Chapter Text
Tatooine was a hot planet. It was even hotter inside the Nubian, since they'd had to cut the power to sort out the hyperdrive.
Obi-Wan took off his brown robe, sweating profusely as he worked on removing the generator, unwilling to take off any more with so many strangers around despite feeling hot and uncomfortable.
Qui-Gon was right to leave him with the ship. If the Queen's handmaiden hadn't demanded to be taken with Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan had more than a sneaking suspicion that Captain Panaka might have set off for Anchorhead, which had a larger trading operation than whatever Mos this place was; although, to be fair, it was risky to come here, and not because of the fleeing royal entourage. Tatooine was a wretched den of vice and vermin, and Obi-Wan had no desire to meet any of them. Adolescent Stewjoni were extemely welcome in slavery strongholds, and at twenty-five he was young and fresh-faced enough to excite attention from all the wrong crowd with his current evidence of ripe fertility, if he was caught. Yes, perhaps staying out of the major trade ports was the wiser course.
He wondered idly to himself what the Queen thought of this extreme heat, as he put down the hydrospanner and wiped his forehead. Was she being fanned by her handmaidens as she sat in her voluminous velvets and extravagant hairpiece? Or more likely, was her caked-on make-up sliding down her face like a mummers' tragedy? He chuckled to himself as he got up and flicked the power back on, breathing a little more easily once the air cooling system was back online, bringing the ship back to a habitable temperature and enabling the shields just in time for protection from the weather. Sandstorms. Ugh, who'd voluntarily live here?
Most everyone onboard took the time for refreshment during the storm, cleanliness hardwired into their psyches. Sonic showers were a necessity, never a choice, but Obi-Wan didn't mind them so much. Living and working in a variety of different environments, he took the opportunities when they arose, accepting the gift without criticising the packaging. Since departing the temple for this most recent mission for the Jedi Council, he'd found it difficult to find the time to express his milk effectively, and yes, it was waning, but it still needed to be milked out of him. Of course, the Jedi Council had known no such necessity existed, and he was not eager for them to find out; he was lucky that his breasts were small enough to be well-hidden amongst the voluminous layers and folds of his Jedi robes, and if he had a habit of holding his arms just so to hide them, what of it? He watched his milk drain away into the basin, the 'fresher washing away the evidence in a swirl as he redressed, feeling more comfortable in his own skin now his breasts were lighter and he'd gotten rid of the film of sweat that covered him. And if his thoughts temporarily returned to the temple creche, who would judge? By the time he went back on deck, he was all business once again.
*
Qui-Gon's call asking about any items to trade - anything of value... at all, Obi-Wan? - brought his milk forcibly back to mind, but there was no way - no way - his master meant to trade his milk. His brain stuttered on the likely consequences that a random nobody travelling through Hutt space would have access to that and the questions it'd raise, and he was back where he started: no kriffing way.
"There's a few containers of supplies," Obi-Wan answered his master, before adding, "the Queen's wardrobe, maybe? But not enough for you to barter with - not in the amounts you're looking for."
Qui-Gon shut the com with an affirmative, and Captain Panaka shot him a quick look.
Obi-Wan shrugged an elegant shoulder. "I'm assuming you want to keep your soldiers."
Panaka grimaced. Or was it smiled? Obi-Wan guessed the man hadn't had a lot of practise. Or maybe he thought it was inappropriate to joke about slavery? One of those, definitely.
*
The transmission from Governor Bibble was spotty at best, but it did what it was supposed to do and freaked out the Naboo. The impotence-fear-indecision coming from the Queen was jarring.
Obi-Wan stood up. "It's a trick," he said flatly, observing the responses in facial expressions, body language and the uneasiness in the Force. "Send no reply. Send no transmission of any kind."
It was pleasing, but very odd, how much gratitude was the overwhelming emotion in the little throne room.
He relayed that to his master shortly afterward, briefly describing the Queen as upset, but whether Qui-Gon got what he got from that was debatable, since his master didn't appear to be in a sharing mood, wholly preoccupied with whatever trade negotiations he was organising. That generally meant there was going to be a great deal of lying, mind touching and gambling which his padawan wouldn't approve of, so Obi-Wan assumed any departure would have the caveat, 'hotly pursued by ...' and went to prepare the pilots for their inevitable flight.
*
Qui-Gon wasn't particularly good at sharing intel at the best of times, but he did tend to voice his thoughts aloud, often leaving half his sentences unfinished as he signed off. Obi-Wan gathered from these truncated conversations that he'd met a boy, and something about upgrading a pod, but what he was up to was anyone's guess.
That night, as Qui-Gon sent a digital scan for evaluation of some blood he'd sampled, Obi-Wan got the feeling that the Living Force had gotten hold of his master and sent him off down a tooka burrow. A Force-sensitive tooka burrow, by the looks of it - twenty thousand? That couldn't be right. Obi-Wan started the test again after scrubbing the buffers.
Obi-Wan resigned himself to following ... no doubt hotly pursued ... this new winding path, when the re-test revealed the same results. To settle his mind, he strolled into the galley looking for some tea. The royal cruiser had quite a few fancy options, but Obi-Wan went with the rich and flavourful Oisian blend, which took a while to steep. While looking for a steeping pot, he found a couple of thermajugs in storage and froze, staring at them. If one disappeared inside his robes, well, who would notice? The Force certainly wasn't judging him, if the warm glow in his heart was any indicator.
He passed the next two nights keeping watch, stoic as a sentinel, as the town of Mos Espa disappeared, only the lights of the spaceport docking area unchanging through the hours of darkness. It was strange, and yet wonderful, to see sunrise on a planet with two stars. The true hours of darkness were few, the rest a near-twilight haze of deep purple until dawn came early, the sky gaining a lilac hue as the stars winked out.
On the third morning, Obi-Wan sat on the loading ramp with a new tea, watching Tatoo 1 and 2 rise in a brief blaze of orange and pink fire, listening to the dim and distant braying of some early creature welcoming the day, followed by the sounds of the big local race screaming around the canyons weirdly punctuated by the occasional explosion and more of those haunting brays.
When the crew finally got up, Obi-Wan took advantage of the 'fresher again, taking the time to soothe his aching breasts and expressing his milk into his new thermajug with shaking hands, his heart beating fast as he sealed it. He flashed himself a hot-cheeked, private smile in the reflector before concealing the flask under his robe.
With any luck we'll be travelling today.
*
His luck held.
Just before midday - and unpursued, quite surprisingly - Qui-Gon and his now ragtag crew returned on some sort of giant bug-eaters, judging from their snouts. Obi-Wan went out to meet them.
Qui-Gon didn't dismount. "Start getting this hyperdrive generator installed, Obi-Wan," he said, indicating his cargo, which appeared to be parts, parts and more parts. "I'm going back; some unfinished business. I won't be long."
Of course. "Why do I sense we've picked up another pathetic lifeform?" Obi-Wan asked, mouth twisting wryly.
His master just gazed down at him coolly, and Obi-Wan knew he was right. "It's the boy who's responsible for getting those parts," Qui-Gon retorted, as if collecting sentients who did you favours was normal. Well, Obi-Wan supposed, it was, for him.
"Yes, Master. It shouldn't take long." Obi-Wan nodded and politely said nothing more; he and the techies had quite a job to do by the look of it.
*
Of course, hotly pursued outdid itself. This time, instead of yelling yeomanry and blaster-toting bandits, a kriffing saber-wielder made their getaway a little more exciting. Obi-Wan was up in the cockpit testing the new hyperdrive when Panaka, the decisive handmaiden and their newest recruit burst in.
"Qui-Gon's in trouble!"
Ric Olié glanced back at Obi-Wan with new respect, hands already automatically flicking switches, and Obi-Wan was glad they'd had this conversation about haste already. He had a good view of the fight as he directed Olié overhead, the loading ramp still down, but nothing prepared him for the blast of hate and aborted rage that came through the Force as Qui-Gon jumped to safety.
He and the boy Qui-Gon had acquired ran back to the hold, where Qui-Gon was getting his breath back on the floor, as the astromech closed the ramp. The boy was wired and panicky, questions falling out of him like sand out of a sieve. Obi-Wan got his own question in, but he still couldn't get over the boy - how old was he, even? Qui-Gon snatching younglings was a new one on him.
Eventually Qui-Gon got his bearings and his breath back and introduced him. "Anakin Skywalker, meet Obi-Wan Kenobi."
Obi-Wan nobly ignored the lack of protocol.
"Pleased to meet you! Wow, you're a Jedi too?" the youngling said excitedly, putting his hand out like a gentleman.
Obi-Wan shook his hand gravely, and smiled. The youngling was polite enough, but his Force presence was alight. Obi-Wan blinked, and reinforced his shields.
*
The trip through hyperspace to Coruscant was lengthy, and Obi-Wan slept through half of it, having been up for the previous seventy-odd hours. When he awoke, the ship was silent, and he made his way across to the galley to make some tea. It was peaceful to be awake when everyone else was asleep, and he added a sealed pack of nutri-cakes to his tray when he found them.
He had evidently disturbed Anakin on his way through though, the youngling's distress calling to him as he poured the hot water. Obi-Wan glanced across the central area and his heart went out to the woebegone expression in those eyes. He set another cup on the tray and took the whole thing across to the table where he set it down.
"Would you like some tea?" he asked quietly, looking at the youngling carefully. Anakin was hunched in a corner against the hull, his knees up to his chest, trying to get some warmth from what appeared to be some sort of ... table covering? "Anakin?"
Anakin just looked at him, his head seeming to nod infinitesimally, but nothing came out of his mouth when he moved it.
"You're freezing," Obi-Wan said to himself, absently noting the boy's worn-thin desert garb and cursing Qui-Gon's lack of preparation or thought for the youngling. Not that this was remotely surprising; most of the pathetic lifeforms Qui-Gon ran off with in his quest to save the galaxy became Obi-Wan's courtesy of the care he gave them, and clearly this boy would be no different. On a normal ship, this might not have been an issue, to be fair to Qui-Gon. Most of the older space-faring vessels were warm enough, with the air cycling systems only really concerned with producing breathable air. On a royal flagship cruiser, however, every convenience made for a cooler, odour-free experience. It was, in fact, cold, and doubly so for a desert-born native. Obi-Wan came round beside the boy. "Come here, youngling."
Anakin didn't resist at all, evidently too chilled to expend energy, as Obi-Wan picked him up and moved him to the table seating, with its comfortable curved and padded bench. Obi-Wan sat down next to him.
"Tea is very warming when one is cold," Obi-Wan remarked quietly, careful not to wake Jar Jar despite the fact that he would have liked Jar Jar's feet off the table he was dining at. He poured a little for the boy into a cup, adding a sweetlime stick to make it palatable and putting it into the boy's chilly hands, before extending his warm robe around the boy's shoulders.
Anakin came to life in stages, the warmth seeping slowly into his face as the steam rose.
Obi-Wan poured his own tea and held it similarly close to his face, enjoying the anticipation of the brew.
"It doesn't have any milk," Anakin rasped, nose wrinkling after a tentative sip.
"Traditionally, this sort of tea is served with a citrus-" Obi-Wan began, before realising he did, in fact, have milk available. Heat rushing into his cheeks, he murmured, "Would you like milk in it?"
Anakin nodded.
Obi-Wan set down his tea, and reached down under his robe, and felt for the thermajug just lying there heavy and full by his thigh, and picked it up, and unscrewed the lid. The scent of his own milk wafted out into the air, warm and familiar. Obi-Wan poured a little into Anakin's tea and sealed the lid again.
He couldn't help watching Anakin's face as he sipped his tea, high spots of colour in his own cheeks. Anakin didn't appear to realise he was being watched, his own eyes closed as he finished his drink slowly, savouring the warmth. He didn't notice anything odd, Obi-Wan thought wildly, heart racing. He went back to his own tea and worked on calming his mind. It took a few minutes, if he was honest.
Anakin set his cup down with clumsy fingers, and Obi-Wan reached out automatically to set it right, the boy's hands still chilly compared to his own warmth.
"Would you like a cake?" he asked softly. "Are you hungry? Or would you like some more tea?"
Anakin nodded again, and Obi-Wan opened the packet of nutri-cakes, presenting the boy with a couple. As he picked up the tea to pour again, Anakin interrupted.
"Can I just have milk?" he whispered. "My mom used to make me warm milk sometimes."
Obi-Wan, temporarily bereft of speech, set down the tea and picked up the thermajug, filling the youngling's cup with milk. With warring pride and something like appalled horror at his own behaviour, Obi-Wan felt like he was having an out-of-body experience watching Anakin dip his cake into the warm milk and then suck the milk into his mouth through the cake. And then again and again until the cakes were gone and the boy picked up the cup and drained it, leaving a white moustache on his upper lip before he wiped it on his hand.
Luminous eyes turned to his again, and Obi-Wan didn't know how to say no when the boy wanted more. He just kept pouring until the thermajug was empty.
After that, Anakin was dead to the world, warm and sated, pressed into Obi-Wan's side, tucked under one of his arms and wrapped in his cloak.
And Obi-Wan felt familiar stirrings uncoil deep in his belly.
*
It was good to get back to the Jedi temple on Coruscant, especially after they'd avoided attending the Senate. Obi-Wan took some time in his own chambers to express his milk again before joining Qui-Gon. At one time, I might've taken it to the creche, he thought, strolling through the large building, letting his senses absorb the restful ambience as he walked, but he had no time right now to give in to temptation and visit that little oasis of memory. The temple had always relaxed him, but the feeling of the once-again full thermajug bouncing against his thigh gave him a thrilling sense of excitement-anticipation-satisfaction which he struggled to subdue.
The Jedi Council, as a body, were not generally inclined toward making rapid decisions based on feelings, so Qui-Gon's news made for an uncomfortable meeting. Thankfully, Obi-Wan wasn't required to say anything, but he was surprised that they agreed to the boy being tested. He was old for such an ordeal, and would carry much in the way of unwelcome opinions, emotions and life experience into the testing; this boy was no empty vessel, just waiting to be filled. He said as much to Qui-Gon, but his master was resolute.
"Anakin will become a Jedi," Qui-Gon stated calmly.
"Master, don't defy the Council," Obi-Wan adjured softly. "Not again."
"I will do what I must," Qui-Gon answered, and the mental shrug as he donned the responsibility for Anakin's future was absolute.
Obi-Wan argued a little more, but already knew it was fruitless. His master's mind was made up, and he was going to do what he thought was right, whatever the Council's decision was. No amount of Obi-Wan's goading was going to make him apply himself to the letter of the Code, when the spirit of it was far more suited to his own viewpoint.
*
They were not allowed in the chamber when Anakin was being tested, but the stiff, authoritarian atmosphere as they entered afterward was telling. The way the Council told them - with Anakin right there - that he would not be trained, was more than a little embarrassing. It must have been awful for Anakin, but it was no pyro-filled Life Day for him either. Qui-Gon attempted to take Anakin as his padawan, before receiving a hasty rebuke, since - in case he'd forgotten - he already had one, and his subsequent assertion that Obi-Wan was ready for his knighthood trials (which, to be fair, Obi-Wan wholly agreed with) was likewise readily shot down with a haughty reminder that it was the Council's decision on who was or was not ready for knighthood. Qui-Gon's brief assessment of him as 'headstrong with much to learn, but capable' was not exactly a ringing endorsement of his abilities. The situation was a mess, mostly, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but feel aggrieved with his master for putting him in that position.
The bitterness he felt came out in sniping little arguments where he took the Council's side against Qui-Gon for their whole trip across to meet with the Queen's retinue again. Not that he felt any antipathy for the boy, of course, but this whole situation went against tradition and good sense. Qui-Gon, not appreciating his input, sent him aboard ship ahead of himself and he turned around and saw Anakin, who happened to be standing right behind him, not looking up at all.
As he walked away, the boy said, "Qui-Gon, sir. I don't wanna be a problem," and Obi-Wan felt a trickle of shame for saying those things where the boy could hear. He would make it up to the boy somehow; it wasn't his fault, after all.
*
Obi-Wan was troubled during his evening meditation. Qui-Gon being such a maverick always made for some interesting learning opportunities for Obi-Wan; he admired him for his resolution, while condemning his stubbornness - which was like enjoying a pomme for its crisp sweetness, and despising it for its crunchy freshness. Obi-Wan liked the dichotomy of Qui-Gon, even when he didn't like it at all. It should not mean he compromised his own morality. As he settled into his meditation, he revisited the events of the day which had caused him so much ire. The Force danced around as he tried to focus on those conversations, focusing instead on Anakin. Anakin yesterday, last night, this afternoon. The boy's aura, so stunningly bright with joy and excitement on Tatooine, so dim and dismal here in the Jedi temple; no wonder he had not noticed the boy, even in the transport, his unhappiness had drawn inward enough to make him almost invisible.
He made the effort to look for Anakin when he finished meditating, worried about the youngling's comfort and concerned that he'd driven a wedge between them with his remarks to Qui-Gon. He found the boy in the same place as the previous night, eyeing him warily. He knew another flicker of shame, knowing he deserved the wariness.
"I owe you an apology," he said quietly, sitting down next to the boy and looking him in the eye. "I am Qui-Gon's padawan. He's my Master. I don't always agree with his decisions and his reasoning - as you heard - but I should respect him regardless." He paused and took a deep breath. "I know I said some things which may have hurt you. I expect you heard a lot of things that were hard to hear, today. But I-" he sighed. "I have a lot to learn. I want to apologise for saying things about you that hurt you. You didn't deserve that."
Anakin stared at him with judgment in his eyes. "My mom says that when you are sorry you should explain yourself."
Obi-Wan nodded. "That is fair," he agreed. "I was angry with my master for not talking to me about this before he tried to do it. I was frustrated that he seemed to want to go against the Council without careful consideration. What I considered to be careful consideration," he qualified, rubbing the calluses on his hand, courtesy of years of lightsaber katas. "When I said you were dangerous, I," he blew out a breath and centred himself again. "I meant that it is dangerous, training someone who is older. Historically those who come to the Jedi Order later in life are more susceptible to - to not following it."
"You're talking about the Dark Side," Anakin bit out. "They told me I was afraid of losing my mom. That fear leads to anger and hate and suffering..."
Obi-Wan blanched. "They said that?" he whispered, appalled at the blunt provocation they'd offered this youngling with no training.
"Well, I am angry," Anakin muttered.
Obi-Wan barked a laugh. "Who hasn't been, today? Anakin, Qui-Gon was right. The future is uncertain, your future is uncertain. Whose isn't?" he murmured softly. "Here, let me make peace with you. I am sorry for adding to your burdens today. Will you forgive me?"
Anakin eyed him sceptically. "Do you have any more milk?"
Obi-Wan flushed and bit his lip. "I do, in fact," he admitted.
Anakin tumbled into motion, and soon the galley was light one cup and a packet of nutri-cakes.
Later, once he'd set the empty thermajug in the steriliser, Obi-Wan tugged the drowsy youngling from the table. "Come on, I can't sleep sat at a table. You can bunk with me."
And a little later, when Qui-Gon wandered past on his way to the 'fresher, he saw Anakin tucked in his padawan's embrace, the boy's face slack with sleep, Obi-Wan's padawan braid curled around one little hand. A little flutter of awareness in the Force brought a rare smile to the Master's face.
*
The next day was all business.
They arrived over Naboo not long after midday, local time, and by then Obi-Wan had been up for hours, talking through plans with the Queen and her guards, and trying to obey Qui-Gon's admonitions to let them lead. It was difficult for him to do that, as a natural tactitian, and he found himself rewording some of their plans subtly, finessing them until Qui-Gon's disapproval reached its limit. He excused himself then for a while, took a turn in the 'fresher and expressed once again into the thermajug before clipping it to his belt. It was almost becoming a habit. He made his way to the cockpit to talk to Olié, where he found Anakin learning the Nubian flight controls with the pilot, who was looking as pleased as a proud father.
The Trade Federation's blockade had disappeared, leaving only a droid control ship in orbit over the inhabited landmass. It seemed ominous, if somewhat arrogant, but they didn't have much time to ponder it, racing for the planet's surface all while finalising plans, weapons and armour - and outfits in the Queen's case. Obi-Wan tucked a pack of nutribars into Anakin's smock before they reached the ground.
Once outside, there was a great deal of activity.
"Do you think the Queen's idea will work?" Obi-Wan mused, watching Jar Jar's disappearance with a calmness he was surprised he felt. His master replied matter-of-factly, but their bond hummed with the Queen's idea? and Obi-Wan was suddenly anxious to mend their relationship.
"I'm... I'm sorry for my behaviour, Master," he said sincerely. "It is not my place to disagree with you about the boy... and I am grateful you think I am ready to take the trials."
Qui-Gon looked at him for a long moment and smiled. "You've been a good apprentice, Obi-Wan, and you're a much wiser man than I am. I foresee you will become a great Jedi Knight."
Obi-Wan did not gape, but that was only because he had excellent control.
*
That night, they camped out in the ancient temple courtyards that the Gungans thought they had hidden themselves in. The Queen had skillfully negotiated with them and the resulting friendship looked to be quite rewarding, despite the possible loss of life on the morrow. Obi-Wan settled in against the fork of a large tree with his thick robe around him, the bracken on the ground making for softer, drier bedding than the long grass would, come morning. Qui-Gon did similarly, in a different fork of the same tree, and Anakin initially bedded down with the handmaidens in the most protected area.
Some time in the night, the boy found him. Obi-Wan was meditating shallowly when he noticed the movement, the boy getting up to pass water, but not going back to his place. He seemed a little lost and uncertain, trying to peer through the darkness and shivering slightly.
"Anakin," Obi-Wan called softly with a flicker of Force awareness.
Anakin zeroed in on his position and ran quickly across to the tree, straddling Obi-Wan's seated form and cuddling in.
"Okay," Obi-Wan muttered, as the shivering continued. "I take it you're staying here?"
"Uh huh," Anakin hummed sleepily against his neck, and Obi-Wan shifted enough to wrap his robe around the boy too, arms enclosing him in a warm embrace.
The shivering stopped shortly thereafter, and the youngling stretched out somewhat, one knee knocking the thermajug at his side. Still half-asleep, Anakin's hand slid down the side of Obi-Wan's body. "Need some," he muttered, reaching down to snag the flask.
"Of course," Obi-Wan murmured, smiling wryly at the boy's ineffectual fumbling and reaching to get it himself.
He didn't have a cup, out here, so it was awkward, trying to hold the heavy thermajug just so, while Anakin took large slow mouthfuls, his head heavier and heavier until it was resting on Obi-Wan's chest, his eyes struggling to stay open. Between one breath and the next, the boy was asleep. Obi-Wan smiled, sealed the flask and set it aside, holding the boy snugly all night long.
*
The following day almost passed in a blur of activity. The only downside, from Obi-Wan's point of view, was having a youngling anywhere near the fighting. Really, the Council were reckless in sending two Jedi into a hostile situation with a youngling; even if they refused to train him they ought to have provided for him in some other way. It was quite a novel experience, thinking that the Jedi Council were wrong, and Obi-Wan put the thought onto a shelf for perusal later. Qui-Gon's command to 'find a safe place and stay there' was vague at best, considering the terrain, although Anakin did find a great place to hide out in the cockpit of one of the fighters.
But then Obi-Wan couldn't think about anything else, because there in front of them was a creature out of nightmare.
The Sith Lord, last seen on Tatooine, was here.
Anger and hate rolled off him in waves, cold and terrifying, as he stood in their path; his silence taunting them all as the Naboo natives froze in fear.
"We'll handle this," Qui-Gon's Force-strong voice cut through the stultifying horror, allowing the others to move, stumbling out of the way as Obi-Wan rolled his shoulders and walked forward with his master.
The Sith Lord drew back his hood, revealing his dread visage: a horrifying mask of jagged dark tattoos, a crown of horns and fiery eyes. Zabrak, the Force whispered. So very lost; fallen to the dark.
As one, the Jedi loosened their cloaks and left them on the floor.
The Sith drew his lightsaber, every movement calculated and menacing, igniting one blade, red as blood. The whole world paused, hypnotised as he ignited its double, equally scarlet-hued.
As one, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan moved to ready position, green and blue lightsabers igniting.
And then the fight began.
*
Qui-Gon had many faults as a man and as a master, but in spite of all of them, Obi-Wan loved him. Watching from behind a rayshield while the Sith Lord ended his master's life was gut-wrenching; and if the Sith Lord wanted Obi-Wan off his game, mired in anger and grief, he'd found a perfect way to do it. He couldn't ever recall much of his fight with the monster afterwards, lost in hacking and slashing - attack attack attack. It was not until he found himself once again dangling over a precipice, weapon gone, that he found reason again, centred himself and fought smarter, not harder. It was easy, in the end.
It was worse to hear Qui-Gon's final words; so much harder than avenging his death. To hear him stutter how it was too late, too late for him and bind him in a promise to train Anakin, that Anakin was the chosen one and that he would bring balance. And how could he, when Qui-Gon dying was unbalancing the karking galaxy?
*
Finding Anakin after the day he'd had was his only priority. He'd been stunned to hear of the boy's accidental but timely heroics in the exosphere, and of course he was gladdened by the survival and success of the Queen's plan and the lack of annihilation of the Gungans, but in truth he just wanted time and space to grieve and gather himself together.
After contacting the Jedi Council with the tragic news, he oversaw the collection of Qui-Gon's body, and was reassured that it would be carefully wrapped and taken to a cool chamber before he took Anakin and retreated to quarters assigned them by the Queen herself. His and Qui-Gon's robes had been collected from the fighter hangar and dropped off outside the door.
Anakin, having known Qui-Gon for just over a week, was nonetheless similarly affected by his death; at first shocked into silence and then weeping copiously into Obi-Wan's neck, until Obi-Wan's tunic felt damp.
"H-he was always telling me to remember things," Anakin sniffled wetly, switching to Obi-Wan's dry shoulder. "I can't remember any of them."
"You listened," Obi-Wan murmured, rubbing his back. "The Force will bring the important things back to your remembrance, dearheart."
And he hoped fervently that was true, because his own head was echoing with loss and silence also.
*
"Obi-Wan," Anakin asked plaintively, barely a quarter of the way through the meal that had been sent up a couple of hours later. "What's going to happen to me now? Where will I go?"
"You will be going with me," Obi-Wan said. "I'll be your master."
"But what if they won't let you -?"
"It's not going to change anything," Obi-Wan hissed, drawing the boy backward into his arms possessively. "They cannot - I won't -" he took a deep breath and relaxed his grip, slightly appalled at himself. "Dearheart, I promised Qui-Gon. It's a Force-bound agreement. They cannot do anything about it."
"Is that true?" Anakin wriggled backward until he could look Obi-Wan in the eye.
"I promise you, Anakin, it's as true as I am. I gave my word; I meant it." Obi-Wan brought his forehead down to touch with Anakin's. "I will train you with everything I have."
It seemed to settle the boy for a while, until Anakin broke the silence with a complaint.
"I don't want the food," he whispered. "Do I have to eat it?"
"Not if you're not hungry," Obi-Wan answered agreeably. He had no such compunctions himself. The little pastries were filled with all sorts of savoury meats, fish, cheeses and vegetables, and possibly some other things - whatever they were, they were delicious. He ate one of Anakin's.
"Can't I just have your milk, Obi-Wan?"
"I, er," Obi-Wan prevaricated, wondering how to manage the request. "I think I left the thermajug ..."
"You did, but I took it when we went," Anakin replied blithely. "I knew you'd need it."
He scrambled across the room to where he'd left a pile of things one of the handmaidens had given him, a tired smile on his face as he came back with the thermajug. "I did have some when we were on autopilot," he admitted with a yawn, "with some of those bars you gave me. It has a tube you can drink from on the inside."
"So it does," Obi-Wan gave a small smile, taking the flask and examining it. "It's been a long day, dearheart. If you hadn't had anything I'd be worried."
He poured a cup for the youngling, somewhat surprised to find that was all that was in the flask. Anakin put everything he had into drinking it, his eyelids drooping as he reached the end, body heading for a crash.
Obi-Wan stole the cup before it fell, catching the swaying youngling and depositing him on the large bed, once again dead to the world. He gazed down at his new charge, one thumb coming up to wipe his upper lip of milk. He sighed softly and took the boy's boots and belt off, pulling up the thin coverlet on the bed and laying it over him gently.
Kriff, he was so kriffing tired. He laughed to himself, hearing Qui-Gon admonishing him for lack of control over his language, promptly set himself off through another wave of grief and finally tidied up the room a little. The empty plates went outside the door and Obi-Wan took himself off for a water shower - oh this wonderful planet with its abundant fresh water! - taking the flask with him. His breasts were heavy and bordering on painfully full after the long day; it would be a relief to milk himself. After some scrubbing under the hottest setting, Obi-Wan judged the thermajug ready for use again, expressing his milk for Anakin ready for the morning. Not long after his shower he stumbled into the bed, hair still damp, and passed out, exhausted.
*
The following morning when he awoke, Anakin was already out on the balcony watching the different ships arriving, the tube of the thermajug in his mouth.
"What is it, Anakin?" Obi-Wan clambered out of the bed as the boy stiffened, his gently glowing aura sharpening into something akin to vulptex fur.
Anakin just pointed, the tube never leaving his mouth, and Obi-Wan took in the sight of the Jedi Council members descending from one of the cruisers.
"Ah," he gave a wry smile. "Well. Today cannot be as bad as yesterday, at least." He gave a large yawn and stretched. "Nothing to worry about from them, Ani."
Anakin eyed him curiously and Obi-Wan smiled encouragingly. "Let's get dressed and have breakfast."
The boy cocked his head to the side, still sucking on his tube and waved a hand at his already-clothed body.
Obi-Wan breathed deeply and prepared for war.
"Dearheart, you have been wearing those clothes for the entire time I have known you. This is not normal, however, and it is time you changed your clothes. You can have a bath, while they have a sonic wash with mine. Then at least we'll feel prepared to face our ... visitors."
Anakin curled his lip, and Obi-Wan gave him a soft smile. "And you can eat something solid as well. Why don't you go and see what they've put outside the door?"
The grumpy youngling did, but the fancy bread and exotic fruit medley evidently wasn't what he was expecting. His already sad face crumpled and Obi-Wan swept the tray out of his hands onto the table before the tears fell. "Heyyy," he soothed, pulling the unresponsive boy into a hug. "You don't have to have that if you don't want to. What do you like for breakfast?"
Hot tears burned Obi-Wan's neck again, and it took a while for Anakin to get his breathing under control enough to speak. Obi-Wan just rubbed his back and hummed encouragingly until the words came. Eventually, just as Obi-Wan was starting to doubt this method, he whispered. "Mom sometimes made flatcakes with pallies or pikas, or dweezels, if we could afford it. Mostly we just had leftover polta with eggs, y'know, spiced up."
"I see," Obi-Wan said thoughtfully. "Well, that explains it. The people in this shiny palace have no idea what decent, hard-working folk eat."
Anakin snorted, and Obi-Wan smiled into his hair. "I expect they'll serve us birds made of ice and sugar at the next meal. We shall have to suffer through it."
Anakin's stiff frame softened as he curved into Obi-Wan's hug with a wet-sounding gulp of air. Obi-Wan picked up the thermajug and found it practically empty. Already? How long had Anakin been awake?
"Come on," he murmured. "Let's get washed up."
*
If Obi-Wan had thought that the main struggle of the day was going to be dealing with the Council, he was disabused of that notion in the refresher. Anakin had never had a water shower, and could not be induced to get in one, even with Obi-Wan offering to hold the showerhead below his face. He compromised by agreeing to have a bath, but would not get in to any water deeper than his ankles. Since that was a result, at least, Obi-Wan handed him a seasponge and left him to it, figuring that least said, soonest mended.
He took a shower himself, refilling the thermajug on automatic pilot, relieving his breasts of their full heaviness. Their clothes had finished their sonic cycle by the time they got out and the breakfast which had so upset Anakin was handled with distraction techniques.
"So what does the fruit on Tatooine taste like?" Obi-Wan asked, cutting the Naboo offerings into bitesize pieces. "Is it like anything I might know?" He popped a piece of the red fruit into his mouth and winced. "Oh that's sour."
"Is it?" Anakin perked up. "The cacta fruit is sour at home." He tried a little and looked pityingly at Obi-Wan. "That's not even a little bit -" he began, then softened his tone a little. "Well, I guess if you're not used to it, but it's just ... refreshing, I think."
"I see," Obi-Wan lied, not seeing at all. "I will leave that to you. And I am not at all sure I want to try this green thing," he said, poking it with a knife and taking a careful sniff.
Anakin, embolded by Obi-Wan's seemingly nervous stance, bit into the thing. It crunched. "It's sweet," he reported. "Not as nice as a pika, but okay."
Obi-Wan, never having tried pika or green thing before, was no wiser. He had a bite anyway, spurred on by Anakin's approval. "I'll agree, that's not too bad. A bit hard, but it's good. Like the pommes on Ryloth."
"You should have some of the yellow seeds in this one," Anakin smiled, licking them out of a small round fruit with abandon, another in his hand, ready to be demolished. "They're so good."
Obi-Wan rolled some of the fancy bread into a stick and dipped it in the one in Anakin's hand. It was whipped away from him instantly. "Get your own," the boy growled, tongue possessively going to work on his violated fruit.
Obi-Wan laughed. "I would," he pointed out, "if there were any left. But since you said I should have some," he shut his eyes and bit the end of his dipped bread. "Oh yeah," he drawled. "That's the business. Don't eat all the seeds. We'll see if we can grow one."
"Huh?" Anakin squinted into the fruit. "Um, they're all gone."
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "Of course they are. We'll have to find out what they are and get some more."
*
Breakfast was over not long afterwards, as a gentle knock on the door interrupted their philosophical debate on the nature of bread and the fancy offshoots thereof.
The former Senator of Naboo, now the Chancellor of the Republic, was arriving, and everyone was gathering to meet and hand over the two Neimoidians who had taken it upon themselves to commit acts of war.
The Jedi had already met up with Palpatine on his ship, and Obi-Wan and Anakin hurried to join the Queen and her guards at the official welcome. It was all very political and pointless. The Chancellor was positively perky despite the drastic loss of life to his own people, and the major loss of Qui-Gon Jinn; Obi-Wan supposed he was just a shallow politician and tried not to hold it against him.
The Jedi followed the Chancellor out of the ship at a more sedate pace.
"Don't worry. Just be polite," Obi-Wan murmured, as they found themselves in the path of the council members.
Anakin executed a perfect bow to the approaching Jedi, which clearly he'd learned from the handmaidens of Queen Amidala. Obi-Wan wanted to laugh, but projected serene grace until they'd passed. At least, he hoped he did.
"You are a little molator," Obi-Wan chided softly, a hand on Anakin's neck.
Anakin gazed at him innocently, and Obi-Wan gave him a gentle squeeze as they walked.
Obi-Wan focused on shielding and keeping himself calm for much of the day, the steady weight of Anakin at his side keeping him grounded. After latemeal, Master Yoda took him aside and knighted him. It wasn't the traditional ceremony - perhaps that would come later? - but the Council had granted him the rank nonetheless. The ancient master's rant afterward did put his back up though, and he wasn't afraid to push back at the Grandmaster.
"Confer on you, the level of Jedi Knight the Council does," Yoda intoned soberly. "But agree with your taking this boy as your padawan learner, I do not."
"Qui-Gon believed in him," Obi-Wan reminded him.
"The Chosen One, the boy may be," agreed Yoda, grumpily. "Nevertheless, grave danger I fear in his training."
Obi-Wan sighed internally. "Master Yoda, I gave Qui-Gon my word. I will train Anakin. Without the approval of the Council if I must." And wasn't that a turn-up for the books? Qui-Gon would be laughing if he could see me now, Obi-Wan mused. I may have much to learn, but some things you taught me very well, Master.
Evidently Yoda noticed it too. "Qui-Gon's defiance I sense in you. Need that, you do not," he snapped, before heaving his own little sigh. "Agree with you, the Council does. Your apprentice, Skywalker will be."
*
Obi-Wan rejoiced on his way back to find Anakin and give him the news. The boy had been waiting all day for some indication from the Council, and there had been no encouraging response whatsoever, not even smiles at the midday meal. Obi-Wan had let him go off with Padmé for part of the afternoon, trusting the Queen's guard to look after him as he took some time to make arrangements for the future.
He found him again at the funeral pyre as the ceremony began, weaving his way through the various attendees until he was standing with Anakin, ineffable sadness on his face as he looked at the burning body of the Jedi Master.
His distress held Obi-Wan's attention, and he turned, a doleful expression on his face.
"What will happen to me now?" he asked, again.
Obi-Wan sent him a wave of courage-faithfulness-peace. "The Council has granted me permission to train you," he said huskily, the solemnity of the evening affecting his throat. "You will be a Jedi, I promise." And I'd have done it even if they hadn't, he thought, looking at the boy's dear face.
Anakin nodded, comforted though his lip trembled a little, but he turned back to the flame, honouring the man who'd lifted him out of his old life with promises he couldn't fulfil.