Chapter Text
It all started in the Council Room. In the southwest tower of the Jedi Temple, Qui-Gon Jinn, his back straight, his gaze fierce, opened his big mouth and put himself in more trouble than he ever had before…
It was a specialty in which he had talent. Master Dooku, before his regrettable dive into evil, Sith alchemy and galactic conspiracy, had even kept charts of this during his training. They were quite detailed and the poor Master had always needed a strong drink after Qui-Gon’s tongue and pride had put them in the most catastrophic situations. A few of those instances had been in this very room. Qui-Gon might have pushed lesser beings that those twelve Jedi Master to alcohol problems, but in this case he only faced extreme disappointment.
Qui-Gon opened his big mouth and said something stupid. Probably full of good intentions, but stupid.
“I take Anakin Skywalker as my Padawan learner.”
Yoda closed his eyes. To his left Adi Gallia’s lips thinned until there was only a hard line left. Across the room Mace Windu glared at him in a way that would make a lesser man start running.
Qui-Gon was so certain. The child was the Chosen One and Qui-Gon was destined to be his Master.
Perhaps it was his desperation - the way the Force was trumpeting into his soul that the child needed training - now, right now, that it was almost too late already. Perhaps it was a sin of pride, proud as he was of the strong Senior Padawan Obi-Wan had become. If Qui-Gon had been less tired and stubborn, he would have recognized the pillar of light that Padawan Kenobi was becoming as the result of Obi-Wan’s efforts more than his own but exhaustion blinds even the wiser.
Still, he said the words. And this was the moment where everything went wrong in his life. For a second time. This time, it was more his stubborn self’s fault. More than it ever had been with Xanatos du Crion and the mess that had been the end of his apprenticeship Of course, the Jedi Master didn’t understand it, not right then.
Sometimes the Force’s lessons needed a little time but they weren’t nicer for it.
No, Qui-Gon understood he had made a terrible mistake only weeks later when the healers finally let him climb out of the bacta tank after three surgeries. He emerged feeling twice his age, the scar on his torso hurting, always hurting, as they would be for six years before the efforts of the Healers finally cleansed it of every dark residue of the encounter. Now, he faced months of physiotherapy to recover, yet he wanted only a cup of the bitter infusion the quarter master could give him, which would let him sleep for at least month. But before, he needed to track Obi-Wan, finally, to thank him for his life, and also to talk about the preparations for his knighting…
In form of comfort and solace, he found only Master Adi Gallia waiting for him, grim-faced. Her Padawan, young Siri Tachi, one of Obi-Wan’s friends, left the second he entered the room after a much-needed shower, not offering the ritual bow of Padawan to a Master.
He understood better when Adi explained Obi-Wan’s absence, even if she needed to say it three times for it to sink into his skull.
“What do you mean, he left?” he asked. She only barely had time to take his arm, calling on the Force to help her support his mass as his knees collapsed beneath him.
“You repudiated Obi-wan in the Council Room. How exactly did you think he would interpret it? And then the Sith…Obi-Wan feared he had touched the Dark Side to kill him when you were hurt. And don’t start me on the oath you made to train that child! How could you burden a not-yet Knight with that? He asked for an audience with the Council the second he knew you would live…would live to train Anakin. Master Windu insisted Obi-Wan take time to think about it, perhaps retreat to somewhere calm, or even take a mission on Corellia or on Jedha, to see if their teachings would bring him peace - but he refused.”
“How could you let him leave?” Qui-gon barked, black spots forming at the periphery of his vision.
“We don’t press people into serving,” Adi countered. And as cold as was her voice, her hands were gentle when she stopped him from falling from shock, guiding him to a seat.
“Breathe,” she ordered gently, guiding his head between his knees, keeping him in the position until his breathing had calmed and he could begin to process the news.
“No healers on the way?”
“I asked for a moment alone with you. You didn’t need everyone to hear.”
Adi searched her belt and put something in his hand.
“He left that for you.”
Qui-Gon opened his fingers and saw the river stone. His first gift for a child he had now lost.
******************
The idea had come from Master Tholme.
A long-time friend of Master Windu, Tholme had been the patient ear in which the Master of the Order had let his frustrations pour for years. And the frustration of the day was Padawan Kenobi, new Sith Slayer, freshly traumatized by the experience.
The afternoon following the debriefing of young Kenobi, Mace had searched for his friend in the training room and offered a duel. He always thought better after a good workout and he needed a brilliant idea right now, right there.
“Yes, because I so want to get my ass kicked all around the room” Master Tholme had quipped. He then looked a little better at the other man’s face, and asked the first Knight he had found, a young male Mikkian, to be his partner, the two of them against Mace. Of course, Mace had still pushed them into defeat, but it had been for him a slightly more tiring workout that it would have been against only Tholme.
Later, in the caldarium of the communal baths, Mace had explained his problem, the most recent in a long list that he never seemed to succeed in reducing, whatever his own efforts or the ones of the entire Order.
“He wants to go, he refuses to be knighted and wants to go as far as he can and I’m tempted to let him. Not that the idea that he risks becoming another du Crion if he continues to use the Force isn’t completely ridiculous, but we don’t press our members into staying if they don’t want,” Mace had clarified to Tholme, passing him the cleansing oil.
“But at the same time, you don’t want him to leave. And where is he now? Not in the quarters he shares with Jinn, I hope? ”
“Do you believe me so insensitive? Depa convinced him Obi-Wan that the young Skywalker would be more comfortable if he stayed with him in the Hall of Healing during the battery of exams Skywalker needs. They put a cot in his room, in a room far away from the bacta tank of Jinn. And no - no, I don’t want to see young Kenobi go. He has the potential to become a magnificent Knight, a light of the Order. A Master, certainly. Perhaps a Master of the Council. What a waste of potential!” He pressed fingers between his eyes, like he was trying to push away a building headache. He had lived those last days in a constant state of worry and exasperation.
“It would be better for the Order if he stayed. But would it be better for him?” Tholme asked. Obi-Wan was Quinlan’s friend and Tholme himself liked the young man, enough to ask a question that was bordering on blasphemy.
“Statistically, the ones who leave our fold are not exactly building a happy life. Most of the time, we’re forced to send you track them before they do too many victims!”
Mace was looking at the horrible scar on Tholme’s torso, a memory of a time he had almost been bisected by a renegade Jedi. The bacta had come too late, almost ten days after the wound, when Eeth Koth, Tholme’s partner for this mission, had finally succeeded in bringing them to safety in the war-torn world. The scar was still red and painful, and would probably stay that way for a few years, even if the Healers regularly helped Tholme into Force Healing sessions.
Every time Mace saw the scar, he thought of how he had been the one to give Tholme that mission. And then he pushed his regret into the Force and remembered he would do it again. He would go and Tholme would go, because that was the life of a Jedi.
“And do you think young Obi-Wan would face the same fate?” Tholme had seen his gaze and passed him the bottle of oil again. “Make yourself useful, perhaps you will look a little less like a kicked Akk puppy.” And there was a smile in his voice. Mace had good hands and if Tholme would never put the weight of this injury on his friend’ shoulders, he wasn’t above using it for a good massage.
Mace took the bottle without a word. They passed into the tepidarium, sitting themselves on the stone bench, and Mace started massaging the scar.Like all his brethren, he was indifferent to nudity, and the Korun Jedi Master smiled when he saw some of the tension leaving his friend, who had gone limp on the stone bench.
“No. No, I don’t think so. But he’s covered in so many shatterpoints that the idea of letting him go gives me a headache.”
“Well, perhaps you should give him to me.”
“You already have a Padawan. Don’t act as stupid as kriffing Jinn.”
“I don’t want a Padawan, I have one, as you say. I want a brand new Knight, working with Quinlan and myself. Sith Slayers are knighted, Mace - it would be completely ridiculous to let his braid grow after something like that. But if he’s not ready for Knighthood, well, additional training under me…. It would take him out of the spotlight. I’m sure half the Knights are gaping at him right now, every time they see him in the hallways. Time outside the Temple will do him good, give him the opportunity to understand he can be pretty useful to the galaxy outside of Jinn’s shadow. After all, what’s better to hunt a Sith than the only Sith Slayer we have? He’ll need a little shaping up, but he has potential, you said it yourself. And he already knows my Padawan, they work well together.”
“You want to make him disappear out of the spotlight.”
“Always two, there are, a Master and an Apprentice. Obi-Wan is a good duelist but it’s far more probable he killed the Apprentice. If you tell me one of your reasons for keeping him into our Order is because you think the Sith Master will have him assassinated if they found an occasion, I would believe you. ”
“I don’t think Sith Masters appreciate people defeating their tools. Yes. Yes, I think they will have Kenobi terminated, if they can.”
“I will speak to him.”
“Thank you, old friend.”
*****************
“I feel like a backstabbing bastard.”
Mace opened an eye. Adi was glaring at him from across the small meditation room adjacent to the High Council Chamber.
“Hello to you, too,” he remarked. Adi’s glare only intensified. It was a look which had made scheming politicians take a step back from their idiotic demands. That look, however, didn’t even cause a shiver in Mace’s soul. Or if it did, it was a very small one.
No, it was less the glare than the reasons for it. Since she didn’t seem like she would let him be in peace, Mace quit his lotus position, gesturing with his hand to the pillow next to his own.
“I confess I’m not proud of ourselves,” he offered. It was an ugly thing to say. Councillors should be better than that, should know better than to manipulate a friend. And as exasperating, bull-headed and headache-inducing as he could be, Qui-Gon was a friend.
“Tell that to Jinn,” Adi returned, without mercy. Mace would have look away from her penetrating gaze if he were less of a warrior. She was incensed, but he felt her release those emotions into the Force. Then she seemed only disappointed in all of them, including the Council, herself included.
She knelt with her usual elegance on the meditation mat next to his. She looked at him again but this time it was less a glare and more a careful observation.
“Will you tell him the truth?”
“…No. As terrible as it is, this is the best solution in a situation without good solution. Whatever happens, Kenobi must be hidden and he must live. This is our best occasion to sweep him out of public view discreetly.”
“Yes. Kenobi must live, whatever happens.” Adi said and this time it was sadness Mace felt being released into the Force. She took his two hands into hers, then she added, “Meditate with me. Perhaps the Force will provide.”
“The Force always does, but we are poor listeners.”
*****************
Master Tholme had come for Obi-Wan in the morning. Anakin was still sleeping, the heavy sleep of a growing child. Obi-wan had scowled, then resigned himself and followed, wordlessly.
Tholme had guided him in the hallways, almost deserted at this hour. The nocturnal Jedi were wrapping up their days before going to bed, and the others were groaning, swearing at their alarm, and putting their heads under their pillows.
They found a little meditation room and Tholme busied himself with the tea set, observing the Padawan that had seated himself in a lotus position on one of the mats. Obi-Wan accepted tea from the older man, thanking him very politely. He drank in silence before asking: “Am I allowed to go now?”
“You always have been. The life of a Jedi is a choice. But, I have a proposition for you, one I would appreciate you took the time to listen to.”
Obi-Wan was too polite to refuse, and so he listened. He listened to a tale of secret missions, of Jedi going where the Senate didn’t send them, of lightsabers worn inside their tunics and of long undercover missions. He listened to a tale of Jedi working with the more discreet part of the Judicials, of Jedi silently helping people overthrow corrupt governments without the Senate’s approval, of Jedi tracking old dark artifacts, but also unsavoury characters…
“It seems less like a Shadow Jedi of the old and more like you’re a s-”
“We don’t say that word,” Master Tholme interrupted, his tone calm.,
“A particular quirk of our job,” he explained. “We don’t say that word, because it’s bad luck.”
“There is no such thing as luck,” Obi-Wan answered, perhaps sharper than he would have not so long ago.
“When you’re undercover in a gambling ring and will be disavowed by the Republic if necessary, there is such a thing as bad luck, young one.”
Obi-Wan didn’t seem convinced, but suddenly his voice seemed smaller. “And if I really have touched the Dark? Wouldn’t it be more dangerous to take me with you to find the Sith?”
Tholme put his hand on his shoulder. “Rest assured that if I thought you could be a danger to all of us, I would bundle you to the mind healers so fast you would be nauseous. And I don’t promise you more than hard work and my lightsaber in your heart if you are truly without hope in the Light.”
That was that promise of death in case of dark that convinced Obi-Wan. He half-bowed and his tone was relieved when he said:
“Then Master Tholme, I’m yours. Do as you feel necessary.”
And Tholme took him, with nothing more that the clothes on his back and his lightsaber on his belt.
Their first step was to join Quinlan in Tholme’s quarters. He was standing before the window, a scowl on his face. The second he saw Obi-Wan, the scowl disappeared and he reached out to the younger man, engulfing him in a strong hug. Of all the hugs Obi-Wan had received in his young life, Quinlan’s had always been the best. He hugged without restriction, throwing himself totally into it. At times, Obi-Wan had sometimes protested, chiding the other boy that he was a Senior Padawan with a small rebuke. “Really, Quinlan, a little more propriety please?”
But this time, he hid himself between the muscular arms of his friend.
“I will secure transportation for us,” Master Tholme announced. “We have a mission that will need travelling to without traces in the Temple’s log. The droids should bring you clothes for the mission in a moment, Obi-Wan.”
He turned to his Padawan to add: “ The two of you need to be ready to go in three hours. Quinlan, pack light, for warm and humid climates.” And then he left them alone. He could probably find a secure and discreet transport in five minutes, without even leaving the Temple, but in his Padawan’s eyes, above Obi-Wan’s shoulders, he had seen a demand for time.
Quinlan was right, the young Kenobi needed a moment.
In the room, the two young men were still entwined.
“My Master renounced me,” Obi-Wan finally whispered against the Kiffar’s neck.
Quinlan pulled back, placing his hands on his friend’s shoulders. “I know.”
“He disowned me.” And there was such disbelief in that voice that Quinlan kissed the corner of his cheek.
“I know, Obi. But sometimes what burns us make us regrow.”
“You’re spending too much time with Master T'ra Saa. I’m not a Neti, I will not seed after being consumed by fire,” Obi-Wan grumbled, a timid smile forming on his face.
Quinlan always been able to make him smile. Sometimes the boy was exasperation and joy in the same package, but on those days, he was ready to take the bad jokes, the terrible puns and the dangerous ideas in exchange for his easy affection and his warmth.
“In the light of the terrible month you just had, I won’t make a pun about seed, but believe me, it’s very hard. Quite hard, actually, and it could be harder - if you know what I mean…if you need a little animal comfort.” Quinlan leered.
“Quinlan!!” Obi-Wan exclaimed, stuck between amused and annoyed
He took a moment to regain his composure, fortifying himself with of cup of Quinlan’s caf, a brew so strong you could probably melt metal with it. Obi-Wan followed his friend outside the Temple. At the end of the platform, he stopped and looked back to what had been his home all his life. He felt…he felt emotions a Jedi shouldn’t. Anger, betrayal, jealousy. Obi-wan acknowledged them and tried to release them into the Force, but it wasn’t so easy.
“Obi-Wan, my Master is waiting for us.”
And Obi-Wan followed Quinlan, the sound of his sight lost in the noise of a passing shuttle.
The ship was small and not exactly luxurious, but Master Tholme had decided Obi-Wan would have one of their two cabins to himself.
“The first privilege of a new Knight.” Tholme explained.
“I’m not…”
“You are. Take a shower, try the clothes and then we’ll talk about it more.” Tholme had insisted
Once in his quarters Obi-Wan opened the bag that the droids had given him and found in it three teal tunics with light blue stripes, the ugliest poncho he had ever seen, more underwear and socks that he had ever possessed, and two pairs of grey trousers.
He put them on, carefully folding in the bag his Padawan’s clothes.
It was strange to let go of his Jedi clothes. Who what that young man in the fresher mirror? What would people see, if they hadn’t the uniform of a Jedi to colour their first impression? Tholme must have guessed his size, or simply asked the droids for it when placing the order to the Quartermaster. The clothes fit him well and yet, it still felt strange, even if they were simple clothes, not the ornate, heavy and complicated things he had seen on nobility or the rich on every world he had visited. He took another look in the mirror. Well, he supposed he was not ugly in them.
The colour of the tunic brought out his eyes in an unusual way. Would that influence people? Were you supposed to look for this sort of thing when you were choosing clothes as a Jedi….as a Jedi on a secret mission?
He noticed Quinlan do a double take when he joined them in their cabin, and Obi-wan felt a sort of pleasure at that. His friend had taken out the beads in his braid and let his dreadlocks down. He was now wearing grey clothes.
“You don’t look like a Padawan anymore,” Obi-Wan remarked, his voice tight.
“Well, I prefer to not go with a visual clue that I’m an interesting baby Jedi, perfect for kidnapping, thank you very much.” Quinlan laughed and pulled on Obi-Wan’s braid, not exactly gentle.
“I can disguise mine with the dreads, but you?” he asked.
“It doesn’t feel right.” Obi-wan swallowed, a lump in his throat.
Master Tholme came out of the fresher, also in civilian clothes, and heard his last words.
“And if you put the mission on danger by it?”
Obi-Wan felt red creeping on his cheeks.
“I will cut it, if you command it, Master. It just doesn’t feel right.” And he had the feeling he was failing some sort of test.
In an instant, the Master took a piece of cloth from his utility belt, which was the same teal as Obi-Wan’s tunic.
“You’ll cut it when you’re ready. You’re a Knight, now.” And he tied the cloth around Obi-Wan’s head, pushing the braid in its fold.
“Well, you’re a Master, aren’t you supposed to give orders to brand new Knights?”
“Oh yes, but if I remember my days as a new Knight, it’s not exactly a moment when you want to listen to old, boring Masters. Opposed to now where my dutiful Padawan always listens to me, of course,Master Tholme said, his face as serious as his tone was sarcastic.
Quinlan snorted from one of the beds where he had kneeled.
“Come on. Kneel with that reprobate you have for a friend.”
“Following your steps, Master,” quipped Quinlan, his voice joyful.
“Shhh, you. Obi-Wan, when was the last time you had a successful meditation?”
“Probably too long, Master.”
“Well, the trip will be four days and a few hours long, so perhaps it’s time to know each other better.”
And together, they entered meditation, Obi-Wan slowly opening himself to the other Jedi. It wasn’t easy. It should have been of course, he had known since he was four years old how to thin his shields and share meditation with other Jedi. In fact, for the Creche Masters, it was more about teaching the children how to shield themselves, to close their own self and not be perpetually open to other Force users, something that happened when younglings were raised with only Force Sensitives.
Obi-wan had never meditated with Tholme, and it had been years since he had done it with Quinlan. The beginning was awkward. He had been a mess since Qui-Gon had renounced him, and the confrontation with the Sith had definitely not helped. But Tholme was nothing but patient. He coaxed the younger man closer in the Force, slowly, using his connection with Quinlan to link himself to the traces of a Creche bond that the two younger men had shared many years ago. The Light of Quinlan in the Force was familiar to Obi-Wan, even years after their last shared meditation, and it grounded him, helped him open to Tholme.
It took longer that it should have, but finally, Obi-Wan’s mind blossomed in the Force.