi-Wan Kenobi, is that right?”
Little Obi-Wan grinned and nodded and his Force Presence sounded like a peal of bells with his joy and shifted into the most heartbreakingly beautiful nebula. Jon looked at him with wide eyes.
“It is very nice to meet you, little Obi-Wan.” He turned his attention to Jon. “And you must be Jon Antilles, is that right?”
Jon shrugged and the moment the credit dropped, Sifo-Dyas’ heart broke.
“I know someone very like you. A wonderful being, just like you. He’s named Jon Antilles. Would you like that to be your name, too?”
Little Jon had a thoughtful look on his face, then he seemed to make a decision. He nodded silently.
“It’s very nice to meet you, little Jon.”
He led them back to his chair and when he was settled, little Obi-Wan got the most adorably calculating look on his face, which was also incredibly innocent.
In that moment, Sifo-Dyas wanted to beat Yoda with his own walking stick.
“Mast’See? I had a nice dream of you. And me. And I was riding with you in your chair. Can I ride with you in your chair?”
“Of course you can. Jump and I’ll catch you.”
Little Obi-Wan threw himself into the air with a gleeful yell and then collapsed into giggles on Sifo-Dyas’ lap.
Jon was giving them wide-eyed looks of longing, and Sifo-Dyas knew he wouldn’t ask.
“Would you like to join Obi-Wan on my lap, Jon? There’s room for two if you can both share.”
“I can share! I’m good at sharing! I share my crayons with Garen all the time!” little Obi-Wan assured them both and then wiggled over to make room.
Jon climbed up the side of the hover chair and settled in and held Obi-Wan’s hand while they hovered off to the nearest refectory. They chatted about shielding and meditation and described each other’s Force Presence to the other. Ice creams in hand, Sifo-Dyas nonchalantly hovered off to the Quartermaster’s domain and ordered a small adjustable thigh holster for a small knife with two tiny pockets, one for a security rod that had basic clearance codes to both Temples, and connection to one of several Shadow emergency accounts with the Banking Clan, and one for the tiniest possible long-distance comm. It had restricted functionality, but Sifo-Dyas programmed in his comm code, then he explained everything he’d gotten as he nonchalantly hovered to the Halls of Healing while they continued to eat their ice creams.
He had Jon’s slave chip removed, and had the child slathered in bacta, and they couldn’t avoid the innoculations, but Obi-Wan held his hand and Jon tearfully ate his ice cream all the while, and even got a large candy for being brave afterwards. While they were there, Sifo-Dyas helped him adjust the holster so he knew how to do it, and then helped him put it on.
“Keep it secret, Jon, and keep it safe. If you ever need help, if you ever don’t like where you are, or feel like someone is being mean to you, you can use the knife to protect yourself, and you can call me. I’ll have someone come pick you up. And if you escape on your own you can use the credits in this account to buy a ticket to Coruscant, and come to the Jedi Temple. We’ll always help you, Jon.”
“And give me ice cream?”
“Yes. You can get ice cream at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Remember that.”
Little Jon nodded and finished his ice cream. Little Obi-Wan had only just done the same, and Sifo-Dyas was right behind them. He was hovering over to Obi-Wan’s quarters, as the Force was nudging him that way when the children disappeared off his lap.
He sighed, wished he could have done more for little Obi-Wan and gave it to the Force.
And then he felt Obi-Wan inside his own quarters. But not Jon.
Sifo-Dyas extended his senses.
No, Jon was nowhere to be found.
Seventeen year old Obi-Wan was actually a bit easier to handle than twenty-one year old Obi-Wan. They did go to the Healing Halls sooner, this time, and he called Plo in earlier, before the explanations got particularly deep. The Force still told him to stay with him in his quarters, but this time he asked for permission. And they did travel to Mandalore, as there would be enough time for that, and in hyperspace ended up having long conversations about difficult relationships with teachers, and what to do with lovers you no longer resonate with, though mostly Obi-Wan did as one did in hyperspace - eat, sleep, meditate, study, and train if possible. Sifo-Dyas knew the first three forms of Soresu and was happy to tutor him on it, and the trip wasn’t that long, anyway.
His mother reforged his armor to better suit him, as he had been outfitted in new, clean clothes that fit him, and he got a long time to bond with his other parent, the Admiral, who came back to the compound to visit with him. He spent a single two day period in Keldabe with the Mand’alor and Rid’alor and when Sifo-Dyas saw him after that, he was glowing with vitality and couldn’t stop smiling.
His cousins teased him mercilessly.
He too, was seen off with great intentionality and many hugs, and right from the Aswad Compound.
And then there was yet again a different Obi-Wan, an older one this time, and again, no Jon Antilles.
“Hm,” older Obi-Wan said, after glancing around.
Someone started swearing loudly, and someone else ran to the Forge and made it loudly known then were going there.
“Erm, this place looks familiar. Have we met?” he asked congenially, smiling behind his beard.
“This is the Aswad Clan Stronghold on Home of the Soul, older sibling Ob’ika,” one of his small cousins in training armor chirped in Mando’a.
“Oh! My… goodness. Yes, of course. Remind me of your name, darling?”
She kicked his shin. “I’m Bo-Katan! How could you forget about me, Obi?!”
Her parent called her off and softly explained the time travel to her again. Older relatives were giving him hugs and forehead kisses and he just seemed bemused.
“Erm, it is truly lovely to see you all again. I don’t suppose anyone would like to explain as much as they know of what is going on here?”
Then Ruusan Aswad walked into the room. Loudly. And the rest of the room quieted. She very visibly looked her child up and down, put her hands on her hips and sighed. “I know you as my child, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I know you as my child forever.” Then, leaving said child gaping, she turned to Sifo-Dyas. “How long do we have this time? Do you know?”
Sifo-Dyas double checked. “Two hours, ten minutes.”
Ruusan nodded. Time enough. She didn’t go silent when she commed her apprentice. “Tan, set a timer. Two hours, five minutes.”
They didn’t hear the response.
She turned to those nearer the kitchen. “Bring him food and nutrient water. Lots of it. Mostly fish. To the Forge. Come child; yet again, you show up naked and unarmed.”
“I have my lightsaber,” he defended, following her out.
“Don’t start with me. I know you’ve survived without it, I know it’s sacred, I know it sings to you, and I know you’re a crack shot with a rifle.”
And then they had left the room and the door closed behind them.
Sifo-Dyas wondered if he could take a brief nap. When he told the nearest adult of his plans to do so back in the Firespray they’d arrived in, the one where the computer and all the controls were in a language he was unfamiliar with, that Firespray, he was instead herded to a small quiet room with an elevated single bed that looked soft and inviting, and he slept the sleep of the dead.
Sifo-Dyas woke up gently, with the Force tugging on him harder and harder. He took a breath and centered himself, and then went out, saw nothing untoward, and then went toward the Forge.
Ah.
This Obi-Wan seemed like a younger teen and his padawan braid was, perhaps four inches long. And this Jon looked particularly feral and mutinous, and on the brink of shadow walking right out of the situation.
Sifo-Dyas sent a wave of calm and safety, and then decided better and sent a constant stream at both of them.
Ruusan immediately took her helmet off, and Tan followed suit, and before long the three Jedi were sitting at the table in the inner sanctum of the Forge while Ruusan and Tan continued their work while Sifo-Dyas said much the same thing as he’d said more than once before, only gentler and easier with so much practice.
And when Jon looked like he was about to have a very quiet emotional meltdown at so severely breaking Rule Four, this time Sifo-Dyas knew to point out that Master Fay was Mandalorian by adoption, which was a perfectly good and normal way to become Mandalorian, and in fact he urged Jon to just go ahead and call her right now.
Then Jon admitted that his comm was broken, but happily, Ruusan had her comm code, and two hours later, Master Fay, the Clan Head of Vizsla, was walking in the door, with Jango and Myles right behind her.
Sifo-Dyas had a quiet conversation with the Co-Rulers of Mandalore and some very clear boundaries were set before they could be alone for any length of time with young Obi-Wan, and Sifo-Dyas wouldn’t let them be alone with him before they both swore on their honor not to seduce the child. Which they did.
And then Sifo-Dyas took another nap. This one would be a long one, two months, three weeks, seven hours. The time travel visit, not the nap.
And when Sifo-Dyas woke up from his nap (just a few hours later), Jon was already gone, left with Master Fay, who had adopted him outright, and who he would stay with in the interim.
Jango and Myles had remained for latemeal, and Sifo-Dyas and Obi-Wan flew back to Keldabe with them, with Jango and Myles piloting. They were met in the Keep’s hangar by Tenedre who promised to have someone install Basic in the nav computer and all the cockpit controls, in case Sifo-Dyas needed to pilot it at any point, and then Sifo-Dyas and Obi-Wan quietly moved into the Mand’alor’s quite large quarters, where Tenedre also stayed when he was in Keldabe, and Obi-Wan had a small break from insane missions with Qui-Gon Jinn, mind healing, quite a lot of fish, and an intensive study in the culture, language, and recent history of Mandalore.
And at the end of that time, Sifo-Dyas raised an eyebrow when first Myles, then Jango, gave quite a significant and deep kiss to a blushing but enthusiastic Obi-Wan who had a mid-sized pack with essential items, largely fish-based ration bars, but also a datapad with a dataclip to give to Plo Koon on his return, and one containing the rest of his Mandalorian study modules.
And then there was no one. No one appeared, and the Force didn’t impel Sifo-Dyas to go anywhere immediately, and when asked, told him to stay where he was.
At which point Fay was at their door.
Myles let them in and revealed an older Jon Antilles than he would have thought. And still there was no Obi-Wan.
The Force told them it would be quick, and Jango, Myles, and Tenedre left the apartment, going back to their various tasks they usually did at this time of day.
Sifo-Dyas made tea and Jon and Fay sat down in the karyai. When Sifo-Dyas returned, he saw that Fay was in a healing meditation and Jon was laying down with his head in her lap. Tears were rolling down his face, and even though he didn’t know quite the reason, Sifo-Dyas’ own eyes got misty. He hated to see Jon in pain, no matter which Jon he was.
Sifo-Dyas drank that pot of tea on his own, and when the healing was entirely done, he simply made another.
They only just finished the pot of tea when that Jon was gone, again.
Sitting in the karyai, boots off, was a young Jon, possibly younger than the one two ago, but maybe nearly the same age or a pinch older. And an Obi-Wan who had a slightly longer padawan braid than the one last seen.
“This one will be very short, I think, less than an hour,” Master Fay said.
“What’s going on?” Jon asked the one Jedi he knew in the room.
“Time travel shenanigans. Let’s have food and tea, and then we’ll do introductions. You won’t be here long, but at least you can refuel.”
And so they did.
Sifo-Dyas explained again, and this time everyone took it quite calmly.
He handed over a dataclip to the padawan, with instructions to give it to Plo Koon, and Sifo-Dyas felt just a bit like a looping emergency message on a transponder.
They had finished their meals and Obi-Wan had just said something that made Jon laugh, and it was a grudging, grating sound, but it was a scene to lighten the heart.
And then they were gone and it was chaos, again.
A very young Padawan Kenobi and Knight Antilles were standing, boots on, halfway between the door to the apartment, and the karyai.
Obi-Wan was hyperventilating and emoting like a volcano melting down. Jon went from high alert to instantly calmer, as Fay was sitting calmly in the karyai and smiling at him.
Sifo-Dyas, Fay, and Jon all flooded Obi-Wan with waves of calm.
“No! Stop it! Where am I? Where’s Master Qui-Gon? We were… I have to go back! The Force wants me there!”
Jon spoke before he could.
“Right now, the Force wants you here. You’ll go back, soon. Calm down and ask. You’ll see.”
Obi-Wan looked quickly between them all. “Who are you? Where am I?”
“I’m Master Fay,” she said quietly, with a soft smile, and that got Obi-Wan out of his panic, as he’d clearly heard of her.
“I’m Knight Jon Antilles. I just showed up here, as well, though at least I went from being with Master Fay, to being with Master Fay again,” he said, shrugging.
Fay was clearly the key to keeping Jon quite calm. Sifo-Dyas would remember that.
“I’m Master Sifo-Dyas. No last name,” he added as a clarification. “And I can tell you where you are and why you are here, rather than where you were. Knight Antilles, why don’t you give us a precise time, hmm? For your length of stay, here?”
The criminally young knight closed his eyes and breathed evenly, which went a long way to calming Obi-Wan down. “Four hours, thirty-seven minutes.”
“Enough time to have tea and see about refueling whatever it is you need. I’ll make the tea,” Sifo-Dyas said.
“Padawan, why don’t you come and sit with me? Jon, you too. Boots off, please. You can put them right over there,” Master Fay said.
“You know, Jon, I never told you that I was adopted by my master,” she said, picking up his hand and holding it. “His birth culture, which he retained very close ties to, and which he left the Order to return to, after the Jedi-Sith Wars were over, was one that allowed very permissive adoptions. I participated in that culture for a long time, and even after his death, before sentiment turned against Jedi there, and I left off the trappings of it. They’re all in the Jedi Archive on display, I think. Still. But I did always love it, the culture, I mean. The language is beautiful, the people are loving, for the most part, and just recently in the last fifty years or so, there has been a reform movement in that culture, and by this time - you’ve been thrown into the future, my dear, but not by so many years - they are quite friendly toward Jedi, so I’ve taken up some responsibilities left to me by my master, and parent. Dark Woman, of course, knows none of the nuance of any of this, so she just forbid you to come here. But here you are, with me, and safe as can be.”
Sifo-Dyas was listening carefully and trying to learn a thing or two from Fay’s incredibly gentle delivery.
“We’re on Mandalore, aren’t we? Or somewhere in the sector?”
“We happen to be on Mandalore itself, in the ancient and present capital, Keldabe, which means fortress in the language, I’ll get you a language module for it, and we happen to be right now in the fortress of the fortress of the fortress. We are in the Mand’alor’s apartment in Keldabe Keep.”
“Are you being held prisoner?” Jon said, suddenly wary.
Fay laughed, and Sifo-Dyas observed that Obi-Wan was very quiet, but sitting with his back to the wall and looking for decent exits, which was difficult because this room was a room full of doors and the actual exit wasn’t well marked.
“No, dear. The Mand’alor, that means soul ruler,” she said glancing at Obi-Wan, “is very graciously hosting Master Sifo-Dyas right now, during his mission. And the Mand’alor and Rid’alor are very fond of both of you, who in this timeline are friends. And perhaps you will become friends again, in your timeline.”
“How do I get back to where I’m supposed to be?” Obi-Wan asked in a conversational lull, as Fay took the tea tray that Sifo-Dyas had brought in, and Jon looked like he was also thinking and trying to find exits.
“It will happen automatically, and you’ll bring with you everything you’re holding or wearing when it happens. And apparently your boots, even if you’ve taken them off,” Sifo-Dyas said, glancing at the boot mat and noticing that twice now a set of time travelers left them while in the karyai, and their boots had gone with them.
The Force was very considerate, in that way.
“May I ask how old you are, Senior Padawan?” Sifo-Dyas asked and Obi-Wan startled hard at the title.
“Thirteen. And I’m a Junior Padawan, sir.”
Sifo-Dyas poured the tea. “Thank you for your age. Ask the Force if the rest of your statement is true.”
When he had opened his eyes and took a troubled sip of tea, the padawan in question said “I don’t understand, Master.”
“If you’ve passed a single Knight Trial, you are a Senior Padawan. And you are thirteen, so you’ve already experienced the hell of Bandomeer, have you not?”
“Yes, sir,” the young padawan said.
“And are you nearly fourteen?” Sifo-Dyas asked. He had recently become extremely familiar with Kenobi’s file.
“Yes, sir. Next month.”
Sifo-Dyas nodded sadly. “So it was from Melida/Daan we tore you?”
And the whole, sad story poured out of Obi-Wan, and Jon’s breath hitched in shock.
Sifo-Dyas nodded. “I would like to call some friends of mine, and people who will eventually be quite good friends of yours. I think they’ll want to send you back with some things. Is that alright? And in the meantime, Fay, would you get some of the seafood ration bars and dried meiloorun from the pantry cabinet? And anything else you and Jon might like to eat?”
Not that Sifo-Dyas and Fay really needed to eat at this point, but it was for hospitality’s sake.
Fay smiled and got up, Obi-Wan nodded his assent, and Jon came closer to Obi-Wan in the karyai.
Sifo-Dyas pulled out his comm.
Jango & Myles,
Terribly sorry to interrupt. I have with me for the next four hours a thirteen year old Obi-Wan and fifteen year old Jon. Jon is fine with Fay here. Obi-Wan was just ripped out of the beginning of his stay on Melida/Daan. Would it be possible to send him back with provisions? And possibly weapons?
Thanks in advance,
Sifo-Dyas
Very nearly instantly, Sifo-Dyas got a return message. It was a single line. ‘On our way.’
It was Myles who arrived first, and he arrived with hot food from the refectory’s kitchens. Which he put down on the counter, then took his helmet off, then pulled a tube of something from the kitchen island’s drawer.
Myles came right over to Obi-Wan and crouched down into a squat near him as he sat still in the karyai.
Obi-Wan and Jon were both wide-eyed and motionless, though Jon’s right hand was open and it looked like he was a hair’s breadth away from calling his lightsaber into his hand.
“Put this on your neck, ad’ika.”
“Oh. Um, thank you, sir, but bacta doesn’t work on me. It would just be a waste of the bacta.”
Myles grinned. “It’s bitofloxine. It’ll work on you,” he said.
Sifo-Dyas watched as the Senior Padawan took the tube with wide eyes. “Thank you, sir,” he said, and then took a very small amount and put it on his neck before trying to hand the tube back.
“Keep it,” Myles said, having already gotten entirely upright and walked away. He was now pulling bowls and utensils out. “Our guests need sustenance. I brought plenty for whoever comes next, Sifo-Dyas. I’ll be in the conservator.”
“That’s very kind of you, thank you Myles.”
“Stop throwing debt around. You know we’d do a lot more.”
Sifo-Dyas shared a quiet idea he’d had with the Rid’alor, who immediately gave over hospitality duties to the Jedi, put his helmet back on and went out briefly again.
Fresh hot food was duly served in their hosts’ absence, and it was gratifying to see that Obi-Wan was gratefully digging into the fish he was eating. Sifo-Dyas was quietly talking with him about his biology, and the fact that sometimes one needed to be quite assertive to make sure that one got what one needed.
“Sir, I… I have mentioned this to Master Qui-Gon, though I admit I didn’t phrase it quite like you’re suggesting. And certainly I’ll eat this way when we’re in the Temple, if I’m ever allowed back. But he’s a very busy Jedi and I’m not certain we’ll often be in the Temple, is the thing. He’s told me to expect it, and always have my modules ready to go on my datapad. And on top of that… he… he told me… He told me that if I was going to stay on Melida/Daan, which admittedly I haven’t, so there’s that… but he told me that if I was going to stay, I had to leave the Order to do it. And I already agreed. He took my lightsaber.”
Sifo-Dyas nodded. “This is difficult, Senior Padawan, and I don’t promise that-”
“I’ll train you,” little Knight Antilles interrupted to say. “He sounds like a bastard, and he clearly isn’t listening to the Force at all. So when you go back, I’ll come find you on Melida/Daan, and I’ll train you. I think… yes. Master Fay will come with me.”
Sifo-Dyas quickly switched gears and shared all of the biology-pertinent information of Obi-Wan with Jon, being very clear on his needs, and being very, very clear that near Humans below the age of twenty-five shouldn’t be relying on the Force for sustenance, as it stunts growth and proper development.
Then he shared his Mandalorian-based plan.
“Mandalorians can operate in the Republic with contracts, but only with contracts. And they hold children as sacred. They would find the situation on Melida/Daan morally reprehensible, and if they knew about it, and could secure a contract with the Young, they would be there with you as quickly as they could be.”
“Mandalorians must be expensive, and I don’t have any credits at all.”
Sifo-Dyas handed him one of the untethered credit chits he had with him. “Offer a single credit for the contract, but explain the situation fully, including your own situation. Perhaps leave off the time travel aspect in the original communication, but you can tell them about that later. A single credit will make it legal, and the Mandalorians will also adopt all of the children who no longer have parents to go home to, with their agreement.”
Obi-Wan tucked that, too, in his obi. He nodded, and then started eating more fish.
The door to the apartment opened again, and Myles and Jango both walked in together. Jango had a small box that was screaming bloody murder in his hands.
All the Jedi startled.
“Give me that,” Fay said with temerity, taking the box away from the Mand’alor. “You can’t give a child a bled lightsaber, Jango. We’ll work on them, first. Sifo-Dyas?”
“Coming,” he said.
“Sir, what’s going on?” Obi-Wan hissed quietly.
Sifo-Dyas smiled at him, pausing briefly. “The Mand’alor brought you all the lightsabers from his vault, for you to choose one. Obviously, you’ll get your own back eventually, but the Force says that one of these will be a good secondary weapon for you, once it’s been healed.”
“Sir, but why would he do that? No one just gives away lightsabers.”
Sifo-Dyas smiled ruefully. “One day, Obi-Wan, you may be sent on a Shadow mission, or perhaps it will be the Force that leads you directly to rescue those two men from slavery. And you may decide you wish to court their affections. When you’re older.”
Obi-Wan blushed a full scarlet. And he squeaked a little. “Am I married to them?” he whispered.
Jon was just watching with interest.
“In this timeline? No. You’re not allowed to get married until you’re twenty-five. You’re just engaged to them. If you look at the armor they have on their boots, you’ll notice that it doesn’t match the rest of their armor. They’ve already traded armor with each other, and with their Obi-Wan. And every timeline is a little different. But that doesn’t mean that when the time comes, you can’t rescue Jango and Myles.”
Sifo-Dyas went to help Fay redeem the lightsabers. Three weren’t screaming, and five were, aside from the one she was working on.
By the time they were finished, the time was almost up. Three hovercrates had been delivered, and when Sifo-Dyas brought the box of lightsabers to Obi-Wan, for his choice, he noticed the young Senior Padawan’s obi was off and on top of one of the crates, he was wearing a long, full weapons belt wrapped twice around him, two crossing bandoliers, as Jon now was as well, and they were both in new outer robes.
Sifo-Dyas would take a bet that they were armorweave, and adjustable.
And what was better even still, Obi-Wan and Jon had truly calmed down and were chatting amicably with Jango and Myles who were kicked back on the other side of the karyai.
Master Fay had a quiet word with Obi-Wan who agreed to whatever she had posited as Jon quietly thanked the Mand’alor and Rid’alor who assured him there was no debt.
Then the two young ones were standing and pulling their boots on, and Jon stood side by side with Obi-Wan. He reached out to tug on his padawan braid.
“You’ll need a new bead to honor this experience. Not many have time travelled and lived to tell the tale with their own. I’ll bring the bead, padawan.”
“Thank you, master,” Obi-Wan said, smiling and fiddling with his new lightsaber who was singing a happy song to him.
“Hand on the crate,” Jon said, stepping away.
He did so, and then they were both gone. And so were the locked-together crates.
And in their place…
No one.
Sifo-Dyas sighed.
“This is awesome, and rewarding, and also somehow exhausting,” Jango pointed out from across the room, and in Basic.
Sifo-Dyas sighed again, this time in agreement.
And then the alarm klaxons in the Keep went off and everybody jumped, but there was no warning in the Force, and there was no Jon and/or Obi-Wan.
Or was there?
Sifo-Dyas asked the Force and the answer was just joy, and a directional sense of up.
Then the klaxon turned off.
“Status,” Jango demanded into his wrist comm.
“Ven’rid’alor just teleported in with Jon of Vizsla and another gunship, ‘alor. Sensors went haywire for a minute, but we’re all good now. Gunship registry is Coruscant, name is Getal’ika 2,” said someone in Mando’a. Or at least, Sifo-Dyas thought they did. Possibly there was also a reference to fried nuna, but that was probably his spotty Mando'a.
Both Myles and Jango turned to him. “Is it really them? Our versions?”
Sifo-Dyas closed his eyes and checked. And then he smiled.
“I think it is.”
“It is,” Master Fay added with a grin.
They all bolted for their boots, and the door.