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“Luminous beings are we—” Master Yoda intoned. Feemor had not been to very many Jedi funerals over his eighteen years, but this was special. Feemor’s own master, a Kiffar woman named Gria Toffase, was the one whose funeral it was. He was still numb, although there was a voice in the back of his head assuring him that it was his fault. Knight Jinn stood next to him, arm in a sling, another reminder of their routine youngling pickup mission gone wrong spectacularly. The youngling himself was settled into the creche now, where the crechemasters were dealing with his baby talk that was not even in Basic.
When Feemor first laid eyes on the child, he had been immediately charmed. A tiny boy not even three years old, but powerful enough in the Force to have alarmed his birth family and the entire local community. The boy’s mother was willing to hand him over, but his grandfather was enraged by the presence of jetiise on his property. Knight Jinn had wound up negotiating with his lightsaber as usual, convinced that it was the will of the Force that this child be removed from Stewjon; Master Gria had been fatally wounded in the scuffle.
The whole thing was a mess. The youngling, Obi-Wan of Clan Kenobi, House Kryze, an old family on Stewjon, was the first Mandalorian Jedi in a thousand years, Master Gria was now dead, Knight Jinn injured, the Council in a standoff, and Feemor orphaned. The Council didn’t agree on what to do about the youngling or Feemor himself, but they agreed that Knight Jinn should be disciplined in some way, perhaps kept Temple-bound for a while.
Feemor watched the laser beam shoot up from the crypt, sealing his master into her tomb. Perhaps Feemor should have been a farmer after all. At eighteen he was too old to be sent back to the Initiate dorms, but too young to be knighted. He idly tuned in to Knight Jinn whispering to Padawan Fisto about the amazing young boy currently in the creche. He could not hear details, but he did catch the name “Xanatos.”
Master Dooku must have heard it too, because he cleared his throat. He was right that this was not the time or place for gossip. Feemor had not known that Padawan Fisto was that close to Knight Jinn. He was not jealous, although his sense of connection to Knight Jinn at first meeting was extraordinary. Not all of that was because they were only five or so years apart.
After the funeral, Feemor was lingering in the memorial hall, unsure of what to do or where to go, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. Don’t blame yourself and brood.” Feemor looked up to see Knight Jinn himself. “If you don’t have anywhere to go tonight, you can stay with me. That’s the least I can do after I ruined your mission and got your master killed. My former master insists I do something to clean up the mess I made. He’s always nagging me about that.”
When Feemor followed Knight Jinn into his quarters, at first he wondered if they had gotten the wrong rooms. Surely this jungle with the rank smell was Master Yoda’s quarters, or even Master Yaddle’s? But Knight Jinn smiled in that sad, droopy-browed way, ushering Feemor inside.
They were not alone. Padawan Fisto was already there, already helping himself to a jug of tihaar that Master Gria had procured during the mission to Stewjon. He lifted the jug in acknowledgement of the newcomer.
“Come on, join us. Mace is coming, too. And Tahl. You know Kit Fisto, right? It’s a Stewjoni custom, apparently, to send off the dead with a raucous party, drink the alcohol stash of the deceased. Kit thought that would be appropriate, since Master Toffase was fatally wounded on Stewjon.”
Feemor bowed his head. “I was the one who insisted we needed to collect the youngling, respect his mother’s wishes, regardless of what the rest of the clan wanted. They were going to kill that sweet little baby boy.”
Knight Jinn led Feemor to a sofa and sat him down, putting a hand on his shoulder. “And you feel responsible for your master’s death. But you know, she agreed with your call, and all three of us chose to put ourselves at risk to save the youngling. She knew it was a possibility that any one of us could get killed.”
As soon as Mace Windu came in bearing food, Qui-Gon Jinn let his smile widen a bit. “Good, Mace, feed the padawans. My old master always says that if I must adopt pathetic lifeforms, I need to at least take proper care of them.”
Mace Windu smirked as he waited for Kit Fisto to clear a space on the kaff table to place his large casserole dish. “Tahl is bringing the rest of the food. I doubt Feemor has eaten properly in some time.”
Feemor looked down at his lap, guilty. “I haven’t been in much mood to eat.”
Knight Jinn got up to hunt for clean utensils. “That’s understandable. You don’t know what’s going to become of you. I’m in trouble with the Council as usual, as the surviving knight of our group, but nobody holds you accountable.”
Padawan Fisto took another swig of tihaar. “Hey, why don’t you take over Feemor’s training? He’s about my age, already mostly-trained.”
Qui-Gon Jinn froze. “Me? Take over Feemor’s training? After I caused his master to get killed? I was going to take Initiate Du Crion as my first padawan in a few years. I’m not ready for a padawan! I’m only twenty-two.”
Mace Windu stood with his arms akimbo. “That’s not a terrible idea, even if it’s mostly tihaar-induced. By the time Feemor is knighted, Xanatos will be old enough. That is, assuming Feemor wants to live with you, Qui. Not everyone takes interior decorating pointers from Master Yoda and his Dagobah aesthetic.”
Kit Fisto laughed. “In the jungle, my jungle, Feemor sleeps tonight—” He broke into song, having clearly already had more than enough tihaar.
“Kit Fisto! How dare you pick on a poor orphaned padawan!” The door flew open and Tahl Uvain came in, carrying a large bag that appeared to contain hot food. “I brought some rolex. I hope you like all the kinds of vegetables I put in them, and that you’re not allergic to nuna eggs.”
Feemor stared in awe at the feast being laid out before him. Knight Jinn might go for a decidedly jungle-y décor with mold infestations to match, but his friends were a bonanza. If these quarters could be cleaned up somewhat, it might not be uncomfortable. Knight Jinn had been a fun, breezy mission partner, more of a cool older brother than he had envisioned his new master being, but Master Gria had been a middle-aged woman, old enough to be Feemor’s mother.
“Feemor, pal, if you’re eighteen—” Kit handed his bottle over to Feemor. Feemor had never been terribly interested in alcohol and did not spend a lot of time or effort in trying to drink underaged, so he had no benchmark to guess his tolerance level. Tihaar was strong stuff, not really suitable for beginners, but it was what was being offered. Feemor accepted the bottle and took a swig.
Ugh, the fire water burned going down. Feemor could not imagine developing a taste for this stuff. On the other hand, it did loosen his head and lighten his body. It also made him hot and sleepy. Perhaps he could get away with sleeping here until the Council decided what it was doing with him.
He returned the bottle to the kaff table and leaned back on the sofa, letting Knight Uvain pat him on the shoulder. “I like him, Qui. As long as he’s durable enough to survive here in your quarters, I think you might be a good team.” She tossed her long twists and smiled into Feemor’s face.
“As long as you don’t take it into your head to cook for him, he’ll live.” Knight Windu was speaking somewhere not immediately visible from where Feemor was sinking into the sofa. “The only thing you’re good at making is tea.”
“Mind if I clean your place if I do move in here?” Feemor asked, sounding a bit less groggy than he felt.
Knight Uvain was laughing. “If he’s a clean freak, he’ll have my full backing and support. We can aim for an Alderaanian look, rather than the Dagobah effect.”
Some time later, Feemor became aware that the others had left and it was just Knight Jinn and himself left in the quarters. These were the smaller rooms of a solo knight, and considering that Knight Jinn had only been such for a year or so, he was impressively quick at introducing a truly alarming number of plants, many of them carnivorous, not to mention failed to clean his kitchen sink, which looked and smelled like a scale model of the swamps of Dagobah.
“There’s only one bedroom so you can stay on the sofa. I can bring you a blanket, but I recommend that you take off your boots.” Knight Jinn had a soft, reassuring voice considering that he was still a young man.
Feemor was mostly asleep, the lights out in the living room and the sounds from Knight Jinn’s room having died down, when he felt a Force presence overhead. Was someone leaning over him, peering into his face?
He opened one cautious eye and noticed that there seemed to be nobody there. How odd. He let his eyes adjust to the dark as he tuned into the presence of the other being—oh. A hawkbat. A rather large hawkbat was flying around the room on mostly-silent wings. It flew in circles, perhaps trapped.
Feemor slowly brought himself into a sitting position and slipped to the door of the bedroom. He knocked, softly at first, then more forcefully when there was no sign of Knight Jinn waking up on the other side.
Eventually Knight Jinn emerged, sleep clothes rumpled and shaggy hair in disarray. “What is it? You need something, Feemor?”
“There’s a hawkbat in the living room that wasn’t there earlier.”
“Ah, that’s Courtney. She lives here. Don’t worry about it. She won’t hurt you. She sleeps during the day in a corner of the living room and comes out at night. I can assure you she’s quite harmless. Hawkbats are good luck in some cultures.”
“Oh. As long as it’s just a pet and you know it’s there, I guess it’s all right. I can go back to sleep.”
Feemor was grateful for the leftovers from Knights Windu and Uvain in the morning. He did not feel like going to the refectory, given the rumors that were likely spreading. Perhaps a visit to the creche was in order. Feemor liked younglings, and he was frankly concerned about how the little Stewjoni boy was doing.
The fresher was a revelation. There were vines growing in the shower stall. Actual vines. At least the sink seemed to be reasonably clean. On the other hand, the vines were more than likely intentional. They better be.
Knight Jinn seemed to already be gone, but Feemor found a note on the kaff table in the living room. Knight Jinn was going to the creche to see a child named Xanatos. Feemor remembered hearing the name. Oh yes, that’s right. That was the boy Knight Jinn had meant to take as his first padawan in a few years.
When he reached the creche, however, Feemor encountered Master Dooku gazing at the tiny Stewjoni, who was gurgling and saying something that sounded like "Ba'buir."
“Master?” Master Dooku didn’t seem like he even liked younglings, but maybe toddlers were all right before they got to the chatty stage.
Master Dooku looked up. “Oh, Feemor, wasn’t it? I needed to see this child for myself. So many grown adults on the Council making a fuss about him that I needed facts. He’s more powerful than I was led to believe. Calmer, too. I am pleasantly surprised by this boy’s disposition.”
Feemor smiled as he fiddled with his braid. “He seemed eager to come with us. He kept repeating the world ‘jetiise’ on the ship back here.”
Master Dooku let his fingers brush over the sleepy toddler’s chubby cheek. “That is a very good argument for admittance. If he had visions of joining us, that would explain his excitement, assuming he understood what was happening to him.”
Feemor cast his gaze back down towards the little boy, taking in the soft, fine red hair and milky complexion, big ocean-colored eyes, soft, rounded features. There was no denying he was a cute little thing. If there was anyone on the Council still not convinced, seeing the boy in person ought to do it. “Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Feemor murmured the name to himself.
“And you. You lost your master, due to Qui-Gon’s actions. I suppose theoretically I should take over your training to make up for that, unless you want to leave the Order to be a farmer like I’m told your birth family were, but I have a junior padawan of my own. She eats up a lot of my time and energy, but I still find Komari’s childish petulance preferable to the idiocy so often on display in the Council. I’ve been meaning to relinquish my seat, but there is a fair amount of silliness I need to stop first.” Master Dooku sighed, looking much older and more tired than Feemor had ever seen him.
“I don’t remember my birth family. If I had been meant to be a farmer, wouldn’t I have stayed with them or joined the AgriCorps?”
“Is that what you tell yourself when you get taunted about your background? I’m just curious, mind. Noble breeding like I have has its own set of burdens. What is it that you want to happen to you? It would be impertinent of you to tell the full Council during a session, but you can tell me here.”
Feemor kept his eyes on the now-sleeping toddler. “I didn’t know, but I think I do now. But it’s not my place to ask for it.”
Master Dooku clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I gave you permission to speak. Out with it. I hear enough riddles from Master Yoda.”
Feemor suppressed a chuckle. “I worked well with Knight Jinn during the mission, that is, until it went horribly wrong. He kindly gave me a place to stay last night, and aside from the hawkbat in the living room and the jungle plants in the fresher, I could envision myself living there. But I shouldn’t ask for that, not when there is another boy already earmarked to be Knight Jinn’s first padawan.”
Master Dooku raised and then lowered an eyebrow, his moustache twitching in mild amusement. “You noticed that Qui-Gon is besotted with the boy. But did you also notice that neither are ready for each other? Qui-Gon is young. He is not ready for a young aristocrat, particularly not a small boy. I fear he and that boy will ruin each other if he runs into an apprenticeship with Du Crion. Qui-Gon needs to practice.”
Feemor blinked. He had just been called a practice run, a test dummy for Knight Jinn learning how to be someone’s master. There was no malice in the middle-aged master’s tone, which suggested that he was simply blunt by nature.
“You’re already mostly trained, well past the delicate, awkward stage.”
It began to sink in that Master Dooku was endorsing him as Knight Jinn’s first padawan. Feemor was eighteen, so apparently Master Dooku thought he was too old for Knight Jinn to kark him up too badly, for what that was worth.
“Qui-Gon is still so young. I would need to keep an eye on him with his first, but he chafes at my supervision. His life would be easier if he simply did what I say, but he’s a knight now. I’ve largely given up harping on his hair.”
Was this a promise not to let Knight Jinn make any truly egregious mistakes? If so, this was rather generous of Master Dooku, although the way he put things was unfortunate. How a diplomat could be so sharp among fellow Jedi was a mystery. Perhaps he was one of those people who dispensed with niceties when among his own family and friends on the theory that none of it was necessary or new information.
Master Dooku’s comm beeped. “Ah, our Council meeting has been moved up. I assume you are coming too, not just Qui-Gon.”
“He’s here in the creche, with Xanatos, according to his note.” Feemor volunteered.
“Good, we can all go together. My chance to talk some sense into him.”
Sure enough, several of the Councilors looked uncertain about what to do with the youngling who was arguably a Mandalorian, although Master Yaddle and Master Yoda both haranguing them with that tortured syntax and Master Yoda using his gimmer stick to drive his points home seemed to help.
“A Force-sensitive youngling he is. Gave him up his mother did. Honor her wishes, should we not?”
“Master, he is a Mandalorian. You are well aware of our reputation in their star system.” Saesee Tiin advised caution. Of course he did.
“A reputation we earned. Not wanted by his own people, little Obi-Wan is. His heritage, a source of much pain and suffering could be. Or, a great strength.” Master Yaddle picked up where Master Yoda left off. There were rumors about the two of them, but whatever may or may not have happened, it happened centuries ago. It was not Feemor’s business. He didn’t want to imagine it, anyway.
“Let the boy speak. He’s the one who found the youngling.” Plo Koon radiated encouragement. Feemor smiled back at the Kel Dor, suitably encouraged.
“Masters. When I first saw the youngling and his mother, I felt a connection, I think in the Force. I don’t think he’s my future padawan, but I felt the harmonious chord of Knight Jinn, the child, and me.”
Plo Koon leaned forward. “Perhaps he will be part of your lineage. Your master has been killed on this very mission, so she won’t be taking him on, but also on the docket today is discussing what is to become of you. I believe that you deserve a new master—” he glared at Even Piell—“and that it’s foolish to send you away into one of the Service Corps unless the Force is nudging you in that direction, as if entering one of the Service Corps branches was some kind of exile or punishment. That is incredibly rude to the Jedi who serve in them.”
Yaddle was nodding and smiling. “Feel you, Feemor, that knighthood, your destiny is?” She had her eyes closed as she asked, her ears rising in hope.
Feemor closed his eyes and tried to find his center. He felt Knight Jinn and Master Dooku more strongly than any of the others present, except perhaps for Master Yoda, and in that moment he saw himself in this same chamber, a green lightsaber at his ear, slicing off his padawan braid. The hand holding the lightsaber was attached to an arm leading to a shoulder that belonged to—Knight Jinn.
The moment he was certain of his vision, Feemor opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on Knight Jinn. “I believe I am to be a knight, and that my new master is standing in this room.”
Master Dooku was nodding and smiling encouragingly, which was a surprise. He was not known for a warm and friendly demeanor. On the other hand, Feemor already knew where he stood on the subject. It was surprisingly comforting to have him sitting in one of the Council chairs.
“Know you the identity of this new master, hmm?” Master Yoda hovered his gimmer stick over the floor, ready to tap the dais where his chair was set.
“Yes, Master. He has a green lightsaber.”
Master Yoda chuckled, closing his eyes and cocking his head before twitching his ears in mirth. “A green lightsaber he has, but is not me.”
Feemor nodded. “Knight Jinn. I have seen Knight Jinn in visions about my future. I believe that he is to be my new master.”
Qui-Gon Jinn himself began to splutter next to Feemor. “But Xanatos Du Crion—”
“—is still a small boy. Feemor is eighteen. By the time he is a knight, Xanatos will be the right age, assuming he is to be your padawan. You caused Feemor to be orphaned, Padawan. Don’t you think you should take responsibility for your actions?” Master Dooku glared down his nose at Knight Jinn.
Master Yoda harrumphed. “Right he is, for the wrong reasons. Feel this I do, too. Knight Jinn, what say you?”
Knight Jinn opened and closed his mouth a few times before letting his eyebrows droop even more. “I—I don’t know what to say. I’ve only been a knight for a year.” I will not let my old master bully me into a decision I don’t agree with, remained unsaid.
“What about the youngling? Do you feel anything about him?” Adi Gallia asked. She agreed that they would have to be careful about political repercussions, but a youngling was a youngling.
“I felt that he will be a great Jedi knight.” Feemor found this question easier.
Master Yoda smiled and let his ears rise all the way. “Decided, it is. Young Obi-Wan Kenobi, admitted to the creche shall be.”
Feemor could feel the repressed grumbling of the masters whose opinions had been bulldozed. He agreed with the decision, but Master Yoda’s methods could be rather underhanded sometimes. Oh. They still hadn’t decided what to do with Feemor himself yet. He let his eyebrows rise in inquiry.
Master Sifo-Dyas beckoned to Feemor. He was going to divine what Feemor’s future was by placing a hand on his shoulder. Feemor bowed his head and approached the master, letting him finger his braid and touch his shoulder.
“This one is destined to be a knight, not a farmer or a healer. Qui-Gon Jinn, I believe he is right about your future together.”
After the session, Knight—no, Master Jinn still felt swirly and confused in the Force as he strode ahead down the hall. Master Dooku walked with Feemor, a slight smile twitching beneath his moustache. “You’ll be good for Qui-Gon. I believe you’ll teach each other. Here, this is for you. Qui-Gon has a lot of annoying habits, but once you understand how he thinks, they get easier to manage. Add to it and pass it to his next padawan when you’re knighted. Probably Xanatos Du Crion.”
Feemor nodded, then took a closer look at the bound-flimsi notebook that Master Dooku had shoved into his hands. A user’s manual. When he looked up to thank Master Dooku, the man was gone.
Master Qui-Gon was already in his quarters when Feemor rang the doorbell. He could not palm the door open yet, after all. Master Qui-Gon opened the door and ushered Feemor inside. “Tea?”
Feemor nodded. “Yes, thank you. Oh, here, let me put the kettle on, Master.”
Master Qui-Gon shook his head. “I won’t have you calling me that. At least, not yet. Maybe as a joke, yes. Just call me by my name. Call me ‘Qui-Gon.’ I suppose Mace and Tahl will want to know about this. And Kit Fisto.”
As they sipped their tea, Feemor studied his new master’s mannerisms and expressions. He looked sad, but he didn’t feel sad in the Force. No, that was guilt. He felt responsible for Master Gria’s death—because he was—but Master Dooku’s words in the Council Chamber didn’t help.
“Master Dooku told me I would be good practice for you.” Feemor wasn’t sure what else to say. Maybe this was the wrong remark.
Qui-Gon looked up, an exasperated half-smile on his face. “He said that? I bet he thinks that’s reassuring. It took me years to understand him, but he truly means no offense when he says outrageous things. Master Nu was right all those years ago when she gave me a manual for living with him.”
Feemor burst out laughing. “A manual? Master Dooku just gave me a manual for living with you! And I think I’m going to need it, too, if you have hawkbats in your living room and vines in the fresher. What other surprises will I encounter?”
Qui-Gon was laughing now, too. “I’ll keep you on your toes. Why don’t we start right now? Join me in meditation.”
Feemor nodded and closed his eyes, letting himself drift into a meditative state the way he used to do with Master Gria. The broken training bond in his head still smarted, since there was nobody at the other end, but he still extended his presence outwards through it. Aha, here he is. He could feel Qui-Gon’s presence approaching his mind, a majestic loth wolf.
Both parties smiled as a new bond snapped into place between them. Qui-Gon would never be Feemor’s parent figure, not the way Master Gria had been, but he could still be a brother. In the distance Feemor could feel the flickering of another presence, a small toddler in the creche, as well as an older child also in the creche. They would be part of his new lineage. Feemor smirked. He had better add to that manual for the sake of those two boys.