Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On Obi-Wan Kenobi’s thirteenth life-day, the Jedi Order shipped him off to join the AgriCorp. To say that Obi-Wan was devastated would have been to understate it, he had been rejected by the organisation he had lived his whole life in, and to make matters worse he had to share the journey with the reminder of his own shame, the Jedi Knight who had been his last chance and who had rejected him. Now, off to Bandomeer, Obi-Wan was left in the hold, grappling with the heavy feeling of resentment. His falling unconscious with some kind of sleeping sickness would have compounded his anger if he had been conscious to feel it, but Obi-Wan left the ship, not on his own two legs, but on a stretcher, accompanied by two healers from the AgriCorp. Whilst Obi-Wan slept, Qui Gon Jinn was left to complete his mission alone as had originally been planned, but as events did not seem destined to have unravelled in another universe.

Ben Kenobi, the Jedi Master, General, Crazy Old Man, Guardian, Dead Man, Embodiment of the Living Force, woke up with a gasp. The force sang around him. It was, well, he wasn’t sure what he had expected when he had finally released his essence into the force but this… this would be perfect, he suspected. He was lying in a simple but comfortable bed, in something that looked suspiciously like a hospital wing (well if the force had a darkside it made sense that so would the afterlife thought Kenobi) but in a warm and light filled building. Dust motes danced in the force above his head (and not a grain of sand!) and all around him he could feel the force, humming with the life forces of all those he had lost. Obi-Wan reached out with control born of years searching the galaxy from his hut in the desert and marvelled at the beautiful uncorrupted lights of Anakin, Padme, Yoda, Mace, Bant. The list began to trail off in his mind as he mentally bathed in the force, finally reunited with those he, he could admit it now, loved.

Slowly he reached a hand out in front of his face and marvelled at the smooth unbroken skin, bereft of the patchwork scars he had slowly gathered throughout his life, chuckling to himself as he realised that the force had chosen his adolescent self for his body. Honestly he ought not to be surprised it had a sense of humour after having laughed at Yoda’s aged force ghost, where Anakin had been remade a Jedi Knight. He was sure that this form probably had some significance, but he figured he could always change it later if he liked. He wondered briefly if he might not rather have woken up surrounded by his friends, but thinking about it, he realised that nearly twenty years in the desert had done things to his need for people, he had spoken to Anakin’s force ghost the day before, he felt no need to go and find those bright lights blazing out in space, he was perfectly happy lying there in the quiet room.

A few hours later Obi-Wan sat in quiet meditation in a garden attached to the facility he’d woken up to, having pre-emptively thanked the healer who had come to check on him for her care in watching over him, he had peacefully and silently submitted himself to the medical tests before removing himself to meditate. The healer had been bemused but amenable to this, his illness seemed to have abated and she was frankly quite charmed by the calm little boy, so at odds with the angry and hurt children they had come to expect. She had briefly worried that he might be off to do something overly energetic after his long convalescence, but after a quick glance at his wise old eyes she had decided to let him go chuckling to herself as she left to tell her replacement that the sick little boy had not only woken up but was a proper old soul.

Obi-Wan had actually laughed when he saw where the force had deposited him. The Agricorp on Bandomeer for goodness sake. He wondered if this was supposed to be some kind of pointed lesson on accepting one’s fate and the will of the force. He suspected that Qui Gon Jinn would have laughed, was quite probably laughing right now come to think of it, he could feel him after all, a bright light steadily streaking towards the Coruscant Temple.

Over the next few days he threw himself into the cycle of meditation and manual labour he had been assigned, silently laughing to himself about the antics of the other ‘initiates’, whose efforts to include him felt like a gentle parody of his time in the crèche of the Jedi Order. Time passed like silk, a tranquil flow he barely noticed wrapped up in the living force which caressed him on their frequent trips into wooded and aqueous landscapes, a gentle balm to the memory of coarse sand. He sat separate from the others, trading knowing, slightly amused, looks with the other adults who also clearly found his current shape somewhat amusing.

Life, or rather death, moved silently on. He remained distantly amused at the faint mentions of his and Qui Gon’s mission to Bandomeer as they floated through the facility, as the outraged cries at the corruption were pacified by the knowledge that the disaster had been averted, the culprits revealed. It saddened him somewhat to learn that Xanatos was still fallen here, that he had never clawed his way back up from the dark. But he appreciated the reminder nonetheless, of how lucky he had been with Anakin, with Luke. He didn’t watch the news, he didn’t really need too, safe in the knowledge of the force, insulated from other sources of news by his distance from the other corp members. He was, as many of the older members constantly remarked, a strange old soul, a little boy with wise eyes and a master’s connection to the force, so clearly suited to life in the AgriCorp, so at peace with his place in the force. Even his insistence on completing his lightsabre katas in silence, tucked away in a rarely frequented garden every morning was endearing, many of the initiates struggled to outgrow the commitments of the Jedi Temple, but to see the wise little boy calmly swinging away in Soresu with a stick seemed sweetly innocent to Kai Knon, as she passed through on her rounds.

Shortly after he turned sixteen, Obi-Wan’s calm world came crumbling down around him when he felt Tahl’s death. It couldn’t be. She was one with the force how could she leave it when already dead? Obi-Wan woke up to the knowledge of her death in panicked tears, feeling fully for the first time perhaps the limitations of his adolescent body, a wild rush of hormones that did not assist in his communion with the force. It didn’t make sense, his mind briefly considered and discounted various possibilities – perhaps she had gone to a different plain of the force. He supposed, remembering her wisdom and stubbornness that if any of his family had been to discover another layer of the force it might well have been her. Nonetheless he could not quite quell the troubled feeling that something was wrong, the force swirling around him in agitation as it had not done in a long time, telling him to move, telling him that something was awry. He soon realised he would have to investigate, if she had done something without telling anyone doubtless Qui Gon might be worried and upset. Bant too he realised - he would have to go and investigate, he was after all something of an expert in these matters after his long time spent in the Living Force. He quickly packed a small bag and slipped away, reticent to disturb the peace of his companions with the knowledge that something might be wrong with the force.

Stealing a ship was second nature to Obi-Wan after decades on the run from the Empire, it honestly barely seemed to register nowadays whether the means of transport was legitimate or not. He vaguely recognised this as a possible flaw to be corrected now it was no longer necessary but for now he tried to focus on the moment. Once the ship was safely in hyperspace he therefore turned on the holonews to see if he could find any information on Tahl’s disappearance. The slightly out-of-date hologram spluttered into life –

which could mean further delays in the senate for the bill. The conflict in Melida/Daan blazes on reports are spreading of a possible massacre on the part of the Young. Tensions have been rising steadily for the last several years but now with the all-out war having spread onto neighbouring planets Chancellor Valorum has called for the Senate to fund military intervention. The firebrand leader of the revolution, a young man who identifies himself only as Nieeld, issued a warning to the Senate to stay out of the conflict citing their ‘continued disinterest in anything outside of the Core.’ Lastly, following the death of the Supreme Governor of New Apsolon, an interim government has been formed under the leadership of his eldest child -

There was more but Obi-Wan didn’t seem to hear it, unable to think past the buzzing in his ears, the strange gulping noises that seemed to be coming from his chest. This wasn’t the force… it was happening again. All of it. And he, he was sixteen. Actually, really sixteen. And in no position to aid a grieving Qui Gon, whom, he realised now, had never met him in this life bar that initial disagreeable meeting. Had never taken him as a padawan. Sideous. Anakin. It was all happening again and Obi-Wan had let it, was letting it. Feeling as if his face had been frozen in place Obi-Wan silently sunk to the cockpit floor.

Chapter Text

The Council Meeting was fraught with tension, as many of them seemed to be nowadays, thought Master Yoda. With both Tahl and Qui Gon missing amidst rising conflict and with the Temple still fragile after the bombings a year ago it was beginning to feel like things were spinning out of control. He wrinkled his ears in distaste as he peered into the force only to receive a dull fuzz of answering static. Things were not as they should be.

His sense of discomfort only increased when he checked his comm after the meeting and found a waiting call from the AgriCorp waiting for him. Sighing he let the hologram flicker into life to reveal a harried looking Wookie.

‘Kythor, this call expecting I was not.’

‘My apologies Master Yoda but one of our Senior Initiates has gone missing so I was calling to inform you in case he turns up on Coruscant.’

‘Many Initiates you seem to lose, no?’

‘Well unfortunately many of those sent to us are rather unhappy, we often see them leave but I am concerned mostly as this student was showing no real signs until he disappeared two days ago.’

‘Which unfortunate initiate is this?’

‘Obi-Wan Kenobi, he came to us three years ago from your temple.’

‘Unfortunate this is. Kenobi was a bright boy but great turmoil I sensed in him. Suitable as a Padawan, he was not deemed.’

The brindled Wookie looked rather taken aback by this, somewhat to Yoda’s surprise.

‘Ben? No Kenobi has always been an extraordinarily calm initiate, we all assumed it was his choice, with shields like those and an connection to the force that strong he seemed like he would have made a good Jedi Knight. But I suppose the sickness would have put off some masters.’

‘Sickness. Of what do you speak?’

‘Well… when he was brought to us he had been unconscious for three days I believe? The Jedi Master who handed him off said that he had collapsed and couldn’t be roused. He was in a coma for about a month before he woke up, calm as anything and told us he knew everything and was quite fine with it all. He’s been a model pupil ever since.’

Yoda was struggling a bit by this point to reconcile this account with the promising but rash initiate he had known, whose turbulent emotions and flares of temper had rather discouraged the available masters from choosing him. Likewise he was a little annoyed that he had not been informed of the boy’s illness by his grandpadawan on his return. He supposed that the meeting with Xanatos had rather shaken him though. And now Obi Wan could be added to the list of people lost around the galaxy.

‘Very unfortunate this is. Thank you for bringing this to my attention I do.’

Master Kythor gave a short bow and murmured their customary greeting, which Yoda returned, before ending the holo-call. Yoda adjusted his seat and sank back into meditation, pondering the disquiet that churned in the force.

…

Deep in hyper-space, Obi-Wan had successfully mastered his feelings, or perhaps more accurately has successfully strong-armed them into the steel box in the back of his head where he kept that sort of thing, and was pondering what to do. He knew that last time Tahl had died on New Apsolon and, while he knew that his not being around would have changed things (Xanatos, the Temple Bombings, what had he done?) he was reasonably sure that going by the timing, she had met her fate by a similar situation. The problem was, he had no idea where Qui Gon would be this time, without Obi-Wan around would he even be in a state capable of having gone to aid her? And without Obi-Wan as a padawan would he successfully escape New Apsolon? He knew he certainly couldn’t go to the Jedi Temple, they would have no reason to listen to him or trust him unless he revealed all his knowledge of the future, and then he was fairly sure that that would just lead to further problems as they acted on their fear (– oh Anakin, a quiet voice at the back of his head groaned). But without him Qui Gon would fall apart and possibly die. With him though, without the link of shared experience, Obi-Wan began to think he might not be enough this time. But the key, he realised, was in finding out where his old master was, if on Coruscant he would just have to hope that events had reorganised themselves in his absence to provide Qui Gon with appropriate support. But if he was with Tahl, he would need to be helped. Obi-Wan began to realise why the force had been encouraging his habit of practicing his katas every morning. Not that he even had a lightsabre to rescue Qui Gon with.
Still, he would just have to make do.

Chapter Text

Qui Gon had not slept in three days. His current plans did not allow for such weakness and, deep within the blanket of emptiness that had wrapped itself around him when Tahl had died, he no longer felt the need. There was only justice left. A life for a life.

Since he had discovered Tahl and in doing so inadvertently revealed his presence to the Chief of Security Qui Gon had lost the element of surprise. Balog had responded quickly, limiting access to both himself and Erithra and Alani. This would not matter in the end, Qui Gon knew he could kill them anyway, but he would have to be clever about it, justice could not be served by a dead man. Thus, to throw the scent off his current plan, Qui Gon was going to manufacture a distraction during the ascension ceremony, hiring some mercenaries to cause a ruckus whilst he infiltrated what would be the escape route. That was why, then, despite his lack of need for either sleep or sustenance since Tahl’s death, he was currently nursing an alcoholic beverage and plate of stew in a rather grubby cantina. Across the room all manner of unsavoury characters were engaged in gambling and drinking, all too busy to notice the haggard looking man staring at them with bloodshot but steely eyes. He had been eying up a rather rough looking group in the corner when the door opened and a small group rolled in, bringing with it an overweight Toydarian, a teenage boy with grimy travelling clothes and a partially healed cut down the side of his face, and, most importantly, the unmistakable face and fashion sense of Cad Bane, a relatively new bounty hunter on the scene, but one who had quickly established a formidable reputation. Perfect.

He watched them quietly over the rim of his glass, still full apart from the single sip he had taken to placate a slightly suspicious patron who had caught him staring. They quickly settled in a booth in the corner where the Toydarian went straight to stripping a blaster, ignoring Bane as he loudly called for a drink for himself and his ‘new friend’. He seemed to have been only recently acquainted with the adolescent boy, but reasonably enamoured with this new companion judging by his brief congratulations of him for dealing with an overly officious spaceport guard – apparently to the cost of the guard losing a spare limb. Qui Gon made his presence known just as the Toydarian handed the blaster he had quickly reassembled to the boy, sliding into their booth with no invitation save his own forceful gaze.

‘I am looking to have someone murdered,’ he opened without any preamble.

The bounty hunter opposite him cast an assessing gaze over him, hand hovering near where Qui Gon knew he had concealed a blaster. The boy, now next to him, choked on his recently acquired Corellian brandy before schooling his face quickly back into an unconcerned mask to match the Toydarian, who was affecting not to have noticed Qui Gon’s arrival at all.

‘That,’ said Cad Bane, ’will cost you.’

‘Kill the man I want you to and you can name your price.’

…

Obi Wan Kenobi had nearly spat out his drink when Qui Gon had sat next to him and promptly began to arrange a murder. He had come to New Apsolon in search of the man yes, but he had certainly not expected to find him so easily or in quite such an… unusual, state.

He had landed in the city’s westernmost port, at the force’s insistence, encouraging the ire of an official who most inconsiderately refused to be bribed, eventually leading Obi Wan to a slightly… regrettable lapse of judgement (the kind that seemed to be occurring too often nowadays). This had brought him to the attention of the spaceport’s other inhabitants at such an inhospitable hour of the night, amongst them Cad Bane, who took Obi-Wan’s mis-step in good cheer and seemed to be trying to sell him on life as a mercenary when Qui Gon had suddenly appeared. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure whether to applaud the force for its swiftness or be severely concerned at how fast things were spinning out of control, he suspected his younger self, the self he was imitating, would have favoured the latter, but years at war simply made him appreciate the former. Both of those selves were united, however, in their horror at the state of Qui Gon, whose gaunt and grey face matched a horrendous blankness in his eyes. Worst of all, his presence in the force, rather than a humming flow of force, rather lay like a blanket of fog, thick and menacing around his person, slightly slimy and half dead where he ought to have been a beacon in the living force.

Qui Gon’s plan it turned out, had not just been for Bane, rather he had recommended as large a group as possible to attack the event, something which Bane had raised his eye-brows at, commenting that it would impact his ability to be stealthy. Qui Gon had however insisted that it was necessary to cause the distraction that would allow Bane opportunity. Obi-Wan got the impression that Bane did not particularly appreciate Qui Gon’s planning out his job for him, but he seemed sufficiently impressed by the aura of danger around Qui Gon not to protest. As a result of this Obi-Wan had also been hired as part of the distraction on Bane’s part, and they were apparently leaving that morning for him to find some more people that he trusted.

Obi Wan was pretty sure that he had not been recognised by Qui Gon, the man had barely registered him as an initiate and three years had stretched his body into long awkward limbs that matched a thin face bereft of the softness of childhood. Eventually he knew he would grow into his features but now he was probably unrecognisable to the man, particularly with the name Ben and an affected Corellian drawl to mask his Coruscanti accent. Even if the older man had reached out with his force presence Obi Wan had long ago learnt how to mask his own force sensitivity between iron shields in order not to ruin every surprise attack made on the Separatists, to the untrained mind he would register as barely more than force-null.

Qui Gon’s plan seemed to have Obi Wan and the rest of Cad Bane’s selection of hired help opening fire on the guards whilst Bane himself dealt with Balog but Obi Wan suspected that Qui Gon did not intend for the plan to succeed. His drive for revenge last time certainly hadn’t stretched to allowing someone else to do it and if he had wanted Bane to succeed he would have left him to his own devices. No, Qui Gon was definitely engineering a distraction, but unless he worked out what for Obi-Wan was going to be unable to change the outcome. Short of killing the man himself he was unsure what he could do to prevent Qui Gon’s revenge and consequent fall, he wasn’t one hundred percent sure what had stopped it the first time round. No, if he was going to stop Qui Gon for long enough for the Temple to intervene he was going to have to be sneaky and serve Balog a form of justice before Qui Gon could himself.

Chapter Text

Later that night, or rather early the next morning, Obi-Wan crashed into bed exhausted. The ceremony would happen two days from now leaving him until then to arrange for an alternate series of events. After leaving the bar he had subtly questioned Bane for further information on the job. Cad Bane was characteristically less than verbose but he had managed to get a vague idea of his plan, when combined with his knowledge of what would be Bane’s future techniques. He had then gone and scouted out the location of the gala, in order to get an idea of what the security staff’s evacuation plans would look like, and was fairly certain he had identified both the evacuation route and thus where Qui Gon was likely to stage his ambush. Which left him with decisions to make both on how to ensure Qui Gon’s mission was frustrated, and how to get him back to the Jedi Temple.
He was pretty certain that the death of Balog would probably stop Qui Gon in his quest for vengeance, or at least make him reconsider how he was going about it. In another life Balog’s arrest would have likely been sufficient with time but Obi-Wan was no longer sure if this would suffice. Qui Gon was certainly not reacting quite the same. The problem was he had no particular desire to kill Balog, doing so would bring him straight into the attentions of both Qui Gon and the Council and he still wasn’t sure he wanted that kind of attention. Encouraging Bane to a more effective plan, on the other hand, might well get the job done. It would also serve the welcome bonus of ingratiating Obi-Wan with the bounty hunter, an ally he reasoned it would be worth having this time round, isolated as he was outside the Temple.

Getting Qui Gon safely back onto Coruscant was going to be another problem. Obi-Wan still had Micah Giiett’s comm number memorised and would be able to contact him, but persuading the man to come without getting Qui Gon into trouble would be difficult. Perhaps a false trail of evidence leading him to New Apsolon would do the trick, or at least get him on planet so Obi Wan could improvise around what would no doubt turn out to be a disaster of a plan (they always were when Qui Gon was involved).
The following day he woke early, meditating through the morning before re-joining with Cad Bane at lunch time where the bounty hunter appeared amused by how much alcohol Obi-Wan could consume without appearing drunk (thankfully his ability to use the force to siphon off alcohol content had survived where his well-trained liver hadn’t). Obi-Wan was still a part of his party on sufferance only, initially there to amuse a bored out-of-work assassin and now just filling in a role because he had shown no distaste for violence, but he knew enough about Bane to trust that he knew how he would act. Earning his real esteem would buy him little professionally, but he could certainly be trusted to act predictably.

Bane had amassed a small group of mercenaries in the diner, which looked shabbier still by daylight, and was hashing out fees with a flabby Rhodian who seemed to have elected himself leader. Obi-Wan knew from the night before that Bane had enlisted the help of several other parties as well for Qui Gon’s distraction, but seemed wary of placing all his eggs in the same basket. Probably wise as if the Rhodian didn’t stop talking Obi-Wan suspected he might be spending the mission in a medical facility rather than aiding Bane.
Once the impromptu meeting had concluded Obi-Wan wondered over to Bane, nodding at the Toydarian who had given him the blaster he carried across the cantina.

‘What do you want kid.’

‘I bumped into a friend of mine last night who has got some temporary work up at the palace. I asked her about security work and she said that she reckoned the evacuation route in case of an incident during our job would be through these streets’. He gestured towards the napkin he had brought, covered in scrawls of his own disguised handwriting and a rough map.

Cad Bane looked at him with suspicion.

‘You better not have given away our job kid. I may like you but I will kill you if I have to.’

Obi Wan affected an innocent and slightly shocked expression.

‘Of course not I know how to be subtle.'

Cad Bane decided not to reply to this, fixing him instead with one more long assessing gaze before moving away out of the restaurant. He would trust him when the information turned out to be true and not a moment before (and only so far as the proven information).

…

Obi Wan solved the problem of getting someone from the Temple to come and get Qui Gon by taking out a small bounty on the man. Nothing big enough to persuade anyone competent to the job, but enough that Master Tholme would see it and trace it back to New Apsolon. Hopefully he would come sooner rather than later but certainly he would see it in the end. Tholme was, after all, very good at his job.

Chapter Text

Jedi Master Tholme, head of the Jedi Shadows, had given up trying to look after his crèche-mate Qui Gon Jinn years ago. Nonetheless, with both him and Tahl suddenly absent from the Temple without leave, Tahl for a rather long time now, he had taken to keeping an ear open for mentions of his friends. He was rather glad to find a mention of one of them after weeks of looking. Trust Qui Gon for it to be a bounty though. He could sympathise, the man was very annoying.

He had been talking to one of his many contacts in Coruscant’s underbelly when a slightly slimy looking man had mentioned he was off to New Apsolon to carry out a bounty on a Jedi Knight. Tholme had joined in with the malicious laughter of the slightly smarter patrons of the bar as a besalisk clapped the man on the shoulder and asked him whether he had his funeral arrangements sorted. This did not seem to particularly worry the man who then proceeded onto a long rant about how Jedi weren’t as formidable as their reputations, repeatedly bringing up a cousin who claimed to have beaten a Jedi knight in a duel over a game of sabaac. Tholme found this conversation interesting in as much as the, clearly exceedingly stupid, man brought up the contract on his holocomm in order to gesture at the picture of Qui Gon and demonstrate how he ’weren’t so tough’.

Tholme briefly considered telling the council where he was going, but decided against it when he realised that they might send someone else. He wanted to be there to tease Qui Gon about the bounty face to face. So he stopped off at the Temple to pick up his padawan and left.

Tholme took the ship into hyperspace before sitting his padawan down and bringing up the bounty on the holovid. Quinlan Vos did not look impressed.

‘1,500 republic credits? That’s barely worth the fuel to get there.’

‘Well,’ deadpanned Tholme, ‘I wasn’t actually planning on collecting the bounty myself. Seems a bit harsh even for an old crechemate.’

Quinlan snorted. ‘So why exactly am I looking at this?’

‘You tell me padawan.’

Quinlan rolled his eyes before re-examining the holo.

‘Well it was posted about fourteen hours ago from some very poorly scrambled coordinates which you’ve already resolved into our destination. The bounty itself is so ridiculously low that even the stupidest bounty hunter wouldn’t go near this job, how did you find out about this again?’

‘I met a very very stupid bounty hunter.’

‘Of course you did. So, um, the description makes it clear that Qui Gon is very dangerous, kinda obvious really bearing in mind he is listed as a Jedi Knight. Taken out by someone called Balog.’

‘So padawan, tell me what you think is wrong about this holo?’

His padawan paused for a moment, weighing up the evidence.

‘Well… pretty much everything. No one with any knowledge of anything would take out such a low bounty on such a dangerous target – these bounties are barely ever accepted on soft targets let alone a jedi. And the poster isn’t trying to deceive the bounty hunter about how dangerous he is either so they’ll think the job matches the price. Do we have any knowledge of who Balog is?

‘Well, on the planet New Apsolon, which Tahl left without permission to visit and from which this bounty originates it is a reasonably common surname, but also the surname of the Chief Security Controller.’

‘So basically someone who would know the correct amount a bounty like this should be worth.’

‘Precisely my young padawan.’

‘So what, someone’s trying to make Balog look corrupt or incompetent or something?’

‘I’d admit that is my first guess at the moment, although the idea still seems a little clumsy.’

Quinlan shifted in his seat.

‘So why are we going to investigate it now then if you already knew Tahl had gone to New Apsolon?’

‘Because, padawan, New Apsolon is a large planet but the picture of Qui Gon has the name of the bar in the background.’

‘Ah’, said Quinlan Vos. He probably should have caught that.

…

Qui Gon had set it all up. From where he stood, sheltered from watchful eyes by a large and slightly angry crowd, he could see both the stage where Balog would soon stand and Cad Bane’s crowd of mercenaries. He was waiting by a fire exit. One which helpfully connected to a service entrance through which any competent security force would shepherd their charges, what with its superior access to the streets. Once Bane’s group started creating chaos he would take the route, eliminating any security forces from the rooftops as they attempted to evacuate before engaging Balog and finally getting his justice. Tahl’s justice.

He examined the members of the group that he could see over the crowd. Mostly the group was distinguishable only for their poorly concealed weapons, Qui Gon had left it to Cad Bane to source most of them and so did not recognise the assortment of beings. He did recognise the young boy and the Toydarian from the first night though, both at the back of the group and showing fewer signs of nerves than the rest of the group combined. The Toydarian actually didn’t seem to have moved his face since the run-in in the cantina (and Qui Gon was beginning to suspect never did), but the boy was, almost impressively, just as calm looking, eyes sweeping the crowd with a practiced gaze. A gaze that flicked straight over to him as Qui Gon realised his staring had become too obvious.

He felt a flicker of familiarity there in those cool eyes. Almost like they had met before this planet. But Qui Gon could not remember ever meeting a child with such an adult gaze, even ignoring the other unfamiliar features. A shiver of uneasiness pierced through the grey cloud which hung around Qui Gon and he broke eye contact, there was something odd about the boy, something which made his mind flicker back to Xanatos and strangely to an old memory of Feemor.

He refocused, searching for Cad Bane. By all rights he ought to at least be able to spot the man’s hat from here. But strangely enough he could not see him. That sent a much more substantial sense of unease careering through him. If Bane wasn’t in the crowd that meant he was following a new plan, one which might interfere with Qui Gon’s own. He redoubled his efforts to find Bane in the crowd, but only succeeded in catching the red-haired boy’s eyes again, before he was interrupted by the entry of his target onto the stage.

Chapter Text

Quinlan Vos did not much like the look of the cantina that he had just entered with his master. ‘The Turquoise Twilek’ had a well-ingrained coating of grime over every aspect of its inside and outside, even reducing the neon sign to a blurred glow. A thick layer of grease coated every surface inside and the patrons all wore hungry, dangerous expressions. These were not the aspects that bothered him, as an apprenticed shadow he had visited a great many worse places, but this cantina had managed to combine all these deeply unattractive aspects with a lack of secondary exits, poor sightlines, and a deeply unsettling ghost of a force presence that clung to the barstool he was seated at, examining the other patrons. His psychometry was often very useful but he did not particularly appreciate the horrible dead feeling climbing through his nether regions, nor the flashes of overwhelming grief that shook him whenever he adjusted his seat. The thick force impression made it likely that it was a force-sensitive being who had left such a strange imprint in the bar, but Quinlan was rather reluctant to actually touch the seat with bare skin and find out, uncomfortable with the way the darkness that hung in the air clung to his skin.

Tholme shot him a pointed look from across the room, where he was deep in conversation with the bartender. The look seemed to roughly translate as ‘I know there is something wrong with that stool from the way you are sitting now stop acting like a baby and do your job.’

Quinlan sent him back a faux confident look that read ‘of course I’m not scared I was just waiting for the right moment’, to which Tholme’s replying glare clearly read ‘you are fooling no-one padawan.’

Quinlan gritted his teeth and reached down to touch the seat with a fingertip.

He was in pain, so much pain that it almost felt like numbness, just as ice burns to the touch. The cantina swirled around him but the patrons were different, what was sparsely populated now was instead filled with a vast assortment of grimy looking beings. He reached down and poked at the plate of stew which had appeared in front of him when a door opened spilling yet more people into the bar, a Toydarian, a Duros, and a human boy a bit younger than Quinlan. There was a jolt of recognition at the Duros and suddenly the images were gone as quickly as they had come, leaving Quinlan panting and desperately trying to clear his head.

He, unlike whomever he had just been, did not recognise the male Duros, although he did recognise enough of the man’s clothing to realise that he was likely a bounty hunter or mercenary of some form. But oddly enough he was stuck on the human boy. It was weird but Quinlan could have sworn it was Obi-Wan Kenobi, an initiate a few years younger than him who had washed out of training. Which made his presence in the cantina pretty unlikely bearing in mind he had been sent to join the AgriCorp. But it had looked a lot like Kenobi, although time had change the boy’s features enough that Quinlan supposed he might have been mistaken. Maybe Kenobi had run away from the AgriCorp, maybe he had just seen some relative, or maybe his memory for faces just wasn’t as good as he thought – it was a big galaxy after all.

Tholme slid into the seat across from him, raising an eyebrow in question.

‘It was a force sensitive, they are in a lot of pain – grief I think and anger. It was mostly just him looking around the cantina but it focused when a group came through the door and I think he recognised someone.’

‘Was it Jinn’

‘I don’t know there were a few similarities in the force signature but the whole thing was so deadened and twisted you couldn’t really tell.’

Tholme’s eyes tightened slightly but he made no other reaction to this.

‘Who did he recognise?’

‘It was a male Duros, a bounty hunter I’d think going by the weaponry and clothes but I didn’t recognise him.’

Tholme considered this for a minute.

‘I know of two bounty hunters that are Duros, there are any number of mercenaries but the big names are Cad Bane and Sin Fallow. If its Bane things might be more complicated than we thought, he’s a tricky customer. Do you have any more visual clues on him?’

‘Not much the clothes were generally pretty standard asides from a rather ugly wide-brimmed hat.’

Tholmes’ face crinkled in disgust.

‘Oh great that’s definitely Bane.’

It was at this point their chat was interrupted by a very large amount of shouting and several gunshots as a large group of mercenaries, led by a heavily bleeding Rhodian ducked into the bar, beginning a shoot-out with a group pf pursuing police officers through a now ‘open’ window. Quinlan let out another internal curse at the bar’s lack of alternate exits before following his master in a mad dash across the room and out the door, lightsaber swinging to hand as he deflected blaster bolts safely into the floor. Outside they could hear screams and gunshot echoing across the city as the local police force seemed to have been engaged by several other groups of gun-toting mercenaries all in various states of disorganisation. As Quinlan raced after his master, ducking gun-fire blaster bolts flew all around him, many of the passing criminals mistaking him for a target and bringing their weapons to bear. They sprinted through the streets towards the judicial district where the government buildings were housed and from where most of the noise seemed to be originating, the force urging them forward and guiding Quinlan when he lost sight of his master at a junction. Eventually they came upon the building from which the disturbance seemed to have emanated, now a smoking wreck surrounded by a nervous crowd of evacuees, but the force spurred them past, down one backstreet and then another, until Quinlan could hear what sounded like a lightsaber in action.

He rounded the corner, feet pounding and muscles burning to see Qui Gon Jinn, encased in a thick layer of icy grief, cutting his way through security guards with blasters towards an angry looking man. As Quinlan watched, still too far away to do anything, a shadow emerged from the wall behind the man and gently cut his throat. Qui Gon froze, the force crackling strangely around him with strange energy, and then collapsed to his knees, releasing it all at once in a massive wave of pain which felled the guards nearest to him and made Quinlan and Tholme stumble as they raced closer to where Qui Gon had crumpled.

Tholme reached Qui Gon first, pulling the man to his chest and feeling for a pulse whilst angrily muttering at Qui Gon to pull himself together and wake up. Quinlan stumbled to a halt behind him, watching as the Duros assassin gave him a nod, before melting back into the shadows from which he had come, leaving them with a street full of dead and unconscious guards. Vaguely, he hoped they wouldn’t be blamed for this, although he suspected it would be hard to avoid scrutiny when half of the men had died of lightsaber injuries.

Chapter Text

Qui Gon Jinn woke up on a very uncomfortable bunk. It was rather too small for him, so that his knees had to be bent in order to fit his tall frame into the short space and the mattress was hard and lumpy. It was better than he deserved though. He had failed. Failed to save Tahl. Failed to give her justice. Failed to kill Balog. Even failed to outsmart the bounty hunter he had hired himself.

He had realised by now that he just poisoned everything he touched, twisted it until it was no longer light. No wonder Xanatos had fallen.

He wondered briefly where he was. He could feel the hum of a ship’s generator in the bedframe but he could not quite be bothered to reach out with the force and identify whoever had brought him here. There was no point really, he didn’t much care what would happen now. He had failed after all. Maybe he was on the bounty-hunter’s ship and would have his throat cut when the assassin realised he did not have the money to pay him. A part of Qui Gon hoped so, there was no real point his staying alive any longer after all. Nobody left for him to fail.

‘Oh shut up’ said Tholme, from where he stood in the doorway. ‘You need to stop with the self-hating look Tahl wouldn’t appreciate it.’

‘Tahl’s dead’. Said Qui Gon. He didn’t bother to add that it was his fault. There was no need to state the obvious. He should have been quicker. A wave of tiredness washed over him at the thought.

There was pain in Tholme’s eyes, the only part of his face that ever seemed to show emotion that hadn’t been carefully choreographed for his job. ‘I know Qui Gon. But it wasn’t your fault – you did everything you could and she’d want you to be happy. Not’ – he gestured towards Qui Gon with a mixture of defeat and sadness – ‘whatever the hell this is.’
It was a pretty lie Qui Gon thought, but a lie nonetheless. After all, if it had not been his own fault, his own failure to follow the force, then the force had decreed it itself, and that was impossible. Therefore it must have been Qui Gon.

Qui Gon did not respond and Tholme left the room again. Eyes bright with something that looked almost like mourning.

...

New Apsolon was still reeling from the unrest of the evening before. The shooting had stopped but with the Chief of Security dead the planet’s leaders had gone into hiding citing safety issues as police investigations began to uncover corruption at the very heart of the planet’s government. Several of the shadiest cantinas and bars in the city had already been torn apart by security forces searching for the mercenaries of the evening’s attack, with a mixture of legitimate raids and slightly more concerning revenge orientated raids setting off something of a panic amongst the criminal underclass that resided on the planet. Obi-Wan was not especially concerned for his own safety, he was too young to look unduly suspicious and had mastered a look of supreme innocence long ago which would not be significantly undermined by the rapidly healing cut on his face – many legitimate citizens had been caught in the crossfire when the two forces had clashed. Much of his mission had been a success, Cad Bane had beat Qui-Gon to the target, robbing him of his murder and allowing the Temple to reclaim his master. He had watched from a rooftop as Master Tholme and Quinlan Vos had retrieved his felled master, careful to stay out of sight from two of the most penetrating gazes in the temple, he suspected he would have a much easier time fooling Yoda than Master Tholme when it came to his identity and that was definitely not an issue for that time.

Qui Gon’s behaviour continued to be – distressing. The wave of emotion that had swept off him when Balog had died had not been murderous, but it did not seem to be much of an improvement. He hoped vaguely that between Tholme, Yoda and Micah Giett some improvement in him might be seen at the Temple but the force remained clouded. Perhaps he would go and watch over his master as he had once done Luke, the idea had a certain symmetry anyway.

…

Yoda was calm. One with the force. No emotion would rock that peaceful centre from which his connection to the light flowed, such things were beneath a Jedi, let alone a master of his stature. Which made the aching pain he felt looking at his grand-padawan even more upsetting. He released his emotions into the force, but it seemed to do little when the heartache continued to throb in his chest.

Qui Gon was miserable. Any force-sensitive within a hundred mere radius would have been able to tell. Any non-force sensitive with a basic grasp of human behaviour would also have noticed. With the way Qui Gon’s force presence interacted with the living force Yoda suspected that the grass and plants which surrounded them also had a pretty good idea of how miserable Qui Gon was. The exception to this understanding was of course, Qui Gon, who was insisting that he did not require the services of a mind-healer on the basis that any emotional problems he may or may not be having would not affect his ability to do his job.

This was, Yoda reflected, frustrating. He quickly released that feeling into the force. Then he tried it again. Qui Gon continued to kneel in front of him, stubborn expression briefly masking the haunting emptiness behind his eyes. They had been arguing now for a good fifteen minutes about whether Qui Gon was fit for standard rotation, Yoda personally thought that Qui Gon needed a mind-healer, a padawan, and several months of meditation before that would be a good idea again, Qui Gon seemed to be planning on leaving as soon as possible and never coming back.

‘I am still capable of doing my job grandmaster and I must insist that you let me.’

‘Stubborn you are, ignore your own welfare in this.’

‘I am only following the will of the force.’

‘If think that you do, deluded you are.’

‘Perhaps, but you cannot stop me, I am a knight and I will do as the force commands.’

Yoda sighed, anticipating the problems this was going to cause.

‘Stop you I can, young one. Temple duty, the council has assigned you, and temple-bound you shall be until a mind-healer declares you for duty fit.’

He could see a small storm brewing in Qui Gon’s eyes.

‘Temple duty? I am one of the most effective knight’s in this temple. You need me out there not stuck in this place.’

‘Careful you should be that pride does not lead you astray. The younglings you will teach, unless believe the younglings are not important? The force’s will you shall follow in this, youngling.’

With that Yoda got up and shuffled off at a dignified pace, definitely not attempting to leave the room before Qui Gon could start complaining again.

Chapter Text

A week after the murder of Chief Security Controller Balog, Obi Wan left New Apsolon on a different ship to the one he had arrived on, having sold the larger ship and bought a smaller vessel, of the kind popular with smugglers, in order to avoid attention. The week had been spent mostly in order to avoid the security patrols which had been put in place at all the spaceports following the unrest, only attempting to leave once the planetary authority had downgraded the state of emergency and allowed normal travel to and from the planet again. The time had not been wasted, however, as Obi Wan had quickly fallen in with a gang of smugglers who had offered him work as a pilot should he want it, and whom Obi Wan suspected would be worth knowing for future reference. He had also managed to acquire a reasonable number of credits, playing sabacc against beings who consistently underestimated him based on his age.

Once in orbit he still faced a conundrum though, of what to do next. He seemed to be faced with a largely impossible task. He suspected that it was in fact at least partially possible, the force would not have sent him here for no reason, but to be suddenly plunged back into the galaxy of his childhood, whilst simultaneously alienated from it by an unplanned divergence from his old timeline, was distinctly disorientating. He was left unsure of what his priorities should be and slightly worried that he might already have screwed things up, by never becoming a Jedi apprentice. Furthermore, the presence of Qui Gon, of all those he had lost in his other life, was both distracting and dangerous, Obi Wan knew himself well enough by now to see the dangerous bonds of attachment, which even now clouded his judgement, making him keen to see to his old master’s wellbeing before anything else. It did not help that he could not dismiss this desire as such either, his master had played an important role in the major events of both the galaxy and Temple life. But he remained unsure whether he could actually help Qui Gon. He knew the man better than anyone else. Better even than Anakin, in the end, whose dark side had been so unexpected, coming as it did from where it had hid in the gaps of Obi Wan’s love and wilful blindness. But the man did not know him. Qui Gon would need someone to love, someone to lean on, but Obi Wan did not know if Qui Gon would lean on him, it had taken him years to earn even half his affection after all, and he had been easily swept away for Anakin when the time came.

Anakin… would be born this year. Born into slavery and hardship. Born to a mother who loved him but could not protect him, who Anakin would lose and in doing so lose a part of himself. The Chosen One, a little boy who had been just that in the end. It was with this in mind that Obi Wan had set his course for Tatooine, to retrieve Anakin before he would be tainted by his long childhood outside the order. To save him from being marked an outcast. It would give Qui Gon someone to care for, the long awaited child so powerful that he would have to teach him, to love him. It had seemed so obvious, the perfect solution to the love that Anakin had fallen for, and the companionship that Qui Gon would need. Anakin’s original master would teach the boy, and the Chosen One would be a Jedi. And Anakin would not fall, he would have no fear souring his apprenticeship, no unorthodox upbringing to deliver him into Padme’s love and his own downfall. Anakin the Jedi trained by Qui Gon would never have listened to Palpatine. Never have murdered younglings.

That had been Obi Wan’s plan, high in orbit around the desert planet, but as he stared across the busy slave market at where a line of young girls waited in chains he remembered something else. Not Obi Wan, but Ben. He remembered baby Luke, delivered into his new parents arms; Leia, wrapped in swaddling and happy under Bail’s adoring gaze. He remembered guarding Luke from afar as he grew strong and happy and loved, suffering no worse than the usual agonies of adolescence, a loving disrespect for his adoptive parents, a desire to spread his wings and fly. He remembered most of all not Anakin’s fall, but the return of Darth Vader to the light, the man that Luke had become who, secure in the love of Owen and Beru, had selflessly offered his life for Vader, had pulled his apprentice back from the darkness. He remembered Leia, her fire and righteousness, her desire to love and be loved, and he remembered how she was never once tempted by the dark, how the teaching of Bail and Breha had tempered her inheritance from Anakin into a woman whom Ben would have been proud to have called his apprentice. Perhaps it had been his teaching that had ruined Anakin, but he was no longer so sure that Qui Gon and the Jedi order would be much better for him. It was Shmi, standing at the back of the queue, waiting to be sold, who Obi Wan knew should teach Anakin. He just had to help her do it.

This new resolution in mind, Obi Wan returned his mind to his meagre funds, enlarged slightly by a deft hand at sabacc, but every credit necessary if he wanted to do this right. He had changed all but a tiny percentage of his funds into the Hutts’ preferred currency earlier, eager to avoid the difficulties Qui Gon would face, nine years late, or would have any way. To his relief this was enough and the party bidding on behalf of Gardulla the Hutt did not challenge his claim, unconcerned with a slave of no especial value who would likely die when the visible lump of pregnancy made its squalling appearance in a hostile world with little medical attention for slaves. A bored looking Aqualish handed Obi Wan the remote and he was suddenly in possession of a young, and heavily pregnant Shmi Skywalker, who looked at him with carefully disguised fear.

Chapter Text

Shmi was not entirely sure what to make of her new owner. He looked significantly younger than she was and his complexion suggested he did not live on Tatooine. Nonetheless, the calluses on his hands marked him out as used to hard work, rather than having been born rich or perhaps being part of a high class brothel as she had initially thought. He had introduced himself briefly when he had purchased her as Ben Kenobi and asked if she was feeling ok, clearly as a way of ascertaining whether he had made a poor bargain and accidently purchased a sick slave, but seemed distracted for the moment in the purchasing of various parts and supplies. It made her uneasy this new master, he projected a serene calm which would have looked strange on a long term spice addict let alone on a boy who could be barely more than a child. Yet he also haggled fluently in Huttese and was now examining a broken vaporator with an expert eye. She stood quietly behind him attempting not to take up too much space, it would not do to accidently upset him before she got the measure of him. The other slaves had often claimed that it was the quiet owners who were the most sadistic when handing out punishments. Finally, after several hours trailing him in the hot sun and marvelling at his ability to persevere in the heat of the midday, he suddenly turned and led them into the cantina, apologising profusely for keeping her on her feet all day with the pregnancy.

He then insisted that she choose something off of the menu, which she did only warily, carefully choosing the least expensive meal and hoping that this would not constitute some strange trick for which she would be punished. He moved to order before fixing her with a surprisingly intense stare.

‘I realise this seems unusual but you do not need to pick the cheapest thing – the choice is yours.’

Shmi paused, unsure how to reply to this comment before Master Ben seemed to crumble in on himself slightly.

‘My apologies I had forgot how… well I had forgot.’ He looked at her seriously over the rim of the jug of water he had bought for both of them. ‘I did not buy you to abuse you or even to work you. I intend to free you as soon as the offices open for afternoon trading and the supplies we picked up this morning were simply to ensure you would be provided for if you wanted to leave without me immediately after.’

Shmi considered this, well aware it might well be too good to be true.

‘I am thankful for your help… sir. But I am unsure what exactly I have done to deserve this.’

Master-Be… the boy flinched then.

‘You need not deserve it, you are a human being not property but, as to why you, it is an old debt for a mistake I once made.’

It did not seem like a particularly safe topic to question and so Shmi rather made the executive decision to order the nerf stew, with another cautious look at the boy opposite her.

The meal went on in an uneasy silence; Shmi was cautiously hopeful but preparing herself to be disappointed just in case, and Ben Kenobi just seemed awkward, fixing her with a penetrating gaze when he thought she wasn’t looking and flinching and looking away when she did. The behaviour was rather strange and almost caused her to reassess him as a former slave – it would at least explain the interest in freeing her. The baby kicked at her insides and she cautiously excused herself for the second time to visit the toilet, still watching carefully in case she accidently annoyed him.

Once the meal was over they walked over to the Town Centre and to Shmi’s surprise she was registered as a freed slave and her remote deactivated. Ben gave her the broken remote which she quickly pocketed and carefully ushered her back out of the building, mindful of the watchful eyes on them, until they were on a quieter corner near the spaceport.

‘You have choice now I suppose. If you want you can take the parts I purchased and I will give you some money and you can go make your way on your own if you want to get rid of me. Or you could come with me.’

Ben gave her yet another carefully assessing look.

‘I don’t know where you want to live but if you let me help you I can set you up on another planet somewhere or even here if you’d prefer and help make sure you have enough money to raise the child in peace.’

Shmi considered this, clutching tightly onto the deactivated remote in her pocket.

‘I will come with you I think but, I have to know – who are you? What kind of man would help me bring up my child?’

‘A failed Jedi.’

…

Yoda began his day calm, a centre of peace in the force. Shortly after a very early breakfast he was called to an emergency council meeting about the negotiators sent to mediate the conflict in Melida/Daan, who had activated an emergency signal in the early hours of the morning before vanishing. This meeting prevented him from his normal morning meditation in the gardens. He then had an hour with the children in the crèche, which he dragged his grandpadawan along to only for Qui Gon to sit in the corner looking morose and occasionally making fatalistic comments about his life. After this he had a quick lunch, but was frustrated from his purpose by the news that the afternoon’s scheduled council meeting had been moved up as the Senator from Naboo had just been to inform the council that unfortunately the Senate-appointed committee felt unable to justify the funds for rebuilding the Temple after last year’s bombings, when the Jedi seemed to be operating fully despite the infrastructure damage. ‘After all,’ the man said apologetically, ‘with the galaxy in the state it is in currently the Senate must juggle many expensive interventions into issues concerning entire species and thus they felt it might be unfair to commit so many funds to more superficial issues.’

On an unrelated note the same Senator had invited the council to send representatives to a gala he was holding to celebrate the election of Chancellor Valorum. ‘I understand that you Jedi do not approve of such things per se, but no expense has been spared – we are expecting most planets to send representatives.’ He gave them another self-deprecating smile and left.

The afternoon had then been finished by another call from the Agricorp on Bandomeer, who for some reason felt it necessary to ask him again if he had heard any information about their latest missing child, when he had made it clear the first time that he had not. Young Obi-Wan was in the force’s hands now, and Yoda didn’t care to examine the twisting feeling that caused in his stomach.

Nonetheless he was calm, and cool, and calm, and cool, and calm and.

‘Master Yoda? Master Windu asks if you can meet him in the meditation room. He said something about shatterpoints and Master Dooku and requested your immediate assistance.’

Chapter Text

Master Yan Dooku of the Jedi Order was having a fairly normal day. He awoke with the sun and began his day with a morning kata and short meditation. He followed this with a small yet well-prepared repast before leaving his room and strolling over to the main temple. He was on the wild planet Yavin 4 examining some scrolls that had been found inside a ziggurat that was being excavated. The work was fascinating – the scrolls had the potential to shed a great deal of light on the force practices of a sect of Grey Jedi that had long been lost in the annals of history. Master Dooku had initially been sceptical, but as he discovered more and more reference to the tenets of the rival Jedi Order, the scrolls had become a source of great interest, for the change they showed in the Jedi Order’s attitudes. The scrolls would indeed make a valuable source next time he found himself trapped in a debate about the dangers of the dark-side with his old master. He spent the morning then, examining and transcribing a particularly interesting fragment, before sealing it in a containment field to be sent away for further study. When the planet’s sun reached its zenith he went and enjoyed a peaceful luncheon, just him on the steps of the ziggurat communing with the living force. The afternoon followed in the same fashion as the morning, and was capped off with a delightful dinner with the archaeologist in charge of the expedition, a rather fascinating zabrak woman whose views on the diverse cultures of force-sensitives during the period of hypergalactic expansion paired very well with the wine Dooku had procured for the occasion. Eventually, as the sun began to recline back under the trees, he excused himself and wondered back to his well-appointed quarters.

It was there that he found a teenage boy sat on his bed.

Master Dooku stared at the boy. The boy stared back with a mild expression on his face.

There were, to Dooku’s knowledge, no children on Yavin 4. The expedition was a small if well-funded one and he was, or had been, sure that he had met every one of the twenty-three members who had joined him on it. Asides from them, the planet was allegedly uninhabited. The boy, then, was unexpected. In the handful of seconds into which the staring stretched Dooku briefly catalogued this unexpected stranger. Somewhere at the age of fifteen or sixteen, used to manual labour, weapons’ calluses and... the boy was force sensitive. As Dooku’s mind brushed up against some very solid shields the boy finally broke the silence.

‘Find anything interesting?’

Dooku kept his silence for a split second longer, as the boy quirked an eyebrow in question, curiously refined in action and voice for a labourer. Which meant he was…

‘Is there a reason that the Temple felt the need to contact me like this?’

The boy looked vaguely surprised, as if this was a reaction he had not expected. Yoda had probably thought Yan wouldn’t notice him poking his nose into his business. Still this boy was clearly a temple padawan - even if he had forgone the usual haircut in favour of something a little less ridiculous looking.

‘You were expecting a communication from the Temple?’

‘I realise the council are as always reluctant to embrace any ideology not their own but these scrolls are of serious historical importance. I am merely surprised that they would stoop so low as to send some padawan to spy on me.’

The boy had the temerity to look amused, although the expression was a mild one.

‘I fear we have misunderstood each other. Whilst I am likewise curious as to what you have discovered, I am no padawan. I was sent to the Agricorp as an initiate. If the council are attempting to contact you it is not through me.’

‘And why exactly, pray tell, is a member of the Agricorp, a junior member no less, so far from their station, questioning a Jedi master in the field after having broken into their living space?’

‘I was actually hoping to talk to you about the force traditions surrounding the monks of Jedha.’

Dooku narrowed his eyes before walking over to the side and pouring out a glass of Correllian whisky for himself, and after a seconds thought a second smaller glass for the boy sat on his bed. He offered the smaller to the boy who calmly accepted it, before sitting down carefully in the grandfather chair that sat beside his small fireplace. He gave the boy his best politicians smile, aware of the weight of his lightsaber at his hip, and began to talk about the philosophy of the Jedhan monks.

…

Obi-Wan and Shmi kept their heads down as they walked out towards the ship, arms laden with their cargo of provisions and machinery. Shmi’s head was still buzzing with questions about the man she followed, a Jedi of all things, Obi Wan himself was preoccupied mostly with marvelling at how similar Shmi felt in the force to Anakin, at the way Anakin’s presence was just beginning to separate itself from that of his mother. The revelations in the town had left them both rather shell-shocked and the silence was tense but not fraught, as each sought to reconcile their own feelings and sort out what to do next.

Shmi had agreed to accompany Obi-Wan off the planet. He had decided to return to Bandomeer, largely in order to reassure the other members of the Agricorp that he was still alive after having left them so suddenly. As he was now aware, a sixteen year old boy suddenly vanishing in the middle of the night might well have been cause for significant alarm. He would first accompany Shmi to the nearby civilian settlement and help her find a home. His stipend from the Agricorp would serve to keep her stable in a pinch, and he had the remainder of his winnings with which to tide them over till Anakin was born. He was unsure whether he would want to stay with the Agricorp, there was after all a lot to do and remarkably little time to do it in. But returning to Agricorp felt right, and if Shmi wished to live in the interior and keep her child he would need to be present until at least the birth so he could place shields around Anakin that would hide him from other force-users.

The journey was a short one, although long enough that both he and Shmi were able to catch up on much needed sleep, and Shmi was able to alter a jacket they had picked up cheap to fit her frame. The process of renting a small house on the edge of the town was easy, leaving Shmi was less so. He stayed the first two nights, aware that the girl, as a slave in no more than her early twenties, had likely never spent the night alone in a house like this, but eventually he left her, with a reminder that he was just a comm call away.

His return to his brethren on Bandomeer was… awkward. Kythor, the master in charge of their small group looked very pleased to see him alive and well, but submitting to the scathing chastisement he received for running away and worrying everyone was just another reason Obi-Wan was becoming rapidly less enamoured with his pubescent form and beginning to wish he was an adult again, if only so he might be spared the indignity of the blush he had yet to train himself out of. After his dressing down and another, equally painful, investigation into what exactly had cause him to run off, he finally collapsed into his bunk, one resolution firmly in his mind. He needed a lightsaber.

…

Several hours later, and Dooku had discussed, argued, been talked in circles, philosophised and generally had one of the more fulfilling scholarly debates of his life with the small and unassuming child sat in his room. The debate had quickly swung round to the philosophy of the Jedhan monks on the idea of an afterlife, through to the Sith void, and eventually through temporal physics into time travel and the limits of the force according to surviving works from the period of the Sith wars. The views of the boy, who had introduced himself as Ben eventually, were both fascinating and incredibly well argued, he had even cited some sources which were currently a mystery to Dooku but which he was going to attempt to locate and consult as soon as he could. The boy had a deft tongue for debate, a deep knowledge of the force and of certain more obscure force tradition and his views, though still somewhat blinkered with the same naivety Dooku had often perceived in the Jedi Order, were tempered with a harsh practical realism almost more incongruous with his age than the wealth of information the boy seemed possessed of. What had started as a leading debate to discover the boy’s origins and purpose had quickly become far more intriguing and Dooku had replaced curiosity about the boy’s origins with a sharp admiration and a deep disdain for the order in allowing such a bright young man to slip through their fingers.

Ben regarded him over the rim of his own glass, by now refilled and drained several times but yet to have a noticeable effect, and carefully posited a statement which Dooku felt sure he had been steering towards for several minutes now.

‘So you believe that, in the case of some hypothetical force event which disrupted the flow of time with an object from outside itself...’

‘I’m still not sure I agree with the hypothesis of such an event according to the evident determinism in the force.’

‘But in this hypothetical scenario you believe that the two realities, that of which the object came from and the past into which it had been thrust would diverge and be permanently separated?’

‘Indeed, all perception is indeed subjective, and the object itself would preserve the integrity of the original time, even as it would be unable to return.’

The young man shifted in his seat across from him, tiredness stealing across his features for the first time that evening since Dooku had sat down. He was an interesting puzzle, but, one which Dooku felt would likely prove very enjoyable to solve.

‘You are an unusually bright young man – the order must be losing its way indeed to have rejected such a light as you. Might I inquire as to your age?’

This seemed to amuse Ben a bit, who paused before announcing that he was sixteen.

‘Many might see you as rather old, but one cannot deny you have the tongue of a true diplomat and I would be interested to see into what areas your talents expand. It would be an honour then, if you might consider joining me as my apprentice. You are a smart boy, and I could teach you much, although I fear you might teach me just as much.’

‘I believe the council would disagree with the taking of a padawan so old. It has been over three years since I was considered the right age to apprentice.’

‘You are one of the Jedi Order regardless, and I confess myself more and more inclined to take a leaf out of my former padawan’s book and challenge the council. I think I would fight for you, if you wanted.’

Ben paused, a look of surprise on his face, and then he answered.

Chapter Text

The steps up to the Jedi Temple were very long indeed and the only thing that kept Senator Palpatine of Naboo from cursing and giving up on the whole endeavour was the knowledge that one day he’d have the whole insufferable Order at his mercy. Perhaps then he’d make one of them walk up several hundred steep stone steps in senatorial robes. He had to admit that the steps gave him a lovely view of the burnt out section of the building where the bombs had gone off. The only thing that had given him more pleasure than those ruins recently had been the throbbing vein in Mace Windu’s forehead when he had had the pleasure of informing those meddling Jedi that the Senate didn’t deign them important enough to help. Rubbing in the money he was spending on his own gala had just been the icing on the cake. Those fools were so oblivious to politics sometimes he wondered at their position of diplomats. Soon his plan would come to fruition, and he’d have the joy of telling them that to their faces.

Master Yoda directed a question about the protection committee at Palpatine from where he was sitting on his hover-chair and he answered it with smooth words and a charming, self-deprecating smile.

‘I am so glad you agree with me Master Yoda. It would mean the world to me if you would support our relief efforts in New Apsolon by sending along another Jedi mediator. We in the Senate have been so appalled by the loss of life there and particularly the accusations of foul play by the Order and feel it would be so helpful for you to help us bring some clarity to the proceedings.’

He gave another genial grin through clenched teeth. Only a few more hundred steps to go. When he was emperor he was going to make the smug little troll beside him crawl up all these steps without his fancy hover-chair or annoying walking stick and then he was going to drop-kick him back down them. Ugh – he could feel his back sweating.

Chapter Text

When Shmi’s water broke she most firmly did not panic. She had commed Ben when her contractions had started and though he had not yet returned the comm-call, she had faith that he would be there, he had not let her down yet. The fact that he was off-planet without her for the first time left an anxious curdling feeling in her stomach though - Ben had planned to return that day and would no doubt be making all haste to return, but the baby was early and she was frightened. She scolded herself for worrying too much though and moved back to pacing the room, concentrating on breathing as the local medic had taught her. She was going to be fine, she was on Bandomeer with water and no sand and a qualified doctor on call if something started to go wrong (Ben had told her to ring the doctor when the contractions started anyway but Shmi wanted to bring Anakin into the world like the rest of her people, surrounded only by family, born and chosen). She just needed Ben to come back so that the family would be complete when the baby arrived.

Half an hour later she was startled as her comm went off, rushing across the room as fast as her stomach would let her and snatching up the comm to reveal a stressed looking Ben, apparently at the helm of a ship although it looked to not be his own. She fought back a surge of relief that he was safe and coming as his voice crackled over the comm.

‘Shmi, thank god. Are you OK?’

She quickly tried to reassure him, although mentioning that she thought she might be a bit over halfway there was perhaps a mistake. Casting a critical look at his surroundings in an attempt to distract him she asked him where he was. Ben looked a bit sheepish.

‘I made something of a diversion on the way back. I found out an old acquaintance was in the area and had to meet him. He lent me this ship when I got your call actually, it’s much faster than my own so I should get back in time if you are right about the timing of the birth.’

Shmi furrowed her brow slightly at the knowledge of an old acquaintance. Ben had rarely mentioned his own past, although he would answer questions in a vaguely cryptic fashion if she pushed, and this was the first time he had mentioned acquaintance outside the Agricorp.

‘Well you will have to thank him from me if it will get you back – ‘ she bit off a groan as another contraction spasmed, more powerful now than the last – ‘sooner.’ She pointedly ignored Ben’s worried expression. ‘Don’t worry about me I’ve helped others in much worse conditions than this.’

‘You are in pain’, said Ben softly.

‘And it will all be worth it when the baby is in my arms.’

She thought she saw something wistful in Ben’s eyes at that.

‘Have you decided what you want to call him?’

Shmi studied Ben, hearing the power tied up in the question, and thought of her dreams, of the name Ben occasionally muttered as he dozed in the armchair of the small kitchen, exhausted after a day tilling earth. He would make a good brother, she knew, for her little Anakin.

…

When Anakin Skywalker was born three standard hours later, in the small house on the edge of town, into the waiting arms of an awed looking Ben, Shmi smiled with relief at the rightness of the moment, of that feeling of joy that rang through her bones and the air around her. He was perfect, her perfect little boy. Safe and swaddled in her arms, the aroma and feel of life tangible in the air around him. Looking at Ben, who had fallen asleep in the armchair again once he had delivered Anakin into her arms, she knew that he had felt it too. Her son was special, just like Ben was. And together they would give Anakin a proper family, just as she determined she and Anakin would give Ben.

…

Anakin began to cry and with a start Obi-Wan jerked himself awake. He had not been so exhausted since those few days when he had been solely responsible for a new-born Luke, and he was fairly sure Anakin was a lot worse. Snorting he figured that would make sense, Anakin had always been rather dramatic, and as he cried now you might fancy that the world was ending. His wail had nothing on the infant Leia’s though, and he spared a pitying wince for Bail as he thought of the journey he must have endured, with an infant whose scream must have come from Padme’s side of the family. Anakin settled quickly once he had the bottle in his mouth, and Obi-Wan internally thanked whoever had come up with such devices, as he was fairly sure Shmi must be on the edge of total exhaustion. He could only imagine how she had coped last time, living as a slave in Gardulla’s palace.

He had taken a leave of absence from the Agricorp, such as was normally taken by much younger initiates considering going home to their long-forgotten families rather than staying with the Agricorp, but had yet to decide what he would do next. His visit to check up on Dooku had yielded, unexpected results. Originally the plan had been only to ascertain how far along the path to the dark side Dooku had fallen, and perhaps to do a little bit of subtle digging around the man’s brain for any knowledge about his own situation, but the offer had caught him rather by surprise. He had known very little of the man the first time round, meeting him primarily as an adult and an enemy on the battlefield. Qui-Gon had rarely spoken of him, much as with his first apprentices, and Obi-Wan knew that their apprenticeship together had been somewhat tense. On the few occasions Dooku’s name had come up, Qui Gon had tended to steer away from the subject, though what he had let slip suggested that Dooku had been a stickler for rules and interestingly the Jedi code. He supposed the disillusionment must have happened later. It was hard to imagine Yoda deliberately turning out a maverick, although he supposed their lineage had eventually spawned Qui-Gon, Anakin and Ahsoka, who had certainly all seen the rules as something a little more elastic than Obi-Wan had been taught. He supposed he might be counted among them now, because he was seriously considering Dooku’s offer. He had played it off for Dooku, stating he would need time to think about it, and indicating that his life was not entirely his own. Dooku raised his eye-brow at the intimation of commitments outside the order but had lent him his ship when Obi-Wan had run back in a panic after checking his comm. In the end, he had been given a month to decide.

Chapter Text

After Ben left, taking Dooku’s ship with him in a slightly manic rush, Dooku himself sat back with rather a smug feeling in his belly. He had always enjoyed a good puzzle and this boy had only grown more and more interesting in the single evening he had spent in his company. The clear intelligence wasted in farming, the curiosity and ambition it would have required to continue learning despite this, the bizarre comm message he had managed to catch the end of after the boy had run off looking panicked. An illegitimate child at such a tender age – and one he was clearly keeping hidden from the Order – fascinating. Retrieving the tracker from his pocket he checked the device and saw that Ben did indeed seem to be on a trajectory to Bandomeer, but he did not feel inclined to investigate any closer at this moment, why spoil the mystery? Instead, he carefully made a note of the date the boy had agreed to meet him to return his ship, and finished off the last of the brandy.

The next morning, Dooku moved from the puzzle of the boy to the puzzle of how to make him his apprentice when Ben came back and accepted his offer. Certainly the intellect he had glimpsed the evening before would not be satisfied remaining amongst the farmers of the AgriCorp. Defying the council like this would take careful planning, he would need well prepared arguments when he met the council for them to ignore. Just arguing Saesee Tinn round would take days. Alternately, he supposed, he might just extend his little span of avoiding the Temple, make Ben his apprentice and make it final before his old master could force him back. It would still have to be delicately done, he had been expecting a call back for a few weeks now and it was certainly too much to hope for that he might be allowed the next couple of years in peace. Sighing, Dooku reconciled himself to the fact he was going to have to return to the Temple for a few weeks.

…

Yoda was first surprised, then suspicious, then happy, and then very suspicious, when he received the message that his errant young apprentice was returning to the Temple later that afternoon. Yan had not been at the Temple in over a year, and he had not come back of his own volition in closer to a decade. He most definitely had an ulterior motive.

Next to him, Master Windu looked troubled, ‘Perhaps Master Dooku has some ulterior motive for his return?’

Yoda blinked at him innocently,

‘Perhaps, perhaps his padawan he returns for hmm?’

Master Windu did not look convinced and Yoda agreed with him. Still, it would be nice to see his padawan despite the inevitable arguments he would come armed with. He was not quite so hopeful about this helping Qui Gon, but then, they’d tried everything else.

…

As his, borrowed, ship docked in the main Temple hanger Dooku took in a fortifying breath with which to steel himself. The door opened and he let it out again. He had forgotten how beautiful the Temple was, he was sure within a few hours he would be desperate to leave again just to escape the inevitable council meeting but there really was nothing else like so many force sensitives in one place. He swept off his ship and across to where his old master was waiting, with Master Windu inevitably stood next to him and looking severely grumpy about the whole thing.

‘Master Dooku, it is refreshing to see you here after so many months away.’

Dooku eyed him for a moment marvelling at the sheer volume of disapproval Windu had managed to get behind such a short statement. He bowed his head in return,

‘Alas my studies so rarely allow me such time to visit the Core.’

Yoda’s ears gave a little twitch of disbelief at this statement before he hopped up into his hoverchair and gestured for Dooku to walk next to him.

‘Come my old apprentice, you must enlighten me on these studies that have kept you away from us for so long.’

…

Dooku took one look at his old padawan, trapped in a class full of initiates clumsily swinging their practice sabers around and felt himself wince. By gods the man looked rough. He settled in to wait at the edge of the room and watched as the man corrected some of the worse examples of Ataru jostling around him, and then delivered one very impressive condemnation of the dark side to a Twi-Lek who had thrown down her practice sword in frustration after a particularly poor attempt at a flip. It was difficult to resist striding over and making some snide comment as the class ended.

‘I see you are keeping us all safe from the dangers of the truly formidable Sith Lord that child would have made.’

Well, self-restraint was hardly necessary all the time. Qui Gon’s unimpressed face, at least had never changed, although the infuriatingly implacable calm and self-assurance that normally accompanied it were looking a little shaky.

‘They may just be children now, but it is the discipline they learn now that will guide them as they grow and become knights. Some of them at least. You taught me that – at length if I recall correctly.’

Dooku had not missed the self-righteousness either, he must have got that from Yoda.

…

Master Yoda, who was most assuredly not checking up on his lineage from where he was most definitely not hiding across the canteen from Yan and Qui Gon, was somewhat encouraged to see that Dooku’s return had managed to inspire Qui Gon out of moping into snide comments. The two, who had spent the entire evening duelling and making sarcastic observations, now seemed to have settled in to a companionable meal, punctuated by the occasional argumentative statement. Yoda was reminded of the teenage years of Qui Gon’s apprenticeship and felt himself smile as he saw an outwardly contemptuous looking Yan attempt, first to make Qui Gon change the grip on his fork, and then try and persuade the other to cut his hair into something more sophisticated. Qui Gon neatly countered both of these with a suggestion that perhaps that had indeed been fashionable ‘at some point’, in the very distant past – going by the look he gave his old master. Yoda let out a small satisfied ‘hrmphh’ as he hobbled off, at least it looked like Yan wasn’t about to leave the Order or violate any major treaties. The man was still young though, compared to Yoda at least, perhaps he should try and get him to take another apprentice? There was a young Mirilian amongst the initiates who was about to age out and was almost as much a stickler for rules as Yan had been…

…

When Dooku managed to escape the Temple two and a half weeks later it was with the normal feelings of intense irritation caused by the several long and dull council meetings he had been forced to attend and at the machinations of his old master, who bizarrely seemed to have set upon him as the next person to push towards an apprentice. Dooku supposed this would, however, make useful ammunition for the arguments he would surely be having next time he came back to the Temple with his new apprentice. Maybe he’d even bring a plant or some dirt or something back for his old padawan as well, that always used to cheer him up even if it did result in horrendous stains in the carpet. Still, he was relieved to be free of the Temple and rather grateful he had got off so lightly, returning of his own accord seemed to result in slightly more enjoyable visits, he’d have to remember that for the future. Perhaps he’d time his next visit so Mace Windu wasn’t home though, that man seemed intent on boring a hole through his skull with the sheer force of his gaze and he could swear he was getting more suspicious. If he decided to pursue his other… extracurricular activities… he would have to be careful to avoid Windu’s notice.

Chapter Text

Quinlan Vos collected a tray from the commissary and, after doing his best to pick out something edible from the somewhat congealed leftovers of midday meal, spotted some apprentices about his age across the hall. Quinlan rarely spent much time in the Temple, his master dragged him all over the Core and was generally too busy to indulge visits back even for classwork like the coursework deadline that had brought them back, let alone socialisation time. Still, while a tiny bit younger than him, Quinlan knew the group reasonably well. Bant, Reeft and Garen were Kenobi’s old crowd, and Bant was the padawan of the unfortunate Jedi Master his own master had been trying to rescue, which perhaps accounted for the serious mood surrounding their table. Quinlan carefully picked his way through the last dregs of the lunch crowd and sauntered over to the table the three sat at, sitting down before the group registered him and swiftly snatching a roasted tuber off of Garen’s tray.

This certainly got the other boys attention as he groaned ‘seriously?’ and then offered up the rest of his tray to Reeft with an expression of the long-suffering. ‘I heard you were still out running around the Outer Rim, Quinlan.’

‘Well I had to come back sometime, I heard you all kept getting your arses kicked by Bruck Chun of all people so I had to come show you how it’s done.’

Bant looked like she seriously wanted to raise her eyebrows at this statement, but sadly lacking such features she merely settled for a slightly disbelieving snort. Quinlan flashed her his best approximation of a charming grin, a complex mix of roguish and cheeky that he had spent hours perfecting in the mirror before nudging Reeft and faux-whispering –

‘Although perhaps you’ll have to protect both us from Bant if her swordplay is as formidable as her dirty looks.’

This of course earned him only mild disbelief from the two boys and an even more disapproving look from Bant, but it was one tinged with a bit of a smile and the mood around the table seemed to have relaxed a bit so Quinlan counted it as a success. So he put his feet up in his best impression of his Master’s pose that time negotiating with the Weequay pirates and asked what they were talking about.

The other three exchanged shifty looks at this, and for a minute looked like they were going to deny it or change the subject before Bant seemed to win some non-verbal argument and said,

‘But he gets out there a lot more than us, if anyone could help him…’

This particularly cryptic comment tailed off into another awkward silence during which Quinlan made a point of examining the others as if he already knew what they were going on about. Which he sadly didn’t. Finally they seemed to make up their mind and oddly it was Reeft who suddenly started to gabble it all out.

‘Obi-Wan contacted us a couple of months ago and said we shouldn’t tell anyone but he was different and…’

‘… after he was sent to the Agricorp,’ Bant interjected, ‘we didn’t hear from Obi-Wan again, we made him promise to comm us before he left but he never did and at first we thought he was just ashamed but he never did for years.’

‘And then’, continued Garen,’ he suddenly comms right after Tahl dies apologising for not calling sooner and condoling Bant on her master’s death.’

‘Which I’d only heard about that morning!’ Bant interrupted again looking tearful.

‘Yeah’, said Garen, ‘anyways we were really worried cause he looked really rough, like properly haunted, but he wouldn’t answer our questions about him and when we called back someone else picked up the line, apparently it was a public comm booth on Telchor – which is several systems away from Bandomeer where he’s supposed to be. He hasn’t called back since and we’ve been trying to contact him and make sure he’s OK but we don’t know how to find him. Bant wanted to call the Bandomeer outpost but if he’s not supposed to be away from there he’ll be in such big trouble.’
They all looked at Quinlan earnestly, with the somewhat panicked expressions of people who had just given away more information than they’d intended. It suddenly occurred to Quinlan that Telchor was a moon in the same system as New Apsolon.

‘I might have seen him actually.’

…

Later that evening, when Quinlan’s master came back from wherever he’d been all day, Quinlan launched prong one of the information gathering campaign the four had decided on.

‘So I met Bant, Garen and Reeft today in the commissary.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Well, it was strange I haven’t seen most of them in years. They used to hang out with a kid I knew slightly better – Obi-Wan Kenobi.’

Tholme gave him a look which suggested he get to the point.

‘I was just wondering what happened to him is all. It’s been years but I felt a little awkward asking them after he was sent to the Agricorp.’

‘The Agricorp is a valuable facet of the Jedi Order’, Quinlan ducked his head in agreement, and Tholme continued, now examining him with most of his considerable attention, ‘but in Kenobi’s case I suppose it cannot harm you to know that he ran away a few months ago, although he returned recently and seems to be none the worse for wear.’

Quinlan looked surprised. ‘He ran away, Kenobi always used to seem to like following rules…’

‘His disciplinary record was hardly perfect Padawan, as was yours if I remember rightly.’

‘Well I never ran away at least. Where did he go? Home or something?’

‘I have no idea Padawan, I hardly keep track of every member of this place.’ Although, his gaze seemed to suggest, your interest is making me reconsider whether I should be paying more interest to Kenobi’s whereabouts.

Quinlan smiled and returned to eating his, much nicer than lunch, stew. He carefully finished it all before leaving the table, so as not to arouse any more attention, before taking it over to the side and leaving casually for his room, homework in hand. So Kenobi really had been off grounds and, if he had been in Telchor, that probably had been him on New Apsolon, it would certainly explain how he had known about Tahl. That really must have been him he’d seen, which just raised some pretty major questions of what exactly he’d got himself caught up in. Bounty hunters did not make safe or caring friends. He’d have to meet up with the others again tomorrow, he’d promised to share any information he got from his master.