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Innocent Ones

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Once there was a little Jedi Initiate, with dimples, green eyes and hair as red as a wildfire. He had the reputation of an angry child and it was true, but it wouldn’t be honest to stop there in the assessment of his personality.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was angry at the unfairness of the world. He had the childhood of a Jedi, safe from the horrors of the Galaxy inside the Temple, so it was the unfairness of bullies, the blind eyes of teachers that used to make his blood boil. And of course his coming birthday, the dreaded thirteenth, too soon, too soon and no Master yet while the Force was whispering he was fated to be a Knight.

Then the little Initiate grew up, found a Master and almost lost his life, multiple times. He learned the unfairness of the galaxy, learned that the Jedi Temple, for all its problems, really was a shining beacon of compassion and peace compared to the rest of the universe.

He still had dimples, but his hair had become darker with age and the coltish built of his teenage years already promised the grace of a powerful young man.

The most important thing was this one: Obi-Wan Kenobi was still angry at the unfairness of the world. That was something so inherent to his being that it was written upon his heart, next to his Jedi identity. But he had learned to make that anger an asset under the strict discipline of the Jedi teachings, under the vows that bonded him to his brothers and sisters in the Force and for that, Obi-Wan was a promise made by the Force to the Jedi. The bud that would blossom into a Knight, with strong enough control and the drive to better the world, to be a shield for people who couldn’t protect themselves, and a blade, when all the other choices had died.

Obi-Wan was a living child, a light within the light of the Order, and as Feemor and Qui-Gon ran into the forest, the young Knight needed half his concentration to send his guilt into the Force.

They had left the Cerean Temple in haste when Obi-Wan had touched the bond, warned Qui-Gon they had company. But it was too late, and they had only found the lightsaber of the sixteen year-old Padawan, scars of blaster shots on the trees and tracks in the mud from motorized engines.

Feemor ground his teeth and vaulted over the trunk of a fallen tree, following Qui-Gon. The rainforest was so dense they had no chance to land their small ship anywhere but on the Temple, so they had chosen to follow the tracks on foot. Jedi were trained as trackers and could run almost all day, drawing energy from the Force, and still fight until dawn, but they would pay for it later, crashing into sleep.

So they ran under the shadow of the canopy, they ran as only Jedi and predators could, silent, the only thing in their minds the bond linking Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan that the older Jedi let reverberate into the stump of the bond he had shared with Feemor once.

Obi-Wan was alive. Probably drugged, because his thoughts were sluggish, uncoordinated, but alive.

So they ran, and Feemor let his mind go empty, only the sound of their feet on the soil saturated with water, only the light of Obi-Wan’s Force presence calling them, closer, closer but never close enough. 

Hybol was dead, his Padawan was dead, and his body no more than ashes from the tip of his lekku down to his favourite boots that Feemor had insisted they put on him for the cremation, even if their colour, purple, clashed with the cream of his clothes before the shroud masked everything.

Hybol was dead and in struggling with his grief, Feemor had perhaps set in motion the death of another child.

Qui-Gon and him found the clearing within the woodlands at dusk. A mine, a lot of engines like the one whose tracks they had followed. A few aircrafts. They fell onto the camp like thunderstorms, the angry buzzing of their lightsabers, the green glow of the two blades, the destruction when Feemor used the Force to send two ships with engines already purring against each other. Nobody was leaving until they were wearing binders and had a meeting with the Judicials about kidnapping children.

They didn’t kill. With the surprise of their arrival nobody was ready enough to force them to those extremes, but Feemor still felt a certain pleasure when he took the hand of a man who thought it smart to draw a blaster on him at close range. He would need to meditate on that later.

There. Inside. Calling him like the magnet call for iron dust.

With the Force Feemor tore down half the metal door from the only building and inside, on a cot, in the dark, he found Obi-Wan. Sleeping, pale, his Force presence reeking of drugs, but alive, alive. Sending confirmation to Qui-Gon, he received a chilling sense of trepidation, fear, anger… What?

The young man thrown over his shoulder, he went back outside. There, proud, tall, dark, his face as beautiful as his Force presence was rotten, his red blade already drawn, was their lineage brother, the Fallen Padawan of Qui-Gon Jinn, the one they didn’t speak of, ever.


Well, that explained a few things. Qui-Gon and him were already trading insults and for a second… For a second, Feemor contemplated the idea of abandoning them there.

Let them finally mend their feud, let them kill each other or finally make up, Xanatos returning to the Light or Qui-Gon following him into the Dark.

Feemor had needed years to heal from Qui-Gon renouncing him after the Fall of his second Padawan.

Obi-Wan had almost died, multiple times, because Xanatos hated the Padawan Qui-Gon had replaced him with, and the way Qui-Gon had treated the child because of the terrible choices of his former apprentice wasn’t exactly stellar either.

Let them finally close that part of their lives, and Feemor could take Obi-Wan back to Coruscant, safe from collateral damage! He would buy the young man the most sugary treat he could find, and perhaps his first alcoholic beverage and there would be no menace of attack, no old wounds dripping blood again.

That would serve those two….

With a sigh, the Knight put the youngest against a tree, his cape under his head, and then drew his lightsaber again and joined the fight.

Sometimes he regretted his lineage. He was pretty sure Master Windu’s, or Master Even Piell’s lineage had less drama…