Chapter Text
Xanatos hadn’t thought of Obi-Wan Kenobi in a long time.
A very long time.
The young man stood in a hooded cloak among the mass of refugees trying to blend in, using a notice-me-not.
Xanatos was half-tempted to approach and half-tempted to move further away. The Empire had slaughtered their sect of Jedi last he heard, and they were on the border of Mandalore. A rock and a hard place if you were of their ilk.
It wasn’t a great place for him to be either honestly, which was why approaching was appealing. His second brother might be an obvious target, but Xanatos might be overlooked in the shuffle.
There was also the possibility Kenobi would rat him out, but then he’d have to admit to being a magic user as well, and Kenobi had been soft-hearted, clumsy, and innocent, but he had never struck Xanatos as stupid.
So he approached.
Kenobi stiffened as he patted his shoulder.
“Long time no see.”
“You--!” Obi-Wan hissed. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Word of my demise was greatly exaggerated.”
“You jumped into a pool of lava!”
“Exaggerated by me.”
He took the time to examine this grown-up Obi-Wan. He had been… fourteen? Fifteen? When last they had met. Maybe older. Now he was all grown up. Reddish-brown hair longish and tied back in a hasty tail, in bad need of a haircut, fewer spots on his face, handsome if you liked a boyish look. Scruffy beginnings of a beard. Shorter than Xanatos by a little which was gratifying.
While he studied him, Kenobi studied him back.
“What are you doing here?” The younger man asked.
“Same as you.”
“Hiding?” Obi-Wan dropped his voice. “I thought you might have a place among the Empire.”
Xanatos rolled his eyes. “It was never about the dark magic--we shouldn't be talking about this.”
“No,” Obi-Wan agreed. He looked painfully curious, but held it in.
It was a good thing he had run into Kenobi and not Skywalker. His third brother was a chatterbox with no self-awareness.
Just thinking of him was annoying.
Although, now that he was thinking about it, it was surprising. Where Kenobi was it was rare not to find Skywalker tailing him.
But they had all grown up, the Sect and the Temple were gone. Things change. It had been … five years now? Yes. That was right. Probably. Time moved strangely now for him.
The two of them kept beside each other, shuffling forward.
“Name?”
“Ben.”
“Xan.”
“Clever.”
“Shut up.”
They were finally at the head of the line, the ship to cross the channel in front of them. Heavily armored people. Helmeted, even doing paperwork. Armed. Not only swords, but blackpowder revolvers. The Mandalorians had become experts with the relatively new technology.
Xanatos held up the little card he was given that had his fake identity. He glanced over at Obi-Wan’s as he did the same.
Both of them had used the same last name. Jorn.
“We’re brothers,” Xanatos said before the Mandalorians could ask.
“Half brothers,” Obi-Wan corrected sourly, falling into the act seamlessly.
“Right,” The Mandalorian said, not caring in the slightest. “Wha’d’ya’do?”
“Farmering,” Xanatos answered.
“Farming, family business,” Obi-Wan corrected.
“Speak any Mando’a?”
“No,” Xanatos said shortly.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied.
That was new. Where in the Sith hell had he learned Mandalorian? It was rarely taught to outsiders.
No wonder he thought he might hide better in Mandalore than in the Empire.
The Mando’s demeanor changed a bit. “Where’d you learn it?”
“My riduur to be, we were going to get married...but...the war,” Obi-Wan said vaguely, putting enough grief in his words that asking for more would make the Mandalorian feel uncomfortable.
Kenobi was slyer than he remembered.
“They march ahead,” the Mando said to comfort. “Alright, go on. Your tags have been updated. When you dock you’ll be processed, I’ve added that you’re family so you don’t get separated.”
Xanatos gave an appreciative smile and thumped Kenobi on the shoulder. “Thank you. I’d worry about him. I’d rather he not get left behind.”
And just like that, they were stepping up the boarding ramp.
Xanatos reassessed. His second brother had learned some useful things in his absence.
Obi-Wan was shooting him another annoyed glance, but suddenly stilled. Xanatos did as well, feeling it too a second before the bells started ringing.
“Vader,” Obi-Wan murmured under his breath.
“Get on board!” The Mandalorians commanded.
Magical thunder crashed over the refugee zone. The sound of horses came out of nowhere, an army’s worth somehow hidden from their senses. But worse still, there was the darkest most malignant presence Xanatos had ever felt. He was frozen in fear. It was like it was reaching out, searching for something, gripping at any strand of magic it could touch.
Kenobi grabbed his wrist and yanked him onto the ship. They had to jump as the boarding ramp fell away. The rest of the refugees were left behind, some going in the ocean and trying to swim as the thick tide of arrows came crashing down on them. Kenobi stood at the portside with the others, watching, the most terrible grief in his eyes. By the time the army had finally cut through they were already out of firing range.
“Not like you could help them,” Xanatos said, watching as well.
“I wonder,” Obi-Wan murmured. The ship lurched and made its escape across the ocean.
*********************
A Long Time Ago...
*********************
Courcanti Jedi Temple was the most well-known. It was the strongest of the Jedi sects with the most powerful warriors and followers of the path.
Xanatos was apprenticed to Qui-Gon Jinn. Qui-Gon was the Grand Master’s Apprentice. He held much esteem and there were rumours he would even be asked onto the Council despite his more Maverick approaches.
Qui-Gon had four apprentices. Feemor was the oldest and hardly even counted. By order he should be looked upon as Qui-Gon’s head apprentice, but he was more a friend and brother than student. Feemor’s own Master was killed just three years before his Knighting and Qui-Gon offered to finish it.
Next was Xanatos. The rising star of the Jedi Order. He was strong in both sword and the magic. Quick-witted, fast-thinking, and bursting with potential. He had come from Telosian royalty and all his life he had been called special. He was the true Head Apprentice and would be the inheritor of Qui-Gon Jinn’s legacy and his secret magical techniques. The ones only whispered of. It was said that Yoda had only passed it to him, and not even to Count Dooku, Qui-Gon’s Master.
Third in line was Obi-Wan Kenobi. No one thought much of him. Qui-Gon was forced to take him on by Yoda and resented it. Obi-Wan was always trying his best to prove himself to Qui-Gon and to Xanatos. Qui-Gon did gain some affection for him, but he was always overshadowed by Qui-Gon’s truest apprentice. Kenobi had some talent with swords, but his magic was lacking. In the hands of an average Master, he might be the pride of a lineage, but among the greats, he paled in comparison.
And it would have all been fine if they had just stopped there. Seventeen-year-old Feemor to be the reliable if simple eldest, Xanatos the beloved middle at fifteen, Obi-Wan the hardworking third at twelve that Xanatos delighted in bullying and thrusting his busywork on to.
But no, there was a fourth. Anakin Skywalker. Nine-years-old. A slave from the Tatooine desert that Qui-Gon had won betting on a race.
He was powerful. And had more potential than even Xanatos.
And as he grew and learned it was obvious the threat he posed.
There was nothing Xanatos hated more than any sort of attack on his position. He did all he could to trick and trap Skywalker, but Skywalker would inevitably overcome it.
It wore on the loyalty Xanatos had felt for his Master, that Qui-Gon would try to replace him when Skywalker was a common little womprat of inferior breeding. Feemor came from farmers, Kenobi was a foundling, and now a slave to finish it all off. But the slave had innate talent. Like he was born from magic itself.
Skywalker disrupted his world, and he hated him for it.
“Come, I want to introduce you,” Qui-Gon said gently, a soft cadence that Xanatos rarely heard anymore now that he was closer to adult than child. A little boy with a mop of blond hair peeked out behind the tall Jedi Master.
“Oh, another apprentice, Qui-Gon?” Feemor said in surprise. “Don’t you have enough on your plate?”
Qui-Gon chuckled. “Just about, but then, you are not far off from the trials yourself.”
“Thank you!” Feemor grinned happily. He was looking forward to becoming a Knight in his own right. He had a naturally submissive personality, but even he must have felt chaffed taking orders from a Master that was only a decade his senior.
“Ani, these are my apprentices, Feemor Jorn, Xanatos Ducrion, and Obi-Wan Kenobi. This is Anakin Skywalker, your new lineage brother.”
“Hello there,” Obi-Wan smiled kindly at the boy. Anakin’s eyes were instantly pinned on him.
“Hi!” Anakin chirped. “Are you Stewjoni?”
Obi-Wan tilted his head curiously. “By birth, yes.”
“I thought so. Stewjoni um--er--nevermind” Anakin blushed and ducked his head.
“No, it’s alright, what is it?” Obi-Wan asked.
“Well… uh… Stewjoni sell for lots in the market because they have the most beautiful eyes in the world.”
“Oh--ah…” Obi-Wan cleared his throat, not entirely sure how to react to that.
Xanatos snorted. “Another pathetic stray so soon after the last?”
“Xanatos,” Qui-Gon said warningly, which was--strange. Usually, he would roll his eyes, but allow Xanatos’ barbs.
Xanatos looked down his nose studying the boy. He didn’t look like much… he was still in his frayed slave garb and he had smudges on his face.
“I’ll have to add extra to the stew,” Obi-Wan said, smoothing out the small bump of tension. “Do you like bantha meat, Anakin?”
“What? Like? To eat? Really?” Anakin asked excitedly. “I’ve never tried!”
“Obi-Wan has some talent for cooking,” Qui-Gon said in a rare bit of praise for his third apprentice. “Obi-Wan, why don’t you show Ani around.”
“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan gave a small bow, flushing just a little at the praise. Anakin awkwardly copied the older boy’s smooth gesture and beamed a sunny expression. He immediately took the older boy’s hand, startling him, but Obi-Wan melted into a tentative smile of his own
Xanatos remembered thinking about riff-raff sticking together. Perhaps he’d get Skywalker to shine his boots later.
***************
Present Day...
***************
Obi-Wan had thought he had done enough to hide himself. How had Vader found him?
He stared gloomily out at the water. He could just make out the fires on the docks. It would all be ash by morning, but he wouldn’t see it.
He felt helpless at times like these. Floating on the ocean between two lands that wanted him dead for the crime of existing. Light magic was outlawed in the Empire, and the Mandalorians held a thousand year grudge against his Order. Innate magic wasn’t banned or stigmatized, but the Magical training Jedi were taught was.
But at least he had a chance in Mandalore. He knew the language, he knew many of the customs, he had almost become a citizen before the rise of the Empire.
And it was outside of Vader’s reach. At least he hoped it was.
He wondered what Anakin would say to him, running away like this. Not facing the man who had killed him. Obi-Wan had never been the best of their Master’s line, and he was not powerful enough to defeat Vader as he was, even being the inheritor of Qui-Gon’s techniques.
No, they were useless for any sort of confrontation.
But he would have. Oh he would have if Yoda had only let him. Instead, the ancient Master had charged him with something far more difficult.
Protecting and passing on their teachings...and living.
Living without his little brother. His eldest brother. His Master.
He closed his eyes, tried to ground himself in the magic sparkling around him, but it was impossible. Not with the dock burning, not with Xanatos Ducrion beside him.
“Are you the only one left, Ben?” Xanatos suddenly asked.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan said.
“If I was a betting man I would have an empty purse,” Xanatos snorted.
“I suppose you would,” Obi-Wan said, not in the mood. Xanatos had never been kind, as much as he had wished it when he was a boy. His little jokes were barbs, biting at his self-esteem. His bossy nature, making Obi-Wan do all the chores. And Qui-Gon had loved him as a son, and even when Xanatos betrayed them Obi-Wan had gone to being not enough like Xanatos to far too much like him.
And yet… and yet his heart felt a terrible relief to have someone he knew standing by him, even if it wouldn’t last for long. Even if the man beside him was a traitor, a warlock.
“You know Mandalorian?”
“Mando’a,” Obi-Wan corrected.
“Good, you can stick around and be useful.”
Obi-Wan crossed his arms and looked over at dark-haired man. He hadn’t looked much different from the last time they had met. Long inky black hair fell loose over his shoulders, sharp elegant features that always remained aloof and cruel. A frosty beauty Quinlan had said once. “A frosty beauty to your autumnal allure.”
He sighed, he even missed Quinlan’s terrible teasing. He wondered if he made it out. If anyone could it was Quinlan.
“I would think you wouldn’t want to stay at the side of someone in my situation.”
“We’re not in such differing situations,” Xanatos shrugged. “Besides, we got tied together, might as well go with it while under scrutiny.”
“And the fact that you have tried to kill me several times?”
“I was trying to kill Qui-Gon,” Xanatos said uncaringly. “You just put yourself in my way.”
“Right, how foolish of me.”
“It was. I didn’t care about you.”
“No, you never did,” Obi-Wan mentally sighed. He weighed the pros and cons. Working with a warlock made him feel sick. Working with Xanatos made him bitter. But the alternative was being alone. At least the resentment he felt towards Xanatos was somewhat distracting from the tragedy he was running from.
And the danger.
He shivered. Vader shouldn’t follow him across borders, but he had a bad feeling. The Sith Warlock seemed determined to stamp out everyone in his lineage. Master, Feemor...Anakin--and now him. He wondered if Xanatos leaving would even spare him if Vader knew of the connection.
All those refugees. It was his fault. It could not have been a coincidence, Vader had tracked him.
“I hope you know how to farm,” Xanatos said idly.
“I took care of the gardens, didn’t I?”
“Gardens? Oh right, Qui-Gon liked plants, didn’t he?”
He loved them. He loved them and Xanatos didn’t even bother to remember. He didn’t remember the Spring Celebrations when they would all go out and plant the first seeds. He didn’t remember the summer picnics eating juicy fresh melons. He didn’t remember the autumn harvest. He didn’t remember when they had felt like a proper family all spending time with one another.
Anakin had loved late spring the best, watching everything sprout and turn green. Winter snows reminded him of the stark landscapes of Tatooine. He would always creep into Obi-Wan’s room and cuddle against him for warmth, even when the two of them were probably too big to be sharing Obi-Wan's little bed.
But no, Xanatos didn’t remember.
He had always tried to get out of weeding anyway.
“If you want my help you’re going to have to help me as well,” Obi-Wan said.
“Something better will come along fast enough, I won’t have to put up with you long.”
What did he expect?
“No, of course not.” He should refuse to help, but Xanatos was right, the Mandalorians had tied them together.
And he could still feel Vader’s strings tugging at him, trying to wrap around him, pull him back. He could still see in his mind the black-armored warlock towering over his Master’s dead body.
“You used Feemor’s name…” Obi-Wan said tentatively. Hoping for maybe a sign.
“Was it Feemor’s? It was the first one I thought of when writing the form. Heh, I thought it was familiar.”
Obi-Wan’s shoulder’s drooped. No, he and Xanatos would not be staying together long.