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She’s pretending to be a boy. And Obi-Wan despairs at how well she does it.

It is the most glaring marker of Tatooine the child has brought to the council room. No doubt her mother had hammered the lesson of hiding what could make a slave more desirable. Hide what is soft, hide what is different, rough hands and choppy hair – play the part of something not worth touching. It is an erosive kind of caution that comes from harsh pragmatism.

He can tell the council hasn’t figured it out yet.

But Obi-Wan knows.

He can see the subtle differences to the boy Qui-Gon had found. Just the slightest lift of the child’s brow bone, a fraction of the jaw reduced and shoulders a touch smaller. They are miniscule changes but glaringly obvious to Obi-Wan who raised his desert child from boyhood to knighthood. A mole out of place, a tooth misaligned – he would know.

“I will train the boy.” The sound of Qui-Gon's voice makes him ache.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes.

A distorted mirror. This place was a twist of distorted mirrors.

His mind dances on the line of catastrophic hope and absolute despair.

The gut drop vertigo from the understanding that Obi-Wan is once again a 25-year-old padawan hasn’t yet fully receded. And now, the Jedi must come to face the truly baffling notion that whatever this is, wherever he is – Anakin is not the boy he knew. Instead, little Ani is very much a girl.

It’s all just so dreadful.

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His Padawan was not happy.

That much Qui-Gon knew, even without the need to use their bond to deduce it.

“The boy must be trained Obi-Wan.” He insists again as they settle into the ship.

Obi-Wan was staring out the window, the light of stars flying past reflected like a small galaxy in his blue eyes. With his hood up and brown cloak wrapped around his body, his apprentice felt like a breath away from flying into the force.

“Yes.”

The easy acceptance only makes the jedi master frown.

He knows there was much to talk about, but it’s been a trying week and now a battle was imminent. It will have to be shelved for later, when Qui-Gon wasn’t as tired as his padawan looked.

“It is the will of the force.”

His padawan sighs. “Perhaps.”

“You will see in time my apprentice. You are wise and the force flows strong in you.”

The rainbow lights of the galaxy spill in between them. In between the silence.

“Is that why you shunted me off?”

Qui-Gon doesn’t wince, but a splinter of regret does rear its head.

The young man’s gaze is fixed firmly to the ground. His voice is neither accusing nor angry.

It’s somehow worse.

With a heave, the older Jedi sits down near where his padawan stands and gently ushers him to do the same.

“It has not escaped my notice that moving through life solely at the behest of the Living Force has come at a price.” He begins with a heavy heart. “And this price has been levied at you my padawan more often than not. This I know.” It is a poor apology, even he knows that. “You have been ready for a long time Obi-Wan. There is little more I can teach you, this is true.”

His apprentice, now seated next to him gazes off in the middle distance, eyes a million parsecs away.

What he says in response surprises him.

“When…” with hesitation, his apprentice licks his dry lips and continues. “When the time comes, whatever should happen on Naboo, please promise me you won’t leave my side.”

It is an odd request but fair.

“Of course.”

Believing it to be the end of that, it catches him unawares when Obi-Wan abruptly grabs his hand and pulls his gaze back to his own wide blue eyes. Plaintive and beseeching, it is almost woeful, the colour of his padawan’s eyes.

“Master, you must not part with me.”

Then it strikes him.

“You’ve had a vision.” It is not a question.

Obi-Wan’s gaze has yet to release him. There is something that taste of sandstorms on his tongue.

“And if it was, will you heed my caution?” the younger man questions softly, his quietness not matching the turbulence behind his gaze. In the force.

“The future is al –”

“Always in motion.” Obi-Wan tilts his head after finishing off the phrase. “That’s not what I’m asking. Yes. Or no?”

“We’ve talked about over reliance on visions, and you’ve always done well to heed my own cautions. If what happens on Naboo must be, then we will accept it.”

Soft blue-eyed sadness bleaches the words off Qui-Gon’s tongue.

The force feels heartsore out of all things.

“You have determined my future and the future of a child on the whims of the living force and your deep preoccupation for prophecies of old.” His voice is as soft petals on grass. “I don’t patronise your connection to the living force just because I’m not as proficient as you are master. Please exercise the common courtesy of doing the same for me and my visions.”

“Your council has always been invaluable.” Qui-Gon counters. And he means every word of it. “Your visions have been a very special part of you, and I’ve always had great admiration for it. But I’ve seen how it can twist people. Bloat and rend them apart.”

Something mangles and warps the force around his padawan. But as quickly as it comes, it disappears.

With a nod of understanding, Obi-Wan says, “You speak of Master Dooku’s friend.”

It takes a moment for the master to hear what his padawan has said. Then a slight hint of confusion bleeds into his awareness. He doesn’t recall ever explaining Sifo-Dyas’s situation to his padawan.

“Among other, yes.”

“And is your focus on prophecies not something that can ‘twist’ master?”

Qui-Gon pulls back and tightens the robes around his shoulders.

“On this I won’t bend, my padawan. Anakin is the chosen one. Not out of my desire to see prophecies come true, but through near painful insistence in the force that he cannot be anything but the chosen one.”

He feels heavy with it, feels pity to the boy as well as anxious hope.

It renders him baffled at how the council couldn’t see it the moment he presented the child. Like a blistering sun against a stark blue sky. It was, to him at least, as obvious as a bantha in a glassware shop.

Almost as if hearing his thoughts, Obi-Wan shakes his head.

“We can’t all be as loved by living force as you are master. But what I speak of isn’t related to Anakin.”

“Is it not?” the older jedi sighs.

“You say I am ready for knighthood then prove it instead of throwing me away like you did today. Listen to me as an equal.”

“Obi-Wa –”

A warm hand cup his cheek, and the unexpected contact stops him short.

His padawan has always been soft meadows and cool breeze in his mind. The smell of daylight after a long rain. The colour of fresh green leave glowing translucent against the sun. If Qui-Gon was wind and earth, Obi-Wan has always been sea and skies.

Now, is this ship leading them towards battle, knees touching and hearts out of sync – his padawan almost ripples like a mirage in the force. The lightning of grief in and sandstorm of sadness.

It feels as if grains of sand have invaded his chest. Raw and sore.

“If you love me, we cannot part.”

They have never said that word. Never needed it. Qui-Gon doesn’t quite know what to do now that his apprentice has dropped that between them without so much as a blink.

A gentle thumb caresses the bottom of his eyes and his padawan never once releases his gaze.

“If you love me, we stay together.”

He smells the desert, tastes a sandstorm on his tongue.

Qui-Gon says nothing.

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In the end, some things remain the same.

There is a city underneath the blue waters of Naboo.

There is a queen on her knees, head bowed down low.

There are droids, there are starfighters and blaster fire.

There is death.

There is Maul.

Some things remain the same.

But some things do not.

⋄

Qui-Gon feels the red blade slid into him, and it’s somehow hot and unbearably cold all at once.

His padawan’s scream bounces between his ears, hollow and desperate, and more than the mortal wound in his belly, it’s the sounds of grief that truly breaks his heart. Obi-Wan didn’t deserve this, was one of the last things he thought before slumping to the ground.

Get up you great fool!

The beating rhythm of his life sluggishly drains away, and there isn’t a thing he can do to move. To aid his padawan. He’d been defeated by a cheap trick, and his padawan may lose his life over such a blunder.

Rust, salt and fear, bubbles behind his slack teeth.

The empty space between him and the Zebrak is suddenly occupied by Obi-Wan in a flurry of beige and brown. Standing tall in front of him, his padawan’s proximity both a source of familiar comfort and absolute dread. Because the creature is upon them and his padawan is still just standing there, guarding Qui-Gon’s useless, broken body like a loyal guard dog.

“Obi-Wan run.” Blood pools in his mouth and sluices down into his beard.

The red lightsabre hums in the air like a painful scream and Obi-Wan is just standing there.

Through his bleary eyes, the creatures tattooed face grins at his padawan and it’s like he feeds off the collective misery and horror soaking the very air. And the Sith is hungry to gorge on more, and Qui-Gon knows he intends to feast on his apprentice.

Who is still just standing there.

He can see tears running down Obi-Wan’s face, his hands shaking, and their bond bruised and so, so very tender with love and devastation. He can taste a sandstorm on his tongue.

Slowly crouching low, his apprentice reaches behind and places a warm hand against the hole in his gut, without ever loosing eye contact with their foe. Qui-Gon attempts to beg the boy to run again, but blood becomes the substitute for his words. What he does feel is a radiating warmth suddenly blooming from the wound, and it’s so warm that it almost feels too much against his torn body. But just when the tugging in his core becomes unbearable, it stops.

The Sith is done waiting and moves with a speed that makes him look like a phantom, a void of black, and this darkness is ready to swallow his padawan whole.

Red and Blue clash and the sound of it pounds into his chest like an anvil.

He’s scared. By the Force, he’s truly scared. For his padawan, who is so bright in the Force, so loved by the Light, now fighting a foe not seen in a millennium. The Sith’s double blade almost skewers his padawan through the throat and Qui-Gon slips further into the abyss. But Obi-Wan remains firm and immoveable despite the sheer power hurtled towards him.

With the tiniest shift of his feet, Obi-Wan smoothly slips into something that looks incomprehensibly like Soresu out of all things, then the clash of red and blue continues.

A vignette of darkness encroaches upon the edge of his vision as Qui-Gon clings to his consciousness.

He needs to get up. He needs to live.

Who else will train Anakin, who else will guide the Chosen One?

Distantly the old jedi master registers the blurry clashing of sabres have ceased. Like eyelids made of lead, Qui-Gon wrenches them open.

The Sith is glaring at his padawan with more rage than ever before. Certainly, more than any moment during the Zebrak’s battle with Qui-Gon, what with the way the creature was snarling and baring his teeth.

Obi-Wan in contrast moves back into the opening move of Ataru with a grim calmness he’d never seen before in his apprentice.

In any other time, the master would be incandescently proud at his padawan’s serenity in the face of such darkness. But it was hard to think over the slow panic from being unable to breathe.

Colours begin to fade from Qiu-Gon’s eyes.

He will die here.

The Force cradles him like a mother with its babe.

He will die here.

“You will not die here.” Words no louder than a morning hush, Obi-Wan gazes calmly at his Sith opponent. “Maul.”

The Zebrak snarls but there’s something like suspicious confusion and a hint of apprehension in the force. But then rage pollutes the air quickly.

“But you will.” The Zebrak lunges.

Qui-Gon’s vision is fading. But his eyes are open just enough to see the creature descend upon his apprentice. Obi-Wan with his chin tilted up, shoulder strong and back straight, faces his enemy and does nothing.

Instead, his padawan then does the unfathomable and shuts off his light sabre.

Qiu-Gon tries to resist but eventually the dark pulls him under.

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A victory.

Against all odds, Naboo reached a victory.

A queen stands with her captain in a recaptured throne room, over her defeated enemies. Gungans whoop with triumphant glee as the droids fall. The royal guards slump over in relief as the last invaders are captured. The pilots cheer and throw a little desert child up in the air in jubilant celebration.

A victory.

Against all odds, Naboo reached a victory.

Obi-Wan, however, sits in a reactor room with two fallen bodies, one in dark and another in light. The young jedi stares into the fading light of his master’s eyes as he begs him to train the boy.

A victory.

Against all odds, Naboo reached a victory.

And yet he sits there with two bodies and all he can feel is blood on his hands and the smell of grief bruising the force around him. If sadness was a colour, Obi-Wan’s soul is inked in it, bleeds it, and soaks the floor with it. A victory. Against all odds.

By all the light in the stars, it didn’t feel like a victory.

Some things remain the same.

But some things do not.

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Sidious snarls as he feels the connection to his apprentice snap.

So, the pathetic whelp lost to those stupid, insipid, and utterly inferior Jedi. Years wasted on a failure of a Sith. Maul turned out to be so disappointing. Ignoring the charred, burned-out bond between Master and Apprentice, Darth Sidious settled in his new office as High Chancellor and sipped on his brandy. Well, Naboo’s victory didn’t matter much anyways. He got exactly what he wanted and loosing Maul mattered even less. He very nearly has the count in his grasp, it won’t be much longer till the Zebrak is replaced.

It was only a day after he felt his apprentice die that the Sith lord was finally able to communicate to Naboo. Running through his secure comm, Sidious waited for his inside man in Theed to answer his call.

“My Lord?” the voice asked.

“What news of that snivelling Nute Gunray?”

“He and many of his company have been detained underground. I imagine that they will be tried in court as soon as possible. Although many payments have already been made to secure outside legal aid to delay any immediate Naboo persecution. They will succeed in drawing out a court battle I suspect.”

“And the brat of a Queen?”

“Alive.

“A pity, but she is more useful alive.” Swirling the red in his chalice, the Sith asked, “What of the Jedi?”

He has no doubt that Maul would’ve inflicted maximum damage before his death. He suspects that at least one, if not both of those pathic lightsiders were maimed if not outright killed trying to defeat Maul. What a lovely thought. Their demise tasted like ambrosia on his tongue.

“Alive.”

What.

“Alive?” He hissed. “Both Jedi?”

His informant on the other side was silent for a moment then nodded. “Yes, my Lord. Both Jedi are alive, although one is currently in emergency care in Theed hospital.”

Gripping the chalice tight, he snarled in displeasure. “The master?”

“Yes, my Lord. The master is the one currently being treated. Obtaining exact information about his condition has been difficult after the security in the healing wards had unexpectedly doubled overnight. But from the whispers in the halls, Master Jinn was in critical condition upon arrival. It was suspected he died while being treated, but this morning information had been released that he survived the night in Theed.”

Jinn. What loathsome cockroach of a man.

“Maul is very lucky to be already dead.” Finger’s itching to break something holy, Darth Sidious leans back in his chair. “The only salvageable thing is at least my pet maimed his killer.”

If you couldn’t outright win, dragging your enemy along with you into the darkness of death was ideal, but at this point, a hacked-up and mangled jedi was better than nothing. Perhaps he could visit Master Jinn later, pay is ‘respects’ and entertain himself by witnessing how far the oaf had fallen. It would be most delicious to jeer at all of them underneath his ‘concern’.

The sound of his informant’s hesitant voice, broke Sidious out of his thoughts.

“My Lord…I must inform you that it…it wasn’t Master Jinn that defeated Darth Maul.”

Sulphuric, yellow eyes flared.

“What?”

With halting words, his informant answered, “The queen had released a statement last night that Maul had been killed by Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“The padawan?” Sidious spat in disbelief.

“Yes, my Lord.”

A padawan.

Maul had been broken down through pain, molten and blood, only to be moulded and crafted into the perfect apprentice. Vicious, violent, and powerful. Sidious had always intended to discard the Zebrak, but he never curbed or eased his apprenticeship. Maul had been dragged, ripped and re-shaped into something Darth Sidious was wickedly prideful off.

Being defeated by the Mavrick was understandable.

But a padawan?

The chalice in his hand shattered in his grip, spilling the blood of his brandy between his shoes.

So, while his apprentice had been killed, both Jedi still lived.

Well, that just won’t do.

Chuckling darkly over the expansive view of Coruscant, High Chancellor Palpatine readied his plans to visit the newly freed Naboo.

And to meet this Kenobi.

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Senior nurse Edma Ballory had been tasked with a most unusual job.

The ward in Theed hospital had been inundated with pilots, citizens, guards and even Gungans out of all things. Six years of training in the very best medical school in Theed simply never taught her how to handle aftercare immediately following war. Certainly, they were taught what to expect during humanitarian aid, which Naboo was fairly famous for, but after a full-scale battle? On Naboo out of all places?

The Nubian people won’t ever be quite the same, that was for sure.

Nodding at the stiff guards by the entrance of ICU, Edma flashed her identification card and entered.

It was early dawn, but the sunlight was already casting the room in a warm glow. It could’ve been like any other morning shift, with the sound of the ticking clock meter, the beep of the heart monitor and the smell of disinfectant. It really wasn’t all that different to a normal work shift.

Except for the Jedi levitating in the middle of the room.

Crossed-legged and eyes closed, the nurse suddenly remembered all those fantastical stories of the Jedi when she was a young girl. Perhaps they weren’t so fantastical if this was the norm.

Padawan Kenobi. Her cousin had repeated many times to her the night before.  She made sure Edma knew exactly who this man was. The nurse absently notes the red of his hair and the long braid gently swaying by his ear, along with the beige robes fluttering like an invisible wind was dancing around him.

Nurse Edma was suddenly inclined to just turn around and walk right back out.

“Hello there.”

His voice comes out unexpectedly, and so very soft that she almost misses it despite knowing he was expecting her. The high Coruscanti accent is crisp and so very different to the type of voices she hears every day on Naboo. Cultured and oddly other.

The nurse clears her throat.

“Master Jedi.”

Eye’s suddenly open, the young man is firmly planted back on the floor faster than she could follow and now bowing deeply, far too deeply, for someone of her station. A bit flustered by his esteem, the nurse bows back and approaches the jedi.

“Padawan is just fine.” He corrects with a polite smile.

“I apologise if I arrived at the wrong time, should I come back?” she asked.

Tucking his hands inside his billowing sleeves, the young man shakes his head.

“Not at all, you’re right on time. Have you brought what I requested?”

Nurse Edma nodded and presented the box she’d been lugging all through the hospital. It was a mundane wooden box, something you might expect to contain fishing fly’s or a wrench. But for all that the outside was unremarkable, what it held inside was rather unexpected.

She unlocked the lid with a quick thumb print scan and the metal latch popped open.

“Suppressant cuffs. Originally obtained in an underground auction on Gaff Minor, then later resold to a junker on Corellia.”

The bands are thick and made of ugly metal. More like a shackle than a band.

The young man gently scoops them out, gingerly tracing the pads of his thumb over the lock mechanism, a devious design to make it impossible for wearer to unlock it without the controller.

“My cousin is an engineer and had obtained these cuffs a year ago to study it.” She latched the box close as the Jedi inspected the cuffs. “Until you requested for one, I didn’t think we had such a thing on Naboo.”

The young man places only one of the cuffs on his wrists and she hears it lock with an ominous click.

Curiously, the nurse watches as the Jedi fiddle with the controller and flick it on.

Nurse Edma almost jumps in alarm as an electric zap spark through the cuffs and Padawan Kenobi visibly winces in response. The low hum feels ominous in its wake.

“Ser Kenobi!” the nurse jumps in alarm, supressing her professional instinct to check for harm. Especially since the young Jedi’s eyes gazed listlessly down at the cuff around his left wrist with eyes that reminded her of the thousand-yard-stare she’s seen on some outer-rim merchants.

It didn’t take long for Kenobi to blink up at her and nod. “I’m quite alright, thank you Nurse Ballory.” He switches the cuff off.

Still resisting the urge to give him a thorough assessment, Edma is only half satisfied by his answer.

“Are they to your satisfaction?”

Kenobi nods and gingerly slips it off his wrist. “It’s an older model, probably a second-generation slaver cuff. Power inefficient but effective for what we need. I will thank Eirtama when I see her next.”

Nurse Edma jolts at hearing her cousin’s true name. Everyone only knows her by her handmaiden’s name now.

“Eirtaé.” The nurse corrects automatically, and then flushes from the knee-jerk reaction to protecting her cousin’s true name.

He seemed genuinely startled by her comment. “Oh…yes Eirtaé. I apologise, I should remember to call the handmaiden’s preferred names while they’re all in service to the queen.”

He bows apologetically.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I know you’re more than intitled to know these things considering you’ve been travelling with the queen’s handmaidens for weeks now.” Nurse replies, doing her best to reassure the young man.

“They have been most impressive in their dedication to their queen. You must be very proud of your cousin.”

“I am.” The nurse confirmed honestly.

Although Edma felt like she aged ten years since the handmaidens had embarked upon their perilous mission to free Naboo. She’s proud of Eirtaé. And she’s also proud of Rabé, Sabé, Cordé, Dormé, Saché and of course Padmé…but as a thirty-five-year-old mother of two, those girls are just too young. And maybe she’s the only one in her family to think so but there must be limits to what they demand of their child-rulers.

As if hearing her thought, the young Jedi pins her with warm blue eyes.

“The youth always surprise us with their resilience, don’t they?”

The nurse almost replies that Padawan Kenobi was quite young himself but doesn’t.

“And also drive you to drink.” She says dryly.

An amused huff escapes the young man, and he gives her a commiserating look that ages him about thirty years, like an old man fond of the youth he’s not a part of. “Very true Nurse Ballory.”

After that, they both move towards the bed that’s been placed in the middle of the room.

Hooked onto two monitors and a drip fed into his arm – a dark Zebrak male lay still and dead to the world. The one who tried and almost succeeded with killing Padawan Kenobi and Master Jinn. She’d been monitoring the patient for the last few hours and Edma had mixed feelings about the wounded man in the hospital bed. A dark practitioner, as described by one of the royal guards the night previously. Someone who was like the Jedi but also the very opposite. She remembers the scriptures of old that spoke of ancient battles between good and evil. Tales older than the Republic itself.

Sith.

The very name made the hairs on her arms stand.

The fact that this dark man was being held in the ICU is a high-level secret. Most either are unaware of his existence or believe the unwelcome assailant that had placed Master Jinn in critical condition was dead.

“Before we progress, I must ask that you’ve already been prepped on the risk that he may flatline once I place the suppressant cuffs?”

She nods.

“Yes.” She answers already pulling on gloves and a mask. “I’ll be prioritising his resuscitation should the patient stop breathing. MED-88 will assist was any future complications.”

“Which will most likely happen since I had pierced one of his two hearts during our confrontation. His other remaining heart is working over the normal capacity to keep him alive. The rest of his system is being sustained but his connection the darkside of the force.” The sounds of the force suppressant cuffs clank ominously in the Jedi’s hands. “Once I place these cuffs on him, he may wake. He may die. We’ll be prepared for both. But I wish to have him alive.”

Kenobi begins the gather the Zebrak’s hands together, so they’re placed against the man’s stomach.

Edma is already switching on the med droid on standby and pulling heart machine closer to the side of the bed.

“I’m ready when you are Padawan Kenobi.”

With a nod, the young man simply replies, “Then let’s begin.”

⋄

Anakin doesn’t like Obi-Wan.

Master Qui-Gon’s apprentice had a stupid face. Stupid braid. Stupid voice. His big head was so large you could fill it with water and sell it for a nice price. Anakin also didn’t like the grim way he looked at everything, like dry sandstone. Basto from the scrapers yard near Watto’s shop had the same look about him. Like he’d still frown at you even if he got three barrels of water. Like he was disappointed there was air in his lungs and stars in the skies. Master Mace Face was kinda like that too.

Obi-Wan was a poo-doo-downer and Anakin won’t budge from that.

But then what happened to Master Qui-Gon during the battle started going around and…

Now Anakin also felt a bit like a downer too.

Curled up in the cockpit of a starfighter, Anakin plays with the control of the ship to kill time. The pilots of Naboo had been super nice, letting it be a hideaway from everything. It wasn’t like Anakin was crying in the seat or anything. Technically they won and pilot Don even mentioned that they were planning a great party, in Anakin’s honour even! But it was like all the fun was hard to grab and keep, like dirt falling through fingers. The last week had been too much, Anakin can admit that, and mom was too far away to asks for hugs.

Anakin was almost happy, almost safe, almost sure. Almost, almost, almost.

But not actually happy, actually safe, actually certain of anything.

And definitely alone.

“Oh, there you are.”

Anakin’s almost smashes against the glass in alarm. Peeking over the side of the ship, the big-headed oaf is standing below with very clear relief. The air around the man seems to grow bigger and Anakin can feel it like a bubble swallowing everything. Toes tingling, chest tightening and hands no longer chilled – Anakin goes from cold to warm real fast. Space magic was so weird, thought the child.

Obi-Wan then smiles lightly, not big enough to make face wrinkles, but honest enough to look…relieved?

Anakin doesn’t get this guy.

“Hey.”

“Anakin, come down here for a moment.”

No.

“Sure.” Comes out the begrudging reply.

Crawling down is easier than getting in but almost falling onto top of Mister Kenobi wasn’t really the idea. But before Anakin can fall to the ground, the jedi stops it with his jedi powers. Feeling a bit giddy, Anakin floats gently back to the floor.

“Oh wow, that’s wizard.”

“Careful now, I don’t think I can find spare parts for you if you break something.”

Forgetting the cool feeling of flying down, Anakin glares at the older man, “I was doing just fine.”

“I’m sure you were.” He easily agreed. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m sorry no one has been able to collect you sooner, it’s been rather hectic two days.”

Giving him a suspicious side-eye, Anakin asked, “How’d you find me anyway?”

“I could feel your sadness in the force and followed it here.”

Anakin took a moment to realise what he said and immediately protested. “I’m not sad!”

With all the calmness of a clear blue sky, Obi-Wan replies honestly, “Oh? I’m sorry then. I had hoped I could talk to you about it. After all, I’m feeling a bit sad myself.”

“Oh.” Blinking for a moment, the young child chews on that admittance. “Really?”

“Of course, it’s been a tough few days…I thought it might be nice to talk to someone about it.” Then Obi-Wan frowned. “I suppose you can’t help me.”

“What?” Anakin huffed. “Of course, I can!”

“That’s very generous of you.” Obi-Wan smiled suddenly and Anakin could tell if this was a game, the older man had just won something. But the child wasn’t entirely sure what that was. “Would you like to walk with me for a bit? I wanted to see the gardens to clear my head and…well I figured you might want to see the lakes?”

Wide-eyed and a bit off-kilter, Anakin perked up at the suggestion.

“Lakes? The ones we saw on our way here?”

“Yes, the one and the same.”

“But everyone is fixing the city, shouldn’t we be helping too?”

“We can if you’d like, but I think a bit of rest would be good for the both of us.”

Anakin occasionally still gives the older jedi the side-eye but mostly finds the greenery to be more fascinating than big-head-Obi-Wan. And it beats the drop-kick feeling in Anakin’s stomach when thoughts of mother and Master Jinn surfaced.

It doesn’t take long for the hanger to fall behind and the landscape to open up to parklands.

Really, what does one do with all this green?

“What’s this?” Anakin suddenly asked, not really knowing if the silence between them is comfortable or awkward.

“That’s grass.” The older man answers. “Go ahead and touch it if you want.”

Anakin does.

“What’s it for? Can you eat it?”

“It’s a carpet type vegetation. And I suppose you could eat it, but no one really does, it doesn’t taste very nice. People grow it specifically to walk and sit on. Places that have a lot of grass also allows the land there to retain water in the soil for much longer, which is good at stopping desertification.”

A bit stunned, the child gapes a bit at the stuff beneath their feet. “Boy, don’t tell the Hutts. It’ll be over for the moisture farmers.”

“Don’t worry, the Hutts won’t be able to grow grass on Tatooine even if they knew.”

“I guess that’s true.” Anakin shrugs. “What’s that?”

“Meelo Palm. It has these nuts that taste like honey candy. But only if you roast them, otherwise, it can be quite bitter.”

“And this?”

“Hmm…I think it might be a Nubian variant of a Tickle Fern. You can make rash cream out of it.”

“And this?”

“Gum Bush.”

“Does it make gum?”

“Oh no, it’s completely useless.”

Anakin squints up at the older Jedi.

“Why do you know so much about this?” It almost comes out accusatory, but mostly it sounded like reluctant awe. “Are all Jedi plant masters too? Is that something I’ll have to learn?”

Anakin can tell the older man is amused when he answers, “My master liked to collect plants and he would try to learn all the names of the flora we saw on our missions together. He even brought them back home sometimes. One almost ate me when I was fifteen. I was quite cross with him.”

“Plants can eat people?!” came the alarmed question.

“Yes.”

“Noooo!”

“We eat plants all the time. Why can’t they eat us? It seems only fair.” The jedi countered.

Anakin develops a look that’s both appalled, excited, and confused. The child then quickly brushes Obi-Wan’s explanation away as a queer core-world thing. Best to ignore it.

“Well… Master Qui-Gon won’t be able to show me his people eating plant anyways, now that he’s…unwell.”

That sinking feeling is back again. Anakin doesn’t think it can be chased away even with all these green distractions.

Obi-Wan gently lifts Anakin’s chin.

“I heard you slept by his side last night. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there but thank you for looking out for him while I was working.”

Anakin glances away with shuffling feet and red ears.

“Well, someone had to do it.” Anakin then adds belatedly because there was no reason to be rude. “You’re welcome I guess.” The desert child looks up at the Jedi and thinks maybe he isn’t too bad. Although Anakin still reckons his head is just ginormous.

It’s as the two of them pass under a sandstone archway out of the parklands and into the greater city, that they hear a scream and a thunderous bang.

Alarmed, all Anakin can do is try to keep up with Obi-Wan as he races towards the commotion in Theed.

⋄

The first time around, Obi-Wan hadn’t been involved with the ground level aid.

In the aftermath of his master’s death, the shock of the Maul’s entire existence and the weight of a new padawan had understandably stolen much of his time and mental bandwidth. He barely remembered much of the victory celebrations afterwards, let alone the bustle of the everyday citizens of Naboo, tiredly recovering from the invasion. Nothing really penetrated the numb haze of smoke billowing from Qui-Gon’s pyre.

But this time, with hindsight and Obi-Wan’s hardened experience with battle-aftermath…well it wasn’t surprising that he fell into familiar patterns.

As he and little Ani breached the greater pathed streets of the city, Obi-Wan could finally see where the commotion was coming from.

There were four Nubian emergency responders, attempting to lift a broken starfighter wing from a collapsed pile of stone which might have been the façade of a shop. It didn’t take long to hear muffled groaning from behind a broken threshold that was barely holding on. While the responders were doing their best to not jostle the compromised structure of the building, every nudge of stone they attempting to clear only threaten to crush the little shop.

And not a moment later, that was exactly what happened.

Obi-Wan could feel the structural pillar break away in the force before the Nubian workers could flinch at the crack.

Then it all began to tumble.

“It’s coming down boys!” One of the men shouted in alarm.

But before the stones could bury the panicked people inside their tomb, Obi-Wan stepped forward and threw both his hands up, letting the force dance through his body into pulsing chords of resistance. And that’s exactly what followed. The door, the roof, the stone façade, and the wooden beams inside suddenly ceased their destructive descent onto the people below.

With a deep breath to centre his core, Obi-Wan flicked his hands and commanded them to rise.

Ignoring the wide-eyed stares and alarmed citizens, the Jedi coordinated all the dangerous bits of debris and collected them into an organised pile away from the people. Lifting the snapped off starfighter wing required a bit more of a tug but Obi-Wan moved that too and gently let it swoop over to the other pile of debris, harmless and out of the way.

With a flick of his wrists, Obi-Wan pushed the stone away from his feet as he approached the shop, like a parting sea, till Obi-Wan reached the recovered Nubian citizen’s, who had been trapped only moments before. An old man, a young woman and boy about fourteen years old, were huddled together in the previously collapsed A-frame of the building.

With some relief Obi-Wan could see immediately that while the people were a bit banged up and bruised, they were in good condition all things considered.

“Is everyone alright?” he finally asked.

It’s only in the face of the mother and son’s incredulous eyes staring back at him that Obi-Wan notices the crowd of people all silently gawking at him. Even Anakin was staring bug-eyed, and openly stunned. Uncomfortable with the sudden attention, the Jedi straightened his shoulders and locked onto one of the emergency responders.

“You there, call a medic, and someone please brings some water.”

His orders seem to do the trick since almost all at once, the few people in the area snapped back to the situation at hand and rushed forward to aid the injured.

“Thank you, Master Jedi.” The woman nodded while clutching onto her teenage son’s injured hands.

He almost corrects her that he was only a padawan but refrained since it really didn’t matter to people outside of the order. He was a master technically.

“It’s quite alright madam. Here, let me see if we can get that glass out of your son’s hands.”

Anakin popped up behind him with barely contained excitement.

“That was so wizard!” the child exclaimed, forgetting to keep up the surly act. “How’d you do that? Can I do that? Can you do it again?”

With a small smile, Obi-Wan sent soothing-calm to all three Nubian citizens, while another emergency responder gently moved the older gentleman out of the rubble. The teenage boy winced every time a piece of glass was lodge out, but he stayed perfectly still while Anakin, in contrast seemed to almost vibrate next to them.

“Anakin, I think I see the royal medics on the causeway up ahead, can you direct them here?”

“Huh?” following where Obi-Wan had pointed, Anakin nodded with determination. “Yeah, sure thing! Be right back!”

Successfully distracting the child, he continues his basic treatment and softly chats to the boy to keep his shaking and adrenaline crash to a minimum. Another helpful citizen approaches with clean wet cloth and nods towards him before gently cleaning the mother’s bleeding forehead.

Obi-Wan eyed one of the Nubian emergency responders kneeling in front of the injured elderly.

He knew this man, and it had taken an embarrassingly long time to recognise the future successor of Captain Panaka. The head of Naboo security from the clone wars to the very end of the Republic, this man with the bandaged eye was someone he remembered always close by Padmé’s side.

Debating for a moment whether he should say anything, he catches the man’s eye and decides that it might be fortuitous to introduce himself earlier than the original timeline.

“Ser Typho isn’t it?” Obi-Wan asked politely.

⋄

Gregar Typho had spent the last few weeks held at gun point and shoved into camps with the expectation of death. Death of his family and his people. Only a year out of his university and straight into the Royal Academy, Gregar didn’t expect this year to turn out the way it did.

His eye hurt. His heart hurt. His people bled.

It made his chest tight, and his fist shake with grief and fury.

Out of all the planets, why them?

Why his home of lakes and gardens, why the people of Naboo who harmed no one and only championed beauty and peace? It made no sense. It made him want to rage; it made him want to weep. But then they won, and Gregar was equally invigorated to help further and utterly baffled. Because really, they shouldn’t have won. He’s not being fatalistic or unnecessarily despairing. Gregar was the best cadet in the Royal Security Academy. He was expected to take over as captain one day. He couldn’t afford to be a dreamer or an idealist.

Naboo should have lost.

Yet they came out victorious instead.

The nurses who had taken care of him had insisted with aggressive orders to not stress himself, not while he was recovering for malnutrition and the loss of his eye in the battle the day previous. Yet, Gregar felt like ants had invaded under his skin every time he sat still. Sleep evaded him. So, instead of taking it easy, the young cadet had been running around Theed with the emergency responders all morning, trying to help his people.

They luckily found only the elderly and the injured, no death.

But eventually he knew their luck would run out.

“It’s coming down boys!”

Sandstone, rocks, and pieces of ship debris tumbled down onto collapsed shop. The same shop they’d been trying to carefully clear away to extract the people trapped inside. His horror is abruptly taken over by alarmed confusion when the tumbling stones stop midair, like it’s been suspended by an invisible net.

Spinning around, Gregar see a man with light hair and long braid standing only a few meters away. Hands outstretched, stance steady and robes of cream and beige…unmistakenly a Jedi.

There’s no way to describe what follows as anything other than magic.

Like the way schools of fish would separate and converge in a synchronised dance, like the way leaves would spin in the wind or marbles roll in play – sandstone, rubble and wood swooped and swept till the threat of total collapsed had been diverted.

The Jedi moves towards them, the stone around his feet, darted away like a parting sea and Gregar thinks that this is somehow the oddest thing he’s seen in the nightmare of a month he’s had.

Shaken out of his stupor, which Gregar was sure he shared with every eyewitness in the near vicinity, the people trapped under the shop were quickly assessed and catered too while they waited for the medics to arrive. His eye throbbed as he washed the feet of the old man they had recovered, glass and blood stuck to the soles. The cadet can’t quite stop sneaking curious glances at the Jedi carefully cleaning the hands of the child they found.

It’s with some embarrassment that he’s caught looking by the Jedi himself.

“Ser Typho isn’t it?” come the unexpected questions.

Hiding just how startled he is, Gregar frowns and nods.

“Yes, it is.” He confirms.

“I’m Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Then there was a small respectful bow which Gregar returns. “Well met.”

Kenobi had a gentle and melodic voice, highlighted by an almost aggressively posh high Coruscanti accent which Gregar mostly associated with high born core-worlders or politicians.

“Well met.” He mimics, still confused. “I heard about how the Jedi aided with the battle yesterday. Naboo give you her thanks.” Then he racks his brain for some gossip her heard last night from the nurses whispering in the hallways. “I’m sorry about your master. I heard that he’d been injured.”

“Fortuitously Master Jinn will make a full recovery if things go according to plan, thank you for your concern.”

Now that the adrenaline had started to wear off, Gregar notes the mysterious man was probably no older than himself. It the oddest thing…he genuinely thought Kenobi was older until he actually paid attention to the youth still clinging to his face.

“That was quite a show before. Thanks for stopping the rubble from falling.”

No one had come to directly thank the Jedi since the spectacle and while it spooked him a bit, Gregar knew when to give thanks. Magic. Thrice-damned magic. Of course, he had nothing but respect for the Jedi Order, he’s been taught about them and learned to regard the Order with the awe they deserved.

It was still rather freaky though, watching Kenobi flick his wrist and make boulder fly like he was tossing pebbles instead.

“You’re quite welcome. How many places have been hit by the air battle?” he asked softly while scanning the streets far off in the distance.

Feeling his spine straighten from the odd command in the Jedi’s voice, Gregar fell into a familiar report that had been hammered into his brain at the Royal Academy.

“About four places, which isn’t so bad. We were expecting half the city to be gone when the space battle began right above our heads. Bless upon the Goddess, all we got was stray debris falling from atmo.”

“And the citizens?”

“Safe.” The man rubs his face. “Well, mostly. The conditions of the camps our people were forced to live in for the last few weeks haven been the main cause of fatalities. The Trade Federation were starving us out by giving only the barest amount of food and water.” He doesn’t bother to hide the anger in his voice. “We finished counting the dead this morning. One-hundred-and-twenty-one casualties. Mostly the elderly.”

The young jedi bowed his head in silent grief.

“I’m so terribly sorry.”

Gregar shrugs and sighed. “The people of Naboo have survived. For that I’m grateful.”

“It is not an easy thing to hold such resilience in the face of senseless violence. Grieve for your good people, but also be proud.”

It should sound like flowery platitudes, but the firm yet serene blue eyes of this strange Jedi only conveyed conviction and truth.

Gregar sighs with fatigue but gratefulness as he accepts Kenobi’s words.

“The Gungans were undisputedly a large factor on how we defeated the Trade Federation. But I hear the Great Grass Plains are a bit of mess right now.”

“Is there aid out there?”

“I actually don’t know. I haven’t moved past the aid camps here in Theed.” Gregar admits with sudden concern. He really hadn’t thought about the Grass Plains at all.

Something north of five hundred Gungans dead, fighting to defend their home planet.

Fighting to protect the citizens of Naboo.

The same people that took their lands and lakes.

His damaged eye throbbed again under the blood-soaked bandages taped to his face.

“Obi-Wan! I got the medics, they’re here!”

A little blonde child came running up to them till he nearly collided with the Jedi. Quickly bracing himself, Kenobi reaches out to prevent both of them toppling over.

“Well done, Anakin.” He huffs, helping the child stay upright.

Gregar notes a few Royal Medics immediately finding all the patients without his aid. Good. One less thing to worry about.

His thoughts are pulled away from the blonde child’s sudden question.

“Hey ser, what’s wrong with your eye?”

“Anakin.” Kenobi tuts gently.

“What? There’s blood leaking. I’m just worried, okay?” the child huffs indignantly.

Blinking down at the boy, Gregar reached up and winces when he sees his bandage has soaked through again. Damn. If the nurses find out, he’s going to be chewed through.

“While Anakin’s manners leave much to be desired, I do have to ask that we take a look at that eye Ser Typho.”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

He doesn’t know how to tell them that his lack of sight in one eye has been something he’s been aggressively ignoring. However, his clumsy depth-perception make it impossible to forget that only a day ago, he had two working eyes instead of one.

Almost as if hearing his thoughts, the Jedi says, “Your sight may be halved but it doesn’t mean that you’ll see less. Just different.”

Steady, calm, and certain.

Kenobi makes it easy to believe.

Gregar is starting to understand how these monks have their enigmatic reputations.

“Obi-Wan? Can I eat those rations?”

“That’s pet food Anakin.”

“Oh.”

With an indulgent look, Obi-Wan ruffles the child’s hair and turns back to Gregar.

“I’ll need to feed the little one so I must go. But if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like your help with something.”

Curious, Gregar nods.

“I can certainly try. What do you need?”

“The situations with the Gungans need to be assessed. I’ll need to give a comprehensive report back to the Order, would you be able to gather some people to take us out there sometime today?”

With his connections to the security and Captain Panaka being his uncle, he can make it happen easily. Also, his need to see the damage has grown exponentially with the awareness that the Nubian aid workers simply haven’t informed him of any news from the Gungans side.

“I can arrange that.”

“Thank you, Ser Typho.”

By the time the strange Jedi and his little charge disappear down the main street, Gregar realises he never asked how the man knew his name.