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Chapter Text

Given the tricky, delicate, dangerous but successful mission Obi-Wan and his master undertook on Mandalore, which is also a record on its own for the whole Jedi Order, the High Council seems to think that this means they can tackle more of the tricky, delicate, dangerous missions and tackle those well.

Case in point, now he and Master Qui-Gon are assigned to deal with a powerful, rich, famous family on some not-so-obscure Mid-Rim planet – at least locally – which is highly suspected to have been embroiled in forced labour, kidnapping and sentient trafficking. And it has been just barely a tenday since they got back from their Mandalore mission. In which Obi-Wan turned sixteen. A tall sixteen. With a very youthful face. And a real, earnest desire to learn about Mandalorian language and culture. Which has made Mandalorian adopters pursue him, not only Death Watch thugs, when he was in system.

*

The mission is… a moderate success.

The evidence have been gathered and exposed. The family’s name is tarnished. A few of the culprits have been arested. The unpaid servants and sentient merchandise have been freed and relocated. But Obi-Wan and his master have also found out that the local law enforcement that called for their help had been bribed heavily by a rival mafia, so the Jedi have been used as petty tools instead of hands of justice. And they cannot even make sure that the former slaves will not be back in chains, just under different “management,” because they have been kicked off system the moment the mission was “concluded.”

Well, they cannot for most of those poor beings, that is, because they have just found five little ones aboard their ship, sneaking in apparently without being noticed by local authorities.

Master Qui-Gon is shocked and torn. Obi-Wan, not so much.

The oldest of the little ones, an eight-year-old human or near by the name of Sinas Rook, is a little Mandalorian warrior in training who trailed after their parent in a supposedly safe job and got ambushed similarly. Their parent died, but they are alive, and they have been seeking to free themself and other children ever since. And Obi-Wan has been speaking in the Mandalorian language with them because they know of no other languages yet. And, apparently, this means that he is safe and trustworthy in their eyes.

*

Of all things that Obi-Wan might have to convince the children of, not being their parent would not have even entered his wildest imagination.

“Child, I am a Jedi,” he tries, first.

And, “You are a warrior,” Sinas corrects him, confidently. “You are a good warrior. You can protect us. We can learn from you.”

`Unlike my parent,` is implied, and Obi-Wan pounces on that. “I am not a replacement parent, Sin’ika. You should not scoff at your parent’s sacrifice, either. They died for you. They wanted you to live so you would have a chance to be free.”

Sinas looks partly mulish, partly bitter, partly grieving, and partly exasperated. Their Force-presence is even more tangled.

“I cannot provide for you. I cannot raise you,” Obi-Wan tries again.

And, “You have a ship,” Sinas ripostes. “You have money. We do not need much. Five more years and I can help provide for our clan. You are old enough to raise us, too, and you are good to us.”

“I have missions I need to take for the Jedi Order,” Obi-Wan reminds them.

“I am a warrior in training,” Sinas reminds him back, washpishly, before their face crumples again and their Force-presence likewise. “I was learning, too. I can do better! I can spot things out for you so you will be safe!”

`So you will not die like my parent did,` is the implied continuation, and Obi-Wan winces, his own face crumpling.

But, still, “The Jedi Order… it has a policy of non-attachment,” he tries to explain. “I will not be able to raise you, even if I want to. We must serve the galaxy over a certain group of beings, and our lives are dangerous, so we cannot atach ourselves to just a few.”

“That’s stupid,” Sinas huffs to that, and does not retract their assertion even when Obi-Wan gives them a pointedly reproving look. They add, instead, with the tone of, “Listen to me, you clueless elder,” “Teach us well, and we can serve the galaxy together, as clan.”

Obi-Wan falls silent, mulling the idea. A non-Force-sensitive, raised and trained as Jedi – Mandalorian Jedi, even….

Sinas looks on. All too patient. All too knowing.

And then, apparently thinking that the silence has gone on long enough, they proclaim, “I and my siblings know your name as our parent, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Chapter Text

Along with the brown-haired, brown-eyed Sinas Rook is another human or near – similarly coloured but with straight locks for hair instead of riotous waves this time – by the name of Shna Skywalker, a long-haired, stubby-horned, brown-red-eyed zabrak called Su, a red-with-orange-and-yellow-stripes-skinned, violet-eyed togruta… naming themself?… Catch, and a purple-skinned, pink-eyed twi’lek named Calas’ecura.

And the High Council is displeased with all of them.

Or rather, they are displeased with Master Qui-Gon as the head of the mission and the master who did not notice the stowaways, and with Obi-Wan the junior padawan for claiming that the children have adopted him as a parent.

Oh, and for insisting that the children have a say in their own fates should they be adopted elsewhere, too, of course. Especially Sinas Rook, who adopted him in person, whose parent died in Galidran and whose other parent died recently after failing in a job, seeking to feed them both while running away from the Death Watch.

Obi-Wan was labouring as a mining slave under a deep-sea rig on Bandomeer when the True Mandalorians – to which Sinas’ parents belonged to – were massacred by the Jedi – not that the Jedi task force sent there fared better – through horrible misinformation and misunderstanding, perpetrated by the governer of that planet and the Death Watch. But Master Qui-Gon and he returned to a temple still in deep mourning, and he knows perfectly well how sorry the Jedi are about that disaster, both for themselves and the Mandalorian faction they accidentally decimated. And now is the chance to right at least that wrong, and he tells the High Council so.

Well, on hindsight, Obi-Wan perhaps should have put it forth and worded it less bluntly, less boldly, less… less like a Mandalorian. But, in his own defence, he has spent a year in Mandalorian Space, only a tenday in temple just recuperating, a few days in the company of his terse master alone in hyperspace, and more than two tendays dealing with a Mandalorian child, both during the mission and on the way home. The scales have been weighted severely against the more acceptable ways of speaking round here!

But the good thing is: Master Qui-Gon is proud of his defiance of the High Council.

His master even volunteers their quarters to temporarily house the children Obi-Wan has accidentally acquired, as the said children absolutely refuse to be parted from their new, young parent, for now. It was already a long struggle just to have them wait outside the Council Chamber before the master-padawan pair delivered this report, and Obi-Wan suspects his master simply does not wish to deal with such a thing again after escaping this chamber, instead of anything more sympathetic towards the children, but it is still a win for him!

*

Well, Obi-Wan honestly forgot how dangerous the quarters he shares with Master Qui-Gon can be for the unwary.

They have been away for more than two tendays this time without having anyone babysit the collection, at that, so some of the plants are… thirsty.

Thirsty for warm, fresh blood, that is.

And Su nearly got trapped by one even before they put a step farther into the main room.

“Force!” Obi-Wan squeaks as he ignites his lightsabre and puts it between one strong, barbed vine of the supposedly insectivorous plant and Su’s badly startled face, just as Master Qui-Gon squawks about the abuse of his lightsabre.

He would wager that Su does not cry only because it is very, very, very dangerous for a slave child to let out even a peep, and Su has been one till less than a tenday ago.

He would wager that Master Qui-Gon fears for the health of the murderous plant, too, instead of the intactness of Su’s arm, forgetting that murderous plants are bad for children, especially the non-Force-sensitive ones.

This changes the plan, in any case. He cannot in good conscience let these poor children try to deal with carnivorous plants and who knows what else Master Qui-Gon brought in and forgot to tell anyone last time. Without the Force, at that. And while they call him parent.

A parent is supposed to protect and take care of their children… right?

`Force, what do I know about parenting? I don’t even know who my parents are!`

But he does know his old crèchemaster, Master T’ra, and she is… well, like that.

She was, anyway. He had little time to visit her when he became an initiate, and he has even littler time to do anything now that he is a padawan.

`Maybe, if I visit her now and ask for help and promise to visit her more from now on?`

In any case, the crèche or a currently unused initiate dorm will be much better than this place!

`I would have a reason to sleep there, too.`

The plan sounds better and better.

Especially when, upon telling Master Qui-Gon about the changed plan, Master Qui-Gon lectures him about attachment and Sinas lectures the man back about the cold-heartedness of Jedi.

`Force, that child!`

Chapter Text

Master T’ra has apparently finished her latest stint as a crèchemaster a few months ago, a little after her latest padawan – and last, she said, during Obi-Wan’s master-hunting days – was knighted. She welcomes Obi-Wan and his tagalongs warmly in her quarters, and helps him find a small initiate dorm for their use until something more permanent is put in place, and does not begrudge his distance from her all these years. She talks softly about the Room of a Thousand Fountains, and a little about herself – hence him knowing about her no longer acting as a crèchemaster in this temple – and her voice soothes something deep in him that he finds himself acting like a crècheling once more, leaning heavily against her as she gives a tour of the dorm to his charges.

He comes back to himself – and jerks away from her in the process – only when Sinas, having just inspected the bedroom the six of them will share, addresses Master T’ra, in the Mandalorian language as per usual, “Are you our grandparent, then?”

ObiWan opens his mouth – to scold the bold, bold, bold child, to deny the assertion, to clarify his relationship with Master T’ra, to apologise to Master T’ra, or to translate for Master T’ra’s benefit, he doesn’t know.

The words never come out, anyway.

Only a stupid squeak – another stupid squeak – that does.

Because Master T’ra replies in the same language, and what she says is, “Well, in that regard, it seems that I have had at least a few hundred thousand children since I firstly took up the post as a caretaker, little one. But as it is, I would not mind claiming your parent as mine and you as my grandchildren, if they and you are willing.”

And yet another of the stupid squeaks escapes his suddenly malfunctioning throat and windpipe when five pairs of childish pleading eyes are immediately directed at him, alon with their corresponding Force-presences, and Master T’ra regards him solemnly but warmly with the same unconditional affection he still remembers from his early childhood.

He wants to cry. Force-forbid, he wants to cry. Just like a crècheling. And it is not because he is afraid or ashamed or confused or badly startled.

No, he loves it. He loves it so much. He loves it too much.

And that is the problem.

He is already in trouble with the High Council and Master Qui-Gon about five little hellions adopting him as a parent. He doesn’t want to be in more trouble with them for accepting Master T’ra’s adoption of him as her child!

Then again, how does Master T’ra know Mando’a? How does Master T’ra know Mandalorian adoption custom? Haven’t the Jedi and the Mandalorians been enemies since… way back?

He asks her just that, asks her and looks away from the five pleading expressions, asks her and tries to forget about the offer of adoption entirely.

The chorus of disappointed noises is very hard to ignore, all the same.

*

Being pounced on and tackled by Catch and sometimes Su from odd places and angles is one of Obi-Wan’s new normal. The poor togrutan child was too afraid to do so during their return home, the zabraki one even more, and perhaps also too wary of Master Qui-Gon’s further disapproval of the children’s collective presence. But there is nobody in the initiate dorm they have appropriated for their little clan but the six of them, once Master T’ra has bowed out of the space, so Obi-Wan has to endure this.

And make sure the little hunters are not jumping on him when he is carrying delicate or dangerous things like his datapad of assignments or a pot of boiling water.

And make a note to hunt down a togrutan and zabraki knight or master or even padawan for tips for raising a togrutan and zabraki child however temporarily, too.

*

Calas’ecura is very talkative, once their fear of male authority figures – or at least this male authority figure – diminishes. Their questions are endless, and they ask those questions all the time. Even when Obi-Wan is trying to get everyone to sleep. Even when Obi-Wan is trying to complete his on-going courses that were neglected during his year-long mission in Mandalorian Space.

Shna does their best to distract Calas’ecura when Obi-Wan is most frazzled and frustrated. But they don’t often succeed. And the distraction usually turns into an argument between the two children. And the argument sometimes turns into fights, verbal or physical. And, this, Obi-Wan must wade in and soothe, therefore leaving his work for at times hours on end.

He begs Master T’ra for help again, when he is at last at his wit’s end, when his courses begin to suffer, when Master Qui-Gon comes to the dorm specially to berate him and tell him that the children’s placement will be reconsidered since they prove too much of a distraction for him, given their naturally childish nature.

And Master T’ra takes over the children’s training. In Mandalorian ways. From fighting forms to handsigns to culinary customs. And… well, this is yet another distraction, because Obi-Wan won’t ever miss it for all the courses offered and for all the sharp words Master Qui-Gon has in store for him.

Just… he never would have guessed… Master T’ra… a Mandalorian expert…!

Chapter Text

The children refuse to be separated from each other should they be adopted out. They refuse to be separated from Obi-Wan in that case, too. No explanation from anybody can convince them otherwise. No bribe nor pretty promises, as well.

Seeing that they may be the Jedi’s responsibility for quite a while yet, the Healers Council wishes to create medical profiles for them as wards of the Jedi Order, instead of relying on just the mandatory post-mission medical check-up each in the group underwent when they firstly arrived.

They comply.

Only because Obi-Wan deigns to submit himself for an update on his medical profile, too, and stays with them for each of the exams.

Other than the one for Calas’ecura, that is. Because they – she – finds his closeness when she is vulnerable distressing instead, although she implores him to stay within the halls anyway. And then they all find that she was to be a pleasure slave and therefore had… training… in that area, geared towards human-and-near male clientele. While Obi-Wan is a near-human male.

Obi-Wan gets lambasted for failing to say that the children were slaves, instead of just displaced children as the mission report said and Master Qui-Gon confirmed before the High Council. Partly because the exams had to be done all over again, this time to look for slave-specific concerns such as control or detonating chip and electroprod burns.

“I was just following Master Qui-Gon’s lead in this,” is not a good excuse, apparently, although it is a truthful one, because the healers keep muttering and being irritated at him.

And then Su, who is next in the exam roster and being diagnosed with a moderate bone decalcification because of an overexposure to electricity, tattles that Obi-Wan must have some, too, because Obi-Wan has the scars and was once a slave in a deep-sea mine, which is so scary and used by their – his – previous owners as a threat to make him behave, because slaves working in those mines are meant to die horribly while still turning out profit for their owners.

Well, suffice to say, none among the six can escape the clutches of the healers for a long, long time. Especially Obi-Wan. Although, to his relief, the healers redirect their ire to Master Qui-Gon and… not leave him be, per se, but their insistence that he be truthful in his mission reports is much more palatable than being lambasted in place of Master Qui-Gon.

And then, just before they are released back into their nook of the temple, yet another crisis pops up, in the form of Shna’s refusal to admit that they are – she is – much older than five years old for the record – probably seven, or even nine.

“I am… just a big five,” she tries to insist, tearfully, while clutching at Obi-Wan’s sleeve with a death grip that he thinks is disproportionate for a question merely about her age.

She apologises profusely to him when they are once more alone in their little dorm, after the exasperated healer in charge has noted down… something… for her medical profile.

“I didn’t mean to shame you, Apu,” she whimpers.

He shakes his head, his heart twinging unpleasantly. Hugging her close to him, he asks gently, “Why did you say you are five?”

“There’s nothing like that on Bandomeer?” She is equally puzzled.

“Like what?” He tilts his head questioningly, too accustomed to wearing a helmet in just a year.

It’s Su who answers instead of the speechless Shna, and Obi-Wan is exposed to something that Bandomeer’s deep-sea mine with its brutal and very limited living conditions did not teach. Sinas who was a slave for half a month, likewise.

“Children stay with mothers until five years old, Apu. Fathers don’t count, usually, but… Shna want to try?”

The zabraki child glances at Shna, who is still being a limpet at Obi-Wan’s side, and she nods vigorously to the half-implied question.

Su continues, then, and Obi-Wan wishes that he would just not, because a probably four-year-old is not supposed to know this.

“It’s too much work for the owners to take care of children not five years yet. No profit, too. Not much anyway. So mothers are sold with children not five yet. When children is more than five, they can be sold separately. Profit for the owners. Some owners got mothers to breed more children, too, so they get more profit five years after that.”

`Oh, Force.`

Obi-Wan wants to puke. And it stems not only from the horrible, horrible, horrible description a little child has just expounded so matter-of-factly.

`Do they think the Jedi are slavers?`

Chapter Text

With how much time Obi-Wan spends in what Quinlan now dubs “the Kenobi dorm,” and with how preoccupied he is with catching up with his studies as well as giving due attention to his little charges, his relationship with Master Qui-Gon deteriorates. It was never optimal in the first place, before, he has to admit it. But now….

Well, Master Qui-Gon has just left in a solo mission, for one, without telling him, and Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to think and how to feel about it.

He certainly feels frazzled and awkward, though, when Sinas comes up to him after the little clan’s daily run on the obstacle course – borrowed whenever it is not used by padawans and initiates – and asks, in Mando’a and with their customary bluntness, “Buir, when are we going out again? We need to search for other children like me. It’s not just Li’bu and Ta’bu that struggled with… everything. Perhaps we can do something about it?”

`It’s the Jedi who messed things up for the True Mandalorians, after all,` goes unsaid, but is pretty clear in the Force, and Obi-Wan has to hold back a cringing reaction.

Sinas is not critiquing him, is not even critiquing the Jedi Order at large – the elders, the junior padawans like Obi-Wan himself, their fellow younglings, the babies – and Obi-Wan knows very well that he could have done nothing about the horrible mess on Galidran, but the reminder still stings.

“We can’t go out right now, little one,” he explains the best that he can, nonetheless. “I’m sorry, but Jedi can’t just go out on personal missions, especially with political… after-effects… like this. And I can’t go out on my own, too. I am still a… first-level learner. Only second-level learners can go out on solo missions. And Teacher Qui-Gon is not here to bring me along in missions.”

`No, he goes on mission alone and leaves me behind,` is what he does not say, but Sinas regards him with a knowing look anyway, despite their lack of Force-sensitivity.

In the end, Obi-Wan has to bow out of the conversation altogether, his ears reddenning, and dumps the child on Master T’ra, who is supervising the other four children still running the obstacle course.

“I’ll see what I can do,” is the only thing he can say definitively to a disgruntled and dejected Sinas before he bows his farewell to Master T’ra and flees the Obstacle Chamber altogether.

*

What Obi-Wan can do to fulfill his promise to Sinas is to try to contact Satine Kryze, the new ruler of Mandalore and the person he spent a year protecting with all he had, to ask her to shelter the True Mandalorians. He has to make it seem like he were not comming her from the temple, using his own slicing skills and those Quinlan taught him, but the effort is worthy.

Even when his first comm goes to what sounds like a faulty droid and nowhere else. Even when his second comm – after further tips not only from Quinlan but also from Garen – goes to a stuffy, unmodulated someone who seems to try so hard to affect a Coruscanti accent. Even when his third comm – on his brand-new, powerful commlink, won from a sabacc game that nobody but Master T’ra knows about, and conducted after a thorough, not-so-legal research of the personal commfreqs of the current leaders in Mandalorian Space – goes to a secretary instead of to Satine herself.

Even when he at long last reaches Satine and she tells him, politely, that Mandalore is not his business any longer, thank you, and he should have been happy that Mandalorians are no longer brutish barbarians, instead of trying to support the return of their brutal past by sponsoring the remaining brutes.

His words feel like bitter, moisture-leeching, gritty ashes in his mouth when he equally politely thanks her for her time and promises to not bother her again.

No, he shall not bother her ever again. Although his heart breaks into pieces in the process.

He loved her.

He loves her still. And that is what breaks him. He has been loving her fiery idealism and genuine care for him and love for Mandalorian culture. But the news coming out of that space has been all about cultural genocide since she took the helm of leadership after her father, and Satin would not budge even for him, even for the wellfare of children, children who are Mandalorian regardless of faction or species or place of living.

His good-bye to her sounds and feels final, and he mourns it right after.

Chapter Text

Being jumped on by his little hellions at any time and from any spot in the temple has indirectly honed Obi-Wan’s awareness of his surroundings. Even when he is feeling miserable like this, the awareness remains, as it has been engrained into him.

He knows of Quinlan’s would-be ambush of him ahead of time, therefore, and ambushes the newly anointed senior padawan back with relish.

Quinlan’s squawk when Obi-Wan tackles him to the flor is beautiful.

Better yet, under his robes, Obi-Wan happens to be wearing most of the Mandalorian armour he scavanged from his Death Watch pursuers, which Master T’ra absconded with some time ago, only to return with the refitted version, which she then bade him to wear whenever he can.

Quinlan curses at him.

He curses back at the kiffar.

And the spectators laugh.

“Your idea is a total kriffing karking poodoo, Muln!” Quinlan squeals when Obi-Wan grinds his body further into the floor, aided by the weight and unyielding firmness of the beskar.

“Never knew he’s that fast!” Garen retorts from somewhere above them, still laughing.

Obi-Wan grins, preening. And that is when Quinlan flips him aside, making use of the split-second moment of distraction, although the kiffar fails to pin him in turn.

“Oh, come on,” Bant drawls exasperatedly, yanking the two of them apart with the Force before the impromptu wrestling match in the corridor can turn into an outright brawl. “We got other things to do!”

Well, the “other things” she mentions turns out to be an interrogation on the topics of Obi-Wan’s apprenticeship, his self-claimed children, and why he has been so morose lately while he was before that the most chipper and energetic his clanmates have ever seen him since before the threat of aging out of the path to knighthood loomed over him.

“Cultural genocide is still genocide, Obi,” Siri points out matter-of-factly at the end of his narration about Satine’s refusal to budge on her policies, once the clanmates have ensconced themselves safely and comfily in an unused, out-of-the-way small meditation room and satisfied their curiosity about other topics.

“Don’t I know that,” Obi-Wan grouses bitterly, busying himself with pouring himself a cup of tea from the thermosful of it reeft brought for the occasion, just so he needs not look up into the face of his former academic rival.

“So what you gonna do now?” Garen asks as he steals a tartlet from Reeft’s stash and dances away from the dresselian’s retaliation.

“Get the Mandos yourself?” Quinlan guesses, and Obi-Wan chokes on his sip of tea.

Luminara rescues the teacup but lets a furiously coughing Obi-Wan be.

“He’s still a junior padawan,” Siri points out reprovingly. “Don’t put ideas in his head, Quin! You’ll just net him more trouble!”

Obi-Wan glares at her with watery eyes, and sarcastically thanks her for her help amidst his wheezing coughs.

Bant smiles and rubs his back, infusing the touch with gentle waves of healing. “You know it’s true, Obi,” she says apologetically. “Those kids of yours are still gossip fodder round here. and Depa told me the High Council still pretty much got their eyes on you, especially with Jinn away without you like this.”

Obi-Wan snorts unimpressedly, but sends a waft of gratitude in the Force to her anyway.

No, he needs nobody telling her everyone’s eyes are on him and his charges even after this long. He has heard the words, he has seen the reactions, he has noticed the feelings in the Force. And, ironically, it is the children’s training as slaves that has enabled them to act as if nothing were wrong, as if they were welcome.

There is a reason why the little clan tend to keep to themselves and usually only mingle with the very young among the Jedi in this temple.

But that never daunts Sinas Rook from atempting to appeal to him about their brethren still struggling to survive out there, wedged and ground between the New Mandalorians and the Death Watch.

So…, “You think we can solve that problem ourselves?” he puts forward tentatively.

Quinlan shrugs. Garen snorts. Reeft huffs. Bant hums unsurely. Siri shakes her head. Luminara purses her lips.

“Jedi and Mandos don’t have good working relationship, Obi,” Reeft points out carefully before Siri can speak up. “Galidran….”

“S’not fair, too, we paying for some other people’s mistakes,” Garen grumbles half-heartedly.

Bant nudges at his extended feet with her own. “They’re all dead, Ren. Only Dooku left, and Vosa, and we don’t know where Vosa is. So the reparation’s left to us, and… well, they need the help, anyway. Jedi got their family members killed mistakenly, and we’re Jedi….”

So the planning starts, with every detail Obi-Wan can offer about Mando culture, symbolism and factions scrutinised and put into the mission briefing.

A few other, trusted, sympathetic padawans and young knights end up being involved, especially in repairing and preparing the abandoned lower levels for discreet travel and habitation.

Master T’ra and Master Nikka and Master Plo and Knight Agen and Master Tholme – Master T’ra’s former padawans and friend, respectively, and incidentally or not – end up being involved, too, especially in going out and searching for the needy Mandos they mean to shelter while they just happen to conduct other missions.

And, in all that, Obi-Wan finds himself gawping or spluttering or both more often than not.

Because the situation is entirely out of his control, and he doesn’t even know what to feel about it.

But, at least, Sinas will get what they wish…?

Chapter Text

The High Council is displeased about Master Qui-Gon’s absence from the temple without Obi-Wan.

Apparently, the mission Master Qui-Gon undertook alone so recently was supposed to have been undertaken by a master and a padawan.

So now the High Council would like to assign Master Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan a mission together. Far away from the Core. With an uncertain duration.

While the masters and knights and padawans sympathetic towards Obi-Wan’s little clan are out on their own missions.

Which are coincidentally lengthened in search of stranded and struggling True Mandalorians.

So Obi-Wan can’t ask them to babysit his little hellions. For a long time.

And nobody else seems to wish or be able to do so – to keep the children well-fed and well-engaged in the temple, that is, although the crèchemasters have agreed to involve his charges in their own charges’ non-Force-related activities during the day.

And the children are afraid that his absence will see them dumped into the overworked hands of Galactic Juvenile Services. Perhaps even separated in the process, although the crèchemasters he is entrusting their oversight if not full care of to promise otherwise.

And, on top of it all, Master Qui-Gon is in a snit about the High Council’s demand for him to undertake a mission with his padawan. And he expresses it to Obi-Wan. With sharp silences that makes the miserable junior padawan feel all clammy and uncertain and afraid inside. Which only makes the master even more displeased about him. And it, in turn…. Well, it is a particularly painful vicious circle, in short, and Obi-Wan longs to escape it.

Even though he has to leave his charges home alone in the process.

Even though the mission Master Qui-Gon chooses turns out to be aiding a beleaguered species against an invading species that have been killing everyone from the former species from the oldest to the youngest.

Obi-Wan has a bad, bad feeling about this. Somehow, it feels so similar to Galidran. And he cannot tell Master Qui-Gon this. Not at this time, at least. Because Master Qui-Gon severely dislikes the practise of leaning towards the Unifying Force, especially when it is his padawan that does it.

He does tell the knights sent along in the mission, though. And he tells his master when the latter is calmer, while they travel along in hyperspace.

And none believe him.

Not new, this, and already expected. But still.

Worse, with this notion in mind, meditating and studying his courseload are almost beyond him.

And worst, Master Qui-Gon never asks even once about either of the two – to him, or to any of the knights he has chosen to bunk with.

This feels even worse than the weeks after he returned from Melida/Daan, during his probation, when Master Qui-Gon reluctantly took him back as a padawan. And the idea-dread-shadow of this task force going into yet another bloody misunderstanding only exacerbates it even further.

*

The yam’rii are who asked for the Jedi’s help. They are tall. Even taller than Master Qui-Gon. And possessed of four bladed arms each. Which makes Obi-Wan wonder if the armour he wears under his robes will be able to protect him should the worst happen.

It is a fleeting thought, during the introduction. And then Obi-Wan and most of the knights are excused from the meeting the yam’rii hold with Master Qui-Gon and Knight Kari – former and only padawan of Master Drallig the Battlemaster – who acts as Master Qui-Gon’s second in command of the task force.

Obi-Wan really tries not to envy Knight Kari their position, as it is usually to be filled by the leading master’s padawan, but it is hard.

He tries to distract himself by snooping round the building the meeting is held in while the knights watch the perimeters. He wears his full armour without the robes, in hope that his snooping would not be related to the Jedi by the yam’rii in attendance should he be found out, and alerts the knights in order not to alarm them before he begins.

Misery-fear-despair-hatred-grief seems to emanate from beneath his armoured boots the lower he goes down, cloaked carefully and tightly in the Force as Quinlan taught him recently – for a prank of all things. But the Force leads him elsewhere for now, when he asks for its guidance to what he should do first, what he should find so Galidran will not happen again.

It leads him to a large, well-stocked kitchen, in which what look like ingredients are laid out on counters, ready for the meal the yam’rii promised to have with the Jedi that are to help them push back the kaleesh invaders.

Obi-Wan is confused.

He sharpens and stretches out his senses in the Force, even as he ducks to hide under the nearest counter that holds three rows of large, peach-coloured eggs.

And, above him, the Force lights up with life.

Sentient life, which holds a different feel in the Force compared to animals or plants, even while unborn… or unhatched.

`Force! Why are there unhatched babies in the kitchen? Where are their parents? Why are they put side by side with animal eggs?`

Bile punches up his throat, pools in his mouth, threatens to escape and fill the inside of his helmet.

He thought that Death Watch kidnapping and brainwashing children was already barbaric. But this….

He creeps back to the door he came in from when a few yam’rii are click-clicking in from the other door. Then he comes in as if for the first time and strikes up a polite conversation with them, including what they will serve in the meal.

He excuses himself afterwards, having layered his Force-presence over the kaleesh eggs the yam’rii have admitted are to be eaten during the meal.

He manages to arrive at the first perimeter line outside of the building before he yanks off his helmet and loses the contents of his stomach.

He is so proud of the restraint.

Chapter Text

Fortunately, the knights believe Obi-Wan this time, when he tells them about the kaleesh unhatched babies the yam’rii have been eating during their important meals. Their shared horror and revulsion are a distracting cloud in their minds, for now, but they believe him. One of the knights is even trying to get to Master Qui-Gon and Knight Kari to inform them of this horrible, horrible finding, also to ask the latters what they should do next.

But the time when the eggs are to be served comes upon them before the messenger returns.

Well, chain of command is important in large, delicate missions like this, Obi-Wan knows, although this is the first Jedi task force he is included in. But timeliness can save or doom any troop in battle, too, and this he knows very well from his time on Melida/Daan. So he takes charge and leads a few of the knights into the kitchen to distract the yam’rii while he scoops up the kaleesh eggs into the robes he has not put back on, which he now fashions as a padded, makeshift bag.

Well, the yam’rii notice their missing most important menu before he and the knights can do anything else but gather on the perimeter, unfortunately. So he takes off on foot in search of the nearest kaleesh camp, with the eggs further protected in the helmet he no longer wears, while the knights try to pretend as if nothing had happened.

He doubts either of them will succeed, both in these impromptu missions and their overarching task, but they still have to try.

*

The kaleesh are… tall. Perhaps as tall as Master Qui-Gon. But not as tall as the yam’rii. Not as naturally weaponised, too.

And they remind Obi-Wan of Bandomeer, of Melida/Daan, of Mandalore.

They are exhausted. They are heartsick. they are desperate. They are angry. And exhaustion-grief-death-fury also clings to their bodies like cocoons of prickly bushes.

And, at first, given his robeless armour, they mistake him for the scout of an invading force either out for the sake of the Mandalorians or the yam’rii.

Their opinions change a little, become more muddled, more confused, though not surprised, when he proffers the helmetful of robe-wrapped eggs to one of their leaders.

Apparently, the Mandalorians as well as their good and bad tendencies are well-known even out here in the Wild Space.

And that includes them not only seeking to save children but also not seeking peaceful solutions to conflicts. Because the leaders – Qymaen jai Sheelal and Ronderu lij Kummar, from the bits and pieces he deduces from their half-Basic, half-Kaleesh conversations with him and the other kaleesh – are practically floored when he proposes that they withdraw their forces and appeal to the Jedi’s help with this evidence of the yam’rii’s atrocities.

He begins to regret wearing his Mandalorian armour in this mission, however comfortable he has increasingly been in it and however much Master T’ra has insisted that he wear it all the time. The connotation just complicates an already complicated matter!

Embarrassment stings, too, when he reclaims his robes and helmet and wears the Jedi garb on top of his armour, as per usual by now, and the kaleesh stare.

Ronderu lij Kummar even remarks, “A Mandalorian and a Jedi in one. I would have never thought it could happen.”

Not that he himself believed it at first, when Master T’ra told him about the sect of Mandalorian Jedi that went underground after the Excision, firstly gathered and shaped by Tarre Vizsla and their triad siblings. But still!

It does somehow open the kaleesh for negotiation, though, at least with him.

*

The building the Jedi were brought to is now a warzone.

And the Jedi are not faring so well.

The blade arms of the yam’rii are lethal, indeed.

There is no time to regroup, let alone to ask for a brief on what happened after the kaleesh eggs were discovered. There is only defence, defence and defence. The kaleesh’s arrival muddles the battlefield for a moment, but it does not take long for the Jedi to notice Obi-Wan among them, to realise that the kaleesh are not there to further slaughter them.

Obi-Wan, robeless once more, slips into the building and under it, reminded of the pall in the Force emanating from beneath the floor. Rudaban dai Soboc, the kaleesh assigned to guard him by Ronderu lij Kummar against all his protestation, follows him down under.

And they find slavery rife there, indeed, as Obi-Wan had suspected even before Qymaen jai Sheelal and Ronderu lij Kummar told him about the slavery, the children eating and… other things.

He is rather… well-acquainted… with slavery, unfortunately.

And, like on Bandomeer, he releases these slaves with relief.

Also with relish, admittedly, but nobody needs to know about this.

And Master Qui-Gon in fact focuses on why Obi-Wan acted rashly and without telling him instead of… other things, once the battle has died down and the yam’rii have been pushed back to their own homeworld, never to conquer and eat their way through neighbouring worlds ever again – or until they chafe too much against the restrictions, really, but Obi-Wan selfishly prays that it will not happen in his generation – those blade arms are horrible!

He tries to focus on his master, on the here-and-now, on his master’s anger-humiliation-betrayal-disappointment instead of the buffetting pain-terror-horror-ferocity-death-glee-satisfaction roiling in the Force all round them, even as he tries to prevent Rudaban from bleeding out after taking one too many blows meant for him. He tries to explain instead of to justify his actions, and insists that he was the one calling the knights to action.

Neither of the two leaders of the kaleesh seem favourable towards Master Qui-Gon, though, somehow. Surprisingly, the knights who seemed to admire his master so during their hyperspace travel on their way here now seem not all right with him, too. And this just adds to the understandable humiliation and betrayal, and Obi-Wan does his best to soothe the man, but it somehow just makes Master Qui-Gon even colder and pricklier towards him, and….

Well, he is thankful of his full armour, right now, because it hides his facial expressions from the outside world and muffles his Force-presence, and none among the Jedi and kaleesh seem to be able to read the body language of someone in armour that well, so he can… just… break.

That battle was finished and won. But this battle has just begun, has just ambushed him, and he is not sure if he can win it.

If he even wants to win it.

Chapter Text

Five out of the twenty Jedi sent in this mission died in the battle and afterwards for lack of adequate medical care. The rest suffer from mild to severe injuries, mostly from cuts and severe exhaustion.

Obi-Wan attends the funeral pyres flanked by Qymaen jai Sheelal and Ronderu lij Kummar.

Master Qui-Gon officiates the funeral, then retreats to their ship without a word, without even a look at his padawan or any acknowledgement in their fraying bond.

And Obi-Wan breaks all over again.

He bets he will no longer be a padawan once they return to Coruscant and come before the High Council for their report, and not because he is suddenly, absurdly knighted.

And yet, when both leaders of Kalee offer to foster him until at least the Coruscanti first age of majority at eighteen, if he would not accept a permanent arrangement, he demurs.

“There are five children waiting for me back home,” he explains with a small but genuine smile when Ronderu lij Kummar – “Call me Ukka, child.” – asks why. “They… adopted me. As a parent. I am still too young, far too young, but they want me, they need me, and… well.” He shrugs helplessly.

It is not his only reason. It is just the most apparent to him and perhaps also to everyone else, and the most that he can accept for now.

And, to that, both warlords – “khagan,” in Kaleesh – chuckle with… fond amusement? And a convolescing Rudaban, whom he is visiting, who is no longer able to speak, the kaleesh’s vocal cords having failed to survive the deep slash dealt from his throat to his chest, squeezes his hand warmly.

“You are a kind soul, little one.” Qymaen jai sheelal, who likewise insisted that Obi-Wan call him “Urra,” squeezes the opposite shoulder just as warmly, then drags Obi-Wan into a tight hug. “Do not let anybody tell you otherwise.”

*

For the five Jedi souls lost on Kalee, the kaleesh send five of their own people to stay with the Jedi.

Well, to stay with Obi-Wan, actually, to be exact, which endears him even less to Master Qui-Gon and amuses the surviving knights.

Rudaban is determined to continue guarding Obi-Wan, even to the point of becoming a Jedi in order to understand him better and be a better companion for him. With him come two orphaned children who are enamoured of seeing the greater galaxy and being the children of the saviour.

All of them are Force-sensitives. And, in order to provide care for them for as long as they need as well as to provide an updated profile on the kaleesh in the Jedi database, a mated pair of equally Force-sensitive kaleesh have agreed to go with them.

“Rukh would’ve loved this,” Knight Alenta the mirialan smiles bittersweetly after introductions are had all round on the hold of their ship on the way back to Coruscant.

“They’re all in a better place now,” Knight Shllky the harch click-hisses a sigh, her own expression of sentimentality more bitter than sweet. “This was almost the repeat of Galidran. What is next?”

“You shouldn’t have asked that, Kiki,” Knight Grawkra the wookiee groans. “You know better.”

Knight Glon the rodian scoffs. “How much you’d bet about other missions getting shitty info?” he challenges the room. “We can’t be the only one if there are already two like this – this big mess – in the span of just a few years.”

“Hush! There’s a kid here!” Knight Alenta hisses, and Knight Glon scoffs again.

“Not your first big mess huh, kid?” The rodian stares expectantly at Obi-Wan, who is seated flanked by Rudaban and Knight Kari and piled on by his two self-claimed kaleesh children.

The room gets a silent shake of the junior padawan’s head, for that. Then he busies himself with teasing the two young-but-not-so-small children, who are still vying for prime sitting spot on his limited lapspace, with the ends of the two scarves Ukka and Urra plucked from their respective headgears and put round his neck before he departed Kalee with the others.

He doesn’t want to talk about the battles he previously experienced. Not at all. Especially not now, when loss and grief yet linger among them, when the most recent battle still feels all too fresh.

This was not his first battle or life-or-death hardship, yes. This is not even the third of those. But it has never been easy, each time. Every experience was different.

And he dreads the day in which it all feels like an ordinary day in his life.

Chapter Text

The High Council is in full attendance, this time, and the mission conductors plus associated individuals are to report to the chamber directly, except for those who need immediate medical assistance.

Master Qui-Gon takes point, as the head of the mission. Obi-Wan stands slightly behind him and to his right, as is proper for a padawan.

As of now, though, the only signs that Obi-Wan is at all a padawan are his braid, his stance, his positioning, his robes, and the barest sliver of a long-frayed, long-faded training bond.

The ten other surviving-without-critical-injuries Jedi from the mission are arrayed behind them, while the kaleesh are positioned right behind Obi-Wan – as is proper, they insisted when Obi-Wan instructed them on the protocol, soon before they reached Coruscant.

The eyes and Force-presences of the High Councillors roam over them all, then, paying special attention to their kaleesh guests, Master Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. But soon their attention is wholely focused on Obi-Wan.

And Obi-Wan has just realised that he is garbed in full Mandalorian armour in addition to his padawan robes, and the scarves from Ukka and Urra are twisted together round his neck like a second padawan braid.

He has been too used to – too comfortable with – wearing this eclectic combination of clothes during the trip here, it seems.

And the High Council is displeased about it.

`Shavit.`

He removes his helmet, then bows in apology to the council with the said helmet tucked under his arm in a by-now-familiar move, and wafts embarrassment-respect-apology in the Force towards them for good measure.

He can feel Master Qui-Gon’s displeased glare scorching the side of his helmet-flattened hair, but there is nothing to be felt through their bond.

There has been nothing to be felt from their bond since Master Qui-Gon’s solo mission, indeed, and Obi-Wan tries  – always tries – not to be too uneasy about it.

He listens to the report Master Qui-Gon gives, and tries not to let his mind wander to how his little charges may have been faring all this while. He tries not to interject with some missing details every so often, given how riled up Master Qui-Gon is. He tries not to shrink back and down into himself, too, when his master castigates his “willful disobedience” and “mission-endangering, life-costing decision not meant to be made by a junior padawan” in front of the High Council.

He cannot hold back his reaction for anything in the universe, however, when Master Qui-Gon ends the mission report with, “Given everything that has transpired from the beginning of our partnership until this mission, I came to the realisation that I can no longer teach Obi-Wan Kenobi. Masters, I come today in front of you to declare the annulment of our relationship as master and padawan learner,” and, just so, the last slivers of their bond vanish, cut out from one side, the side of his former master.

His helmet slips from his lax arm and falls onto the floor with the clang of beskar on stone, loud in his suddenly ringing ears, echoing in his suddenly distant mind.

Something – someone – supports him from behind. Not human. But Force-sensitive. Very Force-sensitive. And very angry.

He can feel this one, but not… someone else. Someone else that he should have been able to feel. Someone else that should have been in this one’s place.

He tries to open his mouth and speak, defend himself, defend others, defend….

`What am I defending? Who?`

Everything feels so weak, so distant, so numb, so blurry, so cold, so clammy.

Someone jostles him, urgently. The physical action and the impression in the Force for this move match with each other. Neat. He would have told whoever-that-is so, if he can, or maybe he does. He doesn’t know. He can’t know.

He doesn’t want to know, too. There is something horrible in the knowing, and he doesn’t want to know.

Upset young presences crowd him, poke at him, pull at him. He tries to cradle them – softly, softly, softly. He doesn’t want to hurt them. he doesn’t want to be hurt, too. But he hurts, somewhere, and he can’t run away from it. He doesn’t want to run away from the young ones, though! And he tells them just that, or at least he thinks he does. Everything is just so numb, so distant, so foggy, so cold, so clammy, so empty.

He is ushered… somewhere. He goes. Because everyone known as “good” deep, deep, deep, deep in his psyche goes with him. He resists, though, when someone else tries to peel his clothes away, tries to get him horizontal on something rather soft, tries to get everyone else to go away, tries to get him to sleep via the Force.

`I can’t! I won’t! no! Too dangerous!`

He struggles, he thinks, or maybe he just flops about. He feels so numb, so distant, so weak, so cold, so empty.

And then, he feels nothing.

Chapter Text

When Obi-Wan wakes up, the first thing he notices is how silent everything feels in the surface but roiling underneath. And there are a lot of presences nearby. Safe presences, not just familiar.

Safe. It’s the most important aspect of whatever this is, although he doesn’t remember why. Perhaps not yet.

And one or more is… are?… even so near to him.

There are comfortable pressures at his either side, in fact: one solid while the other formed by a few smaller pressures. It reminds him sweetly, warmly of his crèchedays, when all the crèchelings would pile on top of one another – and, oftentimes, on their obliging crèchemaster – for comfort, for play, for reading time, for meditation – for practically everything they could use the excuse for, really.

It is sad and very ironic that, the older they become, they are discouraged from doing so. Such practise is deemed overly immature and provoking attachments that will be hard to detangle, that will only endanger them later in their separate services as Jedi or Corpspeople.

And this, in turn, reminds him of those who are most vocal about such rules… and what happened in the High Council Chamber so recently… or was it just a nightmare? Or a vision of what might come?

`Oh, Force, please let it be a dream!`

His heart begins to thunder against his ribcage, harder and harder, faster and faster, without his conscious knowledge of just why.

And, as if in response… or perhaps it is, a strong, mature Force-presence with incongruously flimsy shields reaches clumsily towards him, entangles itself with him, gives him a mental embrace. This is… not the first time whoever-that-is does this, he feels – he knows, deep in his mind. It is familiar, even comforting, safe.

At the same time, a large, rough-skinned hand with thick, clawed fingers dwarves and squeezes his own hand, and he clings to it.

`Warm. Safe. Protected. Sheltered. Cared for. Loved. Not alone. Home,` both actions tell him. And Obi-Wan relaxes without his conscious mind’s say-so.

`Sleep?` the other one offers, unsure of what next to do but wholeheartedly hoping it will be the best for Obi-Wan.

It’s… rather new, coming from an adult, albeit not a quite mature one. A senior padawan? A junior knight? But… with those flimsy shields…?

All the same, Obi-Wan leans into the other, and it hugs him. Both mentally and physically.

`Humanoid,` is the first physical aspect of the other that he notices, triggered by this action, followed by, `Tall, large,` and, when his conscious mind registers the other’s scent and his sluggish hand moves across the other’s, `Reptilian.`

`Rudaban,` the other joins in with warm amusement, completing the observation for him.

And… `Oh.` It takes a while to connect the name with the person and the sense of safe familiarity and… `Oh!` The realisation is unpleasant when it at last registers.

Nothing is quite clear, perhaps not just yet, and perhaps his mind in fact seeks to protect itself by obscuring his memory of the last events that have seen him this wrecked, but now he notices and remembers that he is no longer a padawan, and not because he has been somehow knighted or lost his master to death or the Dark Side.

Just like he morbidly predicted while still on Kalee. But the reality of it is far more horrible than any prediction could be.

There is no training bond in his mind. There is no Master Qui-Gon waiting nearby or anywhere in the greater vicinity of where he is. Master Qui-Gon is instead far, far away, the man’s mind at once in turmoil and soothed by the Living Force.

`The Room of a Thousand Fountains,` Obi-Wan realises. `He isn’t here. he is there. He’s been there, not here.`

Whatever permutation of the sentence he can come up with, none of them is swallowable by his mind, and he finds himself freaking out once more.

`I’m no longer a padawan. What are they going to do to me now? Surely I’m too old to be sent to the Corps? Are they going to kick me out of the Order? What about the children?`

And, just so, another realisation hits him.

`The children! And I got two more, no? oh, Force, what can I do now? What should I do first? What about the refugees? Did everyone get the refugees here already? Oh, Force!`

He wriggles, struggles, tries to sit up, to stand, to move. But Rudaban restrains him from one side, and… the children?… do it from the other side and… on top of him?

`Stay,` the Kaleesh implores through a jumble of sensations and concepts. `Calm. Still. Safe. Home. Comfortable. Accompanied. Family. See. Truth.`

Obi-Wan tries to oblige him, tries to still himself and his mind, tries to calm down, tries to reach out.

And he succeeds, after numerous attempts.

And he is indeed surrounded by the children and Rudaban on a pile of matresses down in the main room of his little clan’s little dorm, as he can see – truly see – now. And a cluster of minds are gathered outside, the source of most of the roiling emotions hidden under the artificial silence he firstly noticed.

And Master T’ra is there, and reaching out back to him, and assures him that she will deal with the High Council and Qui-Gon Jinn, and she will not lack volunteers among the general populace of the temple since this is the third of three padawans that Master Qui-Gon repudiated, and it’s Obi-Wan who has to calm her down, hold her back, point out that they cannot afford antagonising the High Council or make even more ripples than before at this point.

Still, as un-Jedi-like as it is, it’s awesome to be defended so fiercely, and Obi-Wan openly basks in it, somewhat without his own conscious mind’s permission.

It’s just… awesome.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan’s status in the Jedi Order is in limbo again. For the third time in just as many years of his padawanship.

The first time, he washed out but then became a padawan. The second time, he left the Order under duress but returned as a padawan after a period of probation. But there is no Qui-Gon Jinn to take or retake him as a padawan this time.

Still, it is not a reason to stop studying, to stop learning, to stop doing his best.

It should not be a reason to do so, in any case, and he is finding it so hard to avoid this pitfall, this time.

There is no Qui-Gon Jinn to take or retake him as a padawan, this time.

Ironically, it is the children that push him to keep his routine as if nothing happened, albeit indirectly. They need him as a good example, after all, and they need him calm, because they – like the Kaleesh, like Master T’ra, like his friends, like his comrades in the Kalee mission – are figuratively sabre-happy regarding Master Qui-Gon’s repudiation of him.

So he goes to class, studies, takes notes, does his homework, and tries to unhear the opinions and rumours about him, to unsee the glances and weird expressions his classmates and teachers and random passers-by give him, to unfeel the complicated emotions many let out when their presences brush against each other before such reactions can be hidden away.

He helps the children with their coursework, as well, when he can, just as per usual. And now he also helps Rudaban, Bentilar and Kiska – the kaleesh adults who came with him here along with the twin little ones who somehow insist to call him Urra – learn more about the Force the Jedi way and some of what laypeople would call “Force-tricks.”

Busywork keeps him from acutely noticing the lack of a training bond in his mind.

Most of the time, anyway.

His sleep and eating habbits are awefully neglected, people from Master T’ra to the twins Qiki and Qika claim, but this routine keeps him going otherwise, so why not?

And then, one day after who knows how long, Shna peeks into his classwork, just like she and others often do for various reasons, and comments with bemused surprise, “Oh, I never thought the Jedi are slaves, too.”

Obi-Wan stares bemusedly back at her, entirely caught off guard, and fails to rescue his essay about the impact of the Ruusan Reformation on the Jedi Order from Rudaban’s grabby hands in the process.

If he had a conventional padawanship, he would have taken and passed this theory-based class – the Recent History of the Jedi Order – at the start of it. But he has flunked it twice because of lack of time to do the essays, lack of access to his lesson modules during various missions, and Master qui-Gon’s lack of patience for such a “useless” class. Still, in both times, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Certainly nowhere near a conclusion that the Jedi are slaves!

“Shna, this is not–,” he begins, as patiently as he can make it without sounding condescending, but his mouth shuts up before he can finish.

Because rage and disgust are suddenly pouring out of Rudaban, who has apparently been speed-reading the essay and somehow come to the same conclusion as the suddenly fretful and worried Shna. And it pulls not only the other kaleesh to the study desk Obi-Wan has installed at one corner of the main space of the dorm but also a newly arrived Master T’ra and Quinlan and Garen.

And, while Quinlan and Garen just as fretfully interrogate Rudaban on what he has just found, Master T’ra spies the title of Obi-Wan’s essay and murmurs, “Oh.”

It is an awefully understanding sound.

“Master T’ra, you aren’t helping,” Obi-Wan complains plaintively. He just wants to finish this essay well and submit it in time! Other possible ramifications can wait for later! The reformations happened nearly a millennium ago, anyway!

But then he has to run after Rudaban, who still holds his essay captive, and he is just too late to prevent the latter from mailing a copy of it to… somewhere, once they have reached the comm centre.

And then Reeft – the mean slicer pretending to be a meek and forgetable archives padawan – notifies him that Kalee is somehow no longer seeking to join the Republic, based on the regular senate report the dresselian has just peeked into.

Chapter Text

Master T’ra brings Obi-Wan to the archives and to Master Nu, when he keeps pleading to understand why Shna thinks the Jedi are slaves and why Rudaban is so offended after reading the essay.

Half of him wishes he never persisted when Master Nu fishes an old essay for this class out of the archives, blurs the name of the writer, and bids him to read it, claiming that this is the best of all the essays that she has ever read about the topic.

The Jedi Order is an entity subject to the Republic since the Reformation. The Order can no longer receive gifts or donations, therefore, especially from outside of the Republic, so it depends only on the pithy stipend the Republic gives that is entirely dependent on the number of missions the Jedi have accomplished successfully. The missions are all assigned and briefed by the Republic, as well, except for Search missions, with additional mission-related work taken out of the stipend without any reimbursement, and proven evidence of any mission undertaken outside of this perimeter is punished with penalty that include less stipend. And, in all the missions, the Jedi are only allowed to defend others, defending themselves only as long as it will contribute to this requirement. No making sure Jedi killers will not walk free to kill more Jedi. No retrieving Jedi lost to slavery during missions. No rejecting Senate-assigned missions, except by the excuse of inavailability of mission conductors, which must be backed up by evidence, namely the mission roster and internal assignment roster and currentmost internal sensus.

And, at the bottom of it, this blunt, blunt essay also refers to the reports about the sharply declining number of the Jedi since the Reformation, the number of Jedi lost in Senate-assigned missions that turned bloody, and the far fewer parents and guardians agreeing to part with their Force-sensitive children to be raised as Jedi.

And the Jedi have been saying, “We serve the Force through the Republic,” “It’s the will of the Force,” and the like, and even those who have not been raised in the temple know about these, including Obi-Wan’s first five charges and the kaleesh.

Calas’ecura called the Jedi “chain-blind,” after Shna had explained why she could say Jedi are slaves by just reading Obi-Wan’s essay once.

“You must understand the words in the bond of sale so you can someday buy your freedom or the freedom of your loved ones without being cheated by the masters,” she said, and it was horrifying at that time. But this essay – delving far deeper than his, posing the facts in far blunter a language and structure as well – is even more so.

But he knows ignorance will not save him – will not save the Jedi, in the long run, he thinks-believes-dreads – this time, so he reads, and takes notes, and makes copies by Master Nu’s permission, and disseminates it to his friends and former mission comrades.

He discusses it with Master T’ra, after doing so with the aforementioned recipients.

And, perhaps blasphemously regarding the current government of the Order, he then asks her how the Jedi as a people can break the pact.

“The Kalee mission – the Senate didn’t give a clear briefing for that, Master, and it almost ended in a disaster,” he implores when his former crèchemaster points out that Senate mandate provides accountability to the Order, as a clear bid for devil’s advocate. “How many other missions would – or did – end up that way? is it why there’s so much empty space in the temple?”

She gives him a grim, wan smile when he mentions the other missions that may have gone disastrously, and the mop of red hair on his head stands on end when his mind connects the dots.

“Galidran,” he whispers, and she gives him a tiny nod.

He looks away, swallows, grits his teeth.

This is even more of a reason to separate the Jedi Order from the Senate.

And he tells her so.

And what she says is, “We cannot make people want something, Ob’ika.”

On that heavy note, he looks away, excuses himself, and retreats from the room.

It is just his luck, really, that he passes by damned Aalto – that presence, if muffled by Temple Guard armour, is unmistakable – on the hallway, and the latter offers him neither challenge nor taunt, not like during their initiate years barely three years ago, when Bruck still lived.

He wants to fight, just fight, and Aalto offers him none.

An unsure nod of greeting is in the offering, instead, and Obi-Wan feels guilty seeing that.

A Jedi should not have sought out violence for any reason, in any way.

`Then again, I am never a good Jedi, am I?`

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan is drawn out of wallowing about Master Jinn’s repudiation of him and fretting about the fate of the Jedi Order quite faithfully by his charges and friends, also – surprisingly – by Master T’ra and her own padawans and friends.

Master T’ra has enrolled him in a mind-healing programme, too, by ways he doesn’t really care to know about, so he has other, more immediate matters to concern himself with. Trying to duck out of the painful, painful, painful sessions has met with failure, each time, and he is ever in the works to escape them, although he daren’t say anything but professing his gratitude whenever Master T’ra or any of her circles asks.

He doesn’t want to be seen as ungrateful. He doesn’t want to be ungrateful. But the Jedi mind-healer only reminds him of his failures, of Master Jinn’s miscommunications and disappointments with him throughout the years, of Master Yoda sending him away to Bandomeer a few years ago, of his own uncertain status within the Jedi Order nowadays, of the reproachful glances not a few padawans and young knights and a couple of masters send him, of how he had to leave his charges at loose ends for weeks during the last, almost disastrous mission because the temple would rather give them to an orphanage and they refused, and it is not the fault of the kind, kind, kind mirialan that has been trying to help him heal mentally and emotionally.

And he cracks, at last, when Luminara corners him at the crèches one morning, just as he dumps Sinas, Calas’ecura, Catch, Shna, Su and the twins Qiki and Qika there under the happy supervision of Rudaban, Bentilar and Kiska.

She looks rather like Master Unela the mind-healer, at a glance, and he has just been from a session with the latter, which addressed how uncomfortable he is still with his own healer.

And, “Then,” his crèchemate and clanmate and friend says carefully at the end of the short but heartfelt tirade, after a pause of thought, “you should find a healer outside of the Jedi Order. I am sure Healer Unela would not want you torturing yourself with her presence, since you can’t help it. she might even know someone who can help you, or at least the institution. Or you can ask somebody else, so you won’t be connected to her and the Order at all.”

He is struck dumb by it for a while. In fact, he stirs only when Rudaban sends him a mental poke, concerned with the spiking turmoil in his mind and inquiring if he needs a rescue.

`I am not alone. Not all Jedi are disappointed with me. Lulu got me good suggestions, too,` he reminds himself. Then he nods at his two friends, farewells them, and makes a beeline to the Room of a Thousand Fountains where Master T’ra is stirring up from her nap under the sun – and how preoccupied has he been that he never noticed the Force-bond forming between the two of them!

Fortunately, she is easy to find, and she listens closely to his request and the reason for the said request.

She even approves the request, and promises to bring it to the Circle of Healers and the High Council.

She will even fight for it if need be.

Only, she doesn’t stop just there.

She bids him to meditate jointly with her, and he is nervous, but he complies. She has been so kind to him, after all, and there is a naturally occurring Force-bond between them now, somehow, and the children he is responsible for are still being entertained in the crèches, and his tasks and assignments for the day can wait.

It helps, very much, that she waits for him to reach out to her in the Force, instead of reaching out to him herself.

Their minds meld, slowly but surely, and Obi-Wan explores the edges of hers like a curious youngling, and she lets him. She even cradles him within her own presence, like when he was a crècheling of hers indeed.

He revels in it.

She revels in him.

They exist together within the Force, buoyed in its currents. And, slowly but surely, the undemanding, unconditional companionship settles him.

He misses this.

He rarely did this with Master Jinn. They were always too busy with their missions. And, given how they firstly and secondly and thirdly met, there was some heavy emotional baggage tied to their interactions without or within the Force. But Master T’ra was his crèchemaster, and fond feelings towards one’s crèchemaster from that formative period usually linger till long after, and he is not an exception to this.

He begins to love this, in fact, settling deeper within the Force, within the embrace of her presence.

And then, before he can ask her to help him be not so leery of his own family that is the Jedi Order, she – tentatively! – asks him, `Obi, you know me, you have known my family for some time, you have known whom I usually interact with, and I have few responsibilities now. I hope I will be able to pay due attention to you. So, would you like to be my child? Or at least let me help you study till you achieve knighthood?`

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan said yes to the padawanship. And it’s surprising – no, shocking – how much having a master once more affects his mood.

He feels oddly lighter and freer, being bound to yet another adult again like this, although he himself is nearly an adult in Core Space and already a few years an adult in Mandalorian standard.

He tells his Jedi mind-healer this in their last session before he switches healers, somehow to their genuine delight. Just as bafflingly, he also tells his crèchedays friends, and they celebrate, roping his newer friends and acquaintances into a very raucous party down in one of the less used training salles.

He never tells anybody about Master T’ra’s other offer, however.

Especially not the fact that he not only did not say yes to it, but also never said no.

And Master T’ra even said that the offer will be open forever to him.

He is tempted, so very tempted, that is why, but he can’t afford more scrutiny or even censure falling on him, let alone on Master T’ra, his beloved crèchemaster who has helped him and his charges so very much. Things might be different if and only after he is a knight for a few years, but not now, not just yet, not when the situation is still delicate and raw, not when his status is still so new and tentative.

Instead of dwelling on it, he busies himself with his course load, and his physical training that now somehow includes weapons not just lightsabres, and his tagalongs, and playing – of all things! – with his new master and padawan siblings, and minding the crèches, and even his mind-healing sessions with the new non-Jedi mind-healer – the “trauma counsellor” – Master T’ra has sourced out for him. He also jumps eagerly into helping finish setting up a few of the lower levels for possibly long-term habitation of Mandalorian refugees, as a few families are due to trickle in very soon.

Well, admittedly, this also gives him the benefit of not having to roam the upper levels of the temple under all the scrutiny, gossip and critique of not only his agemates and younger, and avoiding Master Jinn who is miraculously also stuck in temple for some reason, but it’s just the bonus, really.

It’s somehow far better – far easier, far less hurtful – to face the doubt and suspicion of Mandalorian families, when they do begin to trickle in, than to face the same of the Jedi – his own family.

Having spent a very intense, very immersive year in Mandalorian Space, and having to take care of a very opinionated Mandalorian child plus their adopted siblings since then, Obi-Wan finds them much more familiar and understandable, too, lately.

It doesn’t hurt – in this matter, at least – that Sinas successfully goads him into a few sparring matches with the most doubtful and daring of the newcomers once they are set up in their new accommodations, purportedly to prove himself worthy of his armour and of being a representative of their host. And he does prove himself, although this doesn’t mean that he always wins, and does mean he gets to relive a few of his worst memories while in the run with satine not so long ago.

And then he can’t say to which – Mandalorian – clan he belongs, despite the fact that Sinas loudly, firmly, confidently claims that they and their siblings are his child. And, with that, offers of adoption flood him, petering out only when he declares that he is happily apprenticed to Master T’ra, and such relationship is oftentimes similar to a parental one to cultures outside of the Jedi.

It skirts uncomfortably close to the matter he tries not to think about at all since Master T’ra spoke it. but at least most of the would-be adopters back away, however reluctantly, and the rest fall into trying to negotiate custody of him with – a very calm, very amused, very unmoved – Master T’ra instead of pestering him directly.

Only, Kiska and Bentilar the Kaleesh, whom Obi-Wan privately dubs “Aunt” and “Uncle” for their – fussy – care of not just the children but also Obi-Wan himself, then demand that they, as representatives of Obi-Wan’s Kaleesh adoptive parents, a purported fact that has escaped Obi-Wan entirely all this while, are included in the negotiation.

Obi-Wan feels very much like an ugly but antique item being fought on in a fierce bidding war in an unexpected auxion.

And, worse, the children cheer on them all.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan escapes the… custody battle – `My! What a holonovela my life is becoming!` – by sneaking further downwards in the temple. And, of course, wherever he goes, Rudaban goes with him. He is just thankful that the children are too distracted spectating the war for adoption happening in the communal room for the Mandos.

He is doubly thankful of it when, the further they dive, the closer Rudaban walks behind him, and the tenser and more distracted the kaleesh becomes. Quite a tripping hazard, those feet! And what a baffling distraction! Obi-Wan has no idea how such a courageous, even bold warrior can be fearful of poorly lit, disused residential areas, meditation chambers and training salles.

And, when they wander even lower, the kaleesh grips the back of Obi-Wan’s robes, too.

Not long after, he even halts entirely, jerking Obi-Wan likewise to a stop and choking the latter with his own robes.

“Can’t you feel it? The air is so cold and dark and cloying here,” Rudaban signs franticly when Obi-Wan turns round the best he can and glares up at the nervous kaleesh.

The younger Force-sensitive huffs out a sigh and shakes his head, even as he pries the kaleesh’ thick, clawed fingers gently out of the back of his robes. “No. I just feel your fear. And… well, these levels haven’t been maintained in a while, I guess, so the lighting and ventilation are poor.”

And, indeed, the lower they go, the poorer the air and lighting qualities are. Case in point, they are standing beside the only – dim and flickering – light source for possibly tens of metres out, given the deep shadows cast outside of its illumination. And the air here does feel pretty stale.

Only, Rudaban seems to mean the Dark instead of the darkness of the physical illumination of this place, and also the purported coldness of that side of the Force instead of the physical temperature this far down on Coruscant.

And, judging by how long Rudaban has been doing this, the sense of danger must have started blaring so close to the brand-new Mandalorian settlement, which is practically downstairs from the occupied temple, whose lowest levels are for the archival vaults, seige bunkers and storerooms…

…And the crèches.

*

Prying Bentilar and Kiska away from their passionate defence of Kaleesh’s right to Obi-Wan is, to Obi-Wan himself, one of his greatest feats of diplomatic negotiation.

It is worth all the effort, though, to prove what Rudaban feels down in the centuries-disused levels of the temple.

And prove it they do, by immediately dragging Obi-Wan back up to “safer spaces” and extracting his vow that he will never venture down there without adequate backup and without telling all his guardians that he is going to do so.

And, of course, the commotion – resulting from the couple dragging their very reluctant, very imploring, very confused charge up from the lower levels as well as the fierce haggling preceding the vow – attracts attention, from Jedi and Mando’ad’e alike.

Nosy peoples, all.

Fortunately, Obi-Wan can redirect the attention to Master T’ra, who is not only his master but also one of the oldest beings living in this temple from what he knows.

But unfortunately, she admits that the temple sits on a Force-nexus that was once corrupted by the Sith.

Obi-Wan shudders.

`I was approaching a former Sith site. The crèches are down here. the Mando’ad’e are down here. I was dragging three people to a Sith site. The nexus under the temple was once of the Dark, or perhaps corrupted from neutrality. And the Mando’ad’e’ have just arrived.`

Nothing in his own jumbled summary is good.

He doesn’t feel good.

“I tried to point this out, centuries ago, just before the reformations were ratified. This temple was meant to be just a meeting point for those who have missions in the Core and Inner Rim, and it had been like that for millennia,” Master T’ra continues, even as he burrows into her arms, armour and all, regardless of how many eyes are on him… and there are many of them, given the – halted and hopefully forgotten – verbal battle. “But the Republic wants us – all of us – near at hand, here, since it means a better oversight on us. We only managed to bargain for four of the seven corps. The Diplomatic and Defence Corps must remain here, while the Auxiliary Corps was disbanded and absorbed into the others or replaced by non-Jedi personnel.”

Nothing in that first-hand exposition is good, stated or implied, and everyone but the children seems to get it, judging by how grim and agitated the Force is growing round them all.

And Obi-Wan can only think, numbly, `Well, at least they’re not all unpacked yet?`

Chapter Text

It’s very rare that the surviving individuals of Obi-Wan’s generation of Clan Shriek-Hawk can meet with each other, nowadays, for various reasons. And now they do, they make time, even Aalto, because Obi-Wan shamelessly exploits all his persuasive tools to get them together. Oh, and he’s hyjacked and sealed off one of the better but less known meditation rooms for this.

It’s for a very good reason, anyway.

Well, the Sith shrine under the temple is not good. But it’s good that it’s found now. And they must be in the right frame of mind and think of how to mitigate the damage, especially since the site seems to have not been purified since at least some time ago.

And Clan Shriek-Hawk is made up of good thinkers, if Obi-Wan would say so himself. it’s how the initiates were chosen for the clan, have been for centuries: They were all free-spirited, boldly curious, highly creative little blighters. Even the quietest, most followerish of the bunch that is Aalto.

Only, maybe, perhaps, probably, he ought to have gone slower with his revelation….

*

The studious intensity after the storm of the minds and voices and gestures that saw them thrown out by their neighbours is jarring. But Obi-Wan would take it, is taking it, because they’re now acting instead of reacting.

They’re even planning how to move the Order away from this timebomb of a temple, hence the many, many, many datapads strewn in one of the few better equipped discussion rooms at the archives, and the weighted silence, and the sharp focus.

And also the presence of the archives’ overlady, one Master Madame Jocasta Nu, whom Aalto so discreetly aproached and cautiously felt out when they had firstly come here… some time ago.

Master T’ra is here as well, even, now, after sending Obi-Wan’s little charges to bed, to be watched over by Kiska and Bentilar. With her are a grumpy Rudaban who insists for the umpteenth time that his position is to guard Obi-Wan’s back physically as well as in other ways, who also represents his people’s stake in this venture, Enya Awaud as representative of the Mandalorian refugees, Knight Alenta as representative of the surviving knights who went to Kalee with Obi-Wan and his former master, who are by now a solid team on their own, and Master Plo – Master T’ra’s second-eldest surviving former padawans – as representative of the High Council.

And with her also are the voice of the crèchemasters and the first-hand knowledge of many of the fall-back sites the group has been researching, as well as other sites that none thought about and other parts of the Order they also forgot to count in such as the Service Corps.

Well, Madame Nu is not so pleased about Master T’ra being here, everyone can see and hear and feel it. Obi-Wan privately theorises that the Head Archivist is professionally irked that Master T’ra cannot tangibly prove her claims of knowing all those sites, something the former can archive, and personally grumpy of being outshone in her domain and expertise and for forgetting all the differet peoples that have a stake in this talk. But Madame Nu is a master, and she proves it, by… well, by not being a crècheling about it.

And it’s all they need, for now. They can definitely go without drama in the planning stage! There will be plenty of it in the execution, no doubt. After all, for better or for worse, Coruscant has been their home for close to a millennium. And the refugees have just gotten here, too.

*

“I want lots of grass,” Shna peeps up, the bravest Obi-Wan has ever witnessed of her when it comes to personal wishes, when he tells the little ones and their caretakers about the plan, back in their dorm, after… a while.

`And it’s for damned grass,` he grumps inwardly, but lets nothing of it out. He nods encouragingly to her instead, which prompts everyone to speak.

“Animals!”

“Obstacle courses? What we got here are fun!”

“Somewhere far away? Far from depuran?”

“Help people? More friends?”

“We can’t go too far, then.”

“Why don’t we go home?”

“We’re home, silly.”

“No. Kalee!”

“With Urra’s ukkrra.”

“Buir already got Ba’buir T’ra. Why others?”

“More parents is… fun?”

“Ooh! Like all those metal people?”

“They’re Mando’ad’e, stupid!”

“Don’t call me stupid!”

Aaaand the situation devolves from there. And Rudaban guffaws. And Obi-Wan can only bury his face in his hands and groan and beg the Force for help – `Please!`

He’s just so. tired.

Chapter Text

The “Council of Relocation” decides to set new roots on Dantooine.

There are several reasons for that, chief of which is the fact that the temple there is solidly in the Outer Rim and has been abandoned only since the Reformation, through Reformation-enforced centralisation at that instead of sabotage or even destruction, and it has grass, lots of grass, as Obi-Wan emphasised to this unofficial council.

The Kalee Knights – as those knights sharing the harrowing experience of the Kalee mission call themselves now – coordinate their respective missions accordingly, slipping away whenever possible to chip into the work of checking and revamping the temple there. With them go the able-bodied warriors that the Mandalorian families can spare, also Service Corps members that Master T’ra contacted discreetly about this relocation project.

The supplies are admittedly limited. But, well, Obi-Wan and his friends – especially Quinlan – still have their slush funds from their gambling trips when they were bold and carefree senior initiates – they perfected Force-redirection and a few other nifty skills that way! – and they can always fleece more drunks and assorted bad people in casinos and, better yet, less reputable gambling dens.

It’s admittedly so satisfying, too, to teach the knights these useful, useful skills, to know that knights can also learn from padawans.

*

Half of the Mandalorian refugees, plus a handful of the Temple Guards who have slowly but surely befriended them all this while – including Aalto – and also friends-of-friends of the Kalee Knights who are at loose ends but have proverbially sealed lips, are the first residents of the Dantooine temple. And their good reviews of their new home there are what draws the other half of the refugees and even more Jedi to retreat from Coruscant.

Obi-Wan’s little charges enthusiastically help in the packing.

They also help the Kalee Knights coax and cajole and wheedle and pester the elderlies and retired who are friendly towards them to take “a long, fun historical tour” to the Dantooine temple. Su and Catch even bribe them with foot and/or back rubs if they would agree to go, while Shna and Calas’ecura similarly offer to help with other comforts such as fetching heated or cooled compresses and even singing.

Well, Sinas doesn’t quite participate in these rounds, but they keep the kalee twins entertained nearby and occasionally lets themself and/or their littlest, newest siblings be cuddled and petted, according to the knight who happens to be saddled with the task of discreetly convincing the elderlies to move away from Coruscant at the time, so Obi-Wan is not worried about either of the three of them. He instead helps Quinlan and Reeft and Garen swindle money and goods from the disreputables through board and chance games whenever he can, while Siri and Luminara help through… other means, mostly by redirecting the attention of suspicious masters and senior knights from whatever the padawans and a few select knights are doing.

Well, the padawans, select knights, and select masters, seeing as Master Plo and Master Feemor and Master Cin are… well, masters.

*

Moving the crèchelings is so very tricky. Partly because they need so many supplies – too many to be concealed, if their caretakers have to buy and pack and transport everything alone – and partly because the remaining in-the-know adults, even when not a few Temple Guards are thrown in, aren’t enough in number and availability to give care and attention to them during the travel to Dantooine, even if somebody manages to source a ship big enough for the younglings and their caretakers and the supplies and the ship’s original, essential crew.

Obi-Wan and his clanmates fret about this. But, oddly enough, Master T’ra – who convinced the other crèchemasters to move, by herself – is not worried.

It doesn’t take them long to know just why, though.

“Um, are we being invaded?” Reeft’s voice is a few octaves higher than usual when, during one of their rare in-person coordination meetings for this project near the crèche area, and as they move away from their meeting “room” to go fetch Obi-Wan’s tagalongs who have been playing in the crèches, the seven friends spy various unknown individuals clad in Mandalorian armour and Jedi robes trickling into the said crèches.

“So… Master T’ra isn’t the only Mando Jedi out there right now?” Luminara chooses to focus on a different part of this bizarre scene, and her voice is no less squeaky for that.

Obi-Wan frowns. “Are they our ride out?” he wonders aloud, already long desensitised regarding the sight of Mandalorians in full armour nearby.

And Quinlan latches onto his words even as he latches onto the speaker. “Our? Are you and Master T’ra moving out? Without me and Master Tholme?”

Obi-Wan elbows him. “I meant the ride for the crèchelings, stupid. You got to ask Master Tholme yourself about where you’re gonna base yourselves at. Same with everyone else.”

Quinlan huffs and elbows him back.

It soon breaks out into an elbow war, then a full-out wrestling match, and Obi-Wan throws himself wholeheartedly into it.

He is sure the ride and supplies and caretakers for the crèchelings are already secured. So why not celebrate early?

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan, his master, Rudaban, Bentilar, Kiska and his self-claimed children are the last to move away in the silent exodus. An unspeaking Mandalorian – not even a Mandalorian Jedi! – in full armour flies them in a shuttle into orbit from Little Keldabe.

And, in orbit, in the fringes of the traffic to be exact, they are met with a humongous ship. It’s certainly bigger than the Monument, the only large ship Obi-Wan has ever boarded.

And, inside, they are met with Mandalorian after Mandalorian after Mandalorian after Mandalorian. In full armour, in half armour, in quarter armour, without an armour but with the bes’karta part of it pinned on the middle of their shirt, or in a stab-proof vest painted with outlined, coloured, or even colourful bes’karta’se.

“Did Kih’dabe move with us?” he blurts out via the helmet-comm to his master, then cringes when she chuckles warmly.

And still, she slides an arm round his shoulders, guides him farther away from the hangar, and replies through the same channel, “No, child. This is the regular passenger liner – so to say – from Coruscant to Denon and a few other large communities belonging to Mando’ad’e. Some might be tempted to live with those who are with us on Dantooine, but not all, and we need to make sure that they will not clash with everyone else or blab the location to all and sundry before even letting them live there.”

`Huh. A Mando-specific passenger liner,` Obi-Wan muses to himself, semi-hysterically amused. `Would pirates even dare to try to raid such a liner? would Satine board a vessel like this? Where was this when we were on the run?`

Thinking about Satine hurts. But at least now the Mando-refugee problem is mostly solved.

And Sinas timely drags him away, too, upon spotting a recreational room full of other Mandalorian children playing darts, holo-cubi’kad, console games and sundry others.

*

A pair of familiar kaleesh are already waiting on the grassfield that serves as the landing pad of the ship – the Scoop, it is amusingly named – and they are not Bentilar and Kiska, because Bentilar and Kiska are trotting down the ramp behind Obi-Wan and merrily pushing him towards that pair.

“A conspiracy, this is!” he declares, even as he stomps towards the two leaders of Kalee, who grin shamelessly at him through the mouth and eye slits of their masks as well as very expressive body language. “Now, I have questions for you!”

“Will you not invite us into your new home first?” Ronderu lij Kummar wheedles, even as she snags him into her arms and cuddles him close, armour and all.

“Will you not tell me why you adopted me without even my knowing?” Obi-Wan parries, grumbling, as he feels Ronderu batting her mates grabby hands away from him.

“Would you consent if we asked?” it’s Qymaen jai Sheelal that now speaks, while wrestling his mate for possession of the “quarry,” with Obi-Wan still trapped between them.

The one so coveted huffs, growls, and pushes at the two of them both with his hands and the Force. “You’re both silly!” he proclaims snootily, imitating Sinas, but his cheeks are red, and it’s not just because of the physical exertion of keeping the two fussy, handsy kaleesh away.

Because he can acutely feel eyes on him from the other passengers of the Scoop and the family members he boarded it with, and the welcoming committee – who have just arrived in a large hovertruck stare at him, too!

And then Master T’ra throws more proverbial fuel into the equally proverbial fire by striding up to them and opening a discussion with… Urra and Ukka… about joint custody of him.

*

There are lots of hiding places in the Jedi enclave on Dantooine. Partly because it has been abandoned for nearly a millennium and the vanguard crew have cleared up only some of it, and partly because of the various additional wings and gardens and other features the previous occupants had added to it before the Jedi Order was centralised to Coruscant.

But, either way, Obi-Wan can’t use any of the hidy-holes to hide, because he has to supervise Su and Catch and Calas’ecura and Qika and Qiki as they run all over the field, and prevent Shna – who has been sitting quietly on the grass, admiring it – from eating either the grass or the dirt to “test-taste” the things, and persuade-bargain-plead with Sinas so the latter will not try to convert the whole passenger liner into living with them here.

The air is clean, though, and fresh, and grassy – as Shna puts it – and full of the sound of giggling-shrieking-squealing-stomping children, and there’s no traffic noise to mar or bar it from wafting everywhere.

It’s… sort of perfect, really.

Chapter Text

The Wandering Jedi are legends, even by name alone. Obi-Wan is sure the Jedi as a people began from some such nosy, helpful wanderers, before they root themselves in specific temples, before they tied themselves to a governing bodies – or governing bodies, before the Ruusan Reformation.

But these Wandering Jedi are legends by themselves: Jon Antilles, Fay, Nico Diath, and Knol Ven’nari. They are in fact crèche tales to Obi-Wan’s generation, especially Master Fay the mysterious.

So, when all four of them drop by Dantooine and visit the temple there, while everyone is still settling in….

Well, Sinas squawks an admittedly – and embarrassingly – rather apt comment on that to him, all baffled and unimpressed by their guardian’s behaviour: “O’bu, you’re pining on strangers! Grubby and skinless ones at that! You an idiot? We could find you better spouse candidates!”

And they say it in front of the Wanderer who goes by the name Jon Antilles. Who is the youngest of the Wanderers visiting this place, and one of the youngest Jedi ever having attained mastery of themself in the Order’s history.

Who thankfully seems ignorant of the Mandalorian tongue the little brat speaks in.

Who unfortunately asks for a translation, if humorously and awkwardly.

Well, at least this nets Obi-Wan an introduction to this Wanderer?

*

Having toiled side by side in refurbishing the Dantooine temple, the Mandalorian and Jedi elements of this splinter group now exist – no, live – equally side by side, sharing the same thoroughways and gathering halls and all, if not living in the same residential wings. One can even see Mandalorian arts creeping up here and there as more and more of the temple is recovered, adding a unique touch to the preexisting, surviving and new Jedi arts, at least in Obi-Wan’s opinion.

Obi-Wan himself and his own little clan – as Bentilar and Kiska and Rudaban and Sinas insist to call it – live in the residential wing that is located roughly in the middle of the temple, in-between those occupied by the two peoples. It’s fitting, Calas’ecura observes and the others concur, as all of them – not just him, somehow, according to her – are Mandalorian Jedi.

He can only shake his head in bemusement to the assertion, and his attention jumps to other matters soon after.

Especially because then more refugees trickle in. and they are not just Jedi in ones and twos or friends and family members of the Mandalorian among them, but also freed slaves directed or brought there by the Wandering Jedi.

He and the other inhabitants of the temple – and now also its surroundings – are far too busy to sure up or make new residential areas and lots of other things, including counselling the new neighbours and helping them train in what they wish to train in, to think about labels.

*

“We can go help free slaves,” is Shna’s idea, quite out of the blue in Obi-Wan’s opinion, as the whole family – including his master, of course! – are having breakfast out in the warm morning sun one day.

Unfortunately, Sinas then eggs her on, saying, “With Jon! O’bu likes him. I suppose kaysh is good enough as ven’riduur and ven’buir, too.”

“Sin’ika!” Obi-Wan positively squeals, and it’s still barely audible amidst all the laughter and cheering and yesses.

But then Master T’ra hums in thought and ends up agreeing with Shna, even though her reasoning is, “We still need to undertake missions. This is a good mission to undertake, if we are careful. Let us start small and with many backups. I shall inquire to Jon and Nico, and to a few Mando’ad’e as well.”

“But Master!” Obi-Wan splutters, gripping his spoon and fork tightly. “Who will take care of the children, then?”

It’s the children’s turn to squawk in protest. But, fortunately, Kiska and Bentilar quickly volunteer themselves to babysit the little brats, as per usual, although they insist that Rudaban go with Obi-Wan.

“Backups,” Kiska reminds the grumpy padawan. “Your ukka and urra will not be pleased if you are hurt in your mission.”

“I am your guard as well as your friend, too,” Rudaban signs emphatically, with a chastising look aimed squarely at Obi-Wan to boot. And, to that, the recipient can only slump in defeat.

They have been having this argument, on and off, and he is not going to revive it here and now.

He draws the line at five in a team, though, so Master T’ra better choose to either bring Master Nico or Master Jon along or a Mando. Such a number is already huge enough!

Chapter Text

In the end, Master T’ra picked Master Jon and Master Nico and a trio of like-minded Mandalorians in addition to herself, Obi-Wan and Rudaban for the supposedly safeish mission. She refused to budge about it, too.

But, well, now that Obi-Wan is running full-tilt through alleys and up walls and across rooftops from enraged thugs that are sadly capable of pursuing him, while also carrying the precious burden of a baby rodian, a toddler togruta and a nautalan egg in a tank, he cannot help but be relieved that she went overboard with the size and composition of the mission team. Because this means he doesn’t have to do things alone, for once.

The Jedi masters are still back in the unexpectedly big slave market, dealing with the slave masters and the older slaves separately and in their own best ways, but this doesn’t mean that Obi-Wan has to deal with the thugs by himself, although he currently feels so. Because the Mandalorians are picking off the thugs from the flanks, if not as quickly as his screaming body and frazzled mind would like, and it frees him to save the littlest three slaves found in the market.

Well, he does his best, anyway! The blasterbolts shattering the walls and rooftyles all too near his feet just make it a little hard, really! It’s quite fortunate that Nova Ryss the Mando had time to lash the little ones and the tank securely to his body before this mad dash across this dingy city, because he needs all his concentration and energy and hands and feet to evade the bolts and the deadly shrapnel they create when they strike his perches.

It's fortunate, too, that the blasterbolts are decreasing, slowly but surely. Now he just needs to – “Oh, fuck!”

The egg sloshing in the tank, barely buffered by a Force-shield round it from bashing against the unforgiving plastiglass walls, is cracking open – more in feel than in sound, let alone sight, because Obi-Wan is too busy looking round for possible obstacles and ambushers and tattlers. And a tiny, very young presence inside the egg is stirring, waking, reaching out through the Force.

And they latches onto him.

Just so, his concentration breaks, his body jolts in shock and dismay, and his foot slips on the edge of the somewhat-slanted rooftop he is currently pounding away on.

It’s not just the little ones clinging to his back and the new, emerging one in his arms that scream when they tumble down from the said roof.

Well, Obi-Wan’s scream is more a choked-up squeak, really, but who would care about that when – “Oomph!”

Obi-Wan doesn’t know whether to be relieved or regretful that Nova’s rented swoop-bike is just in time to… well, swoop under him to receive his falling butt. Because they proceed to gleefully point out that he now has a nautalan tadpole in the tank in his arms rather than a nautalan egg, and congratulate him for the hatching of his new foundling, even as they – thankfully expertly – drive the straining machine in-between other vehicles and buildings and overflowing rubbish bins.

In lieu of more severe measures, he gives the back of their helmet his bestest glare and a growled “Shut up!”

He ups it to perfectly politely asking that stupid buckethead for a spar when they tattle to his master and all sundry other passengers in their transport – who are many, many more than before – when the mission is concluded and they are all going home, with thirty-nine former slaves going with them to various destinations including Dantooine.

Unfortunately, his own damned master then tattles to Sinas once they land on Dantooine, and that damned brat then asks him, perfectly seriously, also in front of Nova and sundry others, “So this mean Jon not our ven’buir? Or we will have two ven’buir’e? They fight each other to be our ven’buir? Or you fight with them one by one?”

His sparring match with the howlingly laughing Nova is damn “enthusiastic,” as the result.

And, still, even though they lose badly to him for their own distraction, they still laugh and he still cannot get rid of the blush staining his face, his ears and even his neck – as a giggling Shna “helpfully” informs him.

It doesn’t help that, since the nautalan tadpole has already bonded naturally to him and they are yet too young for the bond to be encouraged to dissolve, the crèchemasters decide that he should help care for the little one, and Nova volunteers themself to help him in that regard, and the children are okay with it, and they also drag Master Antilles alon!

Chapter Text

The Jedi on Dantooine heard rumour of a rumur of a rumour from Master Fay – Master T’ra’s triad sibling, it happens, and the third of the triad was Tarre Vizsla! – about Roda: a wealthy, peaceful, monarchic Outer Rim planet not far away from Dantooine that Trade Federation is seeking to “have trade agreement” with – subjugate, in another word.

The whole star system is rich with rare metals and minerals, even though it sits farther away from a hyperlane, and Trade Federation wishes for “full trading rights” – wishes to exploit it to ruination, most likely. Its representatives approached the royal family,  the businesspersons, the commoners, and gained little traction with the peasants but rather a lot with the nobles. Half of the royalty is said to have had the other half assassinated for the “right” to own all the riches that Trade Federation has promised, in fact, leaving only a young girl as the last living member of the main line of the royal family.

Not for long, most likely, as she is said to seek to keep Roda independent from Trade Federation or any other similar entities, unsteerable by her elder relatives.

She reminds Obi-Wan of Cerasi and Nield and all the other Young. Even of Satine, and not a few children of the Mandalorian families they sought shelter with who longed to be able to play outside of their homes without fearing a hit from stray blasterbolt or shrapnel.

And she reminds him also of his little hellions, tucked away safely on Dantooine with caring adults, but not unaccustomed to many of the hardships the galaxy is all too ready to offer.

He approaches Master T’ra about how they might offer suggestions regarding the young queen’s safety, then, citing his previous experiences. He endures a gruelling day of arguments and plans that get reworked and reworked and reworked and reworked again with not just Master T’ra.

But, in the end, the mission is theirs – his and Master T’ra’s, only the two of them.

Spending quality mission time with Master T’ra alone feels nostalgic, somehow, even though this is the first time Obi-Wan has it with his new master. It's more like the type of mission that Master Jinn would take, really, but how the pair stroll together in places of interest on Roda – the markets and museums and gardens and spots in the outer layer of the royal palace – is definitely not of Master Jinn’s style. How unabashedly cheerful, enthusiastic and genuine Master T’ra is at being a tourist, too, from taking copious holos – mostly of him, bafflingly – to collecting souvenirs and buying gifts to take home.

In fact, he accidentally saves the Queen in disguise from a blasterbolt with a well-timed, well-aimed deflection off of a souvenir shield made of a local metal alloy that bears the coat-of-arms of the royal family, which Master T’ra has so recently pressed into his hand to pose with for a holo.

Suffice to say, their “tourism level” is upped to touring the inside of the royal palace and various other restricted places, then, guarding the queen upon her request.

And, also upon her request, the rest of Obi-Wan’s family get a similar invitation, too.

Which gives him the excuse to investigate, and Master T’ra to draw on “home forces” to help guard all the children in this impromptu royal progress, and Rudaban to blab to Qymaen and Ronderu about “their child’s” new “exploit,” going as far as leaving him for once to deliver the news in person to Kalee!

But, on hindsight, the move to bring the family to Roda is a good call despite all the hassle. Because then Obi-Wan – but mostly a few Shadows that Master T’ra drew from somewhere – manages to find hard evidence of the involvement of the Queen’s own relatives in the recent assassinations, and the children are there to artlessly but genuinely offer a cuddle to the Queen, who is understandably crushed about the betrayal of her own family. She could be just a child, too, while she is with them, deep in the royal quarters.

And she does need the additional boost of moral, because this bloody drama is beginning to attract galactic attention, given the tantrum Trade Federation is throwing in the Senate for being thwarted.

Well, Obi-Wan needs a moral boost of his own, because he must field queries from everywhere about not just the Queen but also himself, given how close he is seen to the Queen and given “Urra and Ukka Qymaen and Ronderu”’s nosiness, and the children’s antics aren’t helping, but at least they’re happy?

Chapter Text

“How do we defend ourselves from such a force?” is what the Queen quietly remarks on after the sliced footage of Trade Federation’s ranks upon ranks upon ranks upon ranks of battledroids marching into a capital ship is finished. The family have gathered on the main lounge of the royal quarters for this viewing, and none answers her for a long, long while.

That is, until Sinas says, carefully only because they are speaking a language they rarely use, “Ha, we Mando’ad’e. We can help teach how you defend. We good.”

And the Queen perks up on that.

Obi-Wan wants to groan, wants to glare Sinas into submission, wants to swat at the brat’s bottom for this new problem. But he is sadly seated too far from them, in a long sofa with a thoughtful Bentilar and Kiska, while the eight children plus their new friend are clustered in front in a pit of cushions and blankets.

And then Kiska speaks up, “Obi-Wan help us, we help Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan help you, we help you.”

`Thank you for this burden, dearest,` he curses inwardly, and does give the earnest kalesh seated to his right a mighty glare.

It doesn’t help that Master T’ra, standing relaxedly in a spot of sunlight to the side that originates from the skylight above, hums consideringly.

“My lady,” he tries to salvage the situation, still, and scoots towards where the Queen is seated for good measure, “if we did this, you would have to contend with not only some scrutiny but also suspicion. The Republic never looks kindly upon Mandalorians. And the faction of Mandalorians Sinas was talking about has been deemed extinct some time ago, after a series of… unpleasant events. It is… still to be determined, whether they wish to be known once more, even if it is for a good cause. They are still… recovering. The kaleesh, likewise.”

The Queen rallies, but unfortunately it is only to remind him that she has given him explicit permission to call her by her given name in private.

Only that, because then Su and Catch expound on how good their Mandalorian friends are, how Mandalorians value children, how Obi-Wan is a Mandalorian as well as a Jedi and saved them from slavery, how they are training as Mandalorian Jedi although they aren’t that sensitive to “Obi’s Force.”

Well, suffice to say, it doesn’t help dissuade the Queen from the idea.

It boulsters her conviction, instead, and before long a few Mandalorians – those Obi-Wan was in a mission with so recently, in fact – come join them, equipped with generalised training modules and cheerful eagerness, also ready to haggle.

Master T’ra mediates. Obi-Wan just gawps.

The negotiation is so lively, at times heated, at times tense, but otherwise smooth. In the end, Roda’s military force gets three months of intense training and retaining rights for military advisory in exchange for a planetary shield for Dantooine, certain metals and other ores for armour-forging and building purposes, and goods especially fourniture and foodstuffs. And everyone’s content with the arrangement.

Not to mention, nothing and nobody bother the negotiation till the very end and even after.

Well, Death Watch somehow tracks the True Mandalorians and Jedi to Roda some time after and tries to hunt them down. But it’s after, and local military is thankfully ready for them.

They just aren’t ready for how young their attackers are, and how shoddily armoured.

Cannon fodder, in other words.

Well, this changes things.

The Queen pledges Roda’s support for the deprogramming. The Jedi, likewise. And the Mandalorians are thirsty for the hunt for more young, brainwashed recruits that Death Watch have apparently filled its latest ranks with.

Obi-Wan contacts Satine once more, roundaboutly asking for help.

He hangs up on her when she says, “Death Watch have been eliminated, Ben. You know that. Pre is even a part of my government, now. Those who terrorised your friends must be the remains of the savage elements in our society. I apologise, but they are yet out of reach of my government. It is still in its infancy.”

He and Master T’ra reach out to the traditionalist Mandalorians in Keldabe, then, and use this chance to also search for Sinas’ first family.

Well, the good news is that even those who wish to stay neutral in the civil war are outraged with this finding, and pledge their support in the deprogramming of the brainwashed recruits the searchers might find, as well as repatriating them afterwards if possible.

And the bad news is that Sinas’ first parent was an outlayer in Clan Rook, in that they were outcast among a clan that heavily sympathise with Death Watch.

Chapter Text

Concordia is reputedly where all the “savages” have been exiled to, months after Satine came into power, months after she parted ways – in more ways than one, now it seems – with Obi-Wan. But it is a visible target, and, as bold as Death Watch are, many of the hunters doubt that the stolen – enslaved – children are kept there.

They slip onto Concord Dawn instead, and various other relatively quiet planets and moons in Mandalorian Space. Many of them focus on Concord Dawn, in fact, as it was the site of a great battle between Death Watch and True Mandalorians a while ago, despite its agrarian status.

And they find lots of little pockets of Death Watch camps and caches everywhere there, by the help of the Jedi – not just among the knights and masters and few padawans involved, at that, but also – mostly, in fact – members of the Service Corps that Master T’ra and Master Fay have persuaded to help them search.

It's a grim finding for the Mandalorians: how entrenched Death Watch have been, how not dead they are. But it’s a step forward for the Jedi Knight Corps and the Service Corps, instead, who have been increasingly segregated from each other for a long time already – since the Ruusan Reformation, even.

It’s a message for the padawans, especially, or so Obi-Wan feels, that the Service Corps is not a dumping ground and that they are just as good as those on track to become knights… or even better, even, in specialised areas.

Quite an eye-opener. A shameful one.

It gives Obi-Wan an idea, too: a series of seminars and workshops held by the Service Corps among the initiates on Coruscant.

The planning gives him heart while he helps his temporary squad of Mandalorians – Nova is there, too! Why? – and Master T’ra and a couple of ExploraCorps Jedi recover the brainwashed children in the camp assigned to them. And he needs the positive touch, indeed. Because the children here are only as old as Sinas for the most part, while his bold little brat is still years away from being even minorly of age for anything, let alone going in missions that would mean their death or permanent injury, which these children would experience if the squad didn’t happen on them in time.

He can no longer think on them or his planned self-assigned mission, however, when the data trail leads to the conclusion that Death Watch have been bold enough to have scattered camps in the Core worlds. Their best “recruits” are kept there, in fact.

“Their attention is already on us,” is his argument when the Mandalorians think to just brazen it. “The Jedi can’t afford to be seen doing unauthorised missions, too, or those still on Coruscant will be in so much trouble. And we will be seen, if we venture Coreward. We aren’t yet right now because we aren’t bothering them.”

“Well, we are bothering Death Watch, not those landur chaakar’e,” Nova points out shruggily. “They’ll thank us for this free service of getting rid of a group of terrorists. The jetiise need to act, anyway, if they want to be free to do what they need to do. You’re all Republic’s attack massifs, right now.”

“For centuries already,” Limika – or is it Lim’ika? – the ExploraCorps Jedi smiles grimly. “I am glad the Jedi High Council at that time managed to draw most of the Republic’s attention away from what is now the Jedi Service Corps. We’re free to do what is needful, then.”

“We could run rampant if we’re not watched,” Obi-Wan persists weakly, remembering the grim, derogatory essays regarding the relationship between the Republic and the Jedi post-Ruusan Reformation that he once read offered other choices – choices other than what now still goes on.

Well, all the arguments become a moot point when one of the Mando slicers, working – somewhat miraculously – in tandem with one from the ExploraCorps to crack the hardest data from the camps and caches they looted thus far, discovers a large camp deep in Corellia’s last remaining jungle, and another in Coronet’s undercity.

And one of the “recruits” kept there is one Arla Fett, resumably a relative of one Jango Fett, last Mand’alor of the Mandalorians this Jedi faction have been sheltering and living with.

The Mandalorians can’t be held back, after that. Not for any argument. Not for any plea.

The Jedi’s aid in recovering her and her fellow captives is nearly rejected, in fact. Only Quinlan’s and Master Tholme’s convincing attire and attitude as typical dare-devil spacers keep the Jedi in the mission.

And only Obi-Wan listing all his pertinent expertise gained from previous missions keeps him as one of the few Jedi chosen to accompany the Mandalorians for this particular ambush. But, as it is, even though Master T’ra won’t accompany him in this due to the stereotype of “peaceful, stationary neti” held galaxy-wide, he can’t escape from the supervision of Master Diath, Master Ven’nari, and Master Antilles.

The coddling chafes. But at least he gets to go?

Chapter Text

Coming home victorious but battered to the sight of Master Madame Jocasta Nu standing at the front doors of the Dantooine temple is shocking.

From what Obi-Wan knew, she was approached by Reeft about moving the archives to Dantooine and said that she would think on it. But, or so Reeft said, her tone and feel and look weren’t promising at all when saying that.

Well, apparently, either Reeft’s proposal was convincing enough or Madame Nu realised the need to move away from Coruscant by herself.

Obi-Wan leans towards the latter when, precisely after everyone is settled, she gathers all the Jedi and affiliates above the age of thirteen standard years or equivalent that she can find and gives each of them a stack of flimsy containing her own proposal for this new and growing mixed enclave.

There are two points that she notes on in the proposal. The first is a need for the Jedi and their affiliates to spread out into at least two more temples to avoid being hunted down and terminated so easily by elements that disapprove of their works or even existence, given the news and rumours that have apparently been pouring everywhere about their movements and possible movements.

And the second one is the highlights of her compiled notes about forming a new government formed from mixed peoples.

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” Luminara muses after the crèchemates, reunited once more in the last mission with their own mini missions converging, have finished reading their respective proposals.

Quinlan hums. Reeft sighs. Aalto shifts uneasily. Bant nods a little uncertainly.

Garen smiles wolfishly.

“I know where to set up camp!” he declares. “There’s a temple on Kashyyyk once – we can reopen it!”

Siri splutters. Obi-Wan is not much better.

“Trandoshans!” Siri squawks when her spluttering is more coherent.

“Even more reason to help the wookiees,” Garen insists cheerfully.

“Even more reason for the younglings to go adventuring?” Aalto points out acerbically. “It’s already hard enough to keep them safe on Coruscant, you know.”

“Well, the Shadowland isn’t more dangerous than Coruscant’s lower levels,” Garen scoffs. “It’s just different.”

“And you know because…?” Bant gives him a piercing stare, equivalent to a human narrowing their eyes.

Garen wisely stays – primly – silent.

Obi-Wan snickers, and ducks away when Bant transfers her “stare of death” to him.

Quinlan thankfully, heroically draws her ire to himself by remarking, “Well, we can put the younglings there. The wookiees will love them, and they’ll be more motivated to help guard us by guarding themselves.”

“And they don’t have to grow up having to shield themselves up so hard as a point of necessity,” Reeft adds quietly, which kills the playful mood in an instant.

The crèchemates still remember how hard he had to work on his shields – as a moderately powerful empath who leans much towards the Living Force – during their shared initiate years, not only how Obi-Wan had to deal with his visions of infinite sadness.

And nature is much kinder to those attuned to the Living Force, also a good kind of distraction for those who lean much – or even too much – to the Unifying Force.

It’s a deal, then.

Obi-Wan moves with the crèches of Jedi and Mandalorian children, given the free babysitting service for his little charges, especially Kiel the Force-sensitive nautalan tadpole. Being able to train amidst the gigantic trees is a nice bonus, too, and being able to see his master figuratively and literally flourish is even more so. Master T’ra deserves to be as happy as her student is… or even more, since she has done so much for him.

Roda and Kalee join in, both in supplying goods and defence and having select children from their nations live in the newly reopened temple for a period of time each. It is a boon especially to the kaleesh in their post-war situation, also to the young Queen of Roda who now has the excuse to just be a child away from the eyes of her people. The wookiee cubs can be seen visiting or sheltering there during slaver raids, too.

Suffice to say, the trandoshan slavers now find it pretty hard to take those cubs, and Jedi younglings, and children of single Mandalorians, or any children sheltering in this giant crèche, really.

And when the slavers respond with a bigger force, also with rumours spread to all and sundry about this probable new figurative goldmine, the coalition – accidentally formed though it is, before Siri thinks to have it formalised and archived with Madame Nu – responds by installing overlaying planetary shields, plural: a larger one round Kashyyyk, and a smaller one round the temple.

And Madame Nu approves.

“The Dantooine temple was bombed from orbit by the Sith,” she points out when Obi-Wan inquires. “We have the Force, true, but common sense and caution are also virtues we cannot be rid of because of that reason, youngling. Shielding your loved ones with technology is just sensible.”

And then she adds, “Now, who can I talk with about having such shield put around the archives?”

Chapter Text

Having planetary shields – plural! Obi-Wan still marvels at it – doesn’t mean that Kashyyyk is a hundred percent safe. Master T’ra even says that a hundred-percent safety can breed complacency and arrogance, two things everyone should avoid, not only the Jedi.

Anyway, like Obi-Wan has once heard, slavers have many ways to enslave someone. And there is suddenly a lot of slaver attention on Kashyyyk indeed. Slip-and-grab is bound to happen, or even localised ambushes, and that is where the more on-hand assistance of Roda’s military personnel and Kaleesh warriors – on constant rotation, so that everyone has both a chance to gain experience and test their skills and also a period of rest back home – is of much help.

It's where new Jedi knights attain friendly contacts, meaningful but moderated excitement, and the much-needed experience, too. Even Coruscant Jedi send their new knights to Kashyyyk, although they seem to have a secondary purpose in doing this, namely snooping, given the questions the knights ask.

Well, Dantooine Jedi – including Obi-Wan – snoop back, and of course keep their bases of operation secret, especially where the crèche is.

After all, what Coruscant Jedi know, the Senate will know, too, and that is to be avoided at all costs for now, when Dantooine Jedi are trying to slowly and stealthily separate the Jedi Order as a whole from influence from any single government.

*

Lone family units are a fat target of the would-be slavers. But free will is free will, and nobody can simply make anybody obey rules or even common sense.

Still, the heartache is there when news come in about whole little families getting kidnapped offworld, or slaughtered, or wounded, all for stubborn pride or even arrogance. The defenders usually don’t come out of the altercations wholely unscathed, too, and that’s just stupid, in Obi-Wan’s opinion. This can be avoided if the families just listened!

He pours it all to Master T’ra, not just once. And Master T’ra listens, each and every time. And, even if she has no other answer than what she has given him the first time about free will and sentient stupidity and hindsight regrets, he is glad that she has never censured him for complaining.

It helps especially when Obi-Wan himself has to do his best alone to safe a trio of wookiees – a mother, a father and a small child – from a hunting party of trandoshans, and he ends up with burns and blaster wounds all over his head and body and limbs, while the wookiee adults are dead and many of the trandoshans escaped. He even has to be carted off to safety by Rhyyyshk the wookiee cub.

Well, it’s of some comfort that the cub has survived, really, but it’s not much of a comfort in truth, given how long he has to spend convalescing from this thorough of an injury, also remembering how stubborn the cub’s parents were at living so removed from other wookiees, and thinking of how many other families and defenders will suffer like this, and how Rhyyyshk has latched onto him despite all coaxing to go mingle with her fellow children.

He is not gaining another tagalong – `Sinas, just shut up! Don’t encourage her! Oh, Force – Shna, please – no promises!`

*

Dantooine is practically unrecogniseable when Obi-Wan is at long last released from the clutches of the healers on Kashyyyk and returned there like a wayward luggage.

The Mandalorians have moved out of the temple, given their swelling numbers –`Where did they all come from? Who have been spreading the news? Are we in danger because of that blabbermouth? Or have those Mandos been adopting like mad?` – but not too far, and their administrative office is still inside. The freed slaves and refugees, likewise.

Even the Jedi.

And it’s apparently because Madame Nu moved all the archives that were previously at the temple on Coruscant here. And each of the Jedi corps – including the Knight Corps, which is now separated between the Defence Corps and the Diplomatic Corps, like in pre-Reformation Order – has an office in the admittedly not-so-big temple with dwellings outside. And the Shadows seem to have also moved homes, given how truly at home Quinlan and the latter’s master seem to be – and it’s not a pretence they keep up to fool people, Obi-Wan would be ton it, with how close he has been to that pair, even behind Master Jinn’s back and through all the long missions away from home for both pairs.

Well, at least Quinlan is here?

Chapter Text

Dantooine now has formalised a council as head of the government of the planet, as well as the surrounding star system. Each segment of the population governs itself, answerable to its own leaders, but information and decisions that will impact the population as a whole are to be shared with and acted on by the council.

And it’s the first time since Ruusan Reformation that the Jedi got a say in what counts as external government.

It’s weird. It definitely makes not a few Jedi uneasy. Obi-Wan himself is uneasy. But Master T’ra and Master Fay think it’s ordinary, and of course they think so, being older than some rocks, those… well, those.

Obi-Wan is just… miffed, with how cheerful they both are with all these changes. They stick out now, unashamedly, just like Master Jinn did, if in different ways, and he is not sure if he likes it, is comfortable with it, is okay with it, somehow.

He is also miffed because Master T’ra has just advised him strongly to reach out to Melida/Daan, to reconcile with the other -- remaining – Young, and his mind-healer agrees with her. Her argument makes all too much sense, too: “We reached out to Roda. We reached out to Kashyyyk. Why not reach out to a planet you fought and bled for as well, Ob’ika? They were your vod’e, for however short or long, and you told me that not everyone agreed with Nield’s decision to exile you. He made it under duress, too… and it should be a lesson for everyone that decisions made when your emotion – whatever it is – is high is never good ones.”

She bids him have closure with his time being a child soldier – a child general – there, as well, and he now recognises that he needs such closure. And his mind-healer has deemed him ready. Only….

He sighs, and lets himself be pushed by Bant to the transport that will bring all eight crèchemates to the site of some of his night terrors.

At least everyone is somehow reunited for this and he is not alone doing it?

*

Melida/Daan looks… even more destroyed than before, when Garen pilots the craft – not a Jedi craft, not a Mandalorian craft, just a spacer craft that can be found anywhere in the Outer Rim – down through the atmosphere under Obi-Wan’s stilted instruction. Nobody remarks on it, but the unsaid words are heavy in the air of the crowded cockpit – dense, suffocating.

Or perhaps it’s just Obi-Wan who feels it, because Bant suddenly grips his shoulder and orders him to breathe.

`I’m breathing! … Right?`

Siri slaps his back, and he wheezes, and – `Oh. I didn’t breathe.`

Fortunately… or not… the ship touches down soon, and Aalto proceeds ahead of those who will come down to the planet – almost everyone – to the ramp, and Obi-Wan is ushered by Quinlan and Bant after him, and there’s no more chance to wallow on that reaction because he is breathing Melida/Daan’s air once more and it’s horrible and horribly familiar – burns, decay, neglect, droughty land, the only missing parts are unwashed bodies and barely treated wounds and fresh scents of explosives and blasterfire – and he can’t take any more step even if Siri pushes him none too gently from behind.

Bant gently wipes at his cheek, and her rough skin – tiny scales, webbed fingers, moist smell – is something different amidst all these.

And, when she brings her hand away, it’s somehow wet.

Quinlan is somehow farther away from him, too, reeling a little, and Luminara stands by him in place of the kiffar, and it’s all connected in one way or another, but Obi-Wan can’t make them connect, and he wants Master T’ra, and he wants to go home, please.

He doesn’t get Master T’ra, in reality. He doesn’t get to go home, too. All he gets are little and not-so-little twiggy arms belonging to skinny, smelly bodies hugging him fiercely and relieved shouts of, “Obi! Obi! Obi! You come back!” And what can he do then but to crouch down and envelope them all likewise?

It's so familiar. It’s the warmest, bestest, wholesomest thing in this hellscape.

It’s his, more than many things in the universe, more than even the children that keep being sicked onto him by circumstances.

He fought and bled for these children, with these children.

They are his little siblings in arms.

They and Cerasi and Nield and even Mawat.

And now only them are left, because the Elders didn’t like being led by a child and killed Nield and Mawat avenged him and the rest went underground again until the fighting stopped and nobody was left.

Dimly, he thinks, `Master T’ra would turn this into a lesson about revenge.` Dimly, he hears someone asking if the children will go home with the ship. Dimly, he feels his mouth move in… agreement?

And, dimly, he feels something turning right in this hellscape for once.

Chapter Text

The fallout from the “Melida/Daan disaster” – or so everyone has been saying – has taken some time to deal with, or so Obi-Wan finds when he is literally in the right mind again and looking at the calendar on his newly returned commlink.

He rues the time lost. He has so many things to do, and more to achieve. But he unfortunately knows – now, at least – that he needed the time off, and his abjectly horrified master likewise, not to mention his mind-healer… who apparently needs mind-healing of their own, now, poor Healer Igmar.

Rudaban, Qymaen and Ronderu – well Urra and Ukka, the couple still insist, and Obi-Wan finds himself starting to cave in – have been of so much help, while he was trying to regain his own mind. The kaleesh were always there and reminding him that he also needed to be there, while Master T’ra had to attend mind-healing sessions of her own, and the children – now added with the remaining Young – were under Kiska’s and Bentilar’s care. Now Rudaban’s taking a well-deserved holiday via hunting in the forest a few klicks away, the khagans are regretably back home, and Obi-Wan has been shooed back to his room in the house – well, hut, rather – just outside the temple that he shares with Master T’ra, his little charges, Rudaban, Kiska and Bentilar.

There’s only Shna inside when he opens the front door and closes it behind him, though, waiting for him with a gentle smile on her face and welcoming him home and telling him the other children aren’t here just because the adults are worried they might overwhelm him.

“Maybe they’re right,” she says quietly, a little timidly, when he huffs at what he sees as an over-protective gesture. “You’re hurt bad, when you came back. Your little siblings said you got that way since that planet. And you didn’t even recognise us – not really. You saw us like more of the Young, more people you just must protect from the adults. No adult could get you at first, not till you put us here and told us to hide and arm up. You… gave yourself up to them, then, and it’s bad. Grandma T’ra got so hit, and Doctor Igmar too. Don’t feel bad, though! They just need more time to heal. Grandpa Benti said it’s cause they’re old and you’re not quite an adult yet and you felt we’re safe so you didn’t have to worry so much and Uncle Rudi got you away to roam in the prairies with him before you could get worried again.”

His spirits drop back down, just so. But now Shna’s arms are round him, squeezing tightly, and he can focus on that, because she’s safe, safe and with him, with more young minds coming together and waiting quietly – audibly speaking! – outside of the hut, anxious but in an eager way, their minds bubbling with all the little plans they wish to enact with him in it.

Well, but maybe he ought to check with a mind-healer first before anything? He doesn’t feel so good again….

*

Healer Erim, Obi-Wan’s main mind-healer now, tells him that backsliding in his recovery is expected.

“Any kind of healing isn’t linear, Padawan,” she reminds him when he huffs at her for what he perceives as her low opinion of his resilience. “It’s good if you can recover well without any setbacks, but we’re prepared if there’s indeed a setback. And, in any case, your family are all here. They are all as safe as can be. Many people have been helping you take care of the children, too, so you don’t need to worry on that part as well. You just need to relax, heal. Maybe alone, maybe with the children, maybe both as in other people watching over them while you also spend time with them.”

He feels a little judged, a little cornered, a little exposed, when a Mando mind-healer then puts a medical mark on a few spots of his armour, denoting his specific diagnosed disorder. He caves in only when they explain that the mark will be respected by decent Mando’ad’e everywhere, and they can help him in many ways – including preventing him from doing harm to himself and others – should he backslide again.

“You did not come to us,” they point out when he grumbles that, in the previous episode, nobody put such mark on his armour. “Your parent ought to have brought you to us, so you would have additional assessment and additional layer of safety and help.”

“I am of age!” is his defence of what Master T’ra might or might not have done. “I am a handful of years from thirteen already.” Well, his master told him that he is not ready yet for knighting, which is the Jedi’s – or even Mandalorian Jedi’s – version of verd’goten, but his year on Mandalore has prepared him much for it, and raising the original five children with only some assistance for nearly two years has only prepared him further.

But what the annoying mindhealer returns, dryly at that, is, “Yes, you are five years beyond thirteen, Ob’ika. But there is a reason why Mand’alor Ani’la and Maan’al’verd Vhett refused to let non-taung below twenty years old or equivalent to join in the crusade, even the foundlings from conquered planets.”

He has no comeback to that.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan is distracted from the sight and knowledge of the mark proclaiming his brokenness to all who can read it, scattered on various places on his armour, when, for once since the community of mixed peoples was founded on Dantooine, an unexpected spacecraft asks for permission to break into atmosphere and land on “the Dantooine Temple.”

A two-person ship with the Jedi emblem emblazoned on the side, no less.

“Searching for the younglings, maybe?” Luminara, who came to fetch Obi-Wan for this occasion, hazards a guess, while Garen challenges the on-coming craft from his station at the lightly manned space-traffic-control centre as it happens to be his duty this rotation.

“A master and a padawan?” Obi-Wan frowns. “Maybe. And the emblem would lend even more legitimacy. Hoping to soften up wary crèchemasters?”

Luminara giggles. Obi-Wan can’t help but giggle, himself.

Wary crèchemasters can never be softened up by anything, they know it well.

But then… “Do they even know that the crèche isn’t here?”

The two crèchemates look at each other. Obi-Wan’s eyes are huge behind his visor, and he can see Luminara’s eyes matching his, framed by her hijab.

“Oh, trouble is coming,” Luminara breathes, then, and it sounds both perturbed and excited.

Obi-Wan laughs. He misses this side of the prim-and-proper-looking mirialan padawan that the Coruscant temple knows.

“Let’s go greet the trouble, then.”

*

Well, the “trouble” turns out to be Depa and her master, who is a junior member of the High Council since round the time Obi-Wan became a padawan.

Huh. Deepa is here. Obi-Wan’s rival in both scholastic and physical achievements in the padawan circles, despite their age and padawanship-level gaps, and she is here, looking round with so much interest at this town that the various peoples have built together despite the different shapes and decorations, in harmony and unity, with the original Dantooine temple – well, reconstructed temple – acting as government centre for all of them.

Given that very notion, he can’t help but bounce on his feet when Master Windu asks her to go with him while Luminara brings the master right to the temple.

And the spring in his steps never leaves him as he guides the gawping nearly knighted senior padawan along the meandering streets that are big enough only for a hand-pushed hoversled, despite the teasing he gets from not a few of the townsfolk.

“You like it?” he teases, preens, after a while, as they take a rest in a small park near the outskirts of the town. “Isn’t it nice?”

And Depa sighs, but nods if a little grudgingly, before she inquires, “How’d you do that under the High Council’s nose?”

And his answer, delivered with chirpy relish, is, “Secret!”

Suffice to say, it’s fortunate that the townsfolk are used to various teens – and adults – doing parkour as a way of moving from point A to point B, by now, because a peeved Depa then gives chase and Obi-Wan of course runs.

*

Depa and her master officially become a fixture of the Dantooine enclave after a day-long, fraught-feeling meeting between Master Windu, the High Council and the alliance’s government.

They still aren’t told where the crèchelings are, though, just that the little ones are safe. And, fortunately, they understand, especially after Master Plo explains why the crèche was evacuated from Coruscant.

Now Master Windu wants to investigate the Dark under the Coruscant temple by himself, even.

Sadly, then he mentions Master Dooku, who likes this kind of investigation, who might also like living here, far from the Senate and all its politicking… and who led the Jedi task force on Galidran.

He and Depa nearly got linched by the Mandos, when the latters hear about that.

Fortunately, Obi-Wan “happens” to be there… complete with his marked armour… and points out with all earnestness that they are rehabilitating ex-Death Watch anyway, so why not a repentant Jedi as well? The Mandos needn’t deal with Master Dooku directly, too, and Master Dooku needn’t have a role anywhere but fellow citizen, or the master could even be just a hermit somewhere!

Well, the Mandos are quick to drag him away, after that. But at least they promise they won’t kill or boot out his “beloved” and her “parent”?

He must rectify the relationship he has with Depa, though. Later. This can’t stand!

Chapter Text

Despite the ample warning that Dantooine is well-populated with the True Mandalorians, Master Dooku has taken little time to agree to join the Jedi splinter group living there. He has even agreed not to interact at all with Mandalorians unless spoken to.

In fact, he proposes that the Mandalorians utilise his abilities in a way that will cause them to rarely see him on planet, by letting him help raid Death Watch camps and slave rings. He could also solicit aid for this coalition from Serreno, his birth planet.

Obi-Wan reads it as “penance,” and expresses his surprise to his circle of Jedi friends – now plus Depa, given that she’s otherwise alone on planet – that the infamously very proud and aloof and exacting Master Dooku would ever do that.

Then Aalto offers quietly, “There are some events in your life that you can’t get out of… unscathed,” and the topic is never spoken again.

They still remember about Bruck, after all, and Aalto used to be Bruck’s best friend, even more than Siri.

And Obi-Wan has the rueful suspicion that they are also trying to pay their respect to what he experienced on Melida/Daan, by that silence.

But, well, this reminds Obi-Wan to suggest to the Mandos to put regular mind-healing sessions as one of their stipulations on Master Dooku’s involvement in missions for them. It will only help, right? Because, who knows, Master Dooku may be as stubborn as Master Jinn was in going to the mind-healers.

And the padawan, feeling like a nosy busybody indeed, does tell the Mandos writing the agreement contract that.

And they agree most heartily, to his on-going bemusement but no longer surprise.

No, the surprise is saved for the response Master Dooku gives to that, because the master agrees to attend mental-assessment and mind-healing sessions before and after each mission, or even more than those times if necessary. The master even seeks help from his old friends, to both keep him company and watch for the issues his mind-healer will notify him about… and one of those friends are Master Nico, who never even hinted to Obi-Wan about his friendship with Master Dooku!

To express his admittedly unreasonable displeasure, Obi-Wan enlists Su’s and Catch’s help to prank Master Nico when the master arrives back on Dantooine from… wherever the Force likes to call him whenever he’s not wandering about here.

And the master’s resulting squeak is very pleasing, indeed.

*

Master Dooku wants to go smuggle slaves out of Tatooine as his first mission for the Dantooine coalition, given the fact that there is no new news yet about raidable Death Watch camps.

Obi-Wan marvels at his sheer audacity.

Well, Obi-Wan also persuades the newly Mind-healer-certified Master T’ra to join in, but that’s beside the point! Her mind-healer wants her to ease into her usual activities with him, and they’ve raided slave rings before, and this is not a raid but a smuggling operation, and the leader of this operation will not be Master T’ra, anyway – they’re just joining in! – so this counts as “easing into things,” right? He’ll even persuade Master Jon and Nova and the others to join in! And Rudaban is almost guaranteed to join in, too, so he’ll be reasonably safe, so she won’t worry, and it’ll be okay – “Stop laughing, Lu!”

*

There is a woman carrying a golden-haired, blue-eyed toddler who looks very much like Shna, when Obi-Wan casually roams Mos Espa as a Mando only.

And when he dares ask for her identity, she admits that she is Shmi Skywalker, slave to Gardulla the Hutt.

He ushers her to a relatively private space in a narrow but deep alley between two buildings, then, however revolted he is at what this might imply to onlookers, and carefully asks if she ever bore a child who looks like her and is named Shna.

She regards him carefully, warily, at first.

But then she says yes.

*

There is a parentless child in Gardulla’s compound who looks exactly like Calas’ecura but for colouring, when Obi-Wan infiltrates it, while Nova is busy charming Gardulla herself.

And, through Shmi, Obi-Wan finds that the understandably skittish child’s name is Aaylas’ecura.

Who admits, again through Shmi, that she “had” a sibling named Calas’ecura.

Now Obi-Wan, heart sinking but oddly hopeful, wonders if his other little charges may have had other relatives out there… and why he never thought of this before.

But at least two families will soon be reunited?

Well, it’s even more of a drive for him to help finish this mission, then!

*

When Obi-Wan returns to Dantooine with the others, with not a few new individuals tagging along including Shmi, her child Anakin and little Aaylas’ecura, he finds his hut no longer a hut but a house, a rather big one at that. And Quinlan is standing waiting for him and his new entourage of three there.

And the kiffar’s first words to him are not to welcome him to his apparently new home but a declaration of, “I am going to co-parent that little blue one with you! Let me co-parent that one with you!” and a tag-on, “Okay, Obi?”

Chapter Text

Neither the Jedi nor the Mandos nor the Freed – the main inhabitants of Dantooine other than ambassadors of allied systems – are the least all right with Master Dooku’s choice to repudiate his last padawan for “inappropriate infatuation” towards her master and leave her be, even though he knows that she has gone missing while on a mission to infiltrate the Bando Gora – a very dangerous band of spice-adulled Force-sensitive criminals.

They boot him off the planet and every mission until he manages to retrieve his former padawan, alive or dead.

He begs for assistance in storming the Bando Gora stronghold.

Obi-Wan shouldn’t have been shocked about it, after everything, but he still is.

He is not surprised that so many volunteer for the mission, however. Nothing gets Mandos going more than rescuing children – well, nearly nothing, maybe. And the Jedi are always ready to aid fellow Jedi. And the Freed knows very well how it feels to have been rescued, so they wish to do the same now that they have the means to do so.

*

 Master Dooku got his former padawan back.

Also other Jedi that were half-brainwashed, half-tortured mess, given the Bando Gora “tender” treatment.

And the Bando Gora itself is… gone.

This got Obi-Wan and his crèchemates thinking. A very dangerous thing indeed, or so Master T’ra declares in a faux-horrified manner when he asks for her attention and opens the discussion with that simplified summary.

He plods on, glaring sulkily at her. And her leaves rustle in surprise and agitation even as she lets loose a long, long sigh of resignation when he comes to the conclusion: that he and his friends wish to collaborate with the tiny band of pirates that somehow aided the rescuers for not-so-huge return.

“We can’t just do the raids the usual way every time, Master,” he explains, stubbornly. “They’ll expect it, and prepare. I think Death Watch somehow already does expect it. So we got to find different angles.”

“And the angle is… piracy?”

He snickers, but shakes his head. “Not really. We’ll try to limit and redirect their heists when they’re with us, but it’ll be just a… cover,” he clarifies. “Quin suggested it. I think he’s having too much fun with it. But it makes sense, really, Master.”

Then he adds, “Ree said we should track down finances instead of disturbances when it comes to Death Watch, now. They need resources to run those camps, after all, and there must be a trail for the supplies and the credits or items they trade for those with.”

He earns another long, long sigh for that.

But also her approval, so that’s all right!

Well, he doubts his friends will thoroughly welcome her in their missions as she’s stipulating, especially as “chaperone” as she’s claiming, but at least this plan is a go?

*

Obi-Wan regrets ever agreeing to be the spokesperson of the idea he and his friends hatched. Because, after presenting it to Master T’ra as his master and Master Tholme as representative of the Shadows, he got to bring it to the very, very, very eccentric “head honcho” of the pirates by the name of Hondo Ohnaka.

And the said very, very, very eccentric head honcho of the pirates grabs him and spins him round in exuberance, even though he’s in full armour at the time.

His friends laugh at him, too! Traitors! Backstabbers, the lot of them!

*

Some shady education institutes apparently hire pirates to smuggle… things. But maybe “shady” should be the keyword, and none of the disguised Jedi present should have been surprised about it.

But they still are, although Master T’ra doesn’t seem as surprised as her charges.

And the smuggling agreement has been finalised, in any case. With one Orsis Academy, the “finest” school for bodyguards, assassins, bounty hunters, slicers, information brokers, and mercenaries.

Quin is very interested with the school’s advertisement. And curriculum. And students. And grounds.

And he hatches a very “bright” idea to try to enroll himself and his friends in a short course that will touch upon all the things offered as some kind of teaser. Which has never been offered there before he got the idea and now wheedles Headmaster Trezza to make for them.

And the headmaster proves to be equally interested.

`Well,` Obi-Wan thinks resignedly, `as long as he won’t involve my charges in this in any manner, and as long as the course won’t run for too long or kill us or maim us permanently in any way, shape or form….`

Chapter Text

Quinlan has signed them all up for a gruelling month at Orsis Academy.

Obi-Wan, Luminara, Garen, Bant, Reeft, Aalto, Siri and Depa make their displeasure known when they find out, when they are once more in the very relative safety of their recently acquired ship, which is temporarily joined up in Hondo’s little fleet of three.

And both Master T’ra and Master Tholme just watch on.

Good.

*

Obi-Wan can’t say he hates the curriculum Headmaster Trezza has come up with as a “test run” of the “teaser package” Quinlan came up with.

First of all, they only need to pay for room and board. Tuition fee will be covered by their full and active participation, as well as thorough and honest feedback and suggestions for the curriculum, teachers et cetera, also good word to others about the new programme and Orsis Academy in general once they have gone through this particular gauntlet.

Secondly, they can blend in very well, this way, and accidentally find a lead to Death Watch operations through one of its agents that teaches – well, taught, by this point – here. A very happy Master Dooku even gives them “pocket money” for the find, as the master and his team have apparently faced dead end after dead end and they’re pretty fed up with it by the time this new lead comes in.

Thirdly, well, it’s free education, isn’t it? Not so morally reprehensible, too. Just brutally pragmatic, exhausting, and… actually not so different from the Mando programme on Dantooine that the friends have been joining in on and off in-between their own missions.

Last but maybe not least, a Jedi can’t hate, can they? Not even a Mandalorian Jedi, or so Master T’ra said.

Obi-Wan shan’t ever tell Quinlan that he… doesn’t hate this programme, though. Never.

Nor shall he ever tell Headmaster Trezza that he intends to apply some of the aspects of this programme on Dantooine, or at least suggest it to the programme developers and teachers.

*

There’s a nautalan girl in the Headmaster’s office when Obi-Wan and his friends come as invited by the male faleen, a few days before the programme ends. Her colouring and markings are somewhat similar to Knight Fisto, who is new into his knighthood and just a couple of years older than Depa. But her character and bearing seem vastly different from his, and vastly older than the young teenage stage her body seems to be in. Not that she is a mean person, Obi-Wan thinks. Life most likely just… treats her less kindly than it has treated Kit.

Headmaster Trezza introduces her as Kilindi Matako, his ward, and proceeds to praise her achievements alongside those of the “programme testers.” Obi-Wan translates it as, “Be good to each other. You’re all my assets, now,” and his friends agree with it when he shares it through the bond that has grown and tightened between the nine of them throughout this month.

They are all wary, even more so when the Headmaster offers them to explore the academy at large as guided by Kilindi, and come up with new ideas or tweaks to what’s already there like what they’ve been doing with the new programme. They will be paid amply for the said ideas and their silence through not only currencies but also favours, and this only makes them warier.

They accept it, though. Mainly because Luminara recently reported that she’d met a red-skinned young zabrak with black tattoos by the name of Maul, and he claimed that he was a future bodyguard – slave by another name, the friends agreed – to a blind businessman from a noble family, but there’s something not right about him and his claim, other than the inherent wrongness of his reality.

Who knows, they all might meet him, this time. They might even get to free him.

*

Well, the nine friends get to meet a human girl by the name of Daleen, first. She is apparently Kilindi’s close friend… and a fabulous slicer, if she says so herself. She is recruited by the latter to “help in the tour,” and the friends don’t know what to think of it, but her cheerfulness is certainly a splash of colour when compared to Kilindi’s seriousness.

And both provide a stark difference to how Maul is wary and uncertain and timid, when Daleen insists to “complete the set” and drags them all to find him before they “go on with the sales pitch.”

Obi-Wan has a different concern to his friends regarding the young zabrak, however.

Because, when their hands meet in a wary, perfunctory handshake, Obi-Wan’s sight is suddenly hyjacked by a vision.

One in which Maul is a young adult instead of a young teenager, and hateful-angry-scornful-Dark, running a red-screaming-wrong lightsabre through Master Jinn’s abdomen.

Chapter Text

The first thing that Obi-Wan does after the vision that apparently sees him flinching violently away from an understandably very upset Maul is to babble to Master T’ra through their bond about the younger zabrak and his vision about the said zabrak and his utmost desire for the vision not to come true in any way, shape or form.

Before they can discuss it, though, Maul attacks him. Incorporating the Force into it, and he has no choice but to defend himself.

“Maul! What’s wrong with you?!” Kilindi calls from relative safety a few yards away, bracketed by Luminara and Siri. She sounds more exasperated than offended, let alone appalled, but it’s understandable given where and with whom she has been living with.

What’s not understandable is how wistfully regretful Maul feels even as he determinedly swings at Obi-Wan with kicks, punches, Force-pushes, and even an attempt at a Force-choke or two. Obi-Wan is too busy defending himself and trying to end the fight non-fatally to delve into it, but it’s indeed odd, and he wants – needs – to know about it, and that fuels his own determination to end this bout fast.

And, given how Kilindi and Daleen don’t help Maul while Quinlan, Garen and Bant do help Obi-Wan, with the latters also experienced in working together to defeat an opponent, as encouraged by Master T’ra in some of their sparring matches… well, the outcome is almost certainly in Obi-Wan’s favour.

So he isn’t surprised when he does win.

But he is surprised when Maul just looks and feels resigned and… ready for death?

“Who do you think I am?” he squawks.

“Didn’t Master send you to test me?” Maul is now puzzled.

That makes Obi-Wan even more surprised, and equally puzzled, and dismayed.

“Master?” he repeats, in the same flabbergasted tone as before.

Maul tenses up, but jerks a nod. And, in Obi-Wan’s head, he shares ever-mounting alarm with his own master.

Red-blade, competent training for sheer violence, left in a school for the disreputables of the galaxy with periodic attention for just testing in the same violent – possibly fatal – way…. It’s not hard at all to come to the conclusion, “You are a Sith apprentice.”

Everyone tenses on that.

Even more, when Maul attacks again, this time with desperate strength.

And a desperate, well-trained, life-or-death-fighting Sith apprentice is not at all to be trifled with.

Well, fortunately Master T’ra arrives in time.

And she is not alone.

And none of the pirates are there with her and Master Tholme and an agitated Rudaban.

She takes over, and, between her and Master Tholme with Rudaban on guard for escape attempts, Maul is subdued for the second time.

“You might as well kill me now,” the young zabrak gasps from his position laid back on the ground spread-eagle, bound by thick ropes formed from some of Master T’ra’s roots. “Master will kill me, then kill you. Better kill me now, and bring my friends with you.”

Master T’ra hums and cocks her head. “If I released you from your bond with your master, what would you do?”

The flat, gasping laughter the question is answered with is horrible. But Master T’ra seems to be willing to wait it and whatever else Maul might react with out, so Obi-Wan follows her lead and asks his friends to do the same via their bondss.

The sobs the hysterical laughter shift gradually into at length is even more horrible, but Maul still neither says nor signs anything, so Obi-Wan decides to vacate the premises – the woodland bordering the main grounds of the academy – and bring his friends with him. Because, maybe Maul just doesn’t want his relative agemates to observe his vulnerable moment further? Obi-Wan should have ushered everyone away when Master T’ra seemed to get a handle on Maul!

But, again surprisingly when it comes to the younger male, Maul shrieks when Obi-Wan and his friends move away, and terror-`Don’t go!`-shame-`I hate this weakness!` explodes in the Force, just so.

Obi-Wan blinks, and gapes, and freezes, and he is not the only one.

Bant is quicker in finding her voice, though, and Obi-Wan credits it to her healer heart and training.

“No, we won’t go,” she promises, and affirms it through the Force to all of them. “Now, are you coming with us when we leave?”

Well, faced with such a demand, Obi-Wan is not surprised that Maul agrees.

One Bant Eerin is a cheerful being, usually, but in the rare times she puts her figurative foot down….

Suffice to say, it would not be pretty if anybody got in her way. He, Garen and Quinlan experienced it once and told each other and themselves, “Never again.”

Chapter Text

Headmaster Trezza is understandably displeased about losing three of his pupils, especially since they are some of his star pupils and one of them is his ward. But he – thankfully, Obi-Wan would say – has no fondness at all for the “blind businessman” who dropped Maul at Orsis years ago. “Xenophobic” is the politest term he has for Maul’s soon-to-be-former master, in fact.

The group of friends and two masters plus their new tagalongs do not rejoin the main fleet, however. Master T’ra privately tells everyone barring the newcomers that she needs to assess Maul further, not to mention that the bond with his master needs breaking convincingly, so they need to break away to a suitable place for a while.

And Tatooine happens to be “the place.” Because, “Life is hard but sadly also cheap, there, and competence sometimes is not enough to guarantee survival, especially when you are a child.”

There is old hurt lurking behind those words, Obi-Wan can sense it, but he keeps his mouth shut and reminds himself that now they must focus on Maul, not Master T’ra, let alone Obi-Wan’s morbid curiosity.

*

Maul has tried to ambush various members of the reconfigured company for a serious fight in various occasions: while on the way to Tatooine, while most are busy smuggling more slaves off-planet, while most are asleep, while they are all eating, while some – Obi-Wan, especially – are trying to mediate between the tuskens and the settlers, and these are only some of them.

Nobody is hurt. Not permanently, not debilitatingly, not even seriously. But it’s not for lack of trying on Maul’s part.

And it’s the part that hurts, somehow. Because Obi-Wan has to go comm-dark along with everyone involved in this unplanned venture, and what Maul has been doing reminds him so much of what Su and Catch like to do to him and others, while He cannot yet reunite with those children.

He wishes greatly to snap at Maul and bar the latter from gaining the information, therefore, when the young zabrak asks about the Mandalorian Jedi and how to become one, some time into their tumultuous stay on Tatooine.

Master T’ra is kinder – far too kind – than he is, however, and tells the possibly former Sith – Sith! It’s still so hard to believe! – apprentice matter-of-factly, “You must become a Jedi and a Mandalorian at the same time, of course. But there is to be no revelling in dark emotions, even so.”

Maul scrunches up his nose, to that, and objects, “But the Light is weak!”

“So your emotions cannot be held and used against you? Cannot consume you? Cannot blur your decision-making capability?” Master T’ra returns mildly, and Obi-Wan settles down beside her to spectate along with the others that happen to still be in their temporary home this morning.

Especially when Master T’ra tells them anecdotes about her and her triad siblings’ fights against the Sith Brotherhood of Darkness a millennium ago. Because it’s rare that she would tell him about this in any occasion. And Maul is listening, now, unconsciously open-mouthed and wide-eyed and so very still.

The second-hand awe is gratifying.

The thoughtful silence that follows after Master T’ra finishes with, “The tradition of betrayal among the Sith makes them weak, in the end, as it is predictively counterproductive. And, in fact, it is what decimated the Sith at the end of the war,” is even more so.

Given all that, Obi-Wan is not surprised that it’s not Maul that speaks, after a while. It’s Daleen instead who tentatively tries to summarise, “So, dark emotions and destruction are natural and not evil, but what people do with those could be?”

“The Sith pervert and twist things,” Master T’ra agrees sadly. “They pervert and twist themselves, most of all. But such is the purview of not just Sith or even Force-sensitives, little one. Everyone is capable of evil, even the Jedi.”

“And you want me to become a Jedi.” Maul finds his voice, at last, but it’s fragile and thready, like spider-silk made of spun glass.

Master T’ra shakes her head. “No. I just wanted to free you. What you would make of your life after that is up to you, little one. You can be a Jedi. You can be a bounty hunter or assassin or mercenary, and ignore the Force as much as possible. You can be a Mandalorian. You can be my ward or even my child, or someone else’s, and still become neither a Jedi nor a Mandalorian. You can be both and choose whom you will study from or make a family with. The options are there, Maul’ika.”

The raw yearning lurking deep in Maul’s eyes is horrible, and Obi-Wan respectfully looks away from the sight of it.

The softly whispered request to get rid of the bond with the unknown Sith lord is expected, after all that.

Chapter Text

Lingering on Tatooine is not wise, probably. But maul wants to free more slaves, and his friends concur with him, and… well, there is nothing wrong with freeing slaves, so why not?

The little, ragtag contingent just has to move bases several times and change identities as well as physical disguises, to keep their relative anonymyty and evade tracking. Not convenient, rather tideous, a little hair-rising at times, but not something they can’t do.

It’s a good lesson about being mobile without sacrificing quality of work and equipment and leaving clues, too, or so Master T’ra claims, and Obi-Wan can only shake his head bemusedly to it.

Still, Obi-Wan has other duties, mainly to his little charges back home, as he has left them for months and months and months by now, and their sporadic messages have increasingly been… worrying. (Well, Sinas threatens to bring their siblings to where he is! Who wouldn’t worry about that?)

The group’s ruses have increasingly been predictable, too, and this is even more worrying, seeing that they have enraged cities worth of slavers, not a few of whom are powerful in one way or another.

Fortunately, the “Orsis trio” agree to leave Tatooine for a while when Master T’ra asks them at length, with the reasoning of, “To throw off the hunters, at least,” topped with the bribe of being introduced to the nine children that have claimed Obi-Wan as theirs, few of whom are Force-sensitive but all of whom are treated equally.

Hondo and his crew fetch them when called. But the price? They have to help the pirates do a heist on Rattatak first, before going home, and the planet lies nearly opposite Dantooine.

Not to mention, Rattatak is ruled by ruthless warlords who won’t hesitate from blaming and punishing civilians under their rule for whatever Hondo would like to steal from any of them.

But they are all off Tatooine for a while, at least?

Well, Obi-Wan regrets that consolation, already pitiful as it is, when their “splinter group of Hondo Ohnaka’s crew” is immediately embroiled in sheer chaos upon landing on the planet, forget the heist.

Granted, it is not Hondo’s fault, per se, as a totally unrelated rebellion of the citizens is apparently going on at the same time. But Hondo and his crew make it worse by looting like mad and indiscriminately, enraging citizens and warlords alike… also the Jedi among the crew itself, which amuses the Orsis trio and makes Obi-Wan think uncharitably, `Once a Sith apprentice, forever a Sith apprentice.`

And, to throw further chaos into all the chaos, Rudaban reports that he has spied a “Jedi purple girl” desperately fighting in the thickest knot of combatants, while Obi-Wan – apparently mistakenly – thinks that such a blinding rage is coming from Maul.

Suffice to say, he ran this fast and agilely and desperately only once before, when he was trying to save the nautalan egg that would hatch into Kiel, his littlest charge.

But, when he comes upon the aforementioned being, who indeed seems to be female and a little younger than he is, is coloured lilac, wielding a green lightsabre and garbed in the approximation of a Jedi padawan attire, complete with a rather long braid hanging on the right side of her head, he is immediately pressed to save the man whom the natives claim is her Jedi master instead of helping her.

Which is not at all his forte!

The master – Ky Narek – would have died on his watch if Master T’ra hadn’t run up to them, clutching a medikit, and immediately worked on the man, who is bleeding from a deep cut on his belly that exposes a little of his innards, which would have been a torturous way to die – Obi-Wan remembers it all too well.

And it doesn’t help that, not long after the fighting has died down, not long after Master T’ra has settled Master Narek, Asajj Ventress the “Jedi purple girl” and Obi-Wan himself in one of the intact and defensible buildings, Hondo struts in with three of his henchmen, who gingerly carries a crying infant who bleed misery into the Force each.

He blames the overwhelming series of events on why he then blurts out, “What?! You’re looting children now? Are you going the Mando route or the slaver route for this?”

Asajj startles. Master T’ra laughs. But Obi-Wan’s hawk-eyed attention is on Hondo, who preens like never before.

“No, my dear, neither!” the weequay pirate proclaims in his usual grandiose manner, but now added with lots of glee. “These are for you! Consider it your… hazard pay, for this unexpected turn of events, and for how my lovelies… disturbed your sensibilities.” He winks at Obi-Wan, and seems not at all bothered by how the glare intensifies.

In fact, he blithely continues, “I heard from reliable sources that you collect children, so here’s to add to your collection. The natives said they’re baby Jedi, too! Perfect, aren’t they?”

And all Obi-Wan can say to that is, “Kriff you!”

Chapter Text

The atmosphere of the mixed enclave of Jedi, Mandalorians and miscellaneous refugees on Dantooine is sombre and even grim, when Hondo’s crew deposit their temporary Jedi crew, the “salvaged” Force-sensitive infants – a set of rattataki triplets, it turned out – and the Orsis trio there. Nobody – no Jedi, that is, nor any of Obi-Wan’s little charges – welcomes them home, even, though Master T’ra and Obi-Wan commed home during the last switch between hyperlanes  – which was just three hours ago – to inform various individuals in the enclave about them returning, and there was no indication of anything wrong then. There’s just one representative – from the Mandalorian side, who is in full armour and somehow brittly tense – who is there more for practicality’s sake: making sure that Hondo and his crew won’t misbehave while they’re here and won’t stray anywhere on planet, seeing if those who went away have indeed returned alive and safely and if they might need unloading things, and giving the newcomers a short introduction about the enclave.

It may have been selfish and pretentious of him, but Obi-Wan still wishes that this would not be so, that they would be welcomed with good cheer, that his charges would be waiting on the landing strip for him with various stories of what those little hellions have been doing in his absence.

He busies himself with settling the new, sadly orphaned babies in the creche, even as Master T’ra and Rudaban spread out to – hopefully! – find out what’s happened. Then he leads the Orsis trio to his home and, stupidly trepidatiously, knocks on his own front door.

His heart falls to his feet and pounds through his entire being from there, it feels, when the knock is not answered.

Not even when he uses the Young-specific pattern. While he knows that what remain of the Young have also been living here and do not yet feel comfortable with constantly mingling with others not their own. The situation did not change even just hours ago.

His heart urges him to go search elsewhere right now.

His mind urges him to check with the Force.

But, even as both battle it out in him, Maul drawls, “There’s nobody in there. Why knock on an empty house? Is there a system that will alert the occupants elsewhere if you knock here?”

Obi-Wan feels so foolish, but also fired up even more than before. Saying nothing, he turns away and jogs back to the temple, even as he informs Master T’ra through their bond that the children are all missing.

He veers off to the recently-built hospital part-way. It causes Daleen to crash into him and Kilindi to curse vehemently as Maul yanks her away before she can do the same to the now-flailing slicer. But he ignores it all, though he does take the time to help right Daleen back up and apologise to her. Because Master T’ra and Rudaban have just informed him that his missing charges are all crowding the hospital along with not a few other interested people.

They are making a nuisance of themselves, just like the rest of the would-be gawkers, Master T’ra claims, exasperated, but Obi-Wan can’t care less about it for now.

`Do not let emotions blind you, Padawan,` she admonishes when the thought-sensation-emotion leaks over to her. `We need to meditate together on it, after you meditate on it yourself. – They are safe, Ob’ika. They have never been in danger.`

But still, Obi-Wan sprints to the hospital, with the Orsis trio pounding away behind him, and they gain a following of more interested individuals along the way.

Only to be rebuffed right at the entrance of the hospital. By a group of angry MediCorps healers. Who shout in tired, fed-up voices as if after endless repetitions. That Mand’alor Jango Fett and Master Dooku are not objects to be gawked at.

Obi-Wan winces. `Oh. Master Dooku would not like that.`

Beside him, Maul whistles in appreciation and remarks, “Now, these are the Jedi of old!”

Obi-Wan winces again. `Where are you, Master?` he sends to Master T’ra, along with the scene he’s just witnessed.

He wilts when his master sends back the sensation of a grim smile and, `Wait there. I will come to you with the children.`

This only serves to ratchet his anxiety up high.

Especially when his master does emerge. With his missing charges trooping worriedly behind her. From the side entrance that leads to the long-and-medium-term care ward.

`Master! Whom did you visit?`

The ward was rather empty but for the rescued children from Death Watch camps, last he knew. And his charges did visit the rescuees, acclimatising them to less-militant childhood. But never all the children, all at once. And Master T’ra was never this grim and tense while accompanying them there.

Nor did she ever swoop him into her embrace the moment they meet like she does now.

And only a long moment after does she murmur into his mind, `We recovered Jango. From slavery. Dooku went to free him. Alone. Nobody knew where he went. And he barely survives. And it’s likely he will never recover fully.`

Chapter Text

The Orsis trio have apparently used the time in which master and padawan are reeling together under the complicated weight of the news to sneak away. Because they are not there when Obi-Wan and his master emerge from their joint quick but deep standing meditation, and they instead come from the long-and-medium-term care ward, escorted by a pair of frazzled and irritated caretakers.

Obi-Wan doesn’t say anything yet about it, though. Because they – especially Maul – look and feel thoughtful and mellow instead of crafty or smug or irritated. And, when Master T’ra asks what they found there instead of why they went there, Maul’s answer is a rather hesitant question of, “You… try to heal your enemies? Not to just retrieve information from them?”

Master T’ra cocks her head in a very specific angle. A very Mandalorian gesture of asking a question, despite her lack of helmet, which snags Obi-Wan’s scattered thoughts for a moment until she repeats, “What did you find in there, Maul?”

And Maul talks, as she ushers the large gaggle of children and youths away from the hospital area. He talks about the ex-Death Watch rescuees, the various therapies they have been undergoing, the pre-Death Watch memories that some of them have begun to recover under the care of the Jedi mind-healers, and the caretakers sourcing the information out to dedicated hunters with their permission, just so that they could hopefully return to their families or clans after this if they so choose, or at least get closure about the latters’ fate.

His presence ripples with longing, wondering and dread of the unknown at the last part, and Obi-Wan suddenly wonders if Maul wishes to make use of the same service for himself.

Which is not a bad idea, really. Except if Maul’s family turns out to have been bad all along. Because Maul is far from all right yet, and more bad news will just set his healing  back.

Well, not that Obi-Wan himself is truly all right, as proven by the disastrous trip to what the Young now call Melidaan. But this is not about him, anyway.

*

Maul is not pleased that the mind-healer who has just had an appointment with him informed him that, no, he cannot immediately retrieve his oldest memories to find out about his background, because he must heal from the recent memories and subconscious triggers first.

The whole house knows it, because he rants about it endlessly and even tries several times to embark on a search on his own.

Obi-Wan can understand it, truly he can. Zabraks are natural hunters and this is quite a personal and desirable hunt. Besides, having closure on the past can help him heal in the present, no doubt. However, the ranting on its own bothers everyone!

*

Su is quite a boon in calming Maul down, or at least distracting him. Mainly because they visibly look a little similar, given the red colouring of their skin. And the little menace wheedles for “fun training” from the bigger menace.

And then Knight Agen, Obi-Wan’s now padawan brother, returns from his mission with his precious hair – long, thick, lustrously and richly black, which he likes to preen and take care of – gone, in addition to burns on a few large spots of his skin. The lack of hair makes him startlingly visible as a zabrak, and he goes visiting with Master T’ra while looking like that and Maul and Su are about, and… well, now the in-house zabrak club has three members?

Anyway, the presence of an adult zabrak seems to calm Maul and Su, and make the time go by unnoticeably for Maul while he undergoes mind-healing treatment, so Obi-Wan endures more pouncing and wrestling and biting just a little grumblingly.

And redirects the zabraki trio to other people as often as he can, of course. It’s just good tactic and strategy, really, not to mention a coping mechanism by now.

*

It’s both relieving and aggrevating, when the zabraki trio leave with Kilindi, Daleen, Master Narek and Padawan Ventress without Obi-Wan. Relieving because now the only one in the house who pounces and bites so much is Catch, but aggrevating because Master T’ra claims that Obi-Wan needs to stay at home and recover for some time before embarking on another mission.

The coddling chafes. It’s new and uncomfortable, too. He and Master Jinn spent so little time in temple when he was the latter’s padawan. And even when they stayed, it’s usually because one or the other was injured and needed recovery time that could not be spent safely outside of the temple. And Obi-Wan is healthy and well-rested. Besides, why does Master Narek get to go with Asajj while Obi-Wan can’t go with Su?

Also, he can’t deny that he is morbidly curious about what Dathomir – where the contingent is going to, because Maul dreamt of sunlight that was cast redly on a landscape of swamp and rocks – is like. But Master T’ra needn’t look so so judging about that!

Well, he just has to interrogate Maul when the latter is back, then.

If the latter is going to return at all, but he is not going to think about that at present.

Chapter Text

Maul returns with three more zabraks.

One of the zabraks is female and seems to be drawn to Padawan Ventress, so she likely will not share accommodations with Obi-Wan, but still!

Worse, Maul seems to detect Obi-Wan’s apprehension-irritation-resignation, for he proceeds to gleefully get Su to pounce on and wrestle with the long-suffering padawan.

Still, Obi-Wan would rather have that any time – well, except for when he is sleeping, maybe – than to see the flash of grief-born anger on Maul’s face when the zabrak thinks he is not looking.

And then he knows why that face when the biggest of the zabraks, skin yellow instead of red but face and markings sharing some vague resemblance, introduces himself as Savage, Maul’s – or rather, Wild’s – eldest brother. And there is also Feral with his more-rangy skin, youngest of the three brothers.

Obi-Wan cannot – dares not – imagine himself in Maul’s – Wild’s? – place, having an entire past and an entire family and an entire name that he never knew about, never remembered.

Because Savage and Feral are good, if too timid and wary to have been unharmed by their previous upbringing and environment. But the finding about Sinas’ extended family has taught him amply that having blood family one never knew of is not always good.

*

Seeing Savage and Feral interact with females, especially Merrin the new Nightsister and Padawan Ventress, is… interesting. Rather morbidly so.

Their fearful deference is alien. Their obedience, likewise.

“Did nobody ever do something about the Nightbrother situation on Dathomir?” he bursts out, at last, when Master T’ra confronts him about why he is increasingly distracted and emotionally unbalanced without visible or even probable cause.

She frowns. Her branches rustle in agitation.

Obi-Wan ducks his head, apologetic but still mulish.

But apparently his outburst is not – or not only – what makes her agitated, for then she says in a carefully measured tone, “The galaxy also views Jedi as child thieves and Mando’ad’e as vicious brutes, Ob’ika.”

He glares petulantly at her, then looks away, back at the essay he has been trying to write under the shade of the tree growing right beside his home here. “It’s still wrong, Master,” he mutters to the datapad, his grip on it slightly tighter than necessary.

His temporary roof rustles its branches in an unfelt wind when Master T’ra positions herself right beside him and lets him lean against her. It puts a quirk of a smile on his lips, but not for long.

“Can’t we do something, Master?” he pleads, as her twig-like fingers card softly through his hair.

Master T’ra hums deep in her core, in answer. The vibration travels through all over her trunk and, coupled with the continued caresses, it lulls Obi-Wan farther into calmness.

Only then does she softly speak, “Male zabraks are territorial by nature, while female zabraks are communal. They used to be so, at least. The females gradually felt oppressed and restricted by the males, when their homeworld became more open to the greater galaxy and the males sought to control what the females could access.”

“Female zabraks are always more open to the Force until now, and it tipped the balance to female superiority when they battled for socio-cultural supremacy with the males after a certain point,” she continues after a pause in which she prods Obi-Wan to internalise the knowledge imparted. “The females had also always been in charge of resources, and they refused to release those when they won, so the males had no choice but to shift into communal living among themselves in order to survive. Thus began the segregation, which was not optimal but did reduce antagonism between the two groups and the males’ territorial tendency. And then, some time ago, which is yet unclear, a powerful Nightsister called Talzin rose into power, and the status quo shifted again, with far-harsher treatment towards the Nightbrothers. Theirs is a neutral world, however, so nobody can intervene overtly. The Nightbrothers did not appreciate it, either, when Shadows were sent to bring them elsewhere.”

“They choose to be oppressed?” Obi-Wan is flabbergasted.

“They choose to keep their homeworld and their culture, rather,” Master T’ra corrects him mildly. “Many have migrated elsewhere throughout the centuries, but certainly not all of them, and the Nightbrothers reason that they are safe from annihilation because the Nightsisters still need them for various purposes.”

“That…,” Obi-Wan splutters, sits up, glares up at his master, “that’s sick, Master. It’s a twisted kind of thinking.”

“But forcing someone to choose is not something inherently right either, Padawan,” Master T’ra smiles sadly down at him, and Obi-Wan looks away and down, hunkers into himself, feels like he is about to throw up.

Because Cerasi said that in her own way, and the Young tried to give the Elders choices about their collective future, and the Elders chose, and some of the Young chose, and where are they now?

`Dead. All dead. All dead. All dead.`

Chapter Text

Choice is the topic that Obi-Wan ends up wrestling with for the longest time while he is talking with practically everyone, from Master T’ra to his mind healer to Rudaban to even Sinas. Master T’ra, after consulting with his mind healer, even assigns him an essay with choice as the topic, apparently in hope that it will help settle him. He is to interview as many people as possible from various backgrounds about their opinions of choices and the act of choosing, collate them, come up with a conclusion, refer to records from the archives if possible, and come up with the final conclusion based on both points of data.

He starts from his charges and closest friends, and it’s… not easy.

“Even when I was a slave, I still got a choice,” Shna offers when he goes to her while she is idling alone in their back-yard garden, caressing the flowers and leaves and grassblades. “I could choose to say no and get punished. Or dead. Some people choose to die. I didn’t. I got people to care about. Can’t take care of them if I’m dead.”

“Sin’bu’s dead. You were there. I followed you,” is Sinas’ contribution to the topic. “I knew I maybe wouldn’t be a mando’ad, not like what Sin’bu wanted, if I’m with you, but I chose it.”

“I chose not to be a Sith anymore, not that I’d like to be a Jedi,” is the only thing Maul says. But then again, Obi-Wan was there when the zabrak chose, and he could clearly see that it was not an easy choice at all, nor that it was undoubtably a good one, since Maul doesn’t mind living with one foot in the Dark.

“Chose to help you,” is what Quinlan grunts before the kiffar refocuses himself back on his arm-wrestling with Rhyyyshk, who then joins in on her own, pointing how stupid her parents were, but it’s still their choice, as her mind-healer helped her see.

Free will and sentient stupidity and hindsight regrets, Obi-Wan remembers from his conversation – well, complaint, but still! – with Master T’ra that time, regarding wookiee families who refuses to live in a more central area.

Siri and even Aalto concur with the assessment, when he discusses it with his clanmates during one of their sporadic gatherings. Aalto even adds quietly, “Bruck chose his path, Obi-Wan. He died for it, but it was still his choice, and… there are lots of arguments about destiny and all, but I still think free will matters, and possible. Just, it’s not always good. The Force just guides us, doesn’t it? It doesn’t steer us, whatever the visions and prophecies say.”

“Wanna come with you,” the littles from Melidaan chorus almost in unison when Obi-Wan asks them what’s the latest big choice they had to take and what they felt about it. Then Lina, the youngest of them, adds, “Not hard. Nothing left back there. You’re the general. We come with you.”

All this, it makes his old wound throb anew, on the verge of reopening. But, at the same time, It’s somehow freeing, even enlightening.

`Everyone makes choices. We have to respect them, honour them, even if they are bad.`

“We could explain, advise, caution or warn people. We could even intimidate them, if pressed or if the situation warrants it, which is actually rare as it is not a good tactic in the long run,” Master T’ra said that time on Kashyyyk. “But, ultimately, someone’s choice is their own, as well as the consequences, and they cannot blame anyone or anything for it. As bystanders, we could only prepare for the possible consequences that might reach us at some point.”

`And I didn’t learn better, after that, or I wouldn’t have gone back to this topic again,` he realises, then, shame and mortification flooding in.

Even more so, when Master T’ra taps concernedly at their bond.

`What a padawan am I that this lesson needs repeating? And she is willing to reteach it to me.`

Still, trying to be extra dutiful now, Obi-Wan opens the bond on his end and greets his master as positively as he could.

Well, he can’t send reassurance to her, not right now, but at least he manages to keep the shame and mortification away when he tells her that he is all right?

Sort of, anyway. Because she still asks about it, in a mix of tone and sensations and feelings that makes it so tempting to just cave in.

And then she approaches him physically, as he is sequestered – no, he is not hiding – amidst the high grasses on the edge of the grassland beyond the growing town.

But… not to drill him in person. No.

Just to take a nap under the sun beside him.

He feels… accompanied. And silly. Like a coddled child, really.

But still, he finds himself leaning closer and closer to her trunk, the more they stay together in silence like this.

It just feels… natural.

He’ll tell anybody who asks that he’s hiding from the full brunt of the sun in her shade, though.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan has been learning lots about Mandalorian culture these past years, because of his mission in Mandalore Space, and Sinas’ machinations, and Master T’ra, and all the former Mandalorian refugees, and all the rescuees from Death Watch camps, and the Scoop’s passengers, and all the Mandalorian guests that have been coming and going from this shared enclave.

He knows that Mandalorian armourers rarely leave the forges they tend, therefore, and they are traditionally unarmed but for their forging tools.

And, now, an armourer is approaching him as he is shelling peas for soup for dinner on the porch steps of his home, forging tools and no other weapons and all.

He rises to his feet, curls his unfortunately pea-gunk-covered fingers into a loose fist and rests it just above his heart. “Armourer,” he says, bowing his head. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Nothing and nobody,” is the answer as the armour stops about two metres away. Now Obi-Wan can see that they are a lanky being, covered from head to toe in bare beskar that unfortunately reflects the glare of the afternoon sunlight.

He is more occupied in internally kicking himself for the Coreworld pleasantry that he has just reflexively spouted, however. No wonder the armourer replies in such a way – Mando’a is a rather literal language on the surface, with paradoxically delicate nuances based on context, expression and intonation, but there is surprisingly little leeway regarding debt, and he’s just asked right away whom he would be indebted to for the armourer’s visit.

This could be interpreted flatteringly, or very rudely.

Well, given that it is his thoughtless action that has caused this… “I eat my insult, Armourer,” he apologises in Mando’a, bows his head, and motions to the vicinity of his heart again with his unfortunately dirty fist.

He relaxes when the armourer grunts, “No insult.” But then he notices that they are… fidgeting with their tools?

`Uh-oh.`

He suddenly has a bad feeling about this….

*

“So… your name is not your name, either, but you were taken away from the Sith instead of given to them.”

Maul – Wild – has a very eloquent judging stare that almost masks the envy. And a very succinct summarising skill that turns a statement into an insult by a tiny flick of intonation.

Obi-Wan glares, looks away, huffs, grumbles.

“That is an oversimplification.”

Master T’ra combes his hair soothingly. He sighs and forces his subconsciously tensing body to relax. Again.

It’s not easy. Even more than his twice reoccurring struggle with accepting people’s personal choices.

It’s maybe never easy for anyone in this situation. But right now it’s so hard to acknowledge that much.

The armourer – Ari-Wan Kenobi – told him – confessed – that, round fifteen years ago, one Kes Vizsla, spouse of Tor – Head of Clan and House Vizsla – pleaded to the armourer of their clan – Ari-Wan – to spirit their three-year-old child Bre away to safety, as they refused to give their child away for training in the ways of the Sith by Tor’s “friend.” And then, in the name of providing the child protection through a separate identity, the armourer did some kind of Force-ritual native to Stewjon or maybe the stewjoni as a species and renamed the child who had just gotten a new look – red hair instead of blond, green tinge to the greyish blue eyes, a healthy amount of stewjoni influence on his body – as Obi-Wan Kenobi, just before they lost the said child – Obi-Wan himself – in the temple district on Coruscant while they were fleeing from Tore and the latter’s hunters. And, despite all their efforts to reunite with him while they were also being hunted, the two met only now, while they also heard tell that Tor has chosen a new heir, Pre, who is most likely Obi-Wan’s birth younger sibling since Kes was pregnant when Obi-Wan was spirited away.

Suffice to say, now he knows how Wild must have felt, having an entire past and an entire family and an entire name that he never knew about, never remembered. And it turned out that his situation is far closer to Sinas’ rather than Wild’s, that lucky sod.

His birth parent is the Head of Death Watch, in fact. While the Mandalorians here are either True Mandalorians or a neutral faction. And everyone here has been participating in freeing brainwashed children from Death Watch camps in some way.

Ari-Wan tried to comfort him by a Mandalorian proverb that more or less says that one’s parentage has no business with how one conducts oneself as a person and as a parent. Master T’ra echoes it unknowingly, even, now. But it still rings hollow in his mind-heart-soul.

After all, he knows that all the words in the universe can’t measure up to reality.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan… distracts himself rather than tackling the matter head-on, in the end, and seeks to remove himself from any Mandalorians the best he can except for his own… well, children, and master, and… clan – ever-expanding clan. Not forever! Just… a while.

He tells Master Dooku so when it’s his turn to keep the master company – officially so that the master doesn’t feel exiled in his own home, and unofficially so that someone always has an eye on him in case of more jare’la moves. Obi-Wan is often chosen for this, in fact, given that Master Jinn apparently never let Master Dooku meet his grandpadawans before the repudiations, and a lot of their hobbies happen to… click together, as Shna says it.

Fortunately, also suspiciously, just as Obi-Wan is thinking of returning to Tatooine or moving to Kashyyyk, Master Dooku’s elder sister reaches out to Dantooine and requests that Master Dooku move to Serenno for his convalescence, though it displeases his elder brother. Oh, this has the potential to be a drama just as great as the one Obi-Wan is fleeing from, but at least it’s different? Also, nobody has to go far to reach a forest lush enough for comfort, training, play and rest purposes, and it’s definitely a bonus given the makeup of Obi-Wan’s clan.

And once on Serenno and having settled down some, the procrastinating padawan does stay awhile in the forested mountains surrounding the castle where Lady Jenza and Count Ramil live, and drags his clan along with him. Herman, Count Ramil’s fifteen-year-old only son, even tags along and – surprisingly – proves himself a more-than-adequate guide, if sometimes a little too snooty… and pernickety, when he suddenly remembers how people of his station should behave. It’s cute, really, though Obi-Wan shall tell that to nobody, on pain of being booted off of Serenno forever. Obi-Wan even – belatedly – celebrates his nineteenth birthday there!

Still, everything must come to an end some time, and this particular stretch of procrastination ends when, not a full day after the haphazard but thoroughly fun birthday celebration, Count Ramil and Master Dooku call their respective charge and nominal charges back home for a “family dinner.”

More exactly, it ends when, during that dinner that is apparently also to celebrate Obi-Wan’s birthday all over again, Kiska wonders aloud why Serenno is not yet allied with Dantooine, Roda and Kalee. Count Ramil expresses noncommittal interest in the idea, and asks who else might join the alliance. And, to that, Sinas pipes up that Jango Fett is back so maybe Mandalore or at least a large faction of the Mandalorians might join when Death Watch has been eradicated.

A condescending Count Ramil points out that Death Watch is simply too big and too rooted of an organisation to eradicate fully and everyone in the Outer Rim knows that. And, in response, the loose-mouthed little brat boldly points out that Obi-Wan could always challenge his birth parent for the title of Kyr’tsad’alor.

Obi-Wan has to spend the rest of the dinner and afterwards to navigate the various figurative landmines that Sinas has just figuratively planted on his path, let alone diffusing the said figurative landmines. And he somehow has to give consessions instead of someone with much more authority, because Count Ramil will consider strongly joining in the alliance – even up to advocating for a more formalised pact between nations – if Death Watch is under Obi-Wan’s rule and preferably out of the picture, either by disbandment or pact of non-agression with everyone else.

Now Obi-Wan wishes that he had picked Tatooine or Kashyyyk to seclude himself on.

Worse, he can’t just excuse himself and abscond with himself to either of those worlds, because Count Ramil now scrutinises his every move. Judgementally, at that. He can’t give Sinas a cold shoulder, either, in retaliation to what the little brat has pulled on him. He refuses to do so, to be exact: to do what Master Jinn did to him not a few times.

So, lacking an escape and an outlet for his frustration-anger-exasperation, he calls back home and, seeing that it’s Reeft who answers, asks if the latter got any sharable gossip.

The dressellian humms thoughtfully for a moment, then grins toothily – Obi-Wan so hates that grin – and offers, “Your third parent felt crushed when you skedaddled to Serenno. Tried to make it up by running back home and fetching your first parent and your baby sibling. Didn’t get that far, though. You know our security on the landing fields is tighter and sneakier after you brought home that pirate crew. Well, they got caught, and then those who caught them tried to make it up to them by escorting them home….”

Obi-Wan groans.

Reeft giggles.

And then the damned bottomless pit delivers the killing blow, while still giggling: “Your first parent is very eager to meet you. Your baby sibling, too.”

Chapter Text

“Are you going to return home soon?” Count Ramil asks during yet another “family dinner.”

On the same day as Obi-Wan’s call with Reeft.

After Master T’ra has returned to Dantooine, citing an “urgent matter.” Which she was too preoccupied with to tell even her own padawan.

Obi-Wan’s hand spasms on his fork, but he manages to keep his face politely neutral.

Barely.

`He has our communication lines bugged,` his mind translates, and it rings true in the Force.

`I need to learn slicing and cyber security,` is the follow-up, and, `We need to leave as soon as possible and clean everything once we’re away, but not at home.`

It’s a daunting task. But, with a rudimentary plan formed, he relaxes a little. He even manages to give out a noncommittal response truthfully, and such is important for a shrewd politician like the Count, unfortunately.

He redirects the Count’s attention to a less sensitive topic, then, as smoothly as he can. And he’d like to think that he’s not being prideful when he says he can, after all the figurative and literal ruffled feathers that were left in the wake of Master Jinn’s brand of diplomacy.

He even manages to excuse himself and his folks early from the table without inciting any more scrutiny.

Only, he is still not a slicer, and using any of the available communication devises to call home to ask for back-up seems to be the height of foolishness.

`Well, it’s Sinas’ fault, isn’t it? Let them try to solve this.`

*

On hindsight, maybe Obi-Wan should not have left most of the planning and the execution of the plan to Sinas.

The plan was good, if a little too complicated. It was executable as it was. Obi-Wan was to ask Master T’ra for help through their bond as much as he could without alarming her unduly. Meanwhile, Su was to overtly holocall Wild, asking the latter for a “playdate here” since he “missed playing with a zabrak.” And, on the background, Sinas was to adapt dadita – which is normally conveyed by tapping against something – into the light version, replacing taps with flashes, which they would flash behind Su’s back to be seen on Wild’s end only, conveying “slicing-help-urgent.” The rest were to distract Herman and Master Dooku and perhaps others as necessary while these actions were on-going.

To be fair, Sinas did try to discreetly instruct the other members of the clan about how best to distract their hosts.

The verd’ika just forgot to apply strict-but-discreet situational awareness.

As the result, herman caught wind of what they were doing, thought this was an exciting game, and refused to be parted from them even when Wild arrived with his now-not-so-little entourage of Kilindi, Daleen, Savage and Feral from the errand they had been preoccupied with elsewhere on-world.

And then he told the newcomers about the Sith-ridden history of the Serenno system, which is – again, to be fair – old news by now to Obi-Wan and others who have been spending these months with the teen.

And of course Wild was highly interested.

So now Obi-Wan has to try to prevent Wild from absconding to the neighbouring planet that is said to be still a Sith planet, while preventing Herman from egging him on and wrangling the others.

By himself.

Because Master Dooku admits that he also would like to go to that accursed planet, as he has been long “academically interested” in the remnants of Sith artefacts and beasts they might find there, and Rudaban is interested with the “possible challenge” of tangling with those artefacts and beasts.

And Obi-Wan cannot invite more people here to help him wrangle these lunatics, because Count Ramil is already mad about the “invasion” of Wild and company.

*

Master T’ra is tangled up in trying to mediate between Jango Fett and Kes Vizsla and everyone else back home, which is apparently the “urgent matter” she cited. So, Hondo Ohnaka – who claims that he has legitimate business with the Count – once more comes to the “rescue.” For a “measly” few bolts of the prized Serennian silk that is not only soft and light but also warm against cold weathers.

Fortunately, Herman agrees to pay the price.

Unfortunately, for one more bolt added to the sum, Herman wants the crew to help them all to detour to the Sithly neighbour for a looksie.

And, of course, Hondo being Hondo, he accepts the bargain.

The only bright ray in this gloomy, thorny affair is that the Count catches Herman in time and forbids the brat from joining in, and Hondo agrees for half the additional bolt of silk – the price of Herman not joining in as firstly stipulated – if only to avoid the wrath of the Count of Serenno.

But, anyway, with how cheerful and speedy Hondo is, Obi-Wan suspects that the Count has paid him in another way for another reason, namely getting rid of the unwanted guests as soon as possible, preferably into the obvious deathtrap most of them are so eager to fly into.

Oh, he has a very bad feeling about this.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan sits dazedly in the cargo hold of his ship. He tries not to think of what has happened, and the sheer flabbergasted exhaustion helps, but it’s… still hard.

How not? He managed to prevent everyone under thirteen years old with ample self-defence training and experience from going down onto the planet, but it was a very near thing, especially with people like Nita and other remnants of Melida/Daan. And then he barely persuaded Master Dooku to sit on the souped-up hoverchair – courtesy of Shna, Sinas and Kilindi – instead of trying to walk, while they “explored” the Sith planet.

And then, the group was ambushed by crysalids, and Obi-Wan’s loved ones came out of it alive and relatively unharmed only because Hondo lost a few of his crewmembers to those misshapen beasts. Which is a very horrible way to see that mess, made even more horrible because Obi-Wan is not repentent about it, when it comes down to his realest, rawest opinion. Because nothing in even the most fearsome stories and depictions about those abominations could match the sheer petrifying terror and nausea and suffocation of encountering them in real life! And Obi-Wan remains glad that he has lost no one he holds close to his heart to them.

Not that Master Dooku did not tempt fate by trying to guard their retreat in his condition after that!

Worse, Wild led them into a detour instead of going as straight as possible back to the rendezvous point, and Obi-Wan realised it only when they came across the intact body of someone clad in Mandalorian armour and Jedi robe. Which they had not encountered before. Nor does anyone in the last millennium wear such garb, as far as Obi-Wan knows.

It’s wrong to leave the body behind on that cesspit of a planet, still. Even Obi-Wan agreed with that mad assessment. And Wild said there was a powerful something that meant protection but also death embedded in the pale ash that somehow pooled undisturbed near the body, and insisted to bring it along.

And they nearly lost both the body and Master Dooku when they continued on their way, because the master had insisted to carry the body along on his hoverchair, thus he was very much encumbered when a huge pack of crysalid vornskr came down on them.

They did lose a chunk of Hondo’s people, though, who were ironically trying to distance themselves from the Force-sensitives in order not to be targeted. And Hondo was not one of the dead only because Obi-Wan defended the weequay.

And he lost his sabre to the highly corosive and somehow Darkly escenced acid of the lead vornskr for it.

The dying scream of his poor kyber is still ringing in his ears even now, in fact, which is the main contributor to his on-going nausea and listlessness.

It doesn’t help that Master Dooku passed out and went into a coma the moment they were safely aboard, and the team of healers that has been taking care of him since the start on behest of the Jedi Order and the House of Serenno – whom Lady Jenza had shoved aboard as the stipulation of letting her younger sibling tag along in this “lunatic venture” – is doubtful that he will ever come out of it again. Something about the accumulation of grievous injuries and exhaustion in so short an interval on an old, well-used body.

As Healer Leem put it, “Force-sensitives may have longer lifespans and fitter bodies, but hard-headed recklessness trumps it all.”

Well, if pressed, Obi-Wan would also admit that he is feeling bitter towards Wild and Hondo and Herman and Master Dooku and even Rudaban and his own gaslighting children, hence this seclusion among the crates of supplies Lady Jenza sent them homeward with. Because, so many lives lost for an adventure–!

Not that he regrets having rescued the body, which turns out to be alive if in a strange kind of internal stasis. Master T’ra even identified the armour as belonging to her long-lost triad sibling Tarre Vizsla, when he dumped everything on her through their bond. There just must be another way – a better way, with less fatalities and heartaches and traumas – to retrieve them from that accursed slimeball!

Aaand now is the third full loop of his recollections while he sits alone here, which only makes him feel more wretched.

The difference is the heavy booted footsteps that he can hear approaching his hidey-hole at this moment, going down the ladder then clanking mutely on the decking then thumping softly on the tops of the crates.

Rudaban.

He would very much like to avoid the older male right now, just like he would like to avoid the other perpetrators of this misadventure. But, at the same time, he is fed up with his own looping recollections – recollections that he would very much like to avoid, himself.

So, when Rudaban seats himself atop the crate, before he can sign anything with the hands he tentatively raises, the younger male murmurs, “Thank you for coming.”

It just makes Rudaban wretched – more wretched, now that Obi-Wan really notices it. But, eh, now they can be wretched together?

Chapter Text

The group that trickles out of the ship on the landing field on Dantooine is solemn, even dejected.

The group that has been waiting for the former is… primed, for lack of a better word, and consists of mostly Mandalorians.

Obi-Wan wonders about it, vaguely. And then Master T’ra reaches out to him in the Force, just as their eyes meet, and suddenly all he can think of is that he is home, while home has been so long in coming.

Between one moment and the next, he finds himself in her woody embrace, and for once he is entirely unself-conscious about it, even when his ugly crying joins the mix.

He doesn’t know how long he pours out all his pent-up emotions to his master. He doesn’t know, either, when they begin to move away from the settlement’s rudimentary starport. All he knows is that he is safe at last and Master T’ra is the one in charge now.

In fact, `Someone else can give her the report,` is the last thing that passes across the fore of his mind before it shuts down completely and he slips gratefully into oblivion.

*

Putting Master T’ra, Kes Vizsla, Ari-Wan Kenobi, Ukka and Urra and Obi-Wan himself in the same place is apparently a very bad idea.

Because, the moment the still-lethargic padawan enters one of the communal eating halls shared by all the peoples inhabiting this colourful little town, which happens to host the aforementioned individuals at present, Custody Battle 2.0 breaks out. Over him.

Or maybe it’s 3.0, given how tense the atmosphere was already when he landed.

Even Jango Fett joins in, citing the very ridiculous ascertion that Obi-Wan is a Mandalorian and therefore ought to be trained as a Mandalorian but not by anyone with Death Watch leanings, including – somehow! – his master.

Suffice to say, it doesn’t take him long to vacate the eating hall without touching any meal.

Not before stating firmly that Master T’ra is his guardian and will remain his guardian until he is knighted if she does not freely and willingly repudiate him, though.

However, as he is still avoiding the perpetrators of the recent “jaunt” to a Sithly cesspit, including his own charges, he retreats not back home but to the hangar where his ship is now parked. To the cockpit, to be exact, to access the comm console.

He doesn’t know whom to contact, as his closest friends and family are all here and more than three quarters of them were involved in the recent disaster. Truth be told, he doesn’t really wish to contact anyone, either, or even talk in the first place. But he must do something or the disaster will occupy his mind again.

In the end, he calls up the chat app instead of the holocall one, closes his eyes, and picks a contact as the Force wills it.

*

Frelya, Roda’s young queen, is Obi-Wan’s new constant companion as he seeks to avoid both the custody battle and the perpetrators of the disaster.

He cannot leave Dantooine, not right now, nor can the Queen leave Roda, but it does not mean they cannot find some time to commcall each other and exchange light-hearted commtexts. And Dantooine may be rather small compared to some, but it is still a planet, therefore big enough for him to sequester himself for these communications and… well, some “brooding,” all right.

It is unhealthy, maybe, especially since he is also avoiding his mind-healer, but things are still… too much. Also, the Queen – well, she has been insisting he call her just Frelya in private, and now he cannot avoid it – not only commiserates with him but also helps him brainstorm on how to avoid something like it from ever happening again, so it’s not like he is truly avoiding the issue, right?

Anyway, step one is to let the perpetrators know that they have indirectly, unknowingly hurt him greatly with their action.

Step two is to take a firmer – far firmer, even, if he can manage it – stance against the shenanigans the people round him will likely try to involve him in later on.

So, when the unspoken grace period ends and Master T’ra fishes him out of his latest hidy-hole – a copse of pines that forms a small, bough-roofed, needle-pillowed nook in the middle, high up the mountainside half a world away – he is… somewhat ready.

He is not ready to be faced by a kneeling-and-prostrating Sinas, however, and it is what happens the moment he is standing on their porch.

The child tearfully begs for his forgiveness, says they will do anything to rectify the wrong they have done, and Obi-Wan cannot reply for the bile coming up his throat and pooling in his mouth.

Chapter Text

An emergency group therapy is the “delectable” fruit on top of the “awesome” sundae that is Obi-Wan’s last few months.

This time, though, Obi-Wan can’t say that he doesn’t need it, can talk it out with his new long-distance friend, can solve it himself.

He just feels… too much. And empty at the same time.

Sinas apologised for speaking for him in a few crucial occasions, including during that dinner with Count Ramil, and egging everyone to do what they wanted, including this last disaster. And it was all Obi-Wan had hoped for. But the reality of it only nauseated him – still does – because a Mandalorian literal child. Kneeling in a Mandalorian potentially fatal apology…!!!

*

It takes Obi-Wan three sessions to be able to verbalise what he feels about the apology.

It takes him five to be able to verbalise what he thinks about the children that keep getting hoisted on him, let alone the newfound family and on-going custody battle.

And it takes him seven, plus diction coaching from Healer Erim and Master T’ra, before he manages to face the said children dead-on and… just… tell them.

It takes them the next twelve sessions to work through all the tangled feelings and desires and hopes and expectations, but they do detangle those snarly, weighty, sometimes jagged or hardened things at last.

It means he has no more energy to work on his guardians and would-be guardians, though. So, at least for now, he just… doesn’t.

He goes hunting for Master Vizsla’s lightsabre, instead, because Master T’ra theorises that Master Vizsla might wake up once they are reunited with the sabre, and it’s something wholesome he can do outside of… everything.

He is now a senior padawan – at long last – anyway, and senior padawans can have solo missions.

He just… doesn’t tell Master T’ra about this mission. Not directly. He sends her a timed message containing his plans and list of supplies to her commlink, instead.

*

He looks down at the body – the corpse – in front of him, numb all over.

He didn’t mean to.

But Tor Vizsla is dead, regardless.

He found the man who purportedly contributed to his genetics about a couple of months after he’d set out, lurking near the raided Death Watch base in what Corellian’s fondly dubs “the Jungle.” Possibly to check if anything was salvageable. Possibly to find clues where the former recruits were shipped off to. But in any case the older male was there, and took deep offence when he found Obi-Wan trailing him.

He brandished Master Vizsla’s sabre and attacked right away. No posturing. No monologue. Not like what Jango Fett had said, when Obi-Wan had managed to coax recountings of their encounters out of him.

Obi-Wan was taken aback and put on the defensive right from the start, consequently. Tor was simply too aggressive and unpredictable in his mad fury. The said mad fury also clogged the Force all round them, preventing Obi-Wan from glimpsing anything.

And then Tor trips, just as Obi-Wan swings, and it’s far too late to abort the motion.

It’s an awful twentieth birthday gift from the universe.

*

Facing Kes and Pre Vizsla after what he did to Tor is… awkward. And horrible. And anxiety-inducing. But Obi-Wan can’t avoid it. The moment he sets foot again on Dantooine, Pre ambushes him, while the latter’s – their? – mother trails behind.

Well, shockingly, it turns out, they are far more concerned about him instead of Tor, even after he has told them what happened – what he did. But, strangely, it doesn’t reduce the internal maelstrom by much.

Not even surviving the various disappointed lectures from his family and friends does.

Only when he once more beholds the inanimate body of Master Vizsla, still laid out as if sleeping on a corner of the kar’ai of his family’s now-sprawling house, does the jumble of feelings crack like a rotten egg, leaving him feeling slimy and cold.

Because, “What if this doesn’t work, Master?”

And Master T’ra, seated beside him near her long-lost, long-hurt sibling, has no answer.

It’s not she that answers.

“Do what you feel is right, Padawan.”

Master Fay. It’s Master Fay – pointed ears and all. But Master Fay never returned here after that first time, unlike the others, as far as he knows.

`She hopes the sabre can wake Master Vizsla up, then? But why didn’t she do that when the sabre firstly resurfaced? Was she afraid she would fail? Master Fay, afraid?`

It just deepens the pressure.

And now Obi-Wan is aware that they are alone in the kar’yai, while it is usually well-populated.

`They’re expecting me.`

Well, he cannot stop, by this point, can he?

Chapter Text

Opening Master Vizsla’s sabre for its heart is an exercise in skill, diligence and patience, given the beskar casing and how awfully dirty the insides turn out to be.

Meditating with the black, silver-dotted crystal, meanwhile, is an exercise in… shielding. And peacekeeping. And negotiation. Because it strikes the moment Obi-Wan connects with it, like a wounded, cornered animal perceiving an attack would.

When he looks back on it later on, though, he believes that it’s actually his sorrow on the reaction that stays the attack, not any skill of his.

*

Obi-Wan’s mental projection was deemed too loud by everyone when he was small. Even Master T’ra wanted him to tone it down a little, back then.

But Master Fay has a different perspective on it, regarding his eligibility to be the one who is to draw Master Vizsla – the part of Master Vizsla that is in their body, as freaky as that sounds! – up from the depths of their self-protection, to reunite with the one stuck in the sabre’s heart.

“Allow yourself to be the beacon in the storm, Padawan. You are the lighthouse that stands true, that radiates the guiding light, that promises safe harbour.”

So he does. He meditates, invisions himself as an anchored ball of light that radiates warm-safe-comfy-calm-peaceful-home-family-`Come here`, and projects it.

And Master Vizsla wakes.

“Benau,” they name him when they open their eyes.

And then they fall unconscious. But it’s already a success! Master Vizsla is asleep now, complete with a slow but steady breathing, instead of all but a corpse. The first hurdle is already over, and Obi-Wan helps, with something that was perceived as a weakness for the longest time.

*

A candle is small and soft and looks weak, but when there are many of them, the night lights up beautifully. Just like good deeds in this harsh universe.

It is in fact the essence of the Celebration of Light that the Jedi as a culture have been celebrating since their inception, held in the bleakest, longest moonless night on the planet they happen to be on.

Among the Dantooine enclave, it is held during a new-moon night closest to midwinter.

It’s Obi-Wan’s first attendance since the enclave’s rebirth. It’s also the first time all the allies are gathered together – Jedi, Mandalorians, unaffiliated Dantooine citizens, Roda, Kalee, Kashyyyk, Rattatak and even Serenno, although not Hondo’s crew.

And, in a field under a night sky without any smudge of light pollution like this, with him perched on a balcony high on one of the buildings abutting the field whose lights have been turned off for this occasion, the lighting of the candles is striking.

It begins from a central point. Always. To symbolise the influence one being could affect on their surroundings.

One light jumps into life, flares, steadies. Only a pinprick, from this distance, in this total darkness so far from the Core and its dense, spiralling band of stars. Then it shifts a little, and a second light blooms when it shifts back.

It soon turns into three, four, five, six… like stars sneaking into the night sky after the sun goes down, except with a warmer yellowish tint to their light.

The cluster of warm light grows, grows, grows, and grows ever more. Silently, as good deeds need not be blared to all and sundry.

Likewise, a peaceful, reflective mood gradually permeates the damp, chilly night air, started by the Jedi and other Force-sensitives among them. Gratitude for the moment, their fellow sentients and how far they have come tinges it, anchors it in the reality and the essence of this celebration.

Ripples and bursts of other emotions sneak in, though, sometimes. And, admittedly, Obi-Wan is one of the culprits, given how rarely he could attend this celebration after he became a padawan, and how he never observed it in any other place but inside the amphitheatre of the Coruscant temple, which was very different from this wealth of natural touch. But his master helps him acknowledge and channel the excess, thankfully.

The companionship of Frelya and Master Vizsla – master Tarre – at his either side, pressing shoulders with him, meanwhile, helps anchor him in the moment.

The sleek, slim candle clutched in his right hand, too.

Also all his guardians – both claimed and self-claimed that are arrayed behind them, for once in peace – or at least unantagonistic – with each other.

The children – his children – are arrayed in front of Frelya and him and Master Tarre and Master Fay at their other side, furthermore, soothing the part of him that by now reflexively, constantly checks for their whereabouts and wellbeing.

And then Master T’ra shares her candleflame with Master Fay, and Master Fay with Master Tarre, and Master Tarre with Sinas instead of Obi-Wan. And, backlit by the carpet of flickering yellow lights spreading beyond the railing, Sinas quietly comes up to him, tipping their lit candle forward in for-once-timid offering.

Obi-Wan’s breathing stutters. His heart aches. Because the unspoken words behind the gesture are clear and clearly received, and should not be unspoken in the first place. This behaviour is alien to the bold, bold child, as well, which only drives the point deeper.

Still, he accepts it. What else can he do but to accept it?

And carefully, carefully, carefully draws the child into his arms, of course. Just like he will shield the guttering little flame of his candle from the intermittent gusts of chilly breeze blowing in from the prairy.

Master Tarre increases the pressure of their shoulder against his for a moment, just so. A silent reminder. A silent encouragement.

Benau, they named him.

And Sinas is not an only child.

So, instead of sharing his flame with Frelya, he tips his lit candle towards Shna.

Who lights up so beautifully in the Force, with shock-warmth-delight-relief that she doesn’t bother to restrain.

His heart aches even more, on that. And now his eyes, too.

But maybe, just maybe, they – all of them – can gain a new equilibrium after this? The Celebration of Light is a renewal of connections too, after all, because one candle must share its light with another to create a bigger, brighter light that illuminates more space.

And he does wish for more candles to light up all the dark spaces in the galaxy.