Chapter Text
The Force is subtle. The Force is calm. The Force is the quiet background hum of a Jedi’s life.
So when the Force practically screams LEFT at a young knight who’s never had a particularly strong connection to premonition before, he listens, turning left instead of right.
That’s the long way around, looping around the harbor district, and he almost second guesses himself and turns around -- time is of the essence, dripping through his fingers like water as he races to stop the attack on the Prime Minister. But he is a Jedi. The Force is his life, and he can’t ignore that shout, grating against his senses, demanding to be heard.
In another world, another time, that exists, and doesn’t, always will and never has, he turned right. He turned right, all fire and speed and the overconfidence of a young Knight on his first mission -- and ran headfirst into an ambush lying in wait along the fastest route. It was a carefully planned attack, specially aimed at a Jedi: overwhelming force, surprise and more blasters than even a skilled Master could have deflected. The same trick that would claim the lives of countless Jedi at the end of the Clone Wars, cut down unwillingly by those who they trusted. Here it is a single life, unremarkable in the Jedi Order.
His life ends in a desperate battle, far outnumbered, an impressive defense, but ultimately doomed. His last sight as his vision blackens, his lightsaber finally dropping from nerveless fingers, is a twinge in the Force of the bright copper hair and bright blue eyes of the initiate he had brought into the creche only the previous year.
His death was a tragedy, and a loss to the Order, as any knight’s death is. But to be brutally honest, there was not yet anything truly remarkable about this knight, and Jedi died on missions like this with depressing frequency. Not every power in the galaxy appreciated Jedi interference, even when requested.
His friends grieved, as did his Master, but his loss did not consume them, and they eventually moved on.
The effects of his death are not seen in any grand way until almost 10 years later, when there is no one to take a young, copper-bright flame in as Padawan Learner. The knight who had found him, and brought him to the creche, was not there to remove him as had been intended by the Force.
In that world that doesn’t and always exists, the Padawan grew desperate, because he knew he was to be a Jedi Knight. So did a certain Grandmaster, for both similar and dissimilar reasons. So, with a little meddling, a broken man was saddled with a desperate child. While they did both eventually make the best of it, it was not the joyful choosing it should have been, singing with rightness in the force.
In this world, though, the young Knight turned left. He ran harder than he ever had in his life, and managed to skid into the Parliament just in time to deflect the sniper bolt that would have killed the Prime Minister.
He returned home from his first mission triumphant -- and a little scorched, since the assassin hadn’t taken that well -- to the joy and pride of his Master, and the happy jeering of his lineage brother who told him that getting his braid cut wasn’t a good reason to suddenly scorch off the rest of his hair, and the style really didn’t suit him -- unless he was trying to look like a Wookie with mange?
He tossed said brother into the fountain in the west garden without an ounce of remorse.
He lived, to learn, and grow, and go on to have a steady career as a Jedi.
And 12 years later…
“Obi-Wan Kenobi!” Obi-Wan heard the bright ring of his name from behind him just as he stepped onto the ramp of the ship that would take him to Bandomeer, and the exile from his dreams that represented.
He turned, hope flaring in his heart. That was not Qui-Gon Jinn’ voice but maybe he was sent for?
He was startled and tried not to be disappointed when he saw that it was not in fact master Jinn, but a Jedi he did not know, bent over, one hand braced on his knee, the other waving at him as he panted for breath. A master? Surely not. This was not the kind of dignified behavior he had come to expect from the masters who roamed the temple. “Yes, sir?” Obi-Wan asked, settling on a neutral but respectful address.
“Oh, thank the seven sainted stars of Satinia. I was afraid I’d been too late. Blasted mission, I told that pilot his calculations were wrong, we’re lucky he didn’t fling us into a star. I’m never flying in a ship piloted by anyone else ever again, and as it was his little detour set us back far too long. Three months to get back to a proper hyperspace route, I never want to see another dehydrated ration pack in my life either, but that’s a great deal less likely, unfortunately. But we bear the burdens we must.” The Jedi looked at him expectantly, like he was supposed to provide an answer to an unasked question.
“Yes, sir,” Obi-Wan said, slightly hesitant, unsure of what was happening, or why, or if he needed a healer.
The Jedi blinked at him for a moment before beaming at him, straightening to what Obi-Wan is somewhat surprised to see is a rather alarming height. “Oh, turned into a quiet one, did you? That’s not altogether unexpected I guess, though Draxis is never going to let me live it down if I remain the only chatterbox in the lineage. But that’s okay, he'll keep loving me no matter what. Even when he claims I drive him to drink. He's just no fun. Stoicism is for the Council Chamber, not for life! And diplomatic functions, I guess. Some of them anyway. The Kilarians know how to throw a proper party. But that's a story for another time. So anyway, what say you, Obi-Wan?"
There was that expectant openness again, like whatever Obi-Wan said would be the right answer, would be accepted and proper.
It was heady and unbelievable. No one had ever looked at him quite like that before, and as far as he could tell he'd done nothing to deserve it. And worse, he didn't know what the question was.
"I'm sorry, sir," he said, shame creeping in. He didn't even know this Jedi’s name, yet there was something deeply awful in the feeling that he might disappoint him. He'd disappointed enough people today. "What do I say about what?”
The stranger blinked at him, startled but not put off.
"I didn't say? Huh, must have gotten ahead of myself again."
The frankly enormous Knight (Master?) took a few steps closer and Obi-Wan resisted the urge to take those corresponding steps back. Not out of intimidation, but simply to keep him entirely in view. Then he gaped as the Jedi lowered himself to his knees before him.
Masters (Knights?) did not kneel to padawans!
He held out his hand with an attempt at solemnity, but a bright spark danced in his eye, and a smile stuck around at the corners of his mouth. Somehow, despite the informality of his appearance, his presence acted like the prow of a boat, splitting the embarking crowd around him and Obi-Wan, so not a single person so much as jostled either of them.
"Initiate Kenobi. I'm sorry I'm so late. So close to too late. I swear, my timing is usually better than this. Despite that, would you do me the honor of being my Padawan Learner?"
***
Some of Obi-Wan’s very first lessons as a Padawan, when they learn just how badly the mission to Bandomeer went, and just how long Qui-Gon Jinn is expected to remain in the Healer’s Halls as a result, are: not everything is your fault, and you are not responsible for the actions of those around you. It’s not a lesson he entirely believes, much to his Master’s eyerolling dismay, hair-ruffling fondness, and quiet, concerned talks all throughout his apprenticeship, but it…helps.
(That’s a lie, actually. The first two lessons he learns from his Master are:
But that’s okay, he'll keep loving me no matter what.
and
Stoicism is for the Council Chamber, anyway, not for life!
And they make an even greater difference than anyone could have imagined.)