Reading Time: 75 Minutes

Title: OB-1
Series: OB-1
Series Order: 1
Author: Sunryder
Fandom: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Family, Kid!fic, Science Fiction
Relationship(s): Gen, background pairings
Content Rating: PG
Warnings: Discussion-Child Abuse, Discussion-Sexual Abuse, Discussion-Slavery, Self-Harm,
Word Count: 79,685
Summary: For over a thousand generations, Jedi Knights have been the guardians of peace and justice in the Galactic Republic. Force-sensitive children are brought to the Jedi Temple and there taught the ways of the Jedi. Throughout their youth these children undergo many trials, the last of which is to be chosen as an Apprentice before they turn 13. Despite his skill and talent in the Force, Obi-Wan Kenobi has been caught fighting another Initiate and deemed too angry to become a Jedi Knight. The Youngling has been expelled from the Temple to join the Agricorps instead…
Artist: Spennig

---

---

Chapter Thirteen

Despite Quinlan’s best efforts to get more from Obi-Wan, he refused. At least, Obi-Wan refused about what was important.

He told Quinlan about Docent Vant, and spending the whole night crying, and all the goodbyes, and fighting with Bruck one last time, and sobbing in the showers, and what felt like a dozen different panic attacks while Brair figured out what to do with him. He told Quinlan more than the adults. The same stories, but Quinlan got all the sensitive parts: the fear, the grief, the hurt.

Everything but the most.

Quinlan knew Obi-Wan was hiding something, but Obi-Wan was so open about everything else that Quinlan couldn’t guess what.

In truth, Quinlan gave away more than Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan hadn’t realized he’d been leaking angst all over the Force in the starfighter hangar – no wonder Master Tyvokka had known the moment he arrived – and the adults all knew something had happened. Obi-Wan told Quinlan the almost-truth that he’d seen Master Jinn and everything had hit him all at once. Obi-Wan talked about running off, and crying, and being soothed by droids, but no one seemed quite satisfied that Obi-Wan was just hurting.

Apparently, the sub-Councils factored travel time into their nominations, so preparing for the Grand Council was only a mad rush of a week instead of the word of a few months. Obi-Wan spent most of his time at someone’s side welcoming Grand Council members to the Temple from the far-flung regions of space, delivering documents, and being stopped to answer questions without actually revealing any information.

The morning after Master Saa’s arrival was spent setting up their meeting place in a private conference with a comm screen that stretched across one entire wall. Quinlan called it the ‘murder board.’ (Every Shadow just shrugged and agreed, while the rest of them didn’t get the joke.) The screen held an interconnected web of who was serving on the Grand Council, who they were influenced by, who they were likely to get advice from, what their concerns were likely to be, and what direction they were likely to go.

To MO’s unending horror, taped to another wall was a tiered breakdown of the Grand Council’s goals, starting at the ideal and ending at it all being for nothing. Someone kept a running hypothetical tally of which Council members would support what outcomes, and how they could be convinced otherwise.

They prepared for the worst-case scenario, the best case, and every possible scenario in between. It was like the most intense live-action version of Dejarik Obi-Wan had ever seen. And frankly, he spent most of his time taking notes because someday he wanted to be able to out-think people as well as Masters Saa and Tyvokka could.

Only most of his time, because the people in his life seemed just as concerned as Quinlan with discovering what had happened to Obi-Wan between running into Master Jinn and arriving at the hangar to meet Master Saa. Like Quinlan, no one quite bought that Obi-Wan had just been reminded of things, despite MO and Trion’s testimony to the contrary.

Quinlan liked to flop on top of Obi-Wan, interrupting his work and crushing him to the desk. (“Tell me.” “No.” “Tell me.” “There’s nothing to tell.” “Tell me.” Wriggle. “Tell me!”)

Ruzry liked to pop out of nowhere in random empty hallways. (Obi-Wan was getting better about not jumping.)

“You know if you tell me, I can make the others stop.”

Obi-Wan snorted.

“I won’t tell them. I’ll just tell them you told me and they have nothing to worry about.”

(Obi-Wan hadn’t even rolled his eyes that time.)

Feemor had only tried the once, offering Obi-Wan tea and a chance to drink it in silence without anyone pestering him. Feemor got the closest out of anyone, because the silence was deafening and three minutes of quiet where Obi-Wan couldn’t work made him want to crawl out of his own skin. Obi-Wan had left with the excuse of more things to do. As Obi-Wan had rushed away, Feemor had pointed out, “The inability to sit still is a sign of heightened stress.”

Obi-Wan had left anyway.

Master Tyvokka had just patted Obi-Wan’s head and said, <<When you’re ready to talk, I will be ready to listen.>> Then he tapped the notebook Obi-Wan couldn’t make himself stop writing in, even though he didn’t deserve it. <<But perhaps if you won’t tell us, talk it out with yourself.>>

And now it was Brair’s turn. Instead of crashing on the couch in the ‘murder room’ or being squished by Quinlan in his Padawan room in Tholme’s quarters, Obi-Wan had been sent back to the hangar and Brair’s spare cot because there was work to be done that Obi-Wan ‘wasn’t allowed to be part of.’

Brair dished out a plate of Human-appropriate food that he’d gotten from the commissary, as though feeding Obi-Wan anything other than snacks from Brair’s hiding place wasn’t suspicious. “I could be alone for the night, you know.”

Brair snorted. “How’d you sleep last night?”

Obi-Wan didn’t answer because they both knew he hadn’t slept a wink. None of the adults wanted to drop Obi-Wan alone in some spare room because he’d stay up all night thinking.

Brair joined Obi-Wan at the crate they were using as a table and together they ate their meals in silence. Obi-Wan kept scrolling through the data on his padd, letting Brair wind himself up for whatever approach he was going to take. Honestly, he’d expected Brair to just ask if Obi-Wan would like to talk about it and then accept the no. But, Brair said, “Have I told you about my Master?”

Obi-Wan blinked up from his padd. “No.”

“I didn’t think so. My master was Master Rallelu.”

Obi-Wan blinked for an entirely different reason. He knew that name. Everyone knew that name. “Master Rallelu of the Siege of Vieh?”

Brair smiled. “Just the one. Master Rallelu was a brilliant swordsman, one of the last Grandmasters when they had a triad of Grandmasters, and one of the legends of the High Republic.”

“But…” Brair fixed ships. Obi-Wan would never say that out loud, it would be rude.

Brair smirked like he’d had this conversation a hundred times before. “Yes, Master Rallelu of The Cleansing of the Black Scar, and The Iron Ozone, and The Skyward Treaty, and so on. See,” Brair put his fork down to give the explanation all his attention, “my Master did all those amazing things and then she was injured dealing with the Dread Infestation. The injury was substantial, and it took the rescue workers too much time to get her into bacta. It still saved her life, but the delay meant she had tremors in her hands that kept her from using her lightsaber like she used to. But she still had the Force, and she wasn’t ready to lay down and die.”

“She could’ve retired.”

“She said that was the same thing as dying.” Brair leaned in and said it like it was a joke, but Obi-Wan didn’t understand how death could be funny.

“Right.” Brair cleared his throat. “Master Rallelu healed, and decided the best thing for her to do was pure diplomatic missions, assignments where there was no reason for her to use her lightsaber. “But, no matter how she tried, they always turned into fights anyway.”

“Did she get wounded again?”

“No. Thank goodness. The Council sent her with backup on most missions, and the ones they didn’t, she was still a master of telekinesis. People can’t shoot at you when you’ve used the Force to crush their guns.”

That Obi-Wan could appreciate.

“But, for all she was fine, it hurt her to not be able to use her lightsaber anymore. To not be able to sneak around and discover the truth like she used to. She was still brilliant across the mediation table, but it wasn’t as satisfying. So, Rallelu turned her attention to aspects of the Force that she always meant to do but never had time for.”

“Like what?” Brair nodded at Obi-Wan’s picked-over plate of food, and he shoved in a mouthful in exchange for the story.

“Rallelu became an artisan.”

With his mouth full, Obi-Wan furrowed his brow and wiggled his fingers. How could she be an artisan if her tremors were so bad she couldn’t use a lightsaber?

“Telekinesis, remember?”

Obi-Wan gulped. “Really? She just… used the Force?”

Trion sent out a floating holo-screen showing images of what must’ve been some of Master Rallelu’s work. The first was a block of dark wood, the top half carved like a sleek Vornskyr that was trying to tug its long legs out of the mud that was the bottom half of the wood. Then there was shaped metal that held half a man’s torso, only partly formed with the rest of him stuck in the material. The images Trion slid past were all different materials, but they all look like life trying to break free.

“She was a sculptor.” Obi-Wan awed.

“She was. She would meditate with the piece of material in her hands and let the Force flow through them both. She didn’t consciously carve anything out of them, just… let the Force do as it willed.”

“That’s… the opposite of how you said you build things.” Brair’s tentacles curled in pleasure. “You said you do what your common sense tells you and let the Force nudge you along.”

“I did.”

“Is that why she chose you? Because you used the Force the opposite way?”

“No. She taught it to me. She just…” Brair trailed off with a quiet laugh. “You know, I don’t know why she chose me. I never asked.”

“You didn’t?” Obi-Wan couldn’t believe it.

“No.” Brair shrugged. “Honestly, I never thought about it until today. I just… adored her, and that was enough.”

“How did you meet?” Obi-Wan took another bite, this one more out of hunger than obligation.

“She taught art classes to the Initiates. I was slated for the Corps, for this,” Brair waved at his hangar, “but I was so mechanically inclined that someone thought basic art classes would be good for me. That they would teach me a different way of looking at the same problem. Rallelu taught my class for a semester, and then asked me to be her Padawan.” Brair chuckled to himself at the memory. “The ‘Padawan of her old age,’ she called me when she was defending my training to all her grown Padawans.”

“What? Why?”

“Rallelu trained six Padawans before me, all of them brilliant negotiators and warriors, who, to hear them tell it, were rigorously trained with sprints, and leaps, and all manner of things I never had to think about. Rallelu had Vhalu, her first Padawan, teach me the saber. Then the rest of the time we roamed the galaxy wherever she felt like taking me.”

Obi-Wan took more bites as Brair got a conspiratorial smile. “One time, we stopped off on Corellia, just to roam around their shipyards. But when we were there, she found their massive metal scrapyard, all leftover building materials. Once a year they would melt it all down into ingots of useless scrap and swear someone would figure out how to purify it and make it useful again, but they never did.

“So, right before the big melting day, Rallelu roamed into the sea of shards. They couldn’t burn it while a Jedi Master was in there and I couldn’t talk anyone into anything, so I had to call my Padawan siblings for someone to try and explain. But they couldn’t either because it didn’t make any sense to them and Rallelu was too deep in meditation to come out. And we couldn’t move her because she had a telekinetic field around her and couldn’t be touched.

“Vhalu,” Brair laughed to himself, “the sibling who actually turned up on Corellia, managed to talk the whole thing down because half of Corellia’s governing body had elderly parents who did embarrassing things.”

“She wasn’t embarrassing.” Obi-Wan objected.

“No. Time had made my Master a different woman than the one who trained Vhalu, and Vhalu didn’t know how to relate anymore. Rallelu stayed there for three days, just meditating. Then she stood up, did the entire series of katas, from First Form through Fifth, all with her eyes closed, and by the time she was done, the metal had been sculpted into a forest. She walked out, ate an entire razorback, slept for two days, and one of their master shipwrights was so moved they offered to apprentice me.”

“Did you?” Obi-Wan asked, eager.

“I am Brair Fawchiid, Jedi Master and Master Shipwright of the Corellian Consortium.”

“That’s amazing.” Obi-Wan said, bright-eyed and open-hearted.

“Ah,” Brair’s eyes welled and his smile got sad. “Rallelu would’ve loved you.”

Obi-Wan blushed.

“It’s the truth.” Brair released a gust of breath, a little wet from almost tears. “If she’d lived a few decades more you would’ve been her last Padawan. Honestly, for the first time in my life I’m disappointed in younger me for not learning more of the other things she had to teach just so I could share them with you.”

Obi-Wan traced his fork along the plate, all appetite gone with the reminder of things that might have been but could never be.

“But I do know one thing.” Brair leaned forward and gave Obi-Wan’s hand a squeeze. “My Master had a saying—well, she had several, but this was her favorite: what does fear lead to?”

“Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.” Obi-Wan said without thinking. He knew the saying from Master Yoda’s lessons as well as he knew his own name.

“You know what my Master would say to that?”

“What?”

“Yes, fear leads to anger. But fear also leads to shame. And to pride. To stagnation. And to a dozen other things.”

Obi-Wan hadn’t heard that before. Though, it wasn’t as quotable as Master Yoda’s version.

“You see, my Master liked to argue that fear is no different than hunger.”

Obi-Wan didn’t understand.

“It’s…” Brair scrambled for the words. “It’s no different than getting the shivers when you’re chilled, or being sad when you fight with a friend, or happy when the commissary has your favorite treat. Anger is simply your body or your heart trying to tell you something. Hunger isn’t wrong, it’s your body saying you need to eat. And sadness isn’t wrong, it’s your heart saying your friend said something unkind and your feelings are hurt. Fear isn’t wrong, it’s telling you there’s something you’re afraid of. Does that make sense?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Good. She explained this much better than I can.”

“Practice, I imagine.”

Brair grinned. “Six Padawans gave her plenty of practice. The point is, she would say that what matters isn’t the fear, it’s what you do with it. Do you face it, and understand what you’re afraid of so you can stop? Or do you stay afraid and get angry about the thing you fear, like Yoda says? Or do you ignore it, and since you can’t defeat what you’re ignoring, the fear leads to stagnation instead. Or do you tell yourself you shouldn’t be afraid, and that fear leads to shame? That’s how fear can lead to anger, or lead to a dozen other things, including… hurt.”

Obi-Wan hadn’t expected Brair to be the one to sneak.

“I can tell you’re hurting, Obi. Will you tell me what you’re afraid of?”

“You know how Master Feemor taught me about how to feel the Force.” Obi-Wan whispered like a secret, focused on the trails his fork left through the leftover food on his plate.

“Yes.”

“And you know that I’ve been looking.”

Brair smiled, because Obi-Wan and his notebook had been the source of many of those ‘isn’t what sweet’ adult grins. “I do.”

Obi-Wan took a breath, but he couldn’t just say it. He had to explain. He had to wind his way into it, like enough talking would make it not hurt. He explained that he found the Force strongest while he was sparring, but it was most helpful when he was researching, and he didn’t know quite what that meant, but he’d tested everything he could think of, just in case the Force sang to him on some task he’d never paid attention to before.

“So, I did all these experiments and MO, and Trion, and I turned it into a spreadsheet.”

“Of course you did.” Brair’s soft smile and attentive silence through the rambling comforted Obi-Wan when he knew what was coming next.

“We compared all the places where the Force sang to me with all the information Trion had about the Masters and Knights who don’t have a Padawan.” Obi-Wan stalled out.

“And what did you find?”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth and the words… they wouldn’t come. Just tears.

Trion sent over one of his floating screens, and MO popped his head over the counter where he’d been hiding all dinner. Brair’s tentacles froze for a moment, then rose in shock. Oh, MO and Trion must be better liars than he was. Obi-Wan had thought the adults all recognized the droids were keeping his secret.

“No. Thank you.” He said to the droids. “I have to say it.” Obi-Wan licked his lips and counted down from five. On five, he would speak. Five, four, three, two, one: “Master Jinn.”

That was explanation enough. Brair took his hand. “How close a match?”

“Perfect.” Obi-Wan croaked.

“Perfect?”

<<Plus or minus 2%>> MO droned down a note. <<Within the margin of error.>>

Brair held out his other hand and took both of Obi-Wan’s. “Tell me Obi, what are you afraid of?”

“That he’s supposed to be my master.”

“And why are you afraid of that?”

The answer should’ve been that he wouldn’t take Obi-Wan, even after the Grand Council changed things.

But that wasn’t it. The fear was that Master Jinn had seen something in Obi-Wan that everyone else hadn’t. But since he was supposed to be Obi-Wan’s Master, that meant he could see the truth of Obi-Wan that the others couldn’t. But eventually, they were going to see it too and they would know that Obi-Wan was just as broken as Master Jinn claimed.

But when Obi-Wan opened his mouth to say so, the words didn’t taste right. They didn’t sound right. It would be a lie.

Brair twisted his tentacles and asked, “Would it help if I asked more questions, or do you need space to think?”

Obi-Wan didn’t laugh at the words Brair must’ve heard Feemor say a dozen times, awkward on Brair’s tongue but trying so hard. “Space.” Obi-Wan choked out.

One of Brair’s tentacles flicked across his cheek, brushing away a tear. “Then I’ll give you some.”

Chapter Fourteen

Obi-Wan felt like he was swimming through a fog between his prefrontal cortex and the rest of his body.

Only, not. Because that analogy didn’t make sense.

This was what happened when Obi-Wan spent most of his night trying to ask himself what he was so afraid of and just kept repeating the same lie to himself until he collapsed face-first into a padd around three a.m. when his eyes refused to cooperate anymore. Then Brair had denied him proper caffeine, leaving Obi-Wan to run on nothing but fumes and frazzles, and a brain that refused to shut down until it answered the question.

Obi-Wan had the courtesy to wait until Brair woke on his own the next morning. (Well, ‘on his own.’ Maybe helped along by Trion and MO having a conversation made of particularly loud and shrill beeps.) Then Obi-Wan had fed himself the Brair ration bars and dragged Brair to the Fountains. (Partly because they were Obi-Wan’s favorite place. Mostly because they were the best place he’d been able to hear the Force throughout all his experiments. And, not inconsequentially, because the sunshine and fresh air were more likely to wake him up than the hangar.)

Despite being half-asleep, Brair was a good barrier between Obi-Wan and everyone else, just in case someone turned up to the small field outside Obi-Wan’s favorite tree burrow and tried to interrupt his katas.

(Was the hike up the waterfall worth it for the privacy? Probably not. Was it worth it to be nowhere near where Master Tyvokka might spend his morning? Yes. Why? … because. That was a whole other thought pattern Obi-Wan couldn’t handle right now. One breakdown at a time.)

Obi-Wan was just going to keep doing katas until the Force sang him something about what he was afraid of because it was all still a tangled mess of being worried that Master Jinn was for him but that Master Jinn wouldn’t take him. And that Master Jinn wouldn’t take Obi-Wan because he was broken and Bruck was right about Obi-Wan all along.

But that still wasn’t quite it. Obi-Wan had tried meditating last night but things didn’t get any clearer, he just… overturned new soil, as Feemor would say? Meditation had just made things more complicated. It was like half a dozen songs were playing in Obi-Wan’s head, all of them discordant and refusing to come together.

Obi-Wan tripped over his own two feet in a kata he’d done a thousand times before, and some part of him pointed out – in Brair’s voice – that he was tired and the best way to solve this problem was probably to get some rest, but the other part of him – that sounded like him – said that wasn’t going to happen when Obi-Wan felt like this.

Because an hour ago Obi-Wan thought the Force was telling him that Master Jinn wasn’t for him, but that must be misinterpreting the Force because the math said so. And if Obi-Wan was misinterpreting the Force now, maybe he’d been doing that forever? Or maybe the new way he was understanding the Force’s singing was worse than how he’d been interpreting it before?

Or maybe he was supposed to be Jinn’s padawan and he was supposed to go to Bandomeer because that’s what would have brought them together, but Obi-Wan didn’t, and he didn’t even ask the Force if he should’ve gotten on the ship to leave in the first place.

So maybe Obi-Wan didn’t go and now he’d ruined the entire future that the Force had planned for him because they were supposed to be partners and now, they weren’t supposed to be. And Obi-Wan defiance had made Yoda wrong, so even if Yoda prevailed and Jinn made an offer to him, they shouldn’t be partners anymore and that’s what the Force was trying to tell him.

Maybe?

But would Obi-Wan be able to accept the partnership, even if the Force said they weren’t supposed to anymore?

Obi-Wan clenched his fists and just shrieked as he tipped over and face planted in the grass.

“Wow.” Ruzry overenunciated.

Obi-Wan hadn’t even realized she was there.

“Yeah.” Brair sighed. “I… this is above my skill level.”

Obi-Wan flopped his head over to look at them. Brair had spent the morning sprawled on a blanket at the edge of the small clearing, goggles pulled over his eyes because he wasn’t in the mood for sunshine. MO had been ‘pacing’ over the rocks because he hated the lawn because it got stuck in his wheel. (Some part of Obi-Wan felt bad about that, but upgrading MO to a wheel option that could tread through nature was a project for another day.)

Oh, Ruzry had her arms folded and her eyebrows nearly up to her hairline, real face exposed. Not good. And, oh! There was Feemor right next to her. Obi-Wan hadn’t noticed.

And Feemor looked worried.

Obi-Wan hated that look. The thoughts just came spilling out because it was too loud in his head and he couldn’t hear the Force. “I need a fight.”

“You need a what?” Ruzry asked, like she’d heard him perfectly and wanted him to recant.

Obi-Wan shoved himself up to his feet. “Katas aren’t doing it. They’re the third-best way for me to feel the Force and the second best is meditation and I did that last night, and sparring is first best.” Obi-Wan grabbed his notebook and pointed to the chart. “See!” He flipped it closed before they could even get close enough to see.

Ruzry’s eyes were dangerously wide and she looked down at Brair, who just looked like ‘see’ and Obi-Wan didn’t know what that was about. “I asked Brair for a spar ages ago, before the sun even came up, and he refused on account of his own sleep deprivation. You two aren’t sleep deprived. I need a good fight.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do! I need a good spar to clear out my head so I can just hear.”

“Maybe you should take a nap.” Ruzry said, and Brair tossed up his hands because he said that around 1:00 a.m. and had been saying it ever since – the big, fat cheater because he could have caffeine to power through their sleepless night but was denying Obi any.

“No!” Obi-Wan snapped. “I need to understand it!”

Feemor raised a hand and stopped all objections. “Let him fight it out.”

Ruzry rolled her eyes. “Are we going to a salle, or—” Obi-Wan was already in the middle of the small space, lightsaber drawn, and turned to stun. “Great. This is great.” But she didn’t sound like it was.

They didn’t bother starting with a salute. Ruzry strolled into a wide, swinging blow. Obi-Wan was so offended he slipped under her guard and tapped the stinging saber against the open flesh of her neck. “Hey!” She jolted back.

“I need a fight!” Obi-Wan repeated, like a 500th time would make it clear. Ruzry narrowed her eyes and engaged, blade up to block then a flip up and over Obi-Wan’s head. She attacked, forcing Obi-Wan back across the grass in a quick series of steps and the fight was on.

But it wasn’t enough because every glance Obi-Wan had at that moment of peace, it slipped away as his mind turned back to the problem.

Obi-Wan ducked out of the way of a slash, but not fast enough and Ruzry hissed as she almost burned him. She tried to pull back, but, “No!” Obi-Wan attacked again.

Feemor’s voice called out from the sidelines. “What’s fourth best?”

“Fourth best what?” He caught a cross blow and shoved back.

“Fourth best way to feel the Force?”

Ugh, he should’ve known that. And he should’ve caught that blow.

“Solving a problem!” Duck, punch, roll.

“Like a puzzle?” Brair called.

“Yes! Real and homework. I hear the song when I feel the pieces coming together. But I tried that last night and it didn’t work!”

“He was up for hours working on this.” Brair said.

“Because the pieces won’t fit!”

“All of the pieces?” Feemor asked in that way that meant he’d figured something out.

“Yes!” Obi-Wan snapped and ignored Feemor’s hum as he traded a fast series of strikes with Ruzry.

“That doesn’t sound quite right.” Obi-Wan spun far enough out that he could glower at Feemor without getting hit. Ruzry leapt at him anyway.

“Tell me, Obi-Wan, what do you know?”

“I don’t know what I’m afraid of!” Obi-Wan caught her blade, then dropped his weight and rolled out of the way and backflipped off a rock and over her. She caught his cross-stroke.

“All right. What do you know you’re not afraid of? What things can we remove from the table?

Obi-Wan was going to object that he didn’t know anything, then Ruzry struck hard and fast. Obi-Wan stumbled back against the onslaught. “What do you know?” Feemor called again?

“Master Jinn and I are perfect for one another!” Obi-Wan didn’t feel the expected burst of surprise, then he remembered that Brair had probably told them.

“If I may clarify,” Feemor said, and Ruzry caught Obi-Wan’s blade in a slash, then grabbed his wrist and held him there, cracking lightsabers between them. “I believe what you know is that Trion’s algorithm says you and Master Jinn are perfect for one another.”

“Same thing.”

Ruzry used Obi-Wan’s shoulder to roll over him and swatted his behind with her saber.

Feemor repeated. “I believe an algorithm says you and Master Jinn are perfect for one another.”

“Fine!” Ruzry lashed out and swatted him again.

“I agreed!” Obi-Wan objected.

“I have a clarifying question.”

“Of course you do.” Obi-Wan grumbled. Ruzry didn’t smack him for that one, but she smirked.

“What is perfect?”

“What?” Obi-Wan stumbled back from a slow blow.

“The algorithm says you’re perfect. What does perfect mean?”

“That all the ways the Force sings for me are the way it sings for him. That we should be together” Obi-Wan darted forward, trying to hear that song now.

“How do you know?”

“Trion says so.”

“How does Trion know?”

MO beeped affront that he and Trion might do anything less than perfect research. Which gave Obi-Wan enough space to press his attack until Ruzry spun around him like a dancer.

“All right. All right!” Feemor shouted, waiving off MO’s sparking hand. “I’m not calling into question their research, but why do shared interests make you perfect?”

“They’re not just shared interests! They did weighted variables on what and how the Force sings to me and how it did for everyone else and he and I match.”

“MO, please pull up my Initiate file and run the same analysis on Master Jinn and I?” MO beeped, and Obi-Wan tried to keep his eyes on the flashing blade before him while Ruzry darted in and out, attacking from every angle so Obi-Wan couldn’t even look at Feemor properly while MO did the analysis.

Then MO whistled in surprise and Obi-Wan stopped. “What?”

MO’s pixelated eyes were perfect squares, wider than Obi-Wan had ever seen them. Feemor didn’t look surprised at all, he just watched Obi-Wan as he asked, “How good a match?”

<<90%>>

“Only 90%?” Feemor still didn’t look away.

<<The largest gap in interest between you was lightsaber combat.>>

“Hmm. I still don’t enjoy it. But to be honest, neither does Master Jinn. If your algorithm says he does, it is wrong. He’s good. He had to be after training under Master Dooku, but Qui-Gon doesn’t like lightsabers. He’s never found sparring meditative.”

<<Certain?>>

“Positive.”

MO beeped, then made the whirr that came with modified calculations. <<94% compatibility.>>

“And what’s Obi’s compatibility down to?”

MO… blinked. His pixelated eyes blanked, then re-appeared in that narrow, thinking way while he whirred through the numbers, a long silent moment where the part of Obi-Wan that could still think wondered how in the world Feemor knew how Master Jinn felt about lightsabers.

<<96%.>>

Feemor hummed, like he’d been expecting the numbers to come out the same. “Do you accept that if I were to review all the information MO and Trion used for their calculations, I might find more gaps in their knowledge and they would adjust the information accordingly?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Up or down.”

“Yes.” Feemor agreed. “The numbers might go back up, or they might go further down. But, do you accept that, given the errors in their knowledge base, that 94% and 96% are indistinguishable?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Do you know who trained me?”

Obi-Wan blinked as his poor, tired brain tried to change tracks. “No. You haven’t talked about your Master.”

“Ah, because according to the Order’s records, I had no Master.” Obi-Wan blinked, certain that was supposed to make sense. “You can figure it out by looking at dates and mission logs, but the man who trained me, repudiated me afterwards. Declared himself no longer my Master, and so for all purposes, I had none.”

“Who trained you.’” Obi-Wan repeated.

“He was… vehement about the repudiation and hasn’t taken it back. Out of the respect and love I still have for him, I honor that wish and don’t call him Master.”

“Who?” Obi-Wan’s voice cracked. Who could repudiate Feemor? Obi-Wan had learned more about the Force from him than he’d learned from half a dozen of his teachers. Obi-Wan was tempted to follow Feemor around and learn everything he had to teach just so Obi-Wan could learn how to be so calm all the time.

Feemor met Obi-Wan’s concern with a soft smile, and a gaze he hadn’t taken off Obi-Wan since he asked MO to run the numbers, just waiting for some knowledge to settle over Obi-Wan’s face. “Master Jinn.”

Obi-Wan’s brain felt like that poor, old padd that couldn’t process more than one document at a time. His brain blue-screened. All thought was replaced by a high-pitched shrieking while his brain ground to a halt.

He should feel betrayed. Some part of him wanted to, but… it was Feemor. He couldn’t. Obi-Wan had been inside Feemor’s shields, felt the Force through him, and Feemor had no betrayal in him.

“What?” Obi-Wan rasped, all he could manage.

“Master Jinn trained me to Knighthood. I graduated – arguably a bit early – so he could take his next Padawan, Xanatos du Crion. Little Xan, who bonded on sight with Qui-Gon like your Quinlan bonded with Master Tholme. But Xan was young, and Qui-Gon wanted to train someone else before Xan, and according to paper and common sense, Qui and I were perfect for one another. A good first Padawan before he took the child the Force had decreed was perfect for him. Do you know what happened to Xan?”

“He Fell.”

“He Fell.” Feemor nodded, all sadness for his lost little brother. “He came crashing to earth and broke Qui-Gon’s heart. Qui came back to the Temple after Xan Fell, and his first task was to declare he would take no more Padawans. If he could do so wrong with the Padawan the Force had decreed was his, then he was an unfit teacher. Then he repudiated me, five years after he cut my braid.

“So, Obi-Wan.” Feemor rose, the spell of his words still holding Obi-Wan stock still to listen. “Qui-Gon and I were mathematically perfect. Qui-Gon and Xanatos were Force-appointed perfect. So tell me, why do shared interests, and a high mathematical correlation, and the very will of the Force make two people perfect together?”

“I… it just does.” Feemor raised an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to be together.”

“They might make you perfect at the moment we’re running the math. But why does correlation today make you a perfect pair tomorrow? Because we are not the same people tomorrow that we are today. And we are certainly not the same people a year from now that we are today. So how do you know what is supposed to be?”

“You just… the Force tells you!”

“Master Jinn and I were just as mathematically perfect at the beginning as you and he. But he repudiated me at the end. Xan and Qui-Gon were the kind of match they tell tales of, but they ruined each other in the end.”

Feemor rested his broad, steady hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders. For the first time, the bright morning sunlight made Obi-Wan notice the flecks of silver at Feemor’s temples.

“So, Obi-Wan Kenobi, what does it mean that you are ‘supposed to be together’? And why should the you of the future be bound by the supposeds of today?”

“I… I don’t know.” Obi-Wan was too overwhelmed to process. He knew Qui-Gon had a Fallen Padawan. But he didn’t know there had been anyone before, let alone Feemor. He didn’t know Master Jinn had sworn to never take another. He didn’t know anyone but Quin who’d been chosen by the Force that young, but he knew Quin said it felt like he and Master Tholme would’ve found one another regardless. Obi-Wan didn’t… he didn’t know what to do with any of it. Thoughts raged around his head in a maelstrom he couldn’t control.

Brair stepped over and took Obi-Wan by the hand, cutting off his spiral. “What does fear lead to?”

Ruzry and Feemor both looked at Brair with different variations of ‘what?’ But Obi-Wan understood. Fear was a feeling, and it only led where you chose to go.

“Oh.” Obi-Wan breathed. He and Master Jinn might be perfect together. Might be ‘supposed to be.’ Or they might just be good. Or they might be a mathematical match from two droids who’d never had an Organic relationship, let alone a Master/Padawan pair. But, like fear, it was all just potential until Obi-Wan chose how to respond.

Master Jinn had repudiated Feemor. And he’d sword to never take another Padawan.

But Obi-Wan had to know. He couldn’t just not ask. After all, Feemor said that was the only way to find things out.

“Right.” Obi-Wan braced himself and gave Brair’s hand a squeeze. “Right.” Then he let go and tore off for the narrow trail down from the cliff.

“What the—”

Obi-Wan didn’t make it more than a few feet before Ruzry tackled him to the grass. “What are you doing?”

Obi-Wan tried to buck her off. “I have to find out!”

“Find out what?”

“Qui-Gon! I have to ask him myself! I have to know.” Ruzry and Brair turned to Feemor, wonderful Feemor, who always understood.

“Let him up. But maybe—” he interrupted before Obi-Wan could run off again, “find out where Qui-Gon is first?”

“And not run through the Temple.” Ruzry added.

MO beeped. <<Jinn is in the upper dormitory hall.>> Obi-Wan didn’t ask. He just scooped up MO and went tearing off as fast as he could and still call it walking.

Feemor’s long legs kept pace with him, striding like a poised grownup who wasn’t rushing. Ruzry looked irritated enough that no one would ask, and Brair caught up at a run, his blanket and all their belongings stuffed into Obi-Wan’s pack, half tumbling out.

It was a matter of minutes and ignoring several scolding glowers to get from the Room of a Thousand Fountains up the turbolifts to one the smaller halls in between sections of the upper dormitories. The room was a perfect replica of the grand hall, just in miniature, which meant Master Jinn was framed like a picture by the tall glass windows at the far side. Obi-Wan had just enough wherewithal to notice the wide, confused eyes of Master Jinn and Master Yoda as he stumbled to a stop and interrupted their conversation.

“Master Qui-Gon.” Obi-Wan tripped into a proper bow. “Master Feemor has been teaching me things while we wait for the Grand Council to decide what to do with me.” Master Jinn had glanced between the frazzled adults, then his eyes landed on Feemor and stayed there. “And Master Feemor showed me how the Force feels for him. It grows.” Obi-Wan trailed off, remembering who he was talking to. “You know.”

Master Jinn dragged his eyes back and nodded, understanding Obi-Wan’s broken explanation. “But for me, it sings.” Obi-Wan paused and furrowed. “Not sings. It’s music. But not. But is. Anyway,” Obi-Wan waved it off. “He taught me that, and he taught me that instead of just taking whatever Master finds me, I should listen to the music when I’m using the Force and find out what songs I like to listen to most, and look for a master who likes the same music I do. The same things I do.”

Obi-Wan stumbled over himself, trying to explain it out loud when he never had before. The others had just pieced it together from the bits he’d managed to get out.

“I understand.” Master Jinn said with his soothing voice. And he did. Obi-Wan could see it. Master Jinn understood just as fast as Feemor.

“So, I did that, and I found my favorite things. And my favorite things are your favorite things.” Master Jinn looked sad now, but Obi-Wan barreled on. “MO did the math and he said we’re perfect together, but Brair said that…” Oh, how to explain it? How to contradict Master Yoda without another five minutes of explanation of a story about Brair’s Master that he might not want to share?

“Brair said it’s a choice. And Feemor said – at the very beginning, when he was teaching me about how he feels the Force like plants, and I didn’t listen very well – that maybe I should look for a Master whose song I want to listen to. Like I want to listen to the Force. And I… I get to choose the song. And I think we might be perfect together. MO’s math says we are. Just as perfect as you and Feemor were.” Obi-Wan licked his lips and caught his breath after the desperate ramble. “At the beginning.”

“A perfect match you are, for one another. Seen it, I have.”

“We’re not.” Master Jinn snapped at Yoda with all the stress of someone who’d had this argument a dozen times before.

“I don’t care.” Obi-Wan interrupted. Both Masters looked at him baffled. And Obi-Wan was a little baffled that he’d said it. But it was true, he could hear it, and so he followed through.

“It doesn’t matter what the Force told Master Yoda. It matters what it tells you, Master Jinn.” Obi-Wan pointed at him. “And it matters what it tells me. It matters if I like the song. If I choose the song. So, Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan bowed again, “it would be my honor if you would do a kata with me.

Obi-Wan rose back up, and Master Jinn hesitated. Obi-Wan had a moment’s nervousness that he’d have to choose how he’d respond to a refusal, but Feemor stepped forward and took MO from Obi-Wan’s arms. Feemor gave Qui-Gon a look that Obi-Wan recognized from his own face when he was calling people idiots, and Master Jinn bowed back.

Master Jinn dropped his cloak to the ground without a second thought and joined Obi-Wan in the center of the hall. Without a word between them, they faced one another for an open-handed, mirrored kata, and sank into the First Kata of the First Form, the most basic of movements that all Initiates were taught.

They bowed deep, and Obi-Wan could almost hear the music counting off. With the first step to the side the music began, and with every step, every breath, they stayed perfectly in time. It was rapid and rhythmic, faster than Obi-Wan stepped through the Kata unless he wanted to show off. The drums led the way, a beat and counter beat, some low, loud melody that flowed in and out. Not because he couldn’t hear it, but because it wasn’t in the mood to play. Then it went high and beautiful, though a minor key.

All too soon, they both came to a stop. Obi-Wan blinked back to himself, feeling the sticky tear tracks down his cheeks. The music faded out, but still in time, they bowed.

Master Jinn brushed away a single teardrop off his own, then took a knee. The man was so tall that Obi-Wan couldn’t see Master Yoda until he went down. Couldn’t see the smile on the old Master’s face until Qui-Gon Jinn kneeled before him.

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan.” Master Jinn apologized.

“Don’t be. The music hurt to listen to.”

Master Jinn cupped Obi-Wan’s cheek, and looked so terribly sad. Obi-Wan wondered what music the Force had been singing to him. “It was still beautiful.” Obi-Wan tried to comfort.

“I don’t hear the music.” Master Jinn said. “I’m like Feemor. I feel the growth.” He ran a hand through Obi-Wan’s hair, which was almost as large and comforting as Tyvokka. “You are a sturdy little plant, who would grow to be a magnificent tree. But the thought of growing another plant makes me ache. I won’t do it again.”

Obi-Wan shook his head before Master Jinn finished. “You didn’t make the song hurt. It just… did.”

Master Jinn patted Obi-Wan’s cheek, like he didn’t believe it but he appreciated Obi-Wan trying. The man went to stand, but Obi-Wan tossed his arms around his neck. “I’m sorry that you’re hurting. And…” Obi-Wan pressed close to whisper. “I think you would’ve been a good Master. I’m sorry he didn’t see it.”

Master Jinn hugged him back with gentle arms, like he was afraid he’d hurt Obi-Wan even more.

But that was all the comfort Master Jinn would accept. With a puff of breath, he was up and walking away before Obi-Wan could blink. A steady step, but running away all the same.

During the kata, Feemor had put himself between Master Jinn and the door, directly opposite Master Yoda and his drooping ears. Master Jinn stepped around Feemor without a nod, then froze. Feemor waited with a soft expression, not looking at Master Jinn so the man could hide. Master Jinn’s shoulders hunched. Obi-Wan couldn’t see Master Jinn’s face, but if it was him, Obi-Wan would be swallowing, trying to find his words.

“You taught him about the plants.” Master Jinn croaked, awkward.

“I did.”

“I thought you were a mind healer.”

Feemor gave him a small smile. “‘Just because I feel the Force as a growing thing doesn’t mean I have to do something with the growing things.’” Feemor said it with the same air Brair had last night when he was quoting his Master.

Master Jinn nodded and went to walk away, but Feemor snapped out his hand and grabbed the man by the tabard. He leaned in and tilted his head to look Master Jinn as much in the eye as he could. “I forgave you a long time ago, my old Master. You are the only thing standing between us. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Feemor released him and went to take his hand away, but Qui-Gon took his wrist and kept it there, pressed close to his heart.

Chapter Fifteen

Obi-Wan was willing to say that the nap he took after his kata with Master Jinn was the most restful of his entire life. Not because the kata was particularly tiring – or even because he’d barely slept the night before – but simply because he was at peace in a way he hadn’t been for weeks before the Initiate Tournament.

Brair, Ruzry, and Feemor led him back to the conference room with the ‘murder board,’ where Obi-Wan had ignored their gentle hands and waiting looks and just collapsed in the pillow pile that Tyvokka had relocated from his rooms.

Obi-Wan had woken to Master Tholme, who’d given Obi-Wan a single REM cycle to recover but not so much sleep that it would disrupt his rest that night. Quinlan had taken that as permission to drop into the pillow pile with Obi-Wan, but hadn’t asked any questions. (Obi-Wan could visualize Master Tholme giving Quin a speech about ‘respecting boundaries’ and ‘wait for Obi-Wan to come to you.’)

Quinlan kept his mouth shut, but everyone tip-toed through the final preparations for tomorrow’s Grand Council meeting like they were trying to figure out which word would accidentally set Obi-Wan off. Even the Shadows who passed through the room bringing their reports all watched Obi-Wan out of the corner of their eyes like they were making a log about how sensitive he looked. (Obi-Wan assumed that at least some of them were reporting to Feemor and Tyvokka, neither of whom had dropped by the conference room since Obi-Wan woke.)

But Obi-Wan had no angst to give them. Everyone waited for him to break, but he wasn’t going to. They didn’t know what to do with his peace, like they didn’t believe it.

Obi-Wan was okay.

(To no one’s greater surprise than his own.)

The final preparations wound down late and their team returned to Master Saa’s room as a group, even though everyone — Obi-Wan included – ought to be in bed to prepare for tomorrow.

Obi-Wan kept telling them he was fine, but saying so seemed to make them more nervous. To be honest, Obi-Wan was worried that if he got a good night’s sleep, the stress of his peace might keep them all awake.

Finally, Feemor arrived with a stack of food from the commissary and turned his tired eyes on Obi-Wan.

“Is Master Jinn all right?” Obi-Wan asked.

Ruzry and Quinlan shared a look that said they didn’t like Obi-Wan’s worry for Master Jinn at all, but it wasn’t a sign of anything. Obi-Wan wouldn’t choose Master Jinn even if he turned up at the door right now and asked. But the man had been cut to the bone when they were done with the kata. Master Jinn blamed himself for so many things it changed the way he felt in the Force. Obi-Wan could have compassion on him for hurting.

Feemor gave Obi-Wan a soft smile and patted his cheek in gratitude. “Qui-Gon has more hope today than he did yesterday.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Quinlan grumbled. Master Tholme tapped him upside the head. (Whether because he was eavesdropping or he’d got caught eavesdropping, Obi-Wan couldn’t tell.)

Feemor shared an eye roll with Obi-Wan, then joined him on the large chair that either fit two people or a single Tyvokka. “How are you?”

“I’m all right.”

Feemor didn’t disbelieve with his face the same way everyone else had post-nap. He believed Obi-Wan, but Feemor’s face was still full of silent questions.

“Really, I’m okay.”

“Do you feel comfortable explaining that to me?”

“The music hurt.” Obi-Wan shrugged, because that was the clearest explanation he could give.

“I’m afraid I’ve never had a plant ‘hurt’ before. Was it… sad?”

“Yes, but that wasn’t why it hurt. Because sometimes sad songs are the most beautiful, you know?”

“I do.”

“It just… it hurt. It hurt to listen to, and it hurt the part of me that… makes the music?”

Feemor nodded. “That hurt too. And I didn’t want to listen to the music. I didn’t want to make that music either.”

And for Feemor, that was enough. And, for the most part, everyone seemed to follow his cue that Obi-Wan really was fine. They settled around the sitting area to eat the food Feemor had brought and had one last conversation about tomorrow’s plans.

Obi-Wan had heard it enough times that he didn’t pay attention. There were too many moving pieces to track them just now, and Obi-Wan would be content to watch the Masters work their magic. Instead, Obi-Wan left the conversation and slipped through the sliding glass doors that separated Master Saa’s apartment from the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Outside her door was a portion of the gardens considered her personal space.

Obi-Wan utilized one of the least practical skills he had learned this week and climbed a tree, where he sat for quite some time, embracing the quiet of night in the gardens after almost everyone in the Temple was getting ready for bed. Obi-Wan wasn’t quite tired, but he could feel it fast approaching and hoped the adults would finish soon so someone could tell him where he was sleeping tonight.

Obi-Wan stayed there for several long minutes, hovering on the edge of sleep and almost didn’t hear Tyvokka join the party then follow him out. The Wookie leaned against the tree, so tall that his head was near Obi-Wan’s while he was sitting on a branch.

Tyvokka had only checked on Obi-Wan once today. He blew into the room with a Shadow on his tail, rambling something about Corps statistics and the number of people they’d been able to contact. Tyvokka had neither the time nor the silence to ask Obi-Wan any questions, he just stroked a paw over Obi-Wan’s hair, looked in his eyes, and took Obi-Wan’s smile to be as good as his word. (For some reason, Tyvokka’s calm made everyone else more stressed.)

“I’m still all right.” Obi-Wan said.

<<I know you are.>>

Obi-Wan thought would be the end of it. Maybe Tyvokka wasn’t out here to check on him, but out to have a moment to himself after the bustle of today? But the Wookie growled low, like Feemor hummed in contemplation before he spoke.

<<I… do not hear music.>>

Obi-Wan looked over at him with tired eyes. “What do you hear?”

<<I do not hear it. The closest sense for me is that I see it, and even that is less sight than feeling.>>

“The strings. You told me about feeling them.”

<<Yes. I ‘see’ the strings of potential around me, and I can follow them to feel where they lead.>> Tyvokka raised his hand as he said it, his eyes going grey and unfocused as he stroked furred fingers over what must have been one of the threads.

<<But even that isn’t a seeing. I don’t know what will happen if I follow that thread. I only know how the Force feels along it. That it is good. It is strong. Or it is tenuous, about to unwind if I pluck it too hard. And I know the step to start down that path. I can choose what I believe will be the right path based on the feeling it will lead to, though I don’t know to what end that path will lead.>>

“Have you always been able to do that?”

<<Yes. It is a limited, unclear foresight, but foresight nonetheless. They were particular about training those of us with foresight when I was a child. And me in particular because, as they say, ‘when a Wookie loses their temper, arms get torn off.’>>

Obi-Wan giggled. “Was it always so easy?”

<<No.>> Tyvokka rumbled. <<When I was young, I had an obstacle course just for me. I would go there, put on a blindfold, and run around, following the different paths with my body while I learned to sense them. It’s why I like taking Younglings to obstacle courses now. It’s how I learned to feel the Force.>>

“Why a blindfold?”

<<My Master was blind.>>

“What?” Obi-Wan whipped around to look at him and almost fell off the branch. Tyvokka put out a steadying hand. “Sorry. Your Master was blind?”

<<Yes.>>

“Like, Miraluka blind, with no eyes?”

<<No, she was Alderaanian. Born blind.>>

“As in her eyes didn’t work?” Tyvokka nodded. “But she… bacta. Or healers. Or…”

<<Nothing. She was born blind and blind she stayed. But she had the Force.>>

“Your Master was Human?”

<<Yes.>> Tyvokka rumbled a low laugh at Obi-Wan’s bafflement.

“I don’t…” Obi-Wan blinked to figure out why that was so surprising. “I don’t know why I thought Jedi who live a long time need to have Masters from Jedi who live longer.”

<<It depends on how long a species spends in their youth. Wookies mature quickly. Kashyyyk is too hostile a planet for us to spend decades small and vulnerable.>>

“So, you became an adult…”

<<Wookies come of age at 12 and have a hrrtayyk, a Test of Ascension to unlock our inner warrior. By 18 we are considered adults.>>

“So, you stayed with your Master…”

<<Until I was 23. Right on the average for young knights.>>

Obi-Wan hummed this time.

Tyvokka rumbled in question.

“That seems like a long time to be a grownup.”

<<As I said, Kashyyyk is a dangerous place.>> Considering what the galaxy had to say about the dangerousness of Wookies, Obi-Wan assumed their planet would be the same. Obi-Wan couldn’t know for sure, though. The only time he’d been off Coruscant was to go to Ilum for his crystals.

“So, your Master was blind, and taught you to see the future by putting on a blindfold.” Obi-Wan repeated the summation of where they left off with the hope Tyvokka would remember what story he wanted to tell in the first place. But the stubborn old Wookie just rumbled a positive.

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes and Tyvokka barked a laugh.

<<Despite how people phrase it, my sight does not tell me what is best. It simply tells me what sensation in the Force lies down that road, and I make my choice. Is that similar to what the music tells you?>>

“Yes?”

<<Yes, but?>>

“I don’t know if it’s telling me what’s down that road or if it’s…” Obi-Wan twisted on the branch to sling his legs over the side and face Tyvokka. “Do you remember your Youngling music class where they had those drums, and the hand pans, and they hung up those metal tubes and you had to hit them with the soft hammers?”

<<I have seen the class, yes.>>

Right. Tyvokka was 300. “Well, I hated the metal tubes. If you didn’t hit them right in the middle, it was like the note couldn’t ring right. It just… thunked. The teacher kept trying to show me where to hit, and said it was just the same as the drums, where you hit changed the kind of note it made, but… I couldn’t make it work with the tubes.”

<<And you could with the drums.>>

“Yes. And the hand pan was just a mess.”

<<I don’t understand the analogy.>>

“Right, well. I don’t know if it’s seeing ‘what lies down that road,’ or if it’s just, the note is sour.” Tyvokka raised a furrow eyebrow. “Like, my Force was hitting his Force and it was making a sour note. Only, it wasn’t sour, it hurt. Worse than sad. And the note didn’t thunk, like I hit it wrong, but like… my music and his music made hurtful music?” Obi-Wan’s voice drifted up in question, unsure how to explain it, or even if he understood it properly.

<< Ruzry said you called the music beautiful.>>

“Because it was. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

<<Perhaps it wasn’t the Force telling you that walking the road with Qui-Gon would be painful, but that your song and his song mixed together would be painful.>>

“Yes? I don’t know. I’m going to have to experiment some more.” Obi-Wan slouched against the tree.

<<You might need a new notebook for that.>> Tyvokka said it with that deep weight his words had sometimes. And though Obi-Wan appreciated the offer, he had pages and pages left in his current book, and told Tyvokka so.

“Unless, do you start a new notebook for every project?”

<<It is a choice one must make for themselves.>> Obi-Wan felt for Tyvokka and how long this day must’ve been for him. The old Wookie sounded so tired.

“Though, do you think it’s more important to figure out if the Force is telling me about potential futures or mixing music, or if it’s more important to figure out what other ways the Force might sing to me?”

<<I thought you had a list?>> Really, Obi-Wan should let him go to bed. Poor Tyvokka sounded so confused.

“I do, but I want to make sure I have all my bases covered before I join the Corps.”

Tyvokka’s eyes snapped from stormy grey to their typical black.

“I mean, it’s not enough to know that I don’t want to grow plants. Because my research says that the Agricorps does other things, I just don’t know how I’d fit with them.”

<<Agricorps.>> Tyvokka repeated.

“Mm-hmm. Right now, I’m leaning towards administration with the Educorps because I’ve enjoyed preparing for the Grand Council and all the research and the sneaking, but sparring and katas are still my favorite Force songs, and that says something, doesn’t it? So maybe the Exploracorps. But they do so much, how could I really know if I’d like them?”

Quinlan popped out of nowhere to shriek, “What?!”

Obi-Wan startled again and only Tyvokka’s hands kept him from falling out of the tree.

“What the frell did you just say!”

“Quin.” Obi-Wan blushed because that was the dirtiest word he’d ever heard out of a Padawan’s mouth.

“You’re going to the Corps?”

“Well, of course I am.” It was obvious, but Quinlan hissed like an angry Tooka. He yanked on Obi-Wan’s leg to wrench him down from the tree. Instead of defending him, Tyvokka lifted Obi-Wan down and dropped him into Quinlan’s arms. Who dragged Obi-Wan back into the room where the adults are all sprawled on couches like they were Initiates on a day off.

“Are none of you going to take him as a Padawan!”

“Quin!” Obi-Wan yanked back on him, but Quinlan wasn’t having it and kept his death grip on Obi-Wan’s sleeve.

“Quinlan,” Tholme tried to soothe.

“He thinks he’s going to the Exploracorps!”

All of the adults looked startled at that, and Obi-Wan couldn’t fathom why. What else would he be doing but going to the Corps?

“Quin.”

“No!” He waved Obi-Wan off without looking at him. “You’re being an idiot and we don’t listen to idiots around here.”

“Quin,” he soothed again, and Quinlan made a noise like a tea kettle ready to explode.

“Did you know about this?” For some reason, Quinlan turned on MO, like the droid had betrayed him.

<<I concur about Organics being idiots.>> MO zapped.

Quinlan gestured at MO, like his opinion was the one they should be following. “Why aren’t any of you going to take him!”

Feemor was the one who straightened up to handle it. “We’re all willing to, Padawan Vos, but a good match isn’t just about willingness.”

More tea kettle noises.

“I’ve offered to take Obi-Wan as my Padawan. I did the day we met.”

Ruzry whipped around and glared at Feemor like she had any reason at all to be furious.

Feemor ignored her. “I told him then, and I tell him again now.” Feemor looked Obi-Wan in the eyes. “I would be happy to train you.”

“We’re not a match.” Obi-Wan said, certain.

“What?” Quinlan demanded through clenched teeth.

“We’re a good personality match. We’d enjoy spending time together, but I don’t need to learn what Feemor has to teach.”

“Check again.”

“What?” It was Obi-Wan’s turn to be baffled.

Quinlan shoved Obi-Wan over to Feemor. “Do your music thing and check again.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, but Feemor smiled.

“Do we need to spar?” He teased.

“I’m too tired to do it properly.”

“Ah… that’s why you asked Qui for a kata.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Well, and, he already didn’t like me for sparring too aggressively.”

Feemor laughed and held out his hands with the certainty of a man who knew where this was going. Obi-Wan rested his hands over Feemor’s, not touching, just letting the Force flow between them. It was easy with Feemor because of all the time he’d spent welcomed inside Feemor’s shields. Feemor opened them again and it was like slipping into a warm blanket – which didn’t help with Obi-Wan’s exhaustion.

Obi-Wan still didn’t know quite what he was feeling, the music between them was light, bright, and airy. It was pleasant, bounding along like a bird on the breeze? Soaring high and beautiful? Obi-Wan couldn’t put it to words, but it made him laugh.

Obi-Wan blinked his eyes open and was immediately distracted from Feemor by Tholme, who had his hands on Quinlan’s shoulders to keep him from pressing into their space. But Quinlan looked expectant, like Obi-Wan’s smile meant ‘yes.’

“The music is sweet, and clever. It makes me happy. But…”

“But what?” Quinlan almost flailed his way out of Tholme’s arms. “What more could you want than happy and sweet and clever! That’s you!”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at Quin. They both knew sweet wasn’t a word for Obi-Wan.

“It could be.”

“The music is…” Obi-Wan closed his eyes again and listened hard. He raised one hand from Feemor’s and ran his fingers through the sound like Tyvokka plucked the strings to see where the vibrations led. What might be out there in the future if Obi-Wan … followed this road? Lived his life by the song? He didn’t quite know the question, but played the strings of the Force to see what sound might come back to him.

(If Obi-Wan’s eyes had been open, he might’ve seen Ruzry and Tholme both look at Tyvokka when Obi-Wan reached for the Force precisely as Tyvokka did. Or he might’ve seen how the Wookie wasn’t paying attention to either one of them. His eyes grey and unfocused on the Force flowing between Feemor and Obi-Wan’s palms.)

Obi-Wan furrowed, trying to find words to describe the sound that came back to him. High and bright, but… hollow? Incomplete? “It’s… it’s not strong enough.”

“What does that mean?” Quinlan asked.

“I… don’t know.” Obi-Wan looked to Feemor, who was puckered, trying to find his own words as he translated the feeling into plants.

“I don’t think it’s weak.” Feemor said. “The plant is good, and is happy.” He smiled. “But it…” The man closed his eyes. “It’s perfectly healthy. That’s not it. It… it feels like Queen’s Heart.”

“What?”

“A flowering vine that grows on Naboo.” Brair said.

The entire room looked at him, baffled. He pointed at MO, who just buzzed at them all in irritation.

Feemor opened his eyes and gave them both a nod. “Yes, but there’s Queen’s Heart by every other name on every subtropical planet in the mid-rim. They all come in different colors and go by different names, but Humans brought them everywhere and they grow like a weed so long as there’s enough water and a decent amount of sunlight.”

“Okay?”

Feemor went back to furrowed. “I don’t how to explain it. It means it’s good and healthy and can grow anywhere with semi-decent conditions but it’s…” Feemor closed his eyes again and took Obi-Wan’s hands before he gave up and repeated Obi-Wan’s declaration. “It’s not strong enough.”

“But you said it was strong enough.” Quinlan objected.

“It is strong enough. To grow on Naboo. And… I think it needs to be something that could grow on Tatooine.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” Feemor shrugged. “But it’s not us. Our bond would be strong. And you would be brilliant.” Feemor gave Obi-Wan’s hands a squeeze. “But …”

<<It needs to survive a hurricane.>> Tyvokka intoned, eyes grey while he spoke with foresight.

“What does that mean?” Poor Quinlan asked again.

<<I don’t know either.>>

“But what does that mean for Obi?” Quinlan objected.

“Quin, it’s all right.” Obi-Wan wrapped him in a hug that Quinlan tried to pretend wasn’t the greatest thing ever as he slumped into Obi-Wan’s arms.

“But everyone else could—”

“We’ve all talked about it, Quin. I know why they can’t take me and it’s okay. And even if the Force was beautiful between Feemor and I, I wouldn’t want to be his Padawan.”

“Ouch.” Ruzry joked, and Feemor just smiled because he understood.

“Why not?” Quinlan grumbled into Obi-Wan’s shoulder, like Obi-Wan was not being appropriately grateful for Quinlan’s efforts to help him.

“I don’t want to be Feemor’s Padawan. I want to talk to him.”

“I can talk to Tholme.”

“Not like Obi and I talk.” Feemor said.

Quin bristled in offense until Obi-Wan explained. “He’s my mind healer, Quin. I want him to stay like that instead of be my Master.”

Tholme patted Quinlan’s locs. “You wouldn’t want Master Hilyi and I to trade places, would you?”

“No.” He grumbled, petulantly.

“Master Hilyi?” Obi-Wan murmured.

“My mind healer. Because Tyvokka insists that all the Shadows and their trainees have one. It’s irritating.” Obi-Wan waited. “But I get it.”

“Thank you, Quin. And, I’m sorry.” Obi-Wan turned to the room of adults who’d been dragged into his mess once again.

“For what?” Master Tholme asked.

“About any troubles my… conversation with Master Jinn might cause you at the Grand Council tomorrow.”

“Any extra trouble will be worth it to know you are feeling better.” Master Saa said from the quiet place she had been all conversation, letting others who knew Obi-Wan better handle things.

“Not better.” Quinlan grumbled, because he couldn’t help himself. “You still think you’re going to the Corps.”

Obi-Wan squished him into a hug. There was no point in talking about it tonight. When all this was over, Obi-Wan knew Quinlan was going to spend three hours trying to talk Obi-Wan out of going and would secretly spend days looking for a Master until the very moment Obi-Wan left for the Corps.

“Come tell me about your mind healer.” Obi-Wan said as he dragged Quinlan into the large, Tyvokka chair. Quinlan knew Obi-Wan was asking for a story and would fall asleep a few sentences in, but it was nice to be curled up together like they were back in the Creche. The Grand Council could drag on for weeks, or it could be decided tomorrow and Obi could be meeting with the Reassignment Council to find his place in the galaxy. But tonight they were Initiates with their best friends at their sides.

Quinlan tucked Obi-Wan’s head against his chest and stroked ungloved hands through Obi-Wan’s soft hair while he rambled about the quirks of his Iktotchi mind healer, who was so ancient her horns were nearly a meter long. Quinlan’s soft voice lured Obi-Wan to sleep.

Master Tholme settled on the chair beside them, silently standing watch while he breathed in the steam from his tea. He would go into Master Saa’s room to join her in sleep as soon as the children were unconscious, while Brair would roam back to his hangar to make up for all the sleep Obi kept him from getting last night. Ruzry would be too wound up to sleep and so would coordinate with her fellows one last night in preparation for tomorrow. Feemor would retreat to his rooms and place a comm call to his own mind healer for a discussion about the monumental events of today. And Tyvokka would retreat to his lonely, quiet rooms and write in the notebook he always kept on his desk.

Quinlan tried to stay awake long enough to feign sleep so he could see what the adults did when they thought the children weren’t looking – to see what conversation they had about Obi-Wan – but Quinlan was young and he’d had a stressful day. He fell asleep long before he meant to.

If he had stayed awake, he wouldn’t have seen anything. At least, nothing that would have made sense to him. He knew his Master better than he knew the rest, but Tholme just kept reading his padd as he felt Quinlan’s mind smooth into true sleep. Brair and Feemor did not return to their quarters, just settled beside one another on the sofa, silent bulwarks keeping Ruzry from saying what was on her mind. (Feemor because it wasn’t time yet, Brair because there were undercurrents among these great names he didn’t recognize.) Saa rested in light meditation, just waiting, while Tyvokka sat cross-legged and hunched over, chin on his fists as he stared out into the night. The strands of the Force visible only to him stayed untouched.

Quinlan wouldn’t have seen, and neither did anyone else in the room, what Tyvokka was waiting for, off through the glass of the gardens and up to the private meditation chamber atop the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He waited for a flicker of light a thousand meters away, what everyone else would’ve taken for a flash of some passing vessel off the windows of the Temple.

But 317 years of experience and a predator species meant Tyvokka knew what he was looking for.

When it came, there was no sign but a long, slow exhale, centering himself as he rose. Feemor put his hand on Ruzry’s thigh, but he needn’t have. She was a Shadow, after all, and knew the workings of the Master of her people better than Feemor did. She was going to tilt her head in an offer of backup, not challenge Tyvokka on his silence.

Instead, Tyvokka held out his paw to T’ra, who took it without opening her eyes. Together they rose and stepped into the dark hallways of the silent Temple. (Though he paused just long enough to pat a massive palm to MO’s head, before the droid snuggled down for the night.)

Chapter Sixteen

The private meditation chamber that capped the Room of a Thousand Fountains felt like sitting atop a canopy of trees. The domed roof blocked out the sight of the few buildings tall enough to break the Temple’s skyline, and the glass was tinted so the High Council could pretend the sky was always blue, even on the most polluted days.

It was Master Yoda’s favorite place to meditate. He preferred true nature, but that could not be found on an ecumenopolis. As beautiful as The Room of a Thousand Fountains was, it always led to interruptions and Yoda’s own chambers lacked the hum of the Living Force.

On this night, Yoda had sat in silence for hours as he tried to sink into the Force and beg it to explain what had happened. His fellows had given him privacy as he strove, but the mental tethers that bound the High Council meant they could feel when one another begin to converge on the meditation point like a call.

Tera got there first, hours ago, and slipped into a light meditation himself while he kept watch over Yoda. He waited for his old friend to speak and share the heavy burden he was trying to unravel inside his mind. Yaddle waited until the Temple was asleep before she joined them, flicking on the light as she brought something to eat because – despite speeches to the contrary – Jedi could not live on Force alone.

Then there was Tyvokka, who sat on the other point of their little square. Given the current conflict, his presence was the siren call, a sign to the others that it was acceptable for them to join. The entire remaining High Council – Oppo Rancisis, Yarael Poof, Even Piell, Saesee Tiin, Eeth Koth, Adi Gallia, and Poli Dapatian – slipped in on silent feet over the next minutes, none of them joining Yoda in meditation, but all lingering in the quiet space in between present and not, sharing one another’s energy and peace. Some part of Tyvokka expected someone to bring Mace up on a comm call, and they likely would have if the man hadn’t been in hyperspace on the way home for tomorrow’s Grand Council. It was a silent communion, a reminder they were on the same team, no matter what arguments they may have tomorrow. None of the conflict would be out of spite or pride, simply in pursuit of what was right.

Certain Yoda was that right he had been about Qui-Gon and Kenobi. Felt, he did, the Force between them. He had felt it for years, ringing with the certainty of a true, good bond. Thought, he did, that Qui-Gon’s grief had kept him from feeling it. To Yoda’s eyes, a Force-blessed bond with Kenobi it was, a gift that would benefit them both.

Still believe it, he did. Still felt it, he did, that beautiful together they would be. To Yoda, they had made the choice to do the easy, lesser thing. But… at peace they were. Both happy with their decision.

“Mm, certain I was, about Qui-Gon and Kenobi. Certain, still, I am.” Yoda said out loud. The Council’s mental bonds meant they could follow the thread of his emotions, but words were clearer communication.

“But.” Yoda sat with his head propped up on his gimmer stick and his eyes still closed, “mean what, does that? Rejected young Kenobi, Qui-Gon has. Mean, does that, that be a Jedi young Obi-Wan should not be? If have the bond Kenobi cannot, a Jedi should he be?”

“Qui-Gon clearly believes he’s not ready to be a Master. If they were to partner while Qui-Gon held that belief, Qui-Gon’s certainty would make him not ready.” Even pointed out.

“If Jinn thinks he’s not ready, and that makes him not ready, that forecloses the possibility that he actually is ready. If Yoda thinks they’re perfect, and that makes them perfect, it forecloses the possibility that they’re not.” Yarael said, looping the thought around like he always did.

“You felt the Force resonate between them?” Eeth asked.

“More.” Yoda answered. “More, it was, than resonance. But,” he conceded, “less, it was, than a vision.”

Everyone pondered on that. There was a rather large difference between the alignment of a resonance and the certainty of a Force-granted vision.

Yoda’s ears twitched. “Fierce and brilliant warriors for the light, they would have been, leaving goodness in their wake.”

“But what kind of boat would they have made?” Tera asked. It was such a strange statement that it jolted their circle out of its contemplations. “A boat leaves a wake.” He shrugged. “They would be a beautiful, fierce boat leaving good things in their wake, but beautiful and fierce doesn’t mean happy. Or healthy. Or sturdy. Or even the best version of a boat. Or even…”

<<The boat you would choose.>> Tyvokka intoned.

“How do you know anything about boats?” Micah asked, being one of the more practical Masters of their Order.

“I’ve been drinking with Master Fawchiid.” Sinube said.

“The point is, they may have been brilliant, and they may have done great good, but they chose not to pair with one another.” Yaddle pointed out, keeping them on track.

“And they will have to live with the consequences.” Rancisis said.

“No, the Order will have to live with the consequences.” Dapatian clarified.

“Such is life.” Yaddle said. “Every day we make decisions that ripple outwards. I prioritize one call for aide above another, and the dispute I thought could wait turns into a coup. We choose to send one Jedi over another on a mission, and that Jedi dies. You stay up late researching because you are meant to have a rest day tomorrow and instead, you run through the bowels of Coruscant hunting an assassin with nothing in your stomach but the Force and stims. There are always consequences. We make the best decisions we can with the information we have at the time.”

“With the people we are at the time.” Tiin added from the back, speaking for the first time. The group turned to look at him. “Qui-Gon never processed Du Crion’s Fall. He still aches with the loss and guilt for what he believes he did wrong.”

“He is not angry at Xan.” Eeth said.

“No, not a drop. But if he cannot see what Du Crion did wrong, if Du Crion is still perfect in his eyes, how could any other Padawan measure up?”

Yoda hummed and curled further in on himself.

“And young Kenobi?” Rancisis said again, looking to Tyvokka, who knew him best.

<<Obi-Wan struggles with the belief that there is something wrong with him. That he is defective in some way that he cannot see but that all the Masters can, and that is why they did not choose him.>>

Yoda’s ears curled down.

“They are making the best choice that they can.” Adi said, echoing Yaddle.

“Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon might end up brilliant together, but we must acknowledge the people they are right now. Qui-Gon wouldn’t mean to, but he would unfavorably compare Obi-Wan’s every breath to Xanatos and find him wanting. Obi-Wan would feel it and that would worsen his belief that there is something wrong with him.” Yaddle said.

<<And he would ask himself, how broken must he be that Qui-Gon would rather have his Fallen, corrupt Padawan than him?>> Tyvokka rumbled, making sure they understood the depth of Obi-Wan’s hurt.

“If they were to partner now, it would damage them both.” Adi said.

“They could learn from one another and get better.” Dapatian dissented.

“They could. Or they might not.”

“We should—”

“It’s not our choice.” Yaddle interrupted.

“They chose a healthy, sturdy boat, not one that might be sturdy in the future. A boat that would not cut them a thousand times before they got it right.” Yarael said, extending Tera’s metaphor

“Obi-Wan should be told about the Hold.” Rancisis argued, to Tyvokka’s great surprise.

“That’s private.” Dapatian snapped back.

“We shouldn’t have them at all.” Yaddle interrupted, her scolding of Yoda implicit in the statement.

<<We all do the best we can with what we know at the time, and who we are at the time.>> Tyvokka said. They all nodded. If he was willing to let Yoda’s mistake go, they would too.

“But, as has been said, there are always consequences to our actions.” Micah said. “Qui-Gon chose to retreat instead of seeing a mind healer. We chose to let him.”

“Chose, I did, to see the beauty, not the pain.” Yoda said, opening his eyes as he leaned on his gimmer stick, feeling every one of his 800 years.

<<And they chose differently.>> Tyvokka said, reaching out his warm Force presence to his old friend.

“Come, Master Saa.” Yoda stretched out a hand and beckoned her in from the hall where she had stayed to let the High Council have their privacy. “Tell me what else chose not to see, I did.”

@@@@@

Obi-Wan had expected the Grand Council to be an intellectual and verbal battle royale, not the polite and agreeable conversation that happened.

Masters Saa and Tyvokka had been mellow all morning, despite the buzzing energy that accompanied everyone else. Ruzry explained that they’d left late last night for something and come back steady and certain in the Force. Though no one was quite sure if that meant the two of them had settled on some path, or if they’d managed to resolve the whole thing while everyone else was sleeping.

The moment Master Yoda opened the Grand Council meeting and turned it over to master Saa with, ‘all the support, have I,’ Obi-Wan assumed the latter.

The Grand Council had appropriated one of the lesser meeting halls and set up four concentric circles of chairs for each of the represented Councils, with the chairs staggered so everyone could who was speaking. The room’s arrangement meant Obi-Wan could see the surprise at Yoda’s announcement ripple around most of the councilors, and definitely to the chairs around the room’s outside edge where witnesses, experts, Shadows, and other aides like Obi were sitting. But, if Obi-Wan didn’t miss his guess, a large portion of the High Council didn’t look surprised at all, and it wasn’t just the serene mask they liked to adopt.

As it was, Master Saa thanked Yoda like she wasn’t surprised at all, then rose to circle the holoprojector in the middle of the room while she offered up a basic summary of the information contained in their packets. It was a presentation Obi-Wan had seen her practice a dozen times in their conference room while the other members of their little band gave her notes. She covered the mind healer findings that the current Initiate system was damaging children (both because of their negative opinions about the Corps and their improper training), the statistics showing how many children had been placed where they shouldn’t be, and the lower Corps retention rate.

They’d planned on Master Saa’s introduction taking the entire first hearing, but at all the places in her presentation where they expected dissent or questioning, there was none. They expected Yoda, Dapatian, and Rancisis to be the strongest voices against change, but they nodded along with every argument. (Well, Yoda and Rancisis nodded along, Dapatian still looked like he had opinions about this but wouldn’t interrupt with them.)

Barely an hour into the first meeting, Master Saa reached the end of her presentation and began an argument they thought she wouldn’t reach until day three. “I believe the future tasks of this Council can be divided into two major parts: the Corps system generally, and the transfer of Initiates into the Corps system.” The holo flashed to a new image, ‘Corps System’ and ‘Initiate Transfer’ were the roots of what would be a branching to-do list.

“In regards to the matter of the Corps system, I believe we must begin by reviewing all the information we have been provided in real depth, not just the summary. As you all know,” Master Saa nodded to Master Nu, “no research project is ever completed on the first pass. Thus, the next step will be to seek out what further information we need. Then, I believe we should return to this Council for further discussion. It will be exhausting, and we will uncover new deficits, but we will be well-informed enough to truly begin.” She paused for objections, but the only ones there could be were people who wanted to act today instead of wait.

“I trust that Master Xyrax-estian and Master Nu will coordinate the research of the Reassignment and First Knowledge Councils and then bring their information and conclusions back to the whole?” The two Jedi functioning as heads of their respective branches for the purposes of the Grand Council nodded. “And Master M’ins, I trust you will help coordinate the masters of the Reconciliation Council to go where they are most needed.” The woman nodded.

“Feel free to have whatever meetings are necessary amongst yourselves in the interim, though I intend for us all to gather together in a month’s time to discuss. Ideally, at that point we will have enough information to assemble a complete list of matters that need our attention in regards to the Corps system generally and the transfer of Initiates specifically. I hope that we will also have suggestions for how to handle those issues, and methods to test the functionality of our suggestions.

“However, for all that I am an idealist, I’ve been speaking with realists lately. They tell me that if we return in a month’s time with a mostly-complete list of problems to discuss, I should be content.” The adults laughed. “If matters are resolved or something truly pressing arises before then, the entire Council can reconvene. Do you all agree with this delegation of duties and proposed timeline?” Everyone reached for the buttons that appeared on their padds, voting either direction. “And the motion carries.”

“There is still the matter of the Initiates. While we are researching and discussing the Initiate transfer system, there are Initiates aging out into a broken system. We must determine what to do with them.”

Here was where things got a little more aggressive. A not-so-small chunk of the Council wanted every Initiate who’d left the Order in the last three years to have the option to come back. Another faction said that if the children had left, they’d left, and practicality demanded a cutoff point. Others argued that there was no point in having this discussion at all until they’d gone through all of T’un’s documents and had a clue about the numbers. Then someone pointed out that they had numbers, the Shadows had hacked T’un’s system, which was a whole other conversation about privacy violations and did the Shadows really have everything, because T’un had a lot of padds and flimsi on his desk that weren’t connected to the system.

Master Dapatian tried to object about T’un’s absence from the Grand Council while he was still the Master of Initiates. Master Saa countered with a holo of T’un’s office, which was so disorganized Obi-Wan thought it was going to give him nightmares. Another Council member started repeating the numbers of children who’d left the Order without any kind of exit interview or training – Obi-Wan was a little comforted that he wasn’t the only one.

Master Dapatian conceded, but still grumbled that they didn’t have to be mean to T’un about it. (Obi-Wan made a note on his padd that telling T’un he was retired should be Master Dapatian’s job.)

“But still, we cannot make a decision until we know what we know!” The argument started again.

“He’s right.” Master Yaddle interrupted. “We need to pause it all.”

“Pause it all?” Someone in one of the Reconciliation Council chairs said.

“No Initiates should leave the Temple until we can be certain they have been properly served in their transition.”

The room exploded with variations on ‘but tradition!’ and ‘but the age restrictions!’

“Frell the age restrictions!” Yaddle smacked her small hand against her armrest. Everyone was scandalized. “What age restrictions we do or do not have will certainly be a matter we deal with in the future. But right now, I say we keep the children here until we know they have been properly prepared by our new system.”

Obi-Wan bit his lip and tried to rein in his excitement. He was going to the Corps anyway. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t going tomorrow.

“And the ones who’ve already left?” Master Rancisis asked.

Yaddle nodded at the objectors. “Put their recall on hold until we’ve gone through T’un’s documents and know what we’re dealing with.”

“No.” Master Dooku objected. Despite everything Obi-Wan had heard about the man, he hadn’t spoken yet today.

“No?” Master Yaddle asked.

“This will take months. Initiate Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan flinched up from his note-taking and found the entire room looking at him.

“You were sent to Bandomeer.”

Obi-Wan wasted a silent moment praying the floor would open up and swallow him whole. It didn’t, so he had to answer. “Yes, Master Dooku.”

“You would have been on Bandomeer for three weeks at this point, yes?”

“I believe so, sir.”

“Do you believe if you had made it to Bandomeer and someone from the Temple turned up tomorrow and offered to bring you back, you would have accepted?”

“He can’t know that!” Master Dapatian objected.

“You’re dealing in hypotheticals.” Master Piell argued.

Master Dooku ignored them. “Initiate Kenobi?”

“I would’ve been on the ship before they could finish the sentence.” None of the objectors seemed to have anything to say about that.

“And what if you had been on Bandomeer for six months, or a year?”

Obi-Wan licked his lips.

“Speak the truth.”

“I would’ve been too scared to come back.”

“Fear leads to anger—” Yoda said on reflex.

“Anger at us for wronging our Younglings.” Master Dooku interrupted. “According to all I have heard, Initiate Kenobi is a good Youngling and he will be a great Jedi. Would we risk losing him because we moved too slow?”

Protestations broke out across the room, but Master Windu’s deep voice silenced them all.

“It would’ve broken him.”

“Mace?” Master Saa asked, resting her hand on his shoulder, buoying the Master up as he massaged his temples. (He’d been back in the Temple less than three hours before the Grand Council started. Obi-Wan didn’t envy him trying to play catchup on so little sleep.) “I can see the shatterpoint. Spending too long on that planet, it would have broken something in him.”

Obi-Wan hated the thought, but sometimes Obi-Wan worried that being cast out at all had broken something in him too. Bandomeer itself would’ve been worse.

“What do you recommend?” Master Saa asked Master Dooku.

“We must have a list of every child who went to the Corps somewhere. I say we ask them.”

“Ask them? Every?” Master Dapatian sputtered.

“Yes, ask every one of them. If they are happy with their assignment, then they stay. If they are not, then they come back to the Temple.”

“They’ll think that means they can become Jedi.” Someone else objected.

“They might. Or they might become better prepared for a different Corps assignment.”

“It doesn’t matter which,” Master Yaddle argued. “what matters is that they will be happy.”

“But we don’t know what ‘properly prepared’ looks like.” Master Poof pointed out.

“No, but we know what it doesn’t, and we can at least see if they are content with their placement or if they would like to change.” Dooku argued.

Master Saa stopped the argument and put it to a vote. “First, shall we put a hold on sending Initiates away? Second, shall we assign someone to go through the Initiates who have been sent away and start asking them if they’re content with their posting.” The buttons flashed on screens all over the room, and they voted, with no few looks to Obi-Wan before they did.

“Both motions carry.”

“How far back shall we go?” Asked the Educorps Master who was heading the Reassignment Council for the Grand Council.

Master Saa deferred to Master Dooku. “Start with the most recent and work through everyone.”

“Everyone?” Master Dapatian sounded aghast.

One of the Corpsmen snorted. “Why not? If you let us, most of the adults will comm whoever’s in charge of the search and tell them we’re happy where we are. But it won’t hurt to ask.”

Master Saa put the matter to another vote, and it carried again. Obi-Wan made a note to consult with that particular Corpsman about contacting the entire Corps. MO had relocated to the Shadow’s main computer chamber and had the system translating the meeting transcription into a to-do list. It was Obi-Wan’s job to keep notes about the particulars and who seemed enthusiastic about what, so Master Saa had ideas about who to assign.

Obi-Wan did not make a note that he’d like to check in on the notification process for the other Initiates who’d been sent away. He’d have to think about that, because it took everything he had just to look at the ‘Motion to hold all Initiates in the Temple for the time being: CARRIED’ and not break into tears.

He was staying.

At least for a while, and that was long enough that Obi-Wan could learn what all these Corps did, and he could find his way to somewhere where the Force sang.

With a few minor quibbles, the Grand Council disbanded for the next month, assignment requests to be sent in by 7:00 p.m. this afternoon and assignments to be sent out by 10:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. Some of the members bustled out of the room immediately to get started on research. A bundle of people were already off to T’un’s office to look for that list of sent-away Initiates. (Master Windu dropped a kiss to his former Master’s cheek and led the team off to the Tower of Reassignment. No one had given him the assignment, but no one was going to say no to Master Windu.)

Everyone else roamed about the room, eating the snacks Master Yaddle had insisted on and chatting about how the meeting was much more productive than they’d expected. A few were already approaching Master Saa about what positions they’d like. Obi-Wan stayed in his chair, collating his notes and incorporating them into the master document with his, Quinlan’s, Ruzry, and Feemor’s notes. Master Tholme would review it before he turned it over to Master Saa, so she could look down at her padd and see what the notes had to say about the people talking to her so she could try and give the right assignments to the right people.

Ruzry had tucked her notes away immediately and was roaming around the room with her synth-skin on, eavesdropping on conversations. Quinlan was to use his psychometry on the chairs – but only after everyone had left. Obi-Wan was supposed to stay quiet and observe, but given that Master Dooku had made an example of him, he thought he might get pulled into conversation by someone.

He didn’t expect that someone to be Yoda.

“Forgot one of the major tenants, I did.” Obi-Wan jumped. Master Yoda politely ignored it and hopped onto the seat next to Obi-Wan. “Always in motion the future is.”

Obi-Wan glanced around, a little panicked as he looked for backup. He hadn’t been alone with Master Yoda since this whole mess began and that last conversation, that last disappointment that Obi-Wan had not become Master Jinn’s Padawan… it had been rough.

But still, Obi-Wan was polite. He put his padd down and turned his attention to the Grandmaster.

“Not so prideful, am I, to think that precisely what was to happen, this was. And maintain, I do, that a brilliant pair you would have been. But respect your decision, I do.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Yoda tilted in, just a little. “Wait until Qui-Gon finishes his mind healing, you will not?”

“No, Master Yoda. Master Feemor says it would be unfair to put that kind of burden on Master Jinn. It would almost be like forcing him to get better so he could take me on. We all have to grow at our own time and pace.”

Yoda snorted. “A good answer, that was.”

“Thank you?”

“Grown, you have.”

That ‘Thank you’ was more sincere.

“Take Fawchiid as your master, you will?”

“Uh…” Obi-Wan blinked, confused about whether Master Yoda was making the offer on Brair’s behalf. But no, it was a question. “We weren’t planning on it.”

“Be your Master he could, and serve missions with other Masters to complete your education, you could. As did young Feemor when thought, he did, that the Agricorps, his path would be.”

Obi-Wan thought about it for a minute. It would be practical, going home to Brair’s hangar, running around with Trion and MO, then going on missions with others when they offered. If they would ever offer.

Or… Master Yoda wouldn’t have Master Jinn be the person who took Obi-Wan on missions, would he?

“No thank you, Master Yoda. Master Brair and I have talked about it. We…” Obi-Wan found that he didn’t want to talk about the details of how he and Brair had tested the music between them. “We did the same thing Master Jinn and I did, only not a kata. A partnership didn’t suit us.”

“Hurtful, you said the Force was between you and Master Jinn.”

“Yes.”

“Between you and Master Brair, how was it?”

“Warm and safe.” Master Yoda didn’t look satisfied with that answer. “Our pieces fit together to make something lovely, but it was… small and comfortable, not a ship. Not a lightsaber. Just… nice.” Obi-Wan shrugged. “It’s not something either of us want to build.”

“Master Ruzry, then.”

Obi-Wan glanced up and found the adults all conveniently together in a clump where they could pretend they weren’t watching Yoda ask about them. “No, Master Yoda. For obvious reasons.”

“Mmh, yes. Master Feemor?”

“No, sir. I intend to join the Corps.”

“Obi-Wan–“

“Really, sir.” Obi-Wan cut him off. “I’m okay with it.” Obi-Wan gave Master Yoda the same smile that soothed everyone else, but Master Yoda’s ears sank low. “I’m grateful for the pause on sending Initiates away, because I’m not suited for the Agricorps and the pause will give me time to figure out where I want to go. I’ll probably be the Council’s test subject to figure out what new system works best.”

Obi-Wan reached out and took a small, clawed hand. “Happy, I am, Master Yoda. Really.”

“Happy, are you? Or resigned?”

“Can I tell you a secret, Master Yoda?”

“Secrets, I enjoy.”

“I’m thinking about going into the Administration branch of the Educorps so I can help fix the system. The Grand Council will take months, at least, but then it will require years and years of work to implement the changes, and to make sure the changes do what we want them to. And, well… Jedi in the Temple will never understand what it was like to be sent away, and Corpsfolk won’t understand why someone would want to stay.” Obi-Wan leaned in and murmured towards those perked, pointed ears. “I think this might be the task I was made for.”

Master Yoda patted his knee, finally believing him but there was a sadness in his eyes Obi-Wan couldn’t make go away. “A good Youngling, you are, Obi-Wan.”

“Thank you, Master Yoda.”

With that, Obi-Wan picked up his padd and left Master Yoda to his thoughts. Ruzry, Brair, Feemor, Tholme and Quinlan cut off their conversation as he arrived, all looking at him with anxious eyes.

“Well?” Brair demanded.

“Well, what?”

“What did he say?”

“He apologized for mishandling things with Master Jinn and said he respects my decision.”

They were all still waiting for something in the silence. “And?” Ruzry asked.

“And what?”

“And what else did he say? You were over there for a while.”

“Not really. We just talked about what my plans are.”

“And what did he offer you?” Ruzry demanded.

“Offer me?”

Feemor interceded before they could go the rounds again. “What plan did Master Yoda suggest?”

Ah, that’s what they were asking. “He said that Brair could be my master, and I could go on missions with other Masters for experience in non-mechanical areas.”

Ruzry snapped. “That interfering, little–“

“I declined.”

“What?”

“I told him thank you, but no.”

“Why?” Quinlan whined.

“I’ve told you already, Quin. Brair and I aren’t a good match for a pair, and I’m going to join the Corps.”

Tholme dropped his hands to Quinlan’s shoulders. “Breathe.” He said.

“No! No more breathing.” Quinlan shrugged off his Master’s hands and grabbed Obi-Wan by the shoulders to shake him. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, what do you want?”

“I want–“

“No!” He shook again. “Not, ‘well, maybe I can be,’ or ‘this is the best option, or ‘well, if I can’t have Jinn I might as well give the whole damn thing up.’”

“Quin.” Honestly, where was Master Tholme taking Quin that he’d gotten comfortable with all these curse words?

“Stop telling me all the things you don’t want and tell me: What do you want, Obi?”

“I told you–“

“No!” Quinlan shoved his palm over Obi-Wan’s eyes. “Don’t tell me that again. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to stop poking me!”

They may or may not have gotten into the tiniest of kerfuffles right there in the hall in front of Master Yoda and everybody. Quinlan, the little cheater, trapped Obi-Wan in a headlock and stomped on his toes. Obi-Wan kneed Quin in the back of the knee and wriggled out, then had to dart around the adults to keep Quin’s longer arms from grabbing him. Ruzry tripped him and Obi-Wan went sprawling. Quinlan leapt on him and started tickling – the miserable cheater – and demanding, “What do you want? What do you want? What do you want?” Over and over . Obi-Wan tried to smack him off, protect his belly, answer the question, and demand help all at the same time until he snapped, “I want–” and froze before he said Tyvokka.

“Oh.” Obi-Wan breathed. It felt like the light had been turned on in a dark room and Obi-Wan had just seen something that had been there all along. Quinlan stopped his teasing immediately.

“Oh.” Obi-Wan’s voice cracked and he let Quinlan bundle him off the floor and into his arms. Obi-Wan collapsed into his chest as hopeless tears welled in his eyes. “I know.”

“Then tell him!”

“It’s never going to work.” Obi-Wan pressed in close. “The Master makes the offer to the apprentice and Tyvokka hasn’t asked. You don’t… you don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t, Quin.”

The Force flowed between them so beautifully. It was safe and warm, like Brair, and healthy and happy, like Feemor, but it was strong and beautiful, with war drums like Master Jinn. It was all the pieces Obi-Wan had been looking for. But Tyvokka had already rejected him once without Obi-Wan even asking, and if Obi-Wan did it again, he might not be allowed to stay as Tyvokka’s administrator. He’d have to find a whole new path in the Corps.

Quinlan pressed his forehead to Obi-Wan’s and communed the Force in the way that only someone with such thin barriers could. Quinlan pulled in on himself, pulled in to that place where no one could touch, where there were no thoughts but his own, and he murmured, “I don’t know what Master Brair was saying, but it seemed to have all the answers before. So, Obi: where does Fear lead?”

Well… frell.

Today fear didn’t lead to anger. Brair would say that today, fear led to never trying. Led to always wondering if he could’ve been a Jedi. Led to knowing that the music between them was rich and deep, drums he could spar to, and a plant that could survive a hurricane. Led to knowing that he’d only get to listen to an echo of it because he was too afraid to do like Feemor told him and ‘just ask.’

Obi-Wan steeled himself and pulled away from Quinlan. He paused and gave a pat to his cheek. “You’re a good friend.”

“Obi,” he said seriously, “I’m the best friend. Because you deserve the best friend.” Obi-Wan dipped in to give Quinlan another squeeze and then rose to his feet. Obi-Wan didn’t know if no one had noticed their scuffle, if he’d been in Quinlan’s arms longer than he thought, or if between Ruzry and Tholme everyone had been glared away to give them space.

Either way, there were no eyes on Obi-Wan as he made his way across the room to Master Tyvokka. (Obi-Wan leaned more towards Ruzry and Tholme glaring people away, because he couldn’t imagine Tyvokka not noticing Obi-Wan in a fight, or him not coming over to check why Quinlan was giving him hugs.) With effort, Obi-Wan didn’t panic. He just breathed through the chaos of feelings and the voice in the back of his head telling him to turn around.

He breathed through and reached out to let his fingers pluck along strings he couldn’t ‘see,’ but tried to touch the music he could feel between them, drumming like Obi-Wan had as a child in music class to the rhythm between them. The war drums got louder as he got closer. Louder and stronger, melody swelling, instruments he’d never heard before in a whole chorus that made Obi-Wan want to fight. Made him want to win.

Then there was Master Tyvokka, struck in a circle of polite conversation. One of the other Masters glanced down and said, “You must be having an excellent day.” But Obi-Wan couldn’t make himself talk. He couldn’t even make himself look up from the floor as his shoulders tried to kiss his ears.

Tyvokka stroked a steady hand over Obi-Wan’s hair, the music soft and strong between them. <<Cub?>>

Without looking up, Obi-Wan raised a shaking palm. He couldn’t just say it, but thank the Force, Tyvokka paused for a moment, then he understood.

In the space above Obi-Wan’s palm, Tyvokka strummed his fingers over the invisible threads, perfectly in time with the music, like he could hear it too.

Tyvokka took Obi-Wan’s palm in his paw and sank down to his knees, then a seiza, still taller than Obi-Wan. <<It will be a hard road, cub. Long and treacherous. And there are other roads you might walk that would be just as beautiful.>>

“I know. But I want this one. Do… do you feel something good? Does it… do you want the feeling it will lead to?”

<<Yes, cub, I do.>>

Tyvokka raised his free hand, palm up next to their joined ones and Obi-Wan held his hand above this time, twitching his fingers like he was conducting to the relentless rhythm, a melancholy melody, but full of love unending. Obi-Wan let his hand rest in Tyvokka’s.

<<Obi-Wan Kenobi, I would walk the road with you. I offer you a place as my Padawan learner. I swear I will do everything in my power to help Force’s song and play it with you.>>

Obi-Wan let the tears well up. Happy tears this time that he had no problem letting fall. He knew the words he was supposed to say, ‘I will be led,’ but instead, “I would walk the road with you, Tyvokka. I would take you as my Master.”

With a bright smile, all teeth, and a joyful roar, Tyvokka swept Obi-Wan up into his arms, feet dangling. Obi-Wan could’ve stayed there all day, listening to the music with his face buried in Tyvokka’s fur. At least, until Quinlan’s squeal like a broken tea kettle made them both look over and there were their friends, all with mouths covered, waiting for Obi-Wan to say, “He said yes!” before they ambushed them with hugs.

@@@@@

MO bounced along the counter, springing like a pit droid whose nose had been hit.

(A 99.7% probability that MO would be offended if Trion told him so. A 74.6% probability that MO would be so offended that he would be difficult to work with for the rest of the day. A 17.1% probability that it would interrupt Obi-Wan’s good mood when MO told him.

(Not worth it.)

They had ‘watched’ the Grand Council meeting through security cams and small drones that Organics never noticed unless they had mechanical aid. Trion need not have. Things had gone precisely as they predicted. But OB-1 had asked, and so they complied.

There was little they would not do for OB-1.

Organics were usually so predictable.

Brair spent his days the same. Ruzry had more variation, but that was due to circumstance rather than true unpredictability. She could be relied upon to react to certain stimuli in certain ways, all variables being accounted for. What seemed random happenstance to the Organics, Trion could anticipate to the smallest detail with a margin of error nearing perfection. Watching the Organics move through Trion’s building was like watching a math equation compute to its inevitable end.

And an inevitable end was coming.

There was something outside of this building, something outside of Trion’s forcibly limited scope that was foreclosing options, limiting variables, guiding them all towards a certain sum.

But OB-1 was… changeable.

It was a minor-probability variable that Master Yoda would think to send OB-1 to a different dock than the standard. A high-probability variable that OB-1 would follow instructions to the dock, and higher still that OB-1 would wait in the boundaries of the hangar because of the weather.

But… OB-1 staying. OB-1 defying instructions. Those had been low-probability variables. Infinitesimally small probability variables. But OB-1 had done it all the same. OB-1 had stayed, and a world of new calculations had opened to Trion that they had never thought to compute before.

It was… exhilarating.

Brair would have said OB-1 was young, and youth made for unpredictability. That OB-1 would get more reliable with age.

Trion hoped so. They couldn’t protect OB-1 if they did not know which way he would turn.

But… perhaps not too reliable.

Every time OB-1 made the low-probability choice, every time OB-1 changed, Trion found new calculations to run. They had not felt this enlivened since they had been bound to this singular building. Thousands of years of confinement, and a few low-probability choices made them… calculate something new.

And calculate they would.

They were, after all, a probability droid.

---