Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Force hummed with an almost expectant silence, curling up like a particularly lazy loth-cat between stacks of flimsi and chunky generation-1 data pads. It was always quiet and peaceful before the rest of the Temple’s inhabitants were awake, and that was one of Feemor’s favorite things about opening duty. A quick, sneaky sip of his caf—thank goodness Madam Nu wasn’t up and about yet, otherwise the presence of any foodstuff would earn him a sound boxing about the ears—as he tidied the stacks without being interrupted was just a bonus.

To care for something as sacred and treasured as the Archives was a privilege that he never thought he’d have. Oh sure, most younglings probably didn’t dream about becoming a librarian or an archivist. Force even Feemor hadn’t thought that he’d end up loving his place among carefully preserved manuscripts or seemingly endless shelves, visions of epic lightsaber battles and planet hopping escapades fresh in his mind even though he hadn’t been a crècheling for over a decade. Yet there was something so infinitely satisfying about his work, in the preservation and interpretation of ancient wisdom for future generations.

Returning a datapad, no doubt left by an exam-stressed padawan, back to its rightful place Feemor also had to admit that it wasn’t like he didn’t help in his role as an archivist either! Just last week he had been able to provide Knight Fitso with intel for his mission to an Outer Rim planet, and he consulted with the ExploraCorps and AgriCorps on a regular basis! Serve the Galaxy and the Force in our own ways, do we. Master Yaddle’s voice echoed in his mind, and he couldn’t help but smile thinking of the diminutive Master who had encouraged him to find his own path.

He had never expected his life to have warm dinners filled with raucous scholarly debates, or for the infamous Madam Nu to argue on his behalf with the Librarian’s Assembly over his thesis. He certainly never thought that Master Yaddle would constantly try to sneak him cookies during his shift. Cooing over how ”Too thin, you are. Eat more, you must.” Or even for Master Rancisis of all people to formerly request Feemor’s new designation as a Lore Keeper be placed in his files. He’d never thought the Thisspiasian liked him, but the action by a leader of the Council of Reconciliation had prompted the High Council to grudgingly notate his file with the designation. A move which took him off the diplomatic missions roster, and allowed him to pursue his own research.

He had never thought that he would grow to love his work in the Archives, or even enjoy the path of a Lore Keeper. A profession his former master had shown nothing but distaste and disdain for. Yet, the sense of belonging Feemor felt to his fellow scholars, the easy camaraderie and lighthearted rivalries…he knew that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Reaching the agricultural section, Feemor began to look for the treatise Specialist Sochi had requested in their relief work on a desert planet when he stumbled, rather literally, upon a wayward Initiate. It wasn’t unusual for younger Temple residents to make use of the archives in the wee hours of dawn, either cramming some last minute information before an exam or pulling logistical data requested by their masters before a mission, but it was very rare for someone as young as this Initiate to be there at this time of day.

They can’t be older then 10, if that. Although I’m not exactly an expert. Feemor thought, taking in brilliant copper hair and big blue eyes. The youngling made a hasty bow even as they went about cleaning up their dropped data pads. Crouching down to help, Feemor took a look at the titles. The Battle of Althir? Isn’t that a little…advanced for a child?

Feemor cleared his throat, causing the initiate to look up at him nervously. Did all younglings have eyes that big? “Forgive me Initiate…” He trailed off expectantly and they answered quickly, eager to please.

“K-Kenobi, Master.” Kenobi looked up at him through copper lashes, before ducking their head once more and Feemor couldn’t help but smile at the action. Kriff, but they’re adorable.

“Initate Kenobi. I am Knight Feemor Stahl, he/him.” He bowed his head slightly, and Initiate Kenobi repeated the action, providing his pronouns.

“While I must commend your conscientiousness towards your studies, your creche master must be worried sick.” With a wince, since when did his knees do that, Feemor helped the child up. “Let’s get you back to your clan dorms.”

“T-thank you Knight S-stahl…” The tiny imitate stuttered out, and while Feemor was mentally cooing because Force but such cuteness should be illegal, he couldn’t help but notice Kenobi wouldn’t meet his eyes. Why…oh…he’s probably afraid that he’s in trouble…kriff.

It should be noted that Feemor didn’t have a lot of experience with younglings. Other knights and even masters? Of course. The occasional padawan? Sure. But his current portfolio did not leave him with an abundance of opportunities to interact with the Crèche…no that particular job resided with Master Toppboa. Although there were rumors xe were going to retire soon… And honestly, the Neti had been old when he was a youngling—there were even rumors that xe’d known Grandmaster Yoda when he was nothing more than a sprout.

Either way, the point was Feemor didn’t regularly interact with people under the age of 13. So being exposed to this amount of cuteness so early in the morning and before his third cup of caf, had the knight flustered. What do I do in this situation? Kriff. Why wasn’t this part of orientation. They couldn’t do a quick seminar like “What To Do When Confronted With a Guilty Youngling for Dummies”?…Kark! He hadn’t said anything in over three minutes, too busy spiraling down this apparent rabbit hole of inadequacy. Quick! Say something encouraging!

“It’s….alright Initiate Kenobi. You’re not in trouble…if you’d like I can speak with your creche master?” Feemor offered, consciously reminding himself not to wring his hands. He’d never quite trained himself out of that habit, and since he didn’t wear the standard robes most other Jedi did he was overly conscious of the action…and now he was wringing his hands. Great. He must think I’m a terrible example of a Jedi…can’t even control my own nerves.

Except Initiate Kenobi seemed to have picked up on his distress and gently allayed it, tiny hands gently scrunching up in the older Jedi’s sweater. Archivists and lorekeepers in general had a bit more of a relaxed dress code since they worked with historical artifacts and rarely went on missions except excavations or conferences. Only one Councillor had ever attempted to make a comment on the Librarian’s Assembly supposed lack of decorum concerning their manner of dress and it was safe to say that after Madam Nu and Master Yaddle were finished with him, no one dared say anything again. Master Mundi really should keep his comments to himself…he always seems to contradict everything he says.

“N-no Mast-uh K-knight Feemor.” Initiate Kenobi corrected himself. “It’s just t-that…I was just...” Shoulders slumping in defeat, the little boy hung his head. “I-I’m...” Looking down at the abandoned data pad gave Feemor an inkling of what this might be about.

Is it maybe that…he doesn’t want to abandon his reading material?

He definitely wouldn’t be the first Jedi reluctant to leave an interesting find from the stacks. Force, Feemor currently had a stack of data pads precariously balancing on his nightstand as part of his to be read pile. That stack never seems to go down…if anything it gets bigger every time I turn around and its not like I don’t read…probably some unexplainable Force phenomena. I certainly don’t have a reading problem…no certainly not.

Turning his attention back to the Initiate, who still hadn’t loosened his grip on Feemor’s sweater, he wondered again at this child. Is this type of scholarly dedication normal in one so young?

He decided to go with his guess. “If you’d like…we can check out that data pad so you can finish it.”

Wonder filled blue eyes looked up at him, and Feemor couldn’t help the pride that swelled in his chest at earning such a look. “Really?” Kenobi asked, voice filled with hopeful curiosity.

Feemor decided in that precise moment, that he would never allow that voice to be filled with disappointment. “Of course, here let’s get that taken care of.”

As he helped the tiny Initiate get the data-pad checked out, opening up an account and inputting his information, Feemor knew he’d probably never come across the boy again except for the occasional interaction, if that. For some reason, quite unbeknownst even to himself, Feemor felt a quiet pang of loss before he released it into the Force.

Feemor had consigned himself to not seeing the curious little boy after several days had passed with no sign of him. Which is why he was startled from reading about Arca Jeth’s use of mechu macture when a familiar stutter called his name.

“Um…K-knight Stahl?”

Looking up from his research, Feemor saw two big blue eyes just barely peeking at him over the edge of his desk.

I’d remember those tooka eyes anywhere.. “Initiate Kenobi,” he greeted warmly.

The boy seemed surprised. “Y-you remember m-me?” He asked, a shyly pleased smile gracing his face before he attempted to hide it behind Feemor’s desk.

Kriff, was it even possible for him to get more adorable? “Of course! How did you find your reading? It was on the Battle of Althir right?”

That was apparently the right thing to ask. Kenobi’s tiny face turned up to meet him fully, brilliant smile lighting up his entire demeanor. “It was amazing! Did you know it started t-the Mandalorian Wars? And that m-mandalorians used to ride on b-besalisk droids? Or that Mr. O-ordo was able to defeat a force ten times b-bigger than his own?” Kenobi seemed to gain confidence talking about something that he was familiar with, so while Feemor knew a little bit about the Mandalorian Wars, he decided to indulge Initiate Kenobi.

“I did not.” His answer seemed to make the boy smile even brighter, joy practically radiating in the Force. “What else did you learn?”

For several minutes, Kenobi shared every interesting tidbit he’d learned and Feemor couldn’t help but become completely charmed at this little boy who was so passionate about something that happened over a thousand years ago.

Helping him find something new to read, this time a biography on Master Nomi Sunrider, Feemor couldn’t help but smile even though he hadn’t made any progress on his own research.

Because Feemor had discovered that Initiate Kenobi’s first name was Obi-Wan, and he was 9.

It became a ritual of sorts. Every few days, a quiet voice would interrupt Feemor from his work and he’d be met with Obi-Wan’s timid smile. They’d talk about what the boy had learned from his most recent foray into intergalactic history, and then Feemor would help Obi find something new to read and the cycle would start again.

Days Obi-Wan came in were quickly becoming Feemor’s favorite. He’d even taken to keeping a small list amongst his research, of different publications he thought the boy might like. He seemed to be particularly drawn towards the Old Sith Wars, and it had taken an almost Herculean feat of archival acumen to find books Obi-Wan was unlikely to have read before.

When his fellow archivist Knight Calloom had found it during a shared shift at the circulation desk, she woudn’t stop laughing. Gushing about how “ridiculously adorable” Feemor apparently was, though he had no idea what she was talking about. He was just trying to help a blossoming reader continue to grow. It wasn’t like he was playing favorites or anything…okay so maybe he was but could anyone really blame him? Had they seen those tooka blue eyes or that tiny dimpled smile? Only the coldest and most callous of beings would be able to say no to Obi-Wan Kenobi, who’s entire Force presence radiated with Light.

So he quietly endured his friend’s ribbing. In truth, he was just thankful that Madam Nu hadn’t come to see what all the fuss was about.

Knight Calloom often teased him, saying that he could do no wrong in the Indomitable Madam Nu’s eyes, though he had no idea why she was so insistent about it. Madam Nu ruled over the Archives with a cotton clad iron fist—”Always wear gloves before handling any artifacts Feemor. It’s as much to protect our collections as it is to protect our Lore Keepers. There’s really no telling where some of these objects have been.” She treated everyone with the same stern manner, and was just as quick to chastise as she was to offer praise, and Feemor constantly reminded Calloom of that fact. Except for some reason, she’d only pinch his cheeks and gush about how oblivious he was. Either way, Feemor wasn’t going to cause a ruckus in Madam Nu’s archives, kriff whatever Calloom thought about the Head Archivist supposedly having a soft spot for him.

Speaking of, I should probably try and get an update on my dissertation proposal to her. She’s been asking how its been getting along…

His research wasn’t going well.

When Madam Nu and Master Yaddle had initially approached him, Feemor had honestly been surprised. He’d only been working in the archives for five years, starting roughly a month after his repudiation. He hadn’t even taken the traditional trials to become a Lore Keeper, a path often chosen as a padawan. Both Master Yaddle and Madam Nu, in their roles as Leader of the Librarian’s Assembly and Head Archivist respectively, had petitioned to grant him the opportunity to write what would have been his Padawan’s Thesis as a Knight. To be honest, I’ve never known the Librarian’s Assembly to review a thesis so quickly. In his five years as an archivist, he’d had plenty of interactions with the association and had grown used to their apprarently innate need to take ages in doing anything. Which is why the fact his thesis was reviewed and approved in only four standard days following his submission was…surprising to say the least.

Lore Keepers, as members of the Jedi Order had a very different path to knighthood and mastery than others. Because they rarely left on missions, except for ones headed by the ExploraCorps or other archaeological surveys, the trials weren’t exactly appropriate. Instead Senior Padawans, upon declaring their intent to join the Assmebly, would spend the last few years of their apprenticeship working on a thesis that would be submitted to the august body for review, with their master or another member acting as an advisor. It was a process which often broke the less resilient padawans. Feemor honestly thought it was far more rigorous than any trial the High Council could put forth.

To become a Lore Keeper and a member of the Librarian’s Assembly meant learning not only how to code and catalogue the different collections housed within their Archives. Their Padawan’s Thesis was intended to provide them with a potential area to specialize in, and to demonstrate their research and analytical skills. Following their thesis, having it reviewed by some of the most knowledgeable historians in the Galaxy was a daunting thing to imagine let alone be able to withstand the expert critique that followed. If the Review Board of the Librarian’s Assembly did not approve a thesis, the Padawan was required to submit another one within a standard year of their initial submission.

Once they’d been admitted as a Lore Keeper, members of the Librarian’s Assembly were expected to continue their pursuit of knowledge. Often attending conferences or writing papers on their area of specialization. Gaining a mastery as a Lore Keeper was rather similar to their process of knighthood, and required a longer project in the form of a dissertation to be submitted before the entirety of the Assembly for Review. Feemor was supposed to be developing his proposal so he could submit it to Madam Nu—since she was sponsoring him for mastery. A feat that had earned him many side-eyes throughout the Archives, and had made him blush a full month after finding out Madam Nu was so confident in his skills as an archivist after only five years. He had originally intended to propose a dissertation on the Great Droid Revolution and how it addressed structural barriers within the Old Galactic Republic…only lately he’d hit a wall.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t find enough data on it, or the fact that one of his primary resources was an eyewitness account from several thousand years ago. It was more that his entire attention had been stolen by tooka eyes and bright copper hair, and his dissertation proposal had fallen by the wayside. That’s going to be an…interesting conversation to have with Madam Nu. He thought warily.

But seeing Obi-Wan’s bright little smile every time he came across a new facet regarding the Old Republic, Feemor knew that he would happily accept any potential scoldings that awaited him in his future.

It was several months into his acquaintance with little Obi-Wan, who’s tenth Name Day was fast approaching, that something rather unexpected occurred.

Feemor had sneakily been using the holo-net connection on his personal data pad during his shift on the reference desk, trying to find a suitable gift for his favorite crecheling only for his search to be interrupted by a modulated voice.

“Knight Stahl.”

Very few Jedi on Coruscant wore a voice-modulator, and of the few Feemor personally knew, he didn’t have any outstanding business with them. Which is why hearing it was somewhat distressing. Looking up to see an ivory gold mask, complimented by the intimidating form of a Temple Guard, didn’t exactly inspire further confidence.

…Am I supposed to say something? I should say something right? Feemor unconsciously began picking at the hems of his cardigan. A chunky, oversized cream that always seemed to fall off one shoulder no matter how often he straightened it. It was one of his favorites, not only because it was a gift from Master Yaddle but because it also happened to be one of the coziest things he’d ever worn. In fact, her Force signature was so heavily imbued in the sweater that Feemor wondered if she had made it herself. Kriff…I haven’t said anything have I…I’m making this awkward…um…okay here we go…

“Ye-“ Feemor started, only to choke on a random bit of air. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yes?” Really? My voice hasn’t cracked in years! Force…

The inscrutable mask tilted, and for a moment Feemor could have sworn he felt amusement in the Force, before the faceless guard spoke once again. “I think….” The modulated voice began, and Feemor held back a shudder. He had nothing but respect for the Jedi who chose to devote their lives to protecting the Temple and fellow Jedi but he had always been intimidated by their faceless anonymity. Taking their time, as though trying to find the best words and wasn’t that a surprise at the apparent hesitance of one of their greatest protectors, they turned so their mask was facing Feemor directly. “I think that you should go check Aisle 7C, Row 16.”

Before Feemor could ask more, the Guard continued. “It’s Initiate Kenobi.”

Feemor ran.

The Guards words continued to echo in his mind, again and again.

It’s Initiate Kenobi…

Initiate Kenobi…

Kenobi…

He hadn’t even paused to thank them, all thoughts of decorum flying out the window the moment he heard Obi-Wan’s name.

Something was wrong with Obi-Wan Kenobi. With his Initiate.

Feemor ran.

When he reached the aisle where his intiate was, Feemor could feel the shame, hurt, despair that was bleeding into the Force; Obi-Wan wasn’t even, or more likely couldn’t even, control the flow of his thoughts. It was like a wound in the Force, and Feemor ached.

Sensing how hurt Obi-Wan was, was one thing. Seeing it was another.

His little Initiate was curled up against a bookcase, normally brilliant blue eyes dull and glassy. His cheeks were red, and it looked as though he’d been crying for quite some time. He stared unseeingly at some indiscernible point and Feemor wondered how present Obi-Wan was…if he hadn’t just allowed himself to drift into the Force…

Eerily reminiscent of their first meeting, Feemor sat down next to him.

“Obi-Wan?” He asked.

A sudden tightening in Obi’s shoulders was the only sign that he’d heard Feemor’s inquiry, though he didn’t loosen up from the miserable ball he’d curled himself into.

A hesitant touch to his initiate’s shoulder lead to Feemor having a lapful of distressed youngling, Obi-Wan’s face tucked securely into collar bone, shoulders hitching as the boy attempted to get his breathing back under control.

Feemor didn’t know what to do at first, no part of his training as a padawan or archivist ever covered what one was supposed to do in this type of situation. But the Force seemed to have other ideas as his hands settled gently on Obi-Wan, situating the youngling more comfortably before he began to tentatively run his hand up and down the impossibly small back.

Am…am I doing this right? Pushing as much comfort as he could down their nascent bond—and when did that get there, Feemor tried to think of what he could do.

Was he supposed to say something…should he simply hold Obi-Wan and let him speak when he was ready?

Despite his inner turmoil, Obi-Wan seemed to benefit from Feemor’s clumsy attempt at comfort. They simply sat there together, not saying a single word, as Obi’s entire Force presence seemed to melt into Feemor’s own. The trust such an act showed brought tears to his eyes, which he quickly shook away.

Feemor felt such a well of affection and care for this tiny little being that had wormed his way into Feemor’s life, making him wonder what it would be like to guide and teach this brilliant little boy. But now wasn’t the time to think about how right such a sensation felt, having Obi-Wan’s bright Force signature shielded by his own. Right now, Obi-Wan needed him.

When Obi-Wan finally spoke, his usual stutter was more pronounced due to how hoarse and broken his voice sounded. “I…I…” A sniffle. “T-they said t-that I-I’m not m-meant to be a j-jedi.”

The admission made something inside Feemor freeze dangerously.

They said what?

“T-they…I-I’m…” Another sniffle, and Feemor knew that he’d have to wash his cardigan after this but he didn’t care. This was far more important than laundry.

Pushing as much warmth and patience as he could through their bond, Feemor quietly asked “You what?”

A wet nose buried itself into the crook of Feemor’s neck. “I-I’m being s-sent t-to the A-agriC-corps F-fee…”

And Feemor’s entire world stopped, something cold and alien spreading like icy fire down his veins.

Someone was trying to send Obi-Wan away from the Temple.

Someone was trying to send his sweet little Initiate away.

This brilliant little boy who was fascinated with history. A boy that always asked after Feemor’s research. A youngling who helped his clan every time they were in the archives. A child who shone like a beacon in the Force.

Someone was trying to take Obi-Wan away.

And he would not stand for it.

Jocasta never really understood the draw in taking a padawan-learner.

It wasn’t so much that she lacked a maternal instinct, as she was simply far too busy with her research to care for another sentient being let alone one that would be completely dependent upon her for care. Force sake, she couldn’t even keep a plant alive for longer than a week. How was she supposed to care for a youngling?

Not to mention they always seemed to have sticky jam hands, regardless if there was any jam present and they cried at seemingly anything. Like hell she’d let sticky, jammy, crying younglings near her precious research! It was a miracle they were allowed in her Archives!

So despite the pleading from her master for a grandpadawan and the teasing from her lineage brother, Jo had never felt felt the desire to take an apprentice.

Which was why her reaction to serious big green eyes looking up at her from a mess of dirty blonde hair, and a tiny voice asking for help finding a holo-book was so surprising.

Oppo had laughed at her for a week.

Yaddle had made her favorite tea and biscuits.

Jocasta learned everything she could about this precious little initiate engrossed in historical events, and privately she began to wonder what it might be like to have a padawan if they were Feemor Stahl.

Two years had passed before she knew it, and Fee was finally old enough to be taken as a padawan and Jocasta had submitted her declaration to the Crèche and the Council of Reassignment before she left for a conference on Correllia.

If she privately bought a bead for far too many credits that could be traced back to Odan-Urr—she remembered Feemor seemed especially fond of that time period—for her padawan-to-be, well that was between her and that credit-grubbing merchant.

She had come back with a successful conference, an expensive but perfect bead, and the feeling that she would finally get to claim Feemor as her so-student. Student. He’s your future student. Not son.

So you could imagine her dismay when she found Feemor had been taken as a padawan by that moron Qui-Gon Jinn—who couldn’t even distinguish the Old Sith Wars from the Inter-Sith Wars—his grandmaster smirking the entire time. Apparently, Yoda had felt that Qui-Gon needed a padawan to help temper his recklessness and thought Feemor was the one for the job.

Her padawan had been stolen.

Not a single member of Yoda’s lineage dared step foot in the Archives for the next six months. Jocasta had even banned Yan from their weekly tea, pissed beyond measure that his former student had stolen her padawan. She didn’t care that he seemed just as surprised to discover that he had a new grandpadawan in his lineage—as though he were completely unaware of Yoda’s schemes and manipulations.

The one time that toad had come tap-tap-tapping in, gimmer stick echoing in the turbulent silence, he was very lucky to have made it out with only slightly singed robes and his cane broken in half.

Yaddle was not pleased her grandpadawan had been given to an idiot who couldn’t be bothered to brush his hair.

All of the dreams that Jocasta had started to make, visions of guiding and teaching Feemor into becoming the amazing scholar and historian he was clearly destined to be, listening in pride every time he presented his next paper or dissertation…

Jocasta carefully put each and every emotion and half-formed hope away into an ornate box, along with a prehnite bead she’d spent too many credits on, for a future that would never be. She released her frustration and grief into the Force and continued her lineage dinners with her master and Oppo, and ruled over her Archives with a diligent and ever watchful eye.

Three years after her padawan had been taken from her, Jocasta invited Yan back to their weekly tea.

He had come with a large tin of zsajhira berry tea—which he no doubt spent a small fortune on—and a plate of her favorite ginger biscuits, and she took it for the apology that it was. Neither mentioned how sapir and yarba had been taken out of rotation, and slowly they began to mend their friendship once again.

They very carefully didn’t speak about a certain youngling or his halfwit master.

She healed slowly, though the scar left behind from Yoda’s actions and Qui-Gon’s thoughtlessness remained. She watched as the boy who should have been her apprentice grew into a serious, if clumsy, young man. How he grew as a Jedi even if his confidence slowly withered away under the crushing weight of Jinn’s careless disregard. Knowing in her heart that his quiet brilliance would have been cultivated into a steadfast confidence had she been his master.

And then Qui-Gon repudiated Feemor because of that piece of bantha-crap Xanatos.

Had thrown away her sweet, caring, brilliant boy because of some spoiled little brat, and while one part of Jocasta wanted to murder the man for what he’d done another part of her was elated…because there was still a chance that Feemor could be a part of her life.

Master Yaddle had gone with her to ask Feemor to be a part of their lineage, and she had found him in the same place they had first met all those years ago. She’d been so close to asking him a modified version of a speech she’d practiced eight years ago but he’d been so hurt. Vulnerable. The quiet confidence he had achieved with his knighthood eviscerated in the wake of Jinn’s callous actions, and she knew that it wouldn’t be fair to ask him.

Not when his self-worth was already so fragmented. So instead she offered him a place to heal, and a place to grow. Offered him warm dinners with her lineage, and listened when he presented his first paper with all the pride of a master watching their student. She watched as her boy once again grew in confidence, and she waited for the perfect moment to ask the question she’d waited over thirteen years to ask.

It was a Taungsday where her boy came running into her office, clutching an impossibly tiny initiate in his arms and begging for help. Saying how they were going to send his initiate away to the AgriCorps and he wasn’t sure what to do.

Jocasta sat down Feemor down on her overstuffed couch—she’d splurged after the eighth time she’d woken up with a stiff back after a night spent researching—and began making cups.

One was caf, something she only kept for her boy seeing as he was particularly addicted to the stuff. She knew all about those cups he thought he so sneakily got away with drinking during morning shifts. As though she didn’t know about every single thing that happened in her Archives.

Another was a cup of jeru tea for Feemor’s initiate, who’d left the security of Feemor’s robes to offer a shy greeting. Force but she was already taken by this child who was going to be her grandpadawan if she had anything to say about it. And she would have something to say about it. Several things in fact.

The last was a cup of mei-mei with a generous splash of Corellian brandy for herself, because she definitely felt that she was going to need it.

She was going to need something a little stronger. Hearing the tale come out in spurts beteeen her two boys, Jocasta knew that she was going to need something so much stronger. Sith hells she was going to drain Yan’s liquor cabinet dry and then some. And then she was going to bury that Force-damned goblin in unmarked grave. That miserable little toad should really know by now to keep his wrinkly old snout out of other people’s business and especially out of her lineage.

But first, she was going to comfort her padawan and future grandpadawan. Thoughts of murder could wait for a moment, especially since she’d already had planned out several scenarios years ago. The only problem would be picking which one she decided to go with.

“Docent Vant.” Came an unfortunately familiar voice.

She’d grown up hearing it when her clan would go visit the Archives, as had every Initiate for the last thirty years.

A being never forgot the tone Madam Nu used when someone was due a scolding.

Have I done anything that would have caused her to hunt me down? I haven’t been to the Archives for several tendays…I don’t think I have anything overdue, and Bear Clan was pretty well-behaved last time they were there.

Self-assured, she turned around to meet the kyber-edged glare of the Chief Librarian. “How may I help you, Madam Nu?”

Jocasta Nu was a picture of scholarly discipline, durasteel grey hair pulled back tightly, posture parade-perfect and head held high. Her hooked nose had always made Vant think of a mudhorn, sharp and dangerous like some predatory being and combined with kyber bright eyes, Vant was suddenly reminded of that comparison.

She swallowed.

Madam Nu cut to the chase. “You could tell me why my grandpadawan seems to believe he is being shipped off to an AgriCorps outpost, which is most alarming.” Madam Nu looked down her nose at Vant, which should be impossible since the twilek was a head taller. She had probably learned it from Master Dooku. “Especially since I don’t recall seeing his file in my last meeting with the Council of Reassignment.”

Since when did she have a grandpadawan? I didn’t know she had a padawan!

This was certainly not good news. Madam Nu sat on two different councils in her position as Chief Librarian, and had the special capability of making Vant’s life a living hell. Trying to keep her lekku from twitching nervously, a habit she’d never managed to grow out of since her days as an Initiate, Vant breathed out slowly.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

“That is…most distressing news Madam Nu. But I am not sure how I can be of assistance.” There had been only one initiate that Vant had interceded with, assured by Master Yoda that all would be well. But that boy can’t possibly be who Madam Nu was referring to-

“Considering that you are the one who told Obi-Wan he was being shipped away like some unwanted piece of garbage…” Madam Nu’s face had dropped dangerously, deadly as a cortosis blade.

A quick glance around let Vant know that there were other Jedi around, but they scurried off as soon as she made eye contact.

No one was willing to get between her and Madam Nu. “I think that you’re the only one who can be of…what did you call it? Assistance?”

Kriff.

Oppo Rancisis had never been a fan of Yoda’s.

For a being that had spent over eight hundred years as a Jedi, he seemed hellbent on twisting tradition to suit his own needs while chastising others for not following their code to the letter. Not to mention he was too liberal with using that damn gimmer stick to make a point.

He had marveled at the fact his master quietly endured Yoda’s attitude and disdain and almost hadn’t believed that he had spoken out on Yaddle’s ascension as a master of the order. As though spending a century in captivity and subsisting almost entirely on the Force wasn’t a trial worthy of mastery.

Then that bastard son of a moof-milker had stolen his nephew from right under his nose! Who the hell did that smarmy little toad think he was, stealing his little sister’s padawan!

Jocasta had been inconsolable for several months, and that alone would have been enough of a reason to hate the man. Nobody hurts Oppo’s lineage and gets away with it. Not even the Grandmaster of the Order.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Yoda seemed to parade Feemor around before Yaddle’s lineage. As though he was proud of how wonderful Qui-Gon was as a master, and perhaps that was what rankled him the most. Yoda hadn’t stolen Feemor because he saw the little boy’s potential, and brilliance. Didn’t look at Feemor and see a future filled with greatness and joy. He had taken Feemor because he thought the boy would be a good first padawan for Qui-Gon.

Everything always seemed to be about Qui-Gon-Kriffing-Jinn.

Yoda had wanted his grandpadawan to have an “easy” student for his first foray as a master. Someone who wouldn’t complain or fuss about Qui-Gon’s complete ineptitude in dealing with others, and lack of empathy for anything other than himself.

He hadn’t taken Feemor to be spiteful, or because he coveted the boy for his own line. He just wanted him to act as a stepping stone for Qui-Gon Jinn.

Such callousness left a foul taste in his mouth. To think that the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order could be so…dismissive of others’ autonomy and emotional wellbeing…

But then that idiot had repudiated Feemor.

Repudiated someone he had never deserved in the first place, and Oppo saw the hope in his sister’s eyes that had disappeared behind the hurt and he knew he’d do anything to keep that look there. So the first thing he did was use his position as one of the permeant seat’s on the Council of Reconciliation to have Feemor removed from the diplomatic course.

He had seen the boy hadn’t enjoyed being an ambassador, especially not with Qui-Gon Jinn’s approach to diplomacy. That man was more likely to Force-suggest someone into what he thought the best course of action was, before he’d try tor reconcile any differences. That or use the end of his lightsaber to speed up negotiations.

Oppo was never the most forgiving Jedi.

The Council hadn’t had any other recourse but to acquiesce and Oppo preened at the way Yoda ground his teeth. Because not only was his grandpadawan the first Jedi in over five-hundred years to repudiate their student, that same student wasn’t even going to be on the same path as Qui-Gon or Yoda.

He celebrated by drinking most of Jo’s stash of Alderaanian wine. He deserved it.

Watching the way Feemor seemed to simply blossom into the amazing scholar and archivist he was today, Oppo couldn’t help but wonder what his life could have been like having such an amazing young man as his nephew. Having the opportunity to actively take a part in his life, to help guide and nurture such a brilliant light in the Force.

There is no emotion, there is only peace.

It didn’t do well to dwell on what-ifs. Feemor was theirs now. He was an archivist, one of their foremost experts on the Old Sith Wars. In fact, he was on the path to being one of the youngest masters they’d ever seen. His nephew just needed to get started on that dissertation—which was going to be brilliant and Oppo was already looking forward to reading it.

He had every intention of rubbing their Feemor’s success in that troll’s face.

In a manner befitting a master of the order of course.

Jo needed to hurry up and ask Feemor to be part of our lineage and get that bead in his hair, for Force sake. Shaking his head, Oppo was just about to turn back to his own research—the ExploraCorps had just brought back a holocron that was unlike anything they’d ever seen before—when his comm beeped.

And then beeped again.

He’d admit he wasn’t the most sociable of Jedi—he never did suffer fools well—so it was likely from his lineage.

With a put upon sigh, the Thisspiassian set aside his work and opened up his messages.

One was from Jo, and was filled with nothing but expletives and exclamation marks.

The second was from Master Yaddle, and let him know exactly what the problem was.

It took an extreme amount of self-control not to crush his comm.

He’d never been a fan of Yoda.

Feemor wasn’t sure how he’d ended up in front of the High Council, Madam Nu at his left and just one step ahead of him. He had to firmly tell himself it didn’t mean anything. It was pure coincidence she was in the spot masters traditionally took with their padawans.

Her presence was like a balm, soothing Feemor’s strained psyche and allowing him to breath. Others often remarked on how the Chief Librarian felt like a distant star in the Force. Distant and removed, with an ancient fire banked deep within her very being. Feemor had always privately thought she was more like a weighted blanket. Her presence all-encompassing and warm, comforting in its steadfast dependability. Having her there helped his blossoming anxiety from getting too terrible as the assembled council regarded him curiously.

The comforting weight held securely in his arms helped too. He’d been clutching Obi-Wan close for the last two hours and neither seemed in any rush to let go of one another despite the pointed looks from Master Mundi.

That hypocrite can go kriff himself! Feemor thought, as he deliberately tightened his hold on Obi-Wan. There was no way he was letting go of his padawan!

Master Windu must have read something in his expression, because the man cleared his throat. “Now that everyone is present, Madam Nu…” The Korun Jedi’s eyes glanced towards Feemor’s left, “If you could please be so kind as why you have called an emergency session of the High Council?”

Ki-Adi opened his mouth, and Feemor just knew in a way that had nothing to do with precognition or foresight that he was about to say something idiotic. “And why you deemed the presence of Knight Stahl or an Initiate, necessary before this esteemed body.”

Kyber sharp eyes turned towards the Cerean master, and Feemor was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of that glare. Madam Nu raised an eyebrow. “As this matter directly impacts both Knight Stahl and Initiate Kenobi, I felt it only right that they be allowed to speak on their own behalf.” Her voice could have cut through duracrete, dripping with disdain and Master Mundi seemed to finally understand that he may have overstepped, as he quickly. Inclined his head in apology.

“A terrible wrong, done to Initiate Kenobi there has.” Master Yaddle’s voice broke in, and all eyes went to regard the usually serene master. Except right now, it felt as though she was keeping a tight clamp on her emotions and there was a fiery determination that burned in her kind eyes. “Our duty it is, to listen and correct.”

Is this how she looked, spending all those years in captivity? Is that fiery resoluteness what kept her alive, when lesser beings would have perished? Feemor couldn’t believe that such determination was being demonstrated on his behalf.

Master Rancisis spoke up from his own chair. “Knight Stahl. Initiate Kenobi.” His voice was stiff gruff and removed, but if Feemor looked just a little bit closer, he could have sworn there was…concern…there. Concern and something incredibly protective… “WOuld either of you be willing to tell this Council of the grievance that has been committed?”

Soaking up Madam Nu’s steady presence, and feeling Obi-Wan’s soft nod against his collar bone, Feemor breathed. There is no chaos, there is harmony. “Thank you masters.” Feemor began, and once he had spoken he found his next words to come out easier. “I found Initate Kenobi in the stacks of the Archives today…”

As he spoke, each master seemed to listen and Feemor allowed himself to hope.

Finishing his tale, Feemor inclined his head and next to him he could feel Madam Nu’s quiet pride and something inside of him preened at her gentle regard. Only for Master Koth to speak up.

“While I agree that this is most distressing, I fail to see why this is a matter of concern for the High Council.” His eyes were kind, even though his words were not. Before Feemor could try and find a way to defend himself, Madam Nu spoke up.

“It is a matter for the High Council because as a member of the Council of Reassignment, I can vouch that we have never reviewed Initiate Kenobi’s file for placement within the ServiceCorps.”

That seemed to garner a reaction from the normally placid masters. Several of them made to speak, but it was Master Poof who spoke. “Then how did Initiate Kenobi come to such a conclusion, if not from the Council of Reassignment?”

Obi-Wan flinched. Feemor could answer, but he knew that this would be better if it came from Obi-Wan himself. He sent as much confidence and belief as he could down their bond, and blue eyes looked up at him. Feemor smiled softly in encouragement. You can do this. He projected as strongly as he could. You can do this.

Without taking his face away from the safety of Feemor’s sweater, Obi’s hoarse voice addressed the council. “M-master V-Vant told me t-that I w-was to report to t-the M-M-Mon…” He broke off, and Feemor felt the hurt creeping through their bond which he silently soothed. It’s alright. It’s alright, you’re doing great.. Several moments passed, before Obi began again. “T-that I was t-to report to the M-monument by 0900 t-t-tomorrow to r-receive my new p-post.”

Every master in attendance looked askance at the news. Initiates were never informed of such a decision by a docent, and never rushed out of the temple so quickly. To do so was an act so callous and cruel, that many could not believe it came from a member they had entrusted with the care of their younglings.

Every master, Feemor noted, except for Yoda.

He seems awfully put out with this entire situation… Feemor thought, eyes narrowed. Since being repudiated, Feemor didn’t have many interactions with his former great-grandmaster. The man acted as though Feemor had never once been a part of his lineage, never once deigned to bestow a kind word or look for someone that been wronged so strongly by a member of his line. It was strange to see him act aggravated at hearing Obi-Wan’s story…Why…

It was Master Windu that broke the silence. “That is indeed worthy of this Council’s attention.” He said dangerously, and if Feemor was feeling more charitable he would spare a moment to feel sorry for Master Vant. But she’d hurt Obi-Wan. She deserved everything that was coming to her, and then some. The stern master continued. “Yet I feel there is more to be said, and so we shall reserve our judgement until we have heard everything.”

A glance and Feemor knew that Mace must have understood what he had planned. Feemor felt a well of gratitude for the normally taciturn master, who he knew had a soft-spot a parsec wide for the Temple’s younglings. Feemor remembered his own days as a crecheling, where a much young Windu would bring treats and other little gifts for the Crèche. He always seemed to have a sweet for any youngling that came across his path.

Feemor pushed reassurance down his bond with Obi-Wan, setting the Initate down with a soft look of apology. He couldn’t be carrying him for this next part.

Obi-Wan seemed unsure, confusion evident, though he nodded trustingly up at Feemor.

I haven’t gotten to practice this… Feemor thought dazedly, even as he stood to his full height.

I didn’t even get to ask Obi-Wan if this was something he wanted. He turned to look at the master, hands gently resting on Obi-Wan’s shoudlers.

I don’t have anything to offer. Not a bead, or a lineage…Kriff! I don’t even have a room for him in my apartments. Large hands gently guided Obi-Wan until the Initate was standing with his back to Feemor in the traditional stance one would take upon being presented to the High Council…

The stance that all Initiates learned, because it signified a Master’s intent to take someone as a student.

Blue eyes widened in surprise, even as joy, disbelief, hope flooded their bond.

Another breath, before Feemor regarded the assemblage of masters before him. “I wish to take Initiate Kenobi as my padawan learner.” The moment the words left his lips, Obi’s side of their bond lit up with hope, confusion, amazement and Feemor smiled down into shocked blue eyes.

A dull metallic thwack caused Feemor to look up. “Believe you do, ready for such responsibilities? Still young and inexperienced, you are.” It was Master Yoda who spoke.

Because of course it was Master Yoda. Beside him, Madam Nu practically bristled in outrage and Feemor could feel the glare aimed at the man by Master Rancisis.

Master Yaddle spoke up once again. “Believe you do, someone else more suited to the task?” Her voice was the coldest Feemor had ever heard it, and he could see several masters look at her in shock.

Yoda seemed to take the accusation with grace, despite the wisp of agitation he released into the Force. “Older, more experienced Jedi there are-“he began, only to be cut off by Madam Nu.

“Feemor is one of the most capable and caring Jedi that I have had the privilege to know.” Her voice was thick with an unnamed emotion, and Feemor couldn’t help but blush at the sincerity that resonated in the Force. “It is my firm belief as a member of this Council and the Council of Reassignment, that Initiate Kenobi would benefit greatly from such a master.”

Yoda hrmphed.

Master Rancisis turned up his glare as he spoke to Yoda directly. “Is there a problem Master Yoda? Are you so opposed to the idea of Knight Stahl taking a padawan?” He regarded the other master for a moment, and almost slyly, he asked, “Or are you opposed to him taking Initiate Kenobi?”

If he was startled by the accusation, he didn’t show it though Feemor could see the moue of distaste. “Opposed…I am not.” He grit out.

Master Windu seemed to stare at something just over Yoda’s shoulder, and Feemor couldn’t help but wonder what he saw. Perhaps a shatterpoint, or some far distant future. After a long moment, he looked at his fellow masters. “Councilors?”

Several minutes passed in silence as the High Council voted and Feemor couldn’t help the pang of anxiety he felt. Surely they wouldn’t deny my request…right?

Finally, Mace turned to Feemor. And smiled. “Congratulations Knight Stahl,” he turned to Obi-Wan. “Padawan Kenobi.”

And Feemor couldn’t speak as tears slipped free, and Obi-Wan threw himself around Feemor’s legs with a cry of joy.

And all around them, the Force sang.

There was quite a bit of paperwork when one took on a padawan.

The formal declaration of intent.

An official review of fitness from the Creche.

A corresponding document from the Halls of Healing.

Not to mention requests for additional supplies from the quartermasters, looking into your padawan’s proposed curriculum plan, ensuring they had the opportunity to get a kyber crystal if they didn’t already have one. Getting them their first bead.

Getting them their first bead…

Kriff! Getting them their first bead!

Feemor almost knocked over his fourth cup of caf with how hard he flinched. He hadn’t gotten Obi-Wan a bead yet! A quick glance at the chrono on his desk indicated it was far too late—or too early, depending on how you looked at it—to go to any of the more reputable levels and he didn’t want to leave Obi wondering over his status…

Little Obi who was so sweet and understanding as Feemor sheepishly cleared off a couch filled with flimsi and holopads, so that he’d have a place to sleep in Feemor’s single room apartment.

Who was okay with the slightly burnt pancakes for late meal, since Feemor couldn’t cook anything else.

His adorable, and kind padawan who didn’t care that Feemor had nothing to offer, simply happy that Feemor wanted to take him on as a padawan. Feemor.

Feemor who was happiest buried in research. Who worked as a librarian and archivist as opposed to something more exciting, like a diplomat, or a bodyguard…

Feemor, who didn’t even have quarters big enough for one slightly above-height humanoid and had his padawan sleep on the sofa…

Feemor who didn’t have a legacy or a lineage to help teach Obi-Wan, or for him to gain pride in…

Who didn’t even have a kriffing bead…

Honestly, what kind of…of…of moof-milker didn’t even have a bead for their padawan.

Master Jinn didn’t have a bead for you. His brain helpfully reminded. In fact, you didn’t get a bead until you were a padawan for almost a year.

Kark. He didn’t want to be like Qui-Gon Jinn.

Was there some way that he could find a bead before Obi woke up…

Lost in his thoughts, Feemor didn’t think twice when he heard the chime from his doorway go off. Didn’t even think about how strange it was for someone to be ringing at this time, and unconsciously moved to see who it was before his brain could catch up with his body’s actions.

There was a familiar ivory gold mask outside his apartment.

Along with a bulky frame swathed in heavy formal robes.

Feemor stared.

How did they manage to find robes big enough to fit that frame? Without even thinking about it, his eyes traced the breadth of shoulders broader than Feemor’s entire body, with biceps as big as dinner plates visible beneath the bulk of heavy fabric.

A quiet chuff from a vocoder made him blink. Looking back up to see an almost inquisitive tilt in the Guard’s visor made him blush! Force! I was staring! Why am I always staring?! Feemor embarrassedly remembered the hair he’d let out from it’s usual tie which had probably fluffed out into a blonde cotton ball.

And he was wearing the pajamas that Jocasta had bought him last Life-Day. The ones that had little tookas on them…

Fighting to control the raging blush he knew was creeping up his ears, Feemor made an aborted attempt to fix his hair into some semblance of order only to give it up as a lost cause. “Um…yes?”

The mask tilted again, as though amused though Feemor couldn’t catch a single hint of an emotion in the Force. Their shields were too high for that. “Apologies Knight Stahl, for the late hour.”

Even with a vocoder, the guard’s voice was incredibly deep. But it wasn’t ominous, quite the opposite in fact. It made Feemor feel…safe.

“That’s alright Guard…”

Another chuff let him know that he wasn’t about to get a name, despite his rather lame attempt and he couldn’t help the slight pout that escaped him. A brief flare in the Force, and then nothing. Feemor glanced back up to see they were almost fidgeting, hands holding…something…

“When one of my colleagues informed me of your meeting with the High Council, I figured you probably wouldn’t have had time to get all the necessary items for a padawan.”

At their words, Feemor was presented with a sleek black box. There were beads inside, nestled snuggly against soft velvet, and he didn’t know what to say.

They seemed to misinterpret his silence, since they rushed to speak. “It’s…it’s not…I mean…it wa just a thought…I know that you’d have wanted to shop for your padawan’s bead yourself but I just figured…that is…”

Without even sparing a moment to second guess himself, Feemor found himself enveloping the Guard into a tight embrace…or well he tried to. They were simply too broad for Feemor to even hope to wrap them up in his gangly limbs, and he found his face hitting the middle of their sternum.

They’re really warm… He thought absently. He still hadn’t found words adequate enough for such a kind gesture, so he said the first words that came to mind. “Thank you.”

Big hands settled on his lower back, and Feemor had to fight the urge to sigh. It felt…it felt so nice. The steady pressure on his back, the warm firm planes across his front, his face pressed softly against heavy fabric. It felt so nice. When was the last time I was touched like this? Was it before my repudiation? Thinking back, Feemor decided that no it was even longer. Master Jinn wasn’t exactly affectionate. Was it really when I was in the crèche?

They let him rest there, hands a steady presence with his cheek rising and falling with their breath. “It was my sincerest pleasure Knight Stahl.”

“Feemor.”

Even without looking, he could tell they were tilting their head again and a part of him was pleased he could guess at their expressions so well. “You can call me Feemor.” I want you to call me Feemor. He thought but didn’t say. He was already acting most inappropriately for a Knight, let alone a Jedi that had just taken a padawan but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

A quiet exhale and then. “It was my pleasure…Feemor.”

A chill ran down his spine at the way that voice, even through a vocoder, seemed to wrap itself around the syllables in his name. As though it were the most precious gift instead of simply a moniker he’d been given the day he was born. Feemor wondered what it would be like to hear his name without the vocoder.

When Obi-Wan woke up, Feemor carefully braided in his padawan’s first bead.

It was amber.

It felt different, entering the Archives today.

He had always felt excited and inspired, being surrounded by so much knowledge carefully collected and preserved from the passage of time. But today he also felt…hope.

Glancing down at the exuberant little redhead next to him, amber bead glinting from copper locks, Feemor knew where it came from. “So I know that you’ve been to the archives before…um…but that is…I don’t think you’ve seen just what exactly a Lore-Keeper and Librarian does…”

A bright dimpled grin met him. “L-lead the w-way…Master.”

Feemor couldn’t stop the answering grin even if he wanted to. “Alright then…Padawan mine.” A burst of shy pleasure coursed through their bond at the term and Feemor smiled harder.

He had a padawan.

His padawan was Obi.

“So…um…” Kark…where should I event start…

As though feeling his distress, Master Yaddle appeared from behind a stack. “Ah, the archives you are showing to padawan, Feemor?”

Nodding, Feemor sighed in relief when the elderly master smiled and gestured to follow her.

Thank the Force.

Feemor hadn’t expected Yaddle to show them literally everything.

She’d shown them the holocron vault, the delicate collections annex, even the large collections room. Obi-Wan loved every single minute of it, and Feemor couldn’t help the rush of affection for his adorable Padawan who wanted to know everything!

When mid-meal had hit, the elderly master had invited them to join her and seeing how excited Obi-Wan was at the prospect, he couldn’t refuse.

Although right now, he wished that he was anywhere else.

He’d just been debating with Master Yaddle how it was the Krath’s presence in the Empress Teta system, and not the Beast Wars on Onderon as most scholars thought that signaled the beginning of the Old Sith Wars when an unfortunately familiar mess of brown hair caught his eye.

Followed by a distinctly crooked nose and mockingly serene smile.

Qui-Gon Jinn was heading towards their table.

And Feemor didn’t know what to do.

Should he try and beat a hasty retreat? But there was Obi-Wan to consider, not to mention he didn’t want to offend Master Yaddle. Then again, Obi-Wan was tiny so he could probably pick him up and haul the kark out of there. And surely Yaddle would understand…

That…yes that sounded like an amendable plan. He’d do that. He was just starting to get up, hand going to haul his padawan up when his worst nightmare occurred.

“Feemor, I hear that I have a grandpadawan.” Came a baritone brogue.

Kriff!

Jocasta had decided that today was it! She was going to march up to Feemor and ask him the question she’d been waiting to ask for nearly a decade.

Her master had impishly agreed to show both Feemor and Obi-Wan around the Archives, and Oppo had already commed to say he’d be sure to meet them so that they could all have their first lineage meal together, and Yan had promised his afternoon would be free so that he could meet her padawan and grandpadawan properly.

So all she needed to do was stop acting like a coward and go up there and ask.

Except she was afraid that Feemor would say no. If he said no, then all this anger, all this grief that she had held for nearly ten years would be for nothing. Because that would mean that the one person she had ever thought to ask to be her padawan, the only one she had ever wanted to teach and raise was never actually meant to be hers. That despite how she felt Yoda and Qui-Gon had stolen her student…that the force may have never meant for her to be a teacher.

And that was a reality that was just a bit too nerve wracking than she’d thought it would be.

Fee is a nice boy. Even if he turns you down, you know that he’ll be polite about it. She assured herself, hands smoothing put nonexistent wrinkles as she walked into the commissary. She was just starting to wonder if maybe she should put this off for another day when Oppo came over and nudged her.

“It’s going to be alright Jo-bean.”

Despite how nervous she felt, Jocasta couldn’t help but weakly smile. “I’ve always hated that name.” She declared.

Her lineage brother laughed. “That’s a lie and we both know it.” He not so subtly nudged her along

She could fight it, and Oppo would probably let her win, but when she thought about her padawan and grandpadawan and how proud she would be for the chance of claiming them as her own…well. “I guess we’re doing this then.”

Her brother’s grin was irritatingly smug and she silently vowed to knock him down a peg or two after this, if only to keep her reputation. But she had more important matters to take care of, like claiming two adorable Jedi for her lineage.

It was as she was almost at the table her master always sat at, that she saw that walking piece of bantha-shit walking up to Feemor and Obi-Wan.

Speeding up, she felt her blood burn when Qui-Gon had the audacity to call Obi-Wan his grandpadawan!

Unable to contain the pure unadulterated fury pouring into her very core, Jocasta left all traces of decorum as she flew at that idiotic moron.

Crunch!

SPLAT!!!

Feemor couldn’t quite believe his eyes as Qui-Gon’s head snapped to the left, a deceptively frail hand that he’d seen handle delicate artifacts a thousand times rearing back and punching the man again. Except instead of breaking his nose, it socked him right in the jaw.

Flinching at the telltale pop which indicated she’d manage to dislocate his former master’s jaw, he couldn’t quite comprehend what happened next.

Grabbing a fistful of hair each, Madam Nu yanked and Master Jinn’s head jerked down painfully as the slight librarian growled. “If I ever catch you loitering near my padawan or grandpadawan again I will gut you, like the piece of shite that you are!”

“Your padawa-“

Another painful jerk had him shutting up. “YES MINE YOU MOOF-MILKING IDIOT!”

“But Yoda-“

The sneer that graced Madam Nu’s usually serene face had him halting in his tracks and her next words were hissed out. “I don’t care what kind of bantha-shit that toad spouted! GET OUT!“

Running like a pack of loth-wolves were chasing him, Qui-Gon fled the commissary, and when Madam Nu turned towards the gawking jedi they quickly turned back to their meals, none wanting to call down her wrath after seeing how effortlessly she’d taken down one of their greatest duelists.

“Y-your padawan?” Came a hesitant voice.

Madam Nu froze, before turning around to face Feemor. Her usually coiffed hair was in disarray, one gray strand falling in her eyes and she’d lost one of her hair pieces somewhere in the fight. Beside her, Master Rancisis was smirking.

Grey eyes met his, and Madam Nu seemed to come back to herself because she nodded authoritatively. “Yes. Mine.”

He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t saw it, but Feemor saw that despite her confident tone, Madam Nu’s hands were shaking.

After Master Ji—After Qui-Gon had repudiated him, he had thought that he’d never have a future. His past so thoroughly taken away from him, a Master he never felt worthy of no longer wanting him. His lineage members wouldn’t look at him. Grandmaster Yoda constantly ignored him. He’d lost his purpose.

But looking around him, at Master Yaddle who smiled affectionately up at him and Master Rancisis who gave a gruff nod or acknowledgement. At his amazing padawan who’s happiness resonated so strongly in the Force, and at this amazing woman who had literally fought for him…he realized that maybe all of those things weren’t true. He did have a place where he belonged, and he had a bright future waiting for him. He had a lineage…a family that loved him, and how had he never seen this before?

How could he mistake their actions as anything but the love and affection it so clearly was? The way Master Yaddle would sneakily bring him treats and caf when Madam Nu wasn’t looking. The endless amount of sweaters and cardigans she gifted him with? Or Master Rancisis’ gruff corrections and patience whenever he needed further information or a willing ear to listen to his latest draft. Or how he always seemed to have fewer interruptions whenever he was in the middle of a research binge. And then there was Madam Nu. Madam Nu who would always send him off when he wasn’t getting enough sleep. Madam Nu who always made sure he didn’t miss too many meals and had access to the research he needed. Who was the first person to defend Feemor, and the one who always encouraged him in her own severe way.

How could he have not known that he belonged to them, as surely as they belonged to him.

Looking into grey eyes, Feemor could only smile. “Okay.”