Chapter Text
Obi-wan is not looking forward to going to Faerie. Not only does the excess ambient magic give him a headache, but everyone there is looking for a way to gain more power. As a result, he is also going to have to make wards to shield Alpha and the Manda’lor from the worst of the illusion snares in Faerie. After all, two dragon shifters from clan Fett would make for great magic sources and servants. Most of the fey in Dooku’s holdings know better than to try to trap Obi-wan’s mind, but there are always the arrogant ones.
Luckily, there is not much he needs to do for the portal. He already has the runes drawn out on the wall of the alley behind his shop. All he has to do is provide a fresh key, in this case some of his blood, and input the coordinates, which will be done to open it. Obi-wan does, however, need to warn Mace about his impromptu leave of absence. Obi-wan is just thankful that he got a new phone after the last time he shorted his out by channeling too much magic.
Obi-wan shoots off a quick text explaining the situation, then, before Mace has a chance to reply, turns off his phone. Maybe Mace will assume that he broke it again, Obi-wan can only hope. He really does not want to get griped at by Mace right now.
Obi-wan pulls his box of iron that he keeps despite the discomfort closer to himself. Runes that dispel fey magic work the best when wrought in iron, and Obi-wan has just enough human blood running through his veins that he can still work with iron. Though, by using himself as the power source to charge the runes, Obi-wan is actually going to have to sleep tonight.
Like fey magic, runes that ward against it are irritatingly finicky. It takes intense concentration and one mistake will cause the whole enchantment to unravel. Therefore, it stands to reason that Obi-wan cannot be blamed for the fact that he does not notice the pressure on the wards around the shop until the anti-teleportation ones dissolve.
Obi-wan jumps, and the second set of wards he was working on collapses. He swears as he recognizes the magic. “Anakin!” He shouts, “What have I told you about teleporting inside?”
A sheepish scuffing sounds from upstairs sounds. “Not to?” Anakin tentatively calls out.
Arfour chuffs at him and Obi-wan shoots a glare her way. “Shush, now I have to rebuild my wards, which means you have to help,” he mutters to his familiar.
She looks at him, unimpressed. “Or I could make him do it, you’re right,” Obi-wan concedes, “but you know me, Arfour. I just really enjoy being surrounded by my own wards.”
With a flick of her ears, Arfour jumps off his desk and winds around his legs. “But I’m not going to be here for a while, so I suppose it can wait.” Arfour is always right, Obi-wan supposes.
Deciding he might as well take a break, Obi-wan pushes his chair back. “Honestly Anakin,” Obi-wan gripes as he walks up the stairs, “it’s almost like you forget that I have to rebuild my wards everytime you break them.” Conversations in a household of creatures with enhanced hearing always make for interesting circumstances.
“I mean, kinda?” Anakin sounds distracted, though considering he just got back from Naboo, that is fairly reasonable.
Obi-wan reaches his living room where he finds Anakin staring in confusion at the space Jango and Alpha occupied on the couch hours before. “Well, since you have to rebuild them this time, hopefully you’ll be a bit more mindful in the future,” Obi-wan says.
Anakin turns to look at him in horror. “But you hate my wards,” Anakin protests, and Obi-wan knows that the only thing that can outstrip Obi-wan’s dislike of the feeling of Anakin’s wards, is Anakin’s dislike of crafting them.
Obi-wan smiles sharply. “Ah, before I forget, I’ll need you to help Ahsoka with the shop for an indeterminate time. I have business in Faerie.”
“You’re leaving?” Anakin questions, offended. “You’re leaving me to put up wards by myself?” His voice rises to a whine, Obi-wan notes amusedly.
“It seems that way, doesn’t it.” Obi-wan pats Anakin’s cheek on his way past to the kitchen. “Tea?” Obi-wan can feel the force of Anakin’s puppy dog eyes on his back. “You know that hasn’t worked on me since you were ten.”
Anakin huffs. “Yeah, fine, I’ll take some tea.”
Anakin favors his tea loaded with sugar and milk, much to Obi-wan’s disgust, but Obi-wan resigns himself to ruining a perfectly good cup of tea. He walks back out with his own cup and Anakin’s affront to nature to where Anakin is once again looking at the couch in confusion.
“Did you have some of Rex’s relatives over?” Anakin asks as Obi-wan hands his tea over.
“I did,” Obi-wan sips his tea.
“Is that why you need to go to Faerie all of a sudden?” Anakin eyes Obi-wan suspiciously.
“Yes,” Obi-wan replies nonchalantly.
Anakin huffs, and Obi-wan lets his lips curl with amusement. “Why do you feel like you’ve been working with iron?” Anakin questions, eyes narrowed.
And really, he is making this too easy. “Because I have.” Obi-wan smiles innocently at his adopted brother.
Anakin makes a sound of disgust. “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?”
Obi-wan looks at him apologetically. “I’m afraid not. It’s classified.”
Anakin contemplates, then smirks wickedly. “Please tell me this classified mission of yours is dumping iron shavings down Dooku’s fancy robes.”
Obi-wan snorts in surprise, before a loud laugh escapes his lips. “By the Abyss, I wish.”
“Hey know,” Anakin says lightly, “It’s not cool to swear on someone’s home plane right in front of them.”
“You were born on the mortal plane and you know it,” Obi-wan shoots back playfully. “Anyways, while I’m gone, do try not to give Mace too many headaches.”
Anakin scoffs in outrage. “I have never, in my life, given Windu a single headache.”
“You realize,” Obi-wan says slowly, “he’s been billing me for his headache medication every time you are in Coruscant, right?”