Archive of Our Own

A long time ago, in a faraway galaxy, a Jedi lived in a beautiful Temple. Although he had served long enough to earn a retirement several times over, the Jedi was dedicated to his work, generous and gentle and kind.

But then, one cold night, the Jedi’s old Master came to the Temple and requested that they dine together, for old time’s sake. As they supped, their conversation turned to the old Master’s true purpose – a war was coming, he said, and he sought the Jedi’s support for his cause. The Jedi refused, on the grounds that those who dwelt in the Temple were keepers of the peace, not soldiers. The old Master warned him that a time might soon be coming where they would have to put down the mantle of peacekeeper and take up arms to fight, but the Jedi again refused.

Upon this second refusal, the old Master’s genial façade melted away to reveal a sinister darkness. The Jedi tried to stop him, but it was too late, for the old Master had seen that there was no way to sway the Jedi onto his dark path, and, in anger, he unleashed a powerful dark spell on the Temple and all who lived there.

If the Jedi could find someone for whom he would be willing to set aside the mantle of peacekeeper, then the spell would be broken and all would be set free. If not, then the Jedi and the Temple would be doomed to remain cursed for all time. As the years passed, the Jedi began to lose hope, for who would come to seek service from a cursed Jedi?

When Anakin doesn’t return exactly at the hour he promised, Obi-Wan is not initially concerned. Anakin is young, after all, and the fair is exciting and distracting. He can easily imagine all manner of inventions and people and food that might have caused Anakin to lose track of time.

But then Anakin is two hours late, and then three hours late, and then four hours late.

As the sun sinks, Obi-Wan finds Shmi in the kitchen staring out the window. A damp rag is crumpled on the countertop; she must have been trying to clean to distract herself. Obi-Wan can sympathize, as he’s spent the last hour folding all of their laundry to keep his mind off the time. But now, with the sun well and truly below the horizon, it’s impossible to not imagine the worst.

“There was a Podrace scheduled,” Shmi says, struggling to keep her voice positive. “He was so excited about it. He might have just – just stayed a little too late, after the race had finished.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agrees, trying to keep his voice equally calm. “Or he might have gone to the market and found something that caught his eye. You know he likes to bring you back gifts.”

Shmi wrings her hands together. “Or he might have – There are inns, along the route. He might have found one to stay at, rather than risk continuing on in darkness.”

“He might have.”

Deep down, though, Obi-Wan knows it’s a fool’s hope. Inns are a luxury beyond their means, and Anakin is well aware of that. He would not have wanted to spend any of the credits he earned at the fair on a frivolous expense; he would have tried to bring all his earnings home, so that their little family could be at ease that they would survive the winter.

So he grasps Shmi’s hand, and she grasps his, and they stare at the window and wait.

Eventually, Obi-Wan coaxes Shmi to go to bed and let him continue to wait. He promises to wake her the instant he sees something, and she retires with a strict warning that she will take the morning shift and that he is not to exhaust himself by staying up all night.

“Yes, my lady,” Obi-Wan says, sweeping into a flourish-filled bow.

His antics earn him a swat on the head, but also a small smile, which is what Obi-Wan had been aiming for. Shmi had shown great kindness in taking in Obi-Wan years ago, when he had been nothing more than a starving orphan on the streets, and he knows that it was no easy feat for her to raise two boys on the meager income from the shop. He has no money with which to repay for, so the least he can do is bring her joy from time to time.

And, of course, do some chores. As the candle burns lower and lower, Obi-Wan washes the dishes and sweeps the floors and even tackles some of the repairs in their ever-present mending basket. He’s not as good as Shmi, but he’s better than Anakin, and it takes enough concentration to keep him from worrying his lips bloody. In fact, he’s in the middle of some very tricky stitching around an extremely inconvenient hole in Anakin’s trousers when the door bursts open.

The figure that falls inside is soaked to the bone, pale as a ghost, and shaking from head to toe. Still, Obi-Wan would know Anakin anywhere; he drops his mending and leaps to his feet.

“Shmi!” he yells to the bedrooms, and then: “Anakin, thank the gods you’re home, we’ve been worried sick, you – gods, you’re cold as ice!”

Anakin trembles uncontrollably on the floor. He doesn’t respond to Obi-Wan’s words; his eyes are darting all over, as if he sees things that aren’t there. Obi-Wan grabs his arm and drags him to the fireplace. It’s almost burned down to the embers, but he grabs a log and heaves it into the fire.

“Ani!” Shmi exclaims, rushing into the room. “Oh my gods, Ani, what’s happened to you?”

“He won’t talk to me,” Obi-Wan says, throwing another log on. “And he’s so cold.”

“And – And shaking,” Shmi says, trying and failing to hug Anakin. “Gods, he’s acting like the mice Artoo catches do when that cat rattles them half to death instead of eating them!”

“Maybe it’s the cold. His clothes are soaked – if we can get him warm, maybe – ”

“Yes, quickly,” Shmi agrees.

Together, they manage to wrestle Anakin’s cloak and overtunic off. Obi-Wan lays those over their chairs to begin to dry while Shmi bustles around making a hot drink, although it takes the both of them to stabilize Anakin long enough to actually get some of the drink into him. It seems to help though; after only a few sips, the awful teeth chattering and quivering begins to slow, and then stops altogether.

And then: “Obi-Wan?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says, squeezing his arm. “It’s me.”

“Mom?”

“Anakin,” Shmi says, and the relief is clear in her voice. “Oh, Ani, we were so worried. Did something happen at the fair?”

Anakin shudders. “No. Not the fair. After – After the fair.”

Obi-Wan shares a grim look with Shmi. The road to the fair is well traveled, but it’s far, and, well. Bad things do sometimes happen when a long journey is involved.

Shmi gentles her voice. “Did you get robbed, Ani?”

But Anakin shakes his head. “No, no. I left when there was still plenty of daylight, so I didn’t run into any trouble on the road. But then I – I tried to take a shortcut.”

“A shortcut?” Obi-Wan asks in confusion, because they’ve all been to the fair multiple times, and they all know the route. Hell, at this rate, even Threepio can traverse the route, and that horse is the most faint of heart animal that Obi-Wan has ever met.

“I came across a miraculous thing,” Anakin continues, as if he doesn’t even hear Obi-Wan. “A garden, the biggest I’ve ever seen. It had trees and bushes and – and every plant you could ever dream of, and most of them were blooming, even though it’s almost winter. I meant to leave once I realized I was trespassing, but . . .”

“But?” Shmi prompts.

“But then I saw it,” Anakin says in a hushed voice. “A rose bush. Almost taller than me, with roses as big as my hand. And – And Padmé loves roses, and I thought surely that one wouldn’t be missed – ”

Obi-Wan bites back a groan. He hadn’t really had any opinions on Anakin’s little crush – mostly because Anakin usually went absolutely tongue-tied whenever Padmé was around, and could barely stammer out a word or two before fleeing the premises. He had known, vaguely, that Anakin wanted to court her, but he had thought that Anakin would do something normal, like craft a little gift or make a nice meal.

Not steal a rose. Especially since Anakin knows well the sentence for thieves.

The color drains from Shmi’s face. “Ani, the lord, did he – ”

“No, he didn’t take my hand,” Anakin says. He holds up both of his arms, making Obi-Wan and Shmi sigh with relief. “But he – it was so strange – I, I could swear that the garden was enchanted.”

“What makes you say that?” Obi-Wan asks curiously.

Anakin swallows hard. “Because – Because the tree next to the rosebush started talking to me once I took the rose.”

Obi-Wan blinks. He’s heard of witchcraft and enchantments before. In fact, their town, like any other, has a pyre kept ever ready to burn, should someone be convicted of laying a curse or practicing an enchantment. But as far as he knows, the town has never burnt any witch at the stake here – for as long as they’ve lived here, and quite possibly for the entire history of the town.

Anakin sees his face and scowls. “I swear to you, that tree spoke, Obi-Wan. And – And not like you and I speak. In strange tongues. Like it was trying to trick me.”

“We believe you, Ani,” Shmi says firmly. “What did the tree say?”

“Something about – about how I was planning to pay for taking the rose. A life for a life.”

“A thief loses a hand, not his life,” Obi-Wan points out. “Why a life?”

“Because the rose is enchanted,” Anakin says, like it’s obvious. He sits up and digs around in his pockets. After a few moments of squirming, he draws something out and lays it in front of the fire.

At first glance, it appears to be a simple rose. But then, as Obi-Wan looks closer, he realizes that the rose is in full bloom too, even though winter is swiftly approaching and all of the trees have shed their leaves and the bushes their flowers. It’s also, as Anakin said, the biggest rose Obi-Wan has ever seen, large enough to dwarf Anakin’s hand.

And it’s glowing. Gently, but glowing all the same, and not from the fire.

Shmi reaches out with her hand and brushes a finger against one of the petals before Obi-Wan can stop her. Thankfully, she does not cut her finger or spark any other kind of dangerous enchantment, but the rose glows a little brighter where she touched it.

“Gods save us,” Shmi breathes. “It is enchanted.”

“And I don’t suppose . . . you could have returned it?” Obi-Wan asks warily.

Anakin hangs his head in shame. “The tree told me that it was too late. I had already broken off a stem; I couldn’t just . . . put it back. I had to trade for it. Something – Someone valued was needed in return. It said,” and here his eyes fill with tears, “It said I could come back to say good-bye.”

Shmi does not gasp in horror. Nor does she fall into loud weeping. She’s a strong woman – Obi-Wan knows this, after years of watching her stretch their food into one more meal, coax their fire to last one more night, make their shop survive one more month.

Yet the despair that fills her eyes – it’s almost as bad as if she had fallen over weeping.

“Mom,” Anakin says desperately, reaching for her, “Mom, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know – ”

“Maybe you misunderstood,” Shmi says. “Maybe – Maybe it was just a trick. Maybe you don’t need to go back – ”

But Anakin shakes his head. “The rose,” he says miserably. “The tree said that the rose would glow until the price is paid. Only then will it be released from the enchantment and be a normal rose. And – And the tree gave me a crystal, as a reminder,” he concludes, and places a glowing crystal blue as the sky next to the rose.

Shmi does begin to cry, then. Anakin cries too, and they huddle together in a mass of tears and limbs as Obi-Wan stares at the rose.

Someone valued, he thinks. A life for a life.

And, well – he’d always wanted to repay Shmi somehow for the kindness she had shown him, hadn’t he?

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “I’ll go,” he says.

Anakin’s head jerks up. “You can’t! I have to – ”

“The tree told you someone valued,” Obi-Wan says. “It never said it had to be you. Just someone. Enchantments – The language matters, with enchantments. That’s what we’ve always been taught, right? So. So that means that I can go.”

“Obi-Wan, no – ”

“It’s okay,” he reassures Shmi, forcing a smile. “It’s not like I’m losing much, am I? You have the shop, and Anakin has his whole future, and if we can – if I can get this rose to stop glowing, it’ll be pretty enough. Maybe you can actually catch Padmé’s eye with it. And then – And then, you know. Have a nice life.”

“But Obi-Wan – ”

“There’s no but,” Obi-Wan says. He scoops up the crystal. “I’m going to go in your place, Anakin. I’ll pay the debt. And you can’t stop me.”

Obi-Wan sneaks out early the next morning. It is not the noblest of maneuvers, he knows, but Anakin keeps trying to pickpocket the crystal back and Shmi keeps giving him sad eyes, and he can only fend them off for so long. Fortunately, it’s easy to pack up his bed – a pile of linens and pillows on the floor – and he only has a few clothes that are easily stuffed in a pack, so he’s able to be on his way in only a few minutes.

It is, perhaps, a little sad that the mark of his life comes down to a pile of pillows and a few extra shirts, but Obi-Wan doesn’t let himself dwell on it. It’s him or Anakin, and at least Anakin has a future with the shop and his inventions and maybe even Padmé.

Threepio is rather less appreciative of being roused at the crack of dawn. He snorts and stomps his hooves, and Obi-Wan has to bribe him with a few carrots to get him to settle down. He wouldn’t even take the horse, but Threepio will know where Anakin went – and more importantly, the horse will know how to get back, so that Anakin and Shmi won’t be deprived of him.

“Alright, Threepio,” Obi-Wan murmurs as he mounts up. “Let’s go. Take me back where you and Anakin went yesterday.”

Threepio gives him a derisive snort, but he plunges ahead into the cold morning. Obi-Wan shivers and tucks his nose into his coat. It’s worn and old and he’d been meaning to replace it – now that he’s heading to what is probably his death, he’s morbidly glad that he didn’t waste the credits.

After what feels like hours, Threepio turns away from the main road. He heads into a small path, one covered in overgrown trees and bushes. Obi-Wan has to duck a few times; it’s clear that this path is hardly traveled. And it makes sense – if Threepio hadn’t turned down it, Obi-Wan would never have noticed it.

“Gods, Anakin, what possessed you to go down here?” Obi-Wan mutters, shoving another branch out of the way before it hits him in the face. “And no, that doesn’t mean stop, Threepio.”

Threepio gives him a sad neigh.

“Come on,” Obi-Wan urges. He nudges Threepio in the flank. “You just have to bring me to the garden. After that, I can send you home and you can be with Anakin in your nice warm shed.”

It takes a bit of convincing, but eventually Threepio does get moving again. He plods along on the path, which looks more menacing with each passing moment. The sun barely makes it through the greenery overhead, even though it’s full daylight out; Obi-Wan wishes, briefly, that he had taken a lantern or light.

And then, just as suddenly as the path had narrowed and become overgrown, it widens and clears and –

“Stars above,” Obi-Wan breathes.

Threepio snorts and tosses his head as Obi-Wan halts him; Obi-Wan pets his neck on sheer instinct alone, because almost all of his attention is on the frankly enormous garden splayed out in front of him. Apparently, Anakin had not been exaggerating when he’d described the garden as the biggest he’d ever seen. Obi-Wan squints and can barely even see where the garden ends.

And it most definitely is in bloom. Oh, some of the trees and bushes around the edge are barren like the rest of the world, but a few steps in, and everything is as lush and green as the middle of summer.

Obi-Wan’s never seen an enchantment before, but he knows immediately that this is it.

Slowly and carefully, he dismounts from Threepio. The contrary animal immediately snorts and paws the ground, as grumpy about Obi-Wan getting off as he was about Obi-Wan getting on.

“Okay, stop, stop,” Obi-Wan hisses. “Let’s not cause any more damage, please?”

Threepio stops pawing, thankfully. Unfortunately, the horse also seems extremely disinclined to lead Obi-Wan further, so Obi-Wan has to pick his way through the garden based on where he thinks Anakin might have gone.

As he walks, he finds it difficult not to stop and gape. Some of the plants are ones Obi-Wan is familiar with, but most are not – towering trees of golds and blues, bushes dappled in shades of red and orange, flowers in shapes like slippers and cups. And that doesn’t even count the numerous fruits amongst the greenery, all of which smell lush and tantalizing in the most indescribable and foreign of ways.

Finally, at long last, Obi-Wan finds the rose bush. It is surprisingly easy to spot, since even though the flowers are not glowing, it’s the only bush with a gap in the pattern of blossoms.

A gap that might be explained by, say, a wandering human who had plucked a rose.

Strangely, though, Obi-Wan sees no tree nearby. The rose bush stands alone, surrounded by nothing more than moss and clover. The closest thing is a shallow pool, with water that glitters like the ground beneath it is covered in precious metals.

Obi-Wan spends a few moments more looking around, but he sees no other rose bushes nearby. And the ones in the distance look pristine and untouched. He also sees no signs of a gardener; no trowels or buckets or equipment shed.

He does, however, see a terrifying large structure that he can only describe as a castle.

“Right,” Obi-Wan mutters. He takes a deep breath. “Let’s go knock and face our doom, shall we?”

Threepio snorts in his ear. Obi-Wan jumps.

“Oh gods – not you,” he says, stroking that soft nose. “You can go home, you know. Anakin is probably missing you by now.”

Threepio pointedly stays put.

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “Fine, suit yourself,” he tells the contrary horse, and sets off for the castle.

With each step, the castle looms even larger in his vision. It’s majestic and grand, gleaming in the sun, and just like the trees and bushes and flowers, it’s unlike any castle he’s ever seen or heard of before. There are towers, for starters, but only five – not the dozens most castles seem to boast. Most of the castle is a series of squares and rectangles, with plain windows and muted stripes of colors. It’s beautiful in its simplicity, to be sure, but it’s not quite what Obi-Wan imagined when he saw the grandiosity of the garden.

Even the stars are unassuming – just a series of steps heading up, with no fancy fountains or golden rails or extravagant banners flying. Obi-Wan walks up them and tries not to think about how each step leads closer to his death.

All too soon, he is at the door. The doors, at least, do fit in his imaginings of a castle, for they are tall and large and look to require the strength of ten men to open them. He puts his hand on the stone, musters his courage, lifts his fist to knock –

And the door swings open, as easily and soundlessly as a leaf moving in the wind.

The visible reminder of the castle’s enchanted status really doesn’t help. Obi-Wan swallows down the rising bile in his throat. He peers through the door.

“Hello?” he calls out.

The castle is enormous, so perhaps it shouldn’t be that surprising that his voice echoes in the cavernous space. And yet, when his hello bounces off the bare floors and empty walls and comes back to him, it still makes him shiver a little bit. Not that he would have been happier if he had been greeted with a castle bustling with enchanted spirits or creatures, but at least then he wouldn’t be imagining what the curse might have done to everyone who used to dwell in this castle.

He takes a step into the hall and clears his throat. “Hello?” he tries again, a little louder.

Hello hello hello comes the bouncing echo back.

Obi-Wan risks walking a few more steps – and as soon as he clears the doorway, the door promptly swings shut. The sound is just a dull thud, not any kind of ominous banging or screeching, but in a way, the lack of drama makes it almost worse. Like it’s not even a grand occasion to trap someone inside.

That being said, there are windows. And since this is a castle, the windows are rather sizeable, and a few have rather tall plants next to them that he could climb for access. Obi-Wan drifts closer and eyes the nearest tree. It’s bent and gnarled, like it’s very old, but it almost seems very sturdy, and there are plenty of bends and twists in the branches that would make for good footholds. He’s eyeing it and absently considering where best to put his feet when the tree speaks.

“To climb me, you need not,” the tree says. “Open, the door will, if you push it.”

Obi-Wan yelps and leaps backwards. “You can talk?” he splutters.

The tree rustles gently, arching in a way that reminds Obi-Wan of a cat stretching its limbs under the sun. “A surprise, this should not be,” the tree says. “Seeking an enchanted castle, were you not?”

“Well, yes. But I was expecting more of an enchanted . . . person,” Obi-Wan admits.

“Found someone, you have, I would say,” the tree replies. And then it cackles, like Obi-Wan has just stumbled into some kind of joke that the tree expects Obi-Wan to know.

“But you’re a tree.”

“A speaking tree.”

“The ability to speak does not make you a person.”

The tree branches rustle violently. Obi-Wan is half afraid that he has offended this enchanted piece of greenery when the cackling begins again and he realizes that the tree actually finds him amusing.

“Reckless,” the tree says. “Yes, yes, reckless you are. Good. Similar, you are.”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth to ask exactly who he is similar to – and that is when a deep voice rumbles from above.

“Master Yoda, who are you speaking to?”

This time, when Obi-Wan jumps in surprise, he falls on his backside. It’s not the most promising introduction he’s ever made, and it’s made worse by the fact that as he curses and scrambles back to his feet, the tree answers for him.

“A visitor, we have,” the tree announces, with what Obi-Wan can only describe as pure glee. “From the outside world.”

“A visitor, hmm? Any relation to the young man you frightened out of his wits last night?”

“That was my brother, my lord,” Obi-Wan cuts in hastily with a bow, because he has no desire to hear how the tree might respond to that. “We – We do apologize for trespassing. And for taking the rose. You’ll have to forgive my brother; Anakin is young and impulsive. But he has a good heart.”

The dark voice hums. “Why do you say we? I am only aware of one person crossing into the Temple gardens last night.”

Obi-Wan blinks in surprise. He almost lifts his head to look at the speaker, but then he remembers his place and fixes his eyes on the floor again. “As – As an apology on our family’s behalf, my lord. I hope you will allow that.”

“Hmm.”

The lord does not sound angrier, at least. It gives Obi-Wan the courage to continue. He takes a deep breath and fishes out the glowing blue crystal, sinking to his knees and proffering the crystal on his palms.

“I also hope,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, “that you will allow me to take his place.”

“ . . . His place in what?”

“My life,” Obi-Wan explains, “for his.”

The lord says nothing to that. Neither does the tree, which goes still and silent, like real trees do, but it’s a bit disconcerting after all of the rustling and commentary the tree had given previously.

Silence is rarely promising where the nobility are involved, so Obi-Wan continues desperately, “He’s a good person, I promise. And he – he is a very good mechanic. He won’t cause you any more trouble. Please, if you’ll just allow him to live – ”

“Why would I kill him?”

The interruption is not surprising. The words, however, are.

Obi-Wan frowns. “But he – he trespassed. Into your gardens. And he took a rose.”

“The Temple gardens are meant for all, so there was no trespassing,” the lord tells him. “And a rose certainly would not inspire a death sentence.”

“But your tree, he told Anakin that a life was needed in return – ”

“Say that, I did not!” the tree says indignantly. “Say that, I would not!”

“Then why did you tell him he had to say goodbye?” Obi-Wan demands. “Why did you tell him that the crystal would glow until the price was paid?”

He takes another breath to continue, but then he realizes he is arguing with a tree. Speaking or not, it is the lord who Anakin owes his life to, and only the lord who can release Anakin. Obi-Wan turns back to where that deep voice had emanated and opens his mouth to beg –

And a warm, rough palm closes over his.

Startled, Obi-Wan looks up.

Blue is the first thing he sees. Blue as deep as the sky and as clear as the river, a shade he’s never seen in anyone’s eyes. The next thing he sees is the clothes – a simple rough spun tunic and plain dark trousers, hardly the attire befitting a lord who owns a castle this magnificent. The last thing he registers is the lord’s skin.

Or rather, the fur that the lord has in place of skin, which gives him an appearance akin to a shaggy wolf.

“I believe,” the wolf lord says, and his voice is even deeper up close, “that there has been a misunderstanding. Would you care for some tea?”

According to the wolf lord – who calls himself Qui-Gon Jinn – the castle is actually a Temple, the talking trees are the resident Jedi, and Anakin had not been demanded to give his life in exchange for the rose so much as offered a crystal to help pay his way forward in his new married life.

“But,” Obi-Wan says cautiously, balancing the cup of warm tea in his hands, “you are cursed, aren’t you, my lord?”

“Please call me Qui-Gon,” the wolf lord says as he settles himself into a chair. “There are no lords here.”

“But – ”

The fur around Qui-Gon’s eyes ruffle as he smiles. It’s a little strange, because his fangs are very sharp, but his voice is warm and even when he says, “Yes, to answer your question: we are cursed. But the Jedi were never lords. We were keepers of the peace. Scholars. Ambassadors. It was our duty to serve the people.”

“Was?” Obi-Wan asks cautiously.

“Well,” Qui-Gon says, gesturing at his massive furry body. “I don’t expect you would welcome an ambassador who looked like this, would you?”

Obi-Wan flushes and looks at the floor because, no, he would not.

“And besides,” Qui-Gon continues kindly, “the curse also prevents us from leaving the Temple grounds. Beings can pass into the Temple, but leaving is . . . not possible.”

“But Anakin left?”

“Not possible for us,” Qui-Gon clarifies. “We Jedi are trapped here. Others may come and go, of course.”

Qui-Gon delivers the words in a very straightforward, matter of fact tone. There is no anger or sadness in his voice. And yet, Obi-Wan feels a pang of sympathy; he cannot imagine being imprisoned in a home and unable to leave. The Temple is beautiful, to be sure, but a gilded cage is still a cage regardless.

He takes a sip of his tea. It’s delicious, but nothing he’s ever tasted before.

“Sapir,” Qui-Gon answers, when Obi-Wan looks at him. “Difficult to grow, even more difficult to prepare. Still, the labor is worth it, is it not?”

“It is indeed, my lord,” Obi-Wan says, because it’s that or let his mouth fall open at the idea of a lord not only growing but actually preparing his own tea.

“Still not a lord,” Qui-Gon says kindly. “Now then. On the topic of your brother, Anakin.”

Obi-Wan stiffens. “I swear he meant no harm – ”

“Peace, my friend,” Qui-Gon says, raising one massive paw. It’s as big as a bear paw, and furrier to boot; if Qui-Gon wasn’t so clearly relaxed in the chair, Obi-Wan would have flinched. “As I said, the Jedi are keepers of the peace. We do not raise our blades except in defense, and even then, only when we must. Young Anakin meant no harm; we knew that the moment he stepped onto the Temple grounds. I do apologize for the misunderstanding, but let me be clear: we did not demand any price for the rose he took. The kyber crystal was a gift.”

Obi-Wan eyes the crystal. It’s still faintly glowing blue, even though he had placed it on the table next to Qui-Gon. “And yet it glows, as Anakin said he was told it would. Until the – the price was paid.”

To his surprise, that is the thing that finally elicits a reaction out of Qui-Gon. He slumps in the chair, those proud shoulders bending and his triangle ears folding against his head. Even his tail goes limp where it’s carefully curled on the chair. He heaves a gusty sigh, looking as mournful as a dog when it’s caught stealing food off the table.

“My price, not Anakin’s,” Qui-Gon rumbles sadly. “Everything and everyone in the Temple – they will be cursed until my price is paid.”

“So – ”

“It was a gift,” Qui-Gon tells him. “Master Yoda knew of his intentions to gift the rose to the woman he loved, as well as to ask her hand in marriage. He spoke of saying goodbye because Anakin would have to say goodbye to his old life to do that, and he hoped that Anakin would value both his old life and his new life. Life is valuable to us. And then he gifted Anakin with the kyber to help him make his way. Roses are well and good,” he adds, with a quirk of his lips, “but I imagine credits will never go amiss, yes?”

Obi-Wan does gape, then. He can’t imagine any lord gifting a peasant with something quite so valuable for so frivolous a reason.

Also: “We appreciate the thought, my lord, but – but I’m not sure anyone would buy it. Since it is, well. Cursed.”

“Hmm. Yes, you raise a fair point. You’ll have to forgive Master Yoda; he was old long before the enchantment, and sometimes he forgets. Once upon a time, our kyber crystals would have been highly valued – but I imagine the value has been diminished, somewhat, given our . . . absence.”

“How long have you been . . . absent?” Obi-Wan dares to ask.

Those massive furry shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “To be honest, I’m not quite sure. It’s difficult to keep track of the days and nights here, never mind the years. And none of us age under the curse.”

“And you can’t break the curse? Surely, a learned lord like yourself – ”

Qui-Gon shakes his head. “This kind of magic was not an area of study for us,” he says. “And Sith magic defies explanation under even the best of circumstances. I’m afraid that Dooku knew what he was doing when he cursed us.”

The name rings a faint bell in Obi-Wan’s name. He frowns. “Wait – Dooku?”

“Yes. Count Dooku of Serenno. Is he still plying his trade at court? Or did his coup succeed?”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says faintly, when the memory clicks. He sets his tea cup down, mostly so he won’t drop it, and clears his throat. “Serenno. Yes. I know of Count Dooku.”

“How is he?” Qui-Gon asks.

He sounds genuinely interested, which seems strange, given that the man had cursed Qui-Gon and his fellow Jedi into a terrible enchantment. Still, Obi-Wan supposes, if Jedi truly are keepers of the peace and abhor violence, perhaps revenge and hatred upon their enchanter might not be the path they would take.

“I’m afraid he’s quite – dead,” Obi-Wan says, wincing slightly. “I – I’ll spare you the details, but the Serenno rebellion was . . . quite bloody, from all accounts. It was successful, for a time, but the Emperor later had him executed for treason. One of the last beheadings.”

Qui-Gon closes his eyes. A mournful sound slips past his lips; Obi-Wan could almost mistake it for the sad cry of a wolf over a dead pack mate.

“I did warn him that the war was a bad idea,” Qui-Gon says softly. “It appears he did not listen. Well. What of his fellow conspirators?”

“Cut down in the siege of Mustafar.”

“Then I know what would have been my fate, had I joined him. Still, it is good to know became of him. We will mourn him later.”

“Did he not curse you?”

“Yes. But he was one of us, once. A great Master. We will mourn the man he once was. It would have been nice had he not cursed us, though,” Qui-Gon adds with a touch of wryness. “I imagine that the consequences of his rebellion are causing chaos everywhere. I wish I could step outside the Temple and help bring about peace.”

“Um.”

“What is it?”

Obi-Wan swallows hard. “I – My lord, I hate to tell you, but the Serenno rebellion was . . . was almost one hundred years ago.”

The tea cup rattles dangerously into those massive paws. Qui-Gon’s eyes go wide as saucers and his ears flick up. Even his tail puffs up a little.

“One hundred years?” he echoes.

“Near about, yes. I’ve read about it in the histories. The old dusty ones, anyways. Most of the new historical tomes are about the crusades in the Maw and Unknown Regions.”

Obi-Wan has never tried to guess at the ages of dogs or wolves before. Dogs are friendly animals to be petted; wolves are fearsome creatures to flee from. Qui-Gon looks very much like a furry wolf that wears human clothing and walks on two legs, but his fur – brown and tan and grey – could have belonged to a young wolf or an old wolf.

Right now, though, as he sags in the chair, he appears very much to be an old wolf.

“One hundred years,” he repeats, staring into the fire. “Stars above. I knew the curse was strong, but an entire century . . . And Dooku is dead, you say? Then the curse did not weaken with his death. It seems there is no way out for us, then.”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says awkwardly.

“It is not your fault,” Qui-Gon says with a shake of his head. He drains his tea, even though some of it spills from his trembling paws. “I thank you for bringing us news of the outside world. It has been sorely missed. But it will be dark soon; you should return to your home. The woods are dangerous at night, especially now that we can no longer patrol the path to protect travelers.”

“Ah, of course, my lord,” Obi-Wan says, scrambling to his feet. He finds that part of him is relieved at the idea of going home, to say nothing of being able to alleviate the guilt Shmi and Anakin must surely feel. And yet another part of him feels a strange pull towards the Temple, with its ancient grounds and beautiful walls and eloquent yet wounded lord.

But it’s not like he can just stay, so he bows and puts down his tea cup and heads for the door.

“Wait.”

Obi-Wan pauses, heart hammering in his chest. Qui-Gon has sounded too serious about not wanting a life, but he has just been given terrible news, what if he wants someone to take it out on – ?

Those heavy footsteps pad along the floor as Qui-Gon walks to him, and he extends one furry paw. “Don’t forget this,” Qui-Gon says, offering the blue kyber crystal. “Take it, and know that it is given as a gift, with all of our blessings and hopes for a brighter future.”

“I can’t – I can’t just take that,” Obi-Wan says blankly.

“Why not? Your brother did.”

“He thought it was a – a way to ensure he paid the price for trespassing and thievery,” Obi-Wan says. “Not as a gift. I can’t accept this.”

“Then take it to Anakin, who already has.”

“He won’t either. He is a strong believer in doing things himself. He will build a life for him to offer to Padmé with his own hands, not from any gifts.”

Qui-Gon hums. “A man of conviction is always something to be admired. Still, we insist. As a wedding gift, at least.”

“This is too much.”

“It is all we have to offer. Nothing else can leave the Temple. Please,” Qui-Gon urges, “take it.”

“My lord, I can’t – ”

“Regard it as payment for news of the outside world, then, if you must. But please accept it.”

“News would cost you far less than this. I would have to work for years in order to make up the credits this would fetch.”

“Fortunately, I will not demand years. Please,” Qui-Gon repeats, nudging Obi-Wan’s hands with his furry paw. “Please take it.”

Obi-Wan stares the crystal. If he sets aside the slightly magical glowing, he cannot deny that it would likely fetch an astounding price at market. He doesn’t know much about gems or jewelry, but to his eye the crystal looks beautifully cut, and he cannot see any flaws or cracks. And it’s a sizeable gem to be so flawless. It could likely pay for the wedding and a home afterwards, with plenty leftover. It could even perhaps allow Obi-Wan to travel as he has always wished.

But: “I cannot,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s too much, my lord. I won’t accept it, not unless you allow me to work off the debt.”

Qui-Gon rears back in shock. “I am trapped here by the curse,” he says, sounding absolutely mystified. “Why in the name of the Force would I trap any other poor soul here?”

“But I’m not trapped. You said other beings could leave any time they wished,” Obi-Wan points out.

“Yes . . . which is why I am offering this for you to take as you leave now.”

“What if I – What if I didn’t leave? Not now, anyways. I could – I could stay and help. I’m sure you’d appreciate some human hands, and I can – I can tell you more about the outside world. And when I’ve worked off the debt, then I will take the crystal as my payment and leave.”

Qui-Gon stares at him. “You want to stay?”

“Will I also become cursed into a tree if I do?”

“No. The curse only transformed those who were here already. It does not affect anyone else who enters. But,” Qui-Gon says, searching his eyes, “are you sure?”

Obi-Wan lifts his chin. “I am sure about this, my lord: Either I leave now without the crystal, or you allow me to work off the debt and then leave with the crystal. It is your choice.”

“You would not be bothered by . . . this?” Qui-Gon asks tentatively, gesturing at himself.

Obi-Wan looks at him. Now, in the sunlit room of the parlor with the glow of the fire in the background, he can see all of Qui-Gon: those powerful furry legs, those broad shoulders, the massive paws that look big enough to cleave a man in two. And that’s before he gets to the fangs and claws.

But Qui-Gon hadn’t hurt him, or Anakin. He’d offered him tea and biscuits, like any good host. He’d tried to give Anakin a priceless gem as a gift. Most lords Obi-Wan knows would have been far less kind, even though their outward appearance might have been fairer and prettier.

“Like any change, I’m sure I can get used to it,” Obi-Wan replies. “You’ve not hurt me yet. And – And you’ve given me no reason to think you might hurt me in the future.”

“Never,” Qui-Gon says instantly, shaking his entire body so intensely that he looks, for a brief moment, like a wet dog trying to get dry. “You will not come to harm here – not from me, nor from any other Jedi at the Temple. This I swear.”

“Well, then. Do we have a deal?”

“Your negotiation skills could use some finesse,” Qui-Gon says dryly. Then he extends his free paw. “But your terms are reasonable. You have a deal.”

It is, Obi-Wan reflects, perhaps one of his strangest deals, and not just because he’s sealing it by shaking a furry paw instead of a human hand. But while he can help at the shop and at home, it’s nothing that Anakin or Shmi could not do, and with winter coming, he can spare them an extra mouth to feed. He can also get the chance to put his education to use telling histories to someone who actually wants to listen. And, in the end, he can walk away with a beautiful kyber crystal and a tale worth telling.

So he merely says, “I’m glad we could come to an understanding,” and shakes Qui-Gon’s paw.

Qui-Gon is the one who conducts his tour. Obi-Wan almost asks for a servant – surely a Jedi Master does not have the time to walk Obi-Wan all over his enormous Temple – but then he remembers that everyone in the Temple is a tree and meekly follows behind Qui-Gon. At least the massive furry presence is hard to miss.

“The entrance,” Qui-Gon says, gesturing at the cavernous expanse. “That stairway leads to the kitchens, that one to the salles, that one to the living quarters, and that one to the archives.”

“And that one?” Obi-Wan asks, pointing at the biggest staircase of them all, which curves up the center of the other floor and looks like a waterfall frozen in time.

“Ah. That leads to the Council chambers. I’ve almost forgotten that was there. We haven’t had need of it for . . . well, a while. And this is Master Yoda,” Qui-Gon adds, pointing at the bent old tree near the main door that had spoken to Obi-Wan. “He likes the entrance; it’s where he dwells, most days.”

Obi-Wan bows to the tree, because it feels weird not too. Then the rest of Qui-Gon’s sentence sinks in and he says, “Wait, most days?”

“Well, sometimes he likes to be the atrium. More sun there for his aching branches, he claims.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan says faintly. He glances sideways at Qui-Gon, because while he looks large and strong enough to be moving trees all about the Temple, Obi-Wan is rather less confident on his ability to do that. “I’m, um, not sure how much assistance I’ll be able to provide with that.”

Qui-Gon tilts his head. “Assistance? With what?”

“Moving Lord Yoda.”

“Master Yoda, if you must give him a title. And he can move himself, for the most part. Gimer trees have strong branches, so he’s rather well suited for it. Master Trebor, on the other hand, is a little more delicate,” Qui-Gon says, pointing to a small tree with faded green leaves that come to a point. “Sembla trees are meant for more humid climates, and so he might need some assistance.”

“Some assistance – ” Obi-Wan blinks. “Your trees can speak and move?”

Qui-Gon slows to a stop. He gives Obi-Wan what can only be described as a slightly guilty look. “Yes. Did I forget to mention it? The curse turned my brothers and sisters into trees, but they remain sentient beings; they can speak, and think, and move.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says faintly. “So . . . So that’s why Anakin said the gimer tree – I mean, Master Yoda was by the rose bush but I did not see him there.”

“A rare excursion for him, then. Master Yoda rarely leaves the Temple; even by our standards, he is – ”

“Old, you had better not say!”

“ – dignified,” Qui-Gon finishes delicately.

Fortunately, there are no more earthshattering revelations after that. Qui-Gon brings him to the kitchens, which are stocked with all manner of fruits and vegetables and spics and teas, and tells him that he may take whatever he likes, for the magic of the enchantment will replenish it. Some of the Jedi are there – Qui-Gon introduces Obi-Wan to several young trees and bushes – but many more are in the salles, which turn out to be wide open areas with thickly carpeted floors and stunningly large windows.

“We used to use them for practice,” Qui-Gon explains as Obi-Wan gapes. “Training exercises and sparring and the like.”

“You could fit an entire village in here,” Obi-Wan marvels. He tilts his head back and looks up at the curved ceilings, which are so high up that it almost makes his neck ache. “These ceilings – they must reach to the top of the Temple!”

“Some do, yes. Not these, though.”

“Your architects must have been very enamored with high ceilings.”

Qui-Gon laughs at that. “We were the architects,” he says, still laughing gently. “Well, our predecessors were, anyways. It’s useful to have that kind of height when learning how to jump.”

“Why? How high do you train to – ”

Which is when Qui-Gon crouches like a dog preparing to sprint and launches himself upwards. It’s unbelievable how fast he moves for so large a man; even more unbelievable is how high he goes. He doesn’t quite touch the ceiling, but Obi-Wan is willing to wager that he could, if he tried hard enough.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says weakly, when Qui-Gon lands with a soft thump. “I see.”

“My apologies,” Qui-Gon says, after getting a good look at Obi-Wan’s face. He’s not sure what expression he is wearing, but it must be a tad too shocked. “I forget that we’ve been absent for so long that people no longer remember what we can do.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “It’s not your fault. And I suppose it must come in handy for high shelves.”

“Certainly,” Qui-Gon agrees with a laugh. “Never fear; I can reach all the high items for you. It’s a role I am sadly used to playing.”

“So you were always tall?”

“This forehead has met many a doorway in my youth,” Qui-Gon confesses. “And once, my nose.”

“Your nose?” Obi-Wan repeats, and then he squints, because despite all of the fur, he thinks he can detract just the slightest crookedness in that furry nose.

“I was, shall we say, very distracted. Oh, and this is Master Mace Windu – he is a very rare Haruun Kal sequoia,” Qui-Gon says hastily, and Obi-Wan smiles and bows and allows for the rapid change in subject.

After the salles, they move to the third stairway, which brings them to corridor after corridor after corridor of rooms. There are plates over some of the doors, but many are so old and sun-faded that the names can no longer be made out. Not that it matters, for no matter how Obi-Wan squints, he does not recognize the alphabet or the language. It is possible – and honestly, very likely – that the language of the Jedi receded from memory when the Jedi themselves did, but Obi-Wan has not the heart to raise that topic, and so he simply lets Qui-Gon guide him around until Qui-Gon stops in front a new set of doors.

“These,” Qui-Gon says, indicating a dozen doors, “are all solo suites. Meant for newly Knighted Jedi. They’re not the largest, but they are comfortable, and none of them had owners before the curse. You may choose whichever suits your liking.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, startled all over again. “There is no need for that. I can bunk down with the servants.”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. You see, the Temple never had servants. We were a self-sustaining Order, and we all pitched in to do what needed to be done.”

It’s the most bizarre thing Obi-Wan has ever heard. He stares. “You all – but the Temple is so large!”

“And we were many,” Qui-Gon says with a shrug. “There was never a shortage of work, mind, but we ensured that everything was completed. If you don’t like these suites, there are larger ones back that way – ”

“No! No, I don’t need larger,” Obi-Wan says hastily. “These – These are fine. Uh, thank you.”

“You are most welcome,” Qui-Gon tells him, and he even inclines his head regally as though Obi-Wan is a visiting noble and not a peasant who stumbled in. “Please make yourself comfortable; someone will be along to fetch you when it is dinner.”

“But the fourth staircase – we have not finished the tour.”

“That can wait until tomorrow, I think. I imagine you must be exhausted by now. And besides,” Qui-Gon says with a small laugh, “it’s not like anything is going anywhere.”

So saying, Qui-Gon trots confidently back down the hallway. It’s still strange to see so large a man move so fast, not to mention the fact that his fur makes the outline of his shadow look utterly terrifying. But it would be rude to bring that up, and also Obi-Wan has no desire to sleep on the floor tonight, so he chooses a door at random and opens it.

His first thought is that he needs to have a discussion with Qui-Gon regarding typical sizes, because Qui-Gon had said that these rooms were not very large, and yet when Obi-Wan opens the door, he finds that the suite could comfortably house Obi-Wan, Anakin, Shmi, and probably Threepio and Artoo as well. He could easily do laps in it, if he wanted. And it’s furnished with a lovely desk, beautiful couch, and a bed that looks so large and soft that Obi-Wan wants to fling himself onto it.

So he does, because there’s no one to stop him.

The bed is even softer than it look, and Obi-Wan closes his eyes in bliss. There are enough pillows and blankets that he can be as warm and comfy as he wants, with no worry that he is taking anything from Shmi or Anakin. And there is even a curtain that can be pulled round to block off the glare of the sun.

It is, to say the least, more than he had ever dreamed when he had approached the castle. Obi-Wan is almost tempted to pinch himself to make sure that he is not dreaming.

He ends up not needing to, mostly because he gets the life scared out of him by another talking plant.

“Dinner is ready,” comes a soft voice from the doorway.

Obi-Wan flails and falls out of bed. In his old home, this would have just meant rolling out of his self-made nest on the cold floor. Here, in his new and fancy bed, this means actually rolling out of the bed, and so he gets the breath knocked out of him when he hits the floor.

“My apologies,” the tree says as its vines wrap around the edge of the door. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Uh, no – no, it’s alright,” Obi-Wan stammers, hastily sitting up. “Have we . . . met yet?”

“Not formally,” the tree says. Those vines curl and coil, as a cat’s tail twitches when it is amused. “My name is Tahl.”

Obi-Wan bows. “Nice to meet you, my lady.”

“Oh, none of that please,” Tahl says. “If Qui-Gon hasn’t already mentioned it, we are neither lords nor ladies. We are keepers of the peace; if you must give us a title, you might address us by our rank. But to be frank, I find that pointless, since currently we are not so much Knights as we are greenery.”

Obi-Wan bites down a hysterical laugh. He has a feeling that Tahl would not be offended by it, but it still feels wrong to laugh at the results of the curse. Instead, he observes, “But you are not quite greenery, if I may say so. I see a fair bit of gold in your vines. Striped, perhaps?”

“That’s quite an agile tongue of yours,” Tahl says, and now she definitely sounds amused. “I can see why Master Yoda took a liking to you.”

“Is that . . . a bad thing?”

“Master Yoda is the oldest among us. He says he has no favorites, but I say that is a complete and total lie.”

“Which means – ”

“Which means that being the gimer troll’s favorite is a very good thing indeed,” Tahl concludes, rustling her vines. “Now, then. Dinner is set. Are you ready to join us?”

Obi-Wan nods and stands up. He has other clothes, but none of them are fancier than what he currently wears, so he sees no point in changing. And at this point, the lure of food far outweighs any other desire of his.

Then he realizes, “Wait, us? Do you all eat?”

“Not in the way you think,” Tahl says as they move into the hallway. She pulls herself along using the walls and corners, vines creeping out and curling to give her a grip to move forward, as ivy might grow to overtake a building. It’s a slow process, to be sure, but Obi-Wan is sure that it is certainly faster than real plants. “Qui-Gon tends to us with water and whatever else we might need, and that takes place on a different schedule than a human with a stomach needs sustenance. But we still gather, for the communal habit is still nice to undertake.”

Tahl leads him through the living quarters and down the stairway and then up the one that leads to the kitchens. There is a grand dining hall, she explains, but since it is meant to seat most of their Order, they hardly use it, given that the one being actually eating is Qui-Gon himself. So instead she brings him to a small room adjacent to the kitchen.

Sure enough, as Tahl had said, when they enter Obi-Wan sees that the room is filled to the brim with plants. Bushes and trees and shrubs, flowers and vines and moss – all manner of plant life is represented, and most are unlike any Obi-Wan has ever seen.

However, the vast array of plant life is almost dwarfed by the collection of foods laid out on the table. Obi-Wan can feel his eyes getting bigger with each and every new plate or bowl or dish as he looks up and down. It almost looks like enough to feed the village, or perhaps Anakin for about a week.

“Ah, Obi-Wan,” comes Qui-Gon’s voice. He enters bearing another tray of food, held aloft on one massive paw; his other paw gently shoos various plants out of the way as he maneuvers through them. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I’m not sure I’m hungry enough to eat all of . . . this,” Obi-Wan says faintly.

“Take what you can, then. Nothing will go to waste; it all vanishes overnight and new meals reappear in the morning. Dooku may have wanted us imprisoned, but apparently he found starvation ungentlemanly,” Qui-Gon remarks.

He settles in a chair, but Obi-Wan notes that it is not placed at head of the table. Perhaps it once was, originally; now it appears that Qui-Gon has simply used his strength to drag it halfway down the table, where it sits in the middle and makes the sight of one man dining at a large table less ridiculous.

Well, as less ridiculous as it can get given that he is surrounded by a feast fit for a dozen kings.

Something nudges Obi-Wan’s back. He looks over his shoulder and sees another plant, this one with branches that look like braids, gently pushing against him. He takes the encouragement for what it is and moves forward, choosing a chair opposite Qui-Gon.

And then he looks down at the plate, which is absolutely massive, and has to bite down another laugh.

“Is something wrong?” Qui-Gon asks in concern.

“No, no,” Obi-Wan says. “Just – well. This plate is larger than my head. Perhaps larger than my waist as well.”

“Very likely. You’re a tiny thing.”

Obi-Wan glares. “I am not tiny,” he says, because the day Anakin had hit his growth spurt and shot up over Obi-Wan had been the worst day in his life.

“Some of my plant friends are taller than you,” Qui-Gon points out.

“Well, they’re trees. And if anyone is an outlier on the scale of height, it should be you.”

Raucous laughter breaks out behind him. Obi-Wan cranes his head and makes out a short and squat looking shrub which is next to Tahl as the source of the amusement, and the shrub laughs even harder when it realizes Obi-Wan has noticed it.

“He’s got your number, Jinn,” the shrub says.

Qui-Gon scowls. It’s a truly fearsome look, what with his laid back ears and sharp fangs and furry face. “You’re also taller than him, Giett.”

“Not right now, I’m not.” The shrub turns, ever so slightly, as if it wants to face Obi-Wan even though it no longer has eyes. “Trust me, kid – Qui-Gon over here hit his growth spurt and then basically didn’t stop growing until long after everyone else. The quartermasters were besides themselves with how many times he outgrew his tunics.”

“I’m going to conveniently forget to water you next week, Micah,” Qui-Gon threatens.

“Oh no, however shall I continue living? It’s too bad that a Yinchorri shrub such as myself can survive long periods of drought.”

“I can bring you some water, Master Giett,” Obi-Wan volunteers.

He is only guessing at Micah’s title, but he must have guessed right, because the shrub rustles in the telltale pattern Obi-Wan is beginning to recognize as the way the Jedi communicate amusement in plant form.

“That’s the spirit, kid,” Micah tells him. “I’ll show you all the secret spots after Qui-Gon’s finished the boring official tour.”

When Obi-Wan turns back around, Qui-Gon has his face buried in his massive paws. He appears to be the object of pure and absolute despair, but for the fact that Obi-Wan can glimpse the slightest upturn to the corner of his mouth.

“I regret introducing you two,” Qui-Gon sighs. “Obi-Wan, would you like to try some braised beef? It’s very good.”

The beef is indeed excellent, as is the roasted pork and the creamy vegetable soup and the stuffed casserole and everything else that Obi-Wan tries. He doesn’t get to everything, but he samples a great deal more items than he ever imagined being able to, and even has some room when Qui-Gon brings out fruit tarts for dessert.

Afterwards, Qui-Gon offers to lead him back to his room, acknowledging that it will take a while for him to learn how to navigate the Temple.

“It’s not terribly complicated,” he says. “But then, I have lived here most of my life, so I suppose I’m not the best person to judge.”

“I’m sure I’ll soon learn my way around,” Obi-Wan says. “And I imagine I can always ask the nearest Jedi.”

“Yes, there is that. I hope you enjoyed dinner, by the way. I know it – we can be a lot.”

Obi-Wan tilts his head. It is true that it had taken a bit to get used to the idea of eating in front of a large gathering of plants and one massive wolfish human. But Qui-Gon has been nothing less than kind, and the other Jedi have mostly greeted him with amusement or warmth.

“To be fair, I’m almost not used to so many people,” Obi-Wan admits. “It was just me and Shmi and Anakin before. But I think I can get used to it. You’ve all been very welcoming to me.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Rest well, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon says, pausing in front of his door. “You’ve had a very long day.”

“Thank you. Um, when do you want me to begin? Working, that is,” Obi-Wan clarifies, when Qui-Gon gives him a puzzled look.

“Oh. We can revisit that after breakfast. I’m sure I can find a task that is better suited to your hands than, well, mine. Good night, Obi-Wan.”

“Good night, Master Qui-Gon.”

It turns out that when Qui-Gon says tasks better suited to your hands, what he really means is two things. The first is, rather surprisingly, to assist in the bottling of preserved food and salves.

“The magic provides sustenance for us now,” Qui-Gon explains, tail swishing as he very carefully checks a boiling hot pan. “But in the old days, we would set aside portions of fruit and vegetables for the cold winter. And we would share with the villages nearby or anyone who needed it, so that everyone would have something in their pantry.”

Obi-Wan eyes Qui-Gon. He might be slightly less frightening now that Obi-Wan is sort of getting used to his extremely tall and furry form, but he is still indisputably a wolf man. “Only fruit and vegetables?”

“Oh no, we’ll do the meat later, although that tends to get a little tough when we boil it for days on end,” Qui-Gon says solemnly. Then he flashes a toothy grin. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t do that to you. No, the meat I’ll hang to dry and smoke, so that it actually tastes good. And I won’t trouble you for that.”

“I thought I was here to help?”

“The racks are set to my height, so unless you fancy getting a stool every single time . . .”

“Ah.”

“And I think you’ll be more helpful with these jars, honestly. Trying to screw the lids on without shattering them takes some patience.”

“Dare I ask how many times you ended up picking glass out of your – um, hands?”

“If you dare,” Qui-Gon teases, “then I’ll answer. If not, then go on and cover these, please.”

Obi-Wan debates asking for a second, but then he reminds himself that he is actually supposed to be working. To that end, he perches on the stool Qui-Gon so helpfully dragged over and starts screwing lids on jars. It’s not terribly difficult, fortunately, although he does have to make sure that each lid is as tight as can be to avoid spoilage. And after covering enough jars to feed an entire school, his wrists are aching a little bit.

Qui-Gon, on the other hand, seems as fresh as he was in the beginning, even though he’s been standing on his legs the whole time, moving between various pots and pans, adding ingredients, and stirring in salt or sugar as appropriate.

“Tired?”

Obi-Wan winces. “Just a little bit.”

To his relief, Qui-Gon just smiles at him. “It’s all right. We’re in no rush. It’s probably time for a break. And besides, we never did finish our tour of the archives, did we?”

Which is how Obi-Wan learns of the second thing Qui-Gon would like the assistance of human hands with: the preservation of books.

Ancient, fragile books. Thousands of them.

While Obi-Wan stares about the room, jaw almost on the floor, Qui-Gon shuffles his feet and coughs lightly. His tail curls around his leg, almost as if he’s embarrassed. “I’m afraid that I’ve tried to do my best,” he confesses. “But . . . most of these are too delicate for my paws and I can’t hold a quill anyways, so I mostly just tried not to disturb them too much.”

“How many . . . ?”

Qui-Gon hums thoughtfully. “Not sure. Most of us tried to make copies or collect books on our travels, you see, to broaden our knowledge. Master Nu would know, but she went dormant a while back and her branches are very prickly so we thought it best to leave her.”

Obi-Wan spares half a second to be amused at the fact that such a sentence no longer alarms him, and then returns to staring in awe at all of the shelves. Booksellers do come to the village, of course, and they hawk their books as any other vendor promotes their wares. But they rarely have more than a cartful, and even then, they’re usually all books Obi-Wan has seen and read a thousand times before.

He has a feeling that he’s probably never read any of the books in these archives.

“Oh,” Qui-Gon says abruptly, “I never thought to ask – Can you read and write?”

“Yes, although I think I’ll need some practice.”

“Well, we have plenty of paper and ink for that, so you needn’t worry.”

“What was your plan if I couldn’t?” Obi-Wan wonders.

“Teach you, of course.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. Qui-Gon answers as though it’s obvious, but: “May I point out that you told me you were almost recruited to be part of a war? As in, more likely to teach me how to swing a sword?”

Qui-Gon shrugs. “I can teach you that as well, if you wish. But we were more than warriors, Obi-Wan. We were scholars too – we nurtured the mind and the body. The mind can be a formidable weapon, even more so than the sword. I used to help run some of the lessons in the villages,” he adds, a hint of wistfulness in his tone. “We’d load up the wagons with preserves and blankets and paper, and distribute the food to the parents and teach the children. The ones who could sit still for a time, anyways.”

It’s not the first time Obi-Wan’s heard of a traveling caravan like that. He had been taught by a teacher at the village school, but that teacher had died before Anakin had come along, and so Anakin had learned in bits here and there whenever a learned scholar passed through the village with one caravan or another.

It is, however, the first time he’s heard of one where the entire goal was not trade or travel but service – to offer both goods and teachings to better the villages and their people.

“Many of our archivists worked to preserve the books through transcribing new copies. And it was, shall we say, a not uncommon method of punishment for unruly apprentices,” Qui-Gon comments wryly. But the fond way he strokes a paw over a shelf speaks volumes, as does the gentle way he slides a book out and cradles it in his arms. “These books were among the most recently copied. If you wish to practice transcribing, I would begin with these.”

“And the ones in most need of preservation?”

Qui-Gon turns and levels his paw at a distant series of shelves, which have curtains drawn over it. Hastily rigged curtains, by the look of it. “Treatises on philosophy, I believe. Or on negotiation. Rather dry stuff, from what I can recall.”

“That sounds fascinating, actually.”

Qui-Gon favors him with a raised eyebrow. It’s a little strange, given that it’s a furry eyebrow rising in a furry forehead, but then he smiles and gently dumps the book in Obi-Wan’s arms. “Then perhaps fate has brought me the perfect person to begin this work.”

Obi-Wan cradles the book to his chest. It’s not the largest book he has ever held, but it does have a good size and weight to it, and the cover is beautifully embossed. The idea of not only being given free rein to read it but also to be entrusted with making sure it survives . . .

“And you’re sure about this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well . . . I’ve not been given any formal training. I am not a scribe.”

“Perhaps not. But I have a feeling that you do like books. And that is more important in our archives than any fancy calligraphy training.”

Obi-Wan flushes. “Is it that obvious?”

“Just a little. I don’t mind, you know. Before the curse, we allowed visitors to study in our archives. Perhaps, if we hadn’t been cursed, you might one day have studied here.”

The idea of an alternate future where he might have spent years learning from archives as wonderful as these is almost too much to imagine. Obi-Wan drags his focus back to the present and focuses, instead, on what matters, which is: “Perhaps, but then I doubtlessly would have had to battle countless others to even get in the door.”

“I think not,” Qui-Gon says, but that is all he will say on the matter.

Instead, he directs Obi-Wan to one of the many desks. It is near a beautiful window for light, but also a fireplace for warmth, and while Obi-Wan marvels at the luxurious set up, Qui-Gon locates a stack of paper, quills, and an inkpot.

“There, that should be everything you need,” Qui-Gon says. “I’ll meet you in the kitchens for dinner.”

Obi-Wan pauses midway through sitting down. “You’re just going to – leave?”

“ . . . Do you need supervision?”

“Ah, no.”

“Then I don’t see the need to stay and stare at you. If the desire to read strikes me, perhaps I might wander back, but I think I can trust you to write without needing me to be here.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says softly, and Qui-Gon gives him a smile and vanishes.

Qui-Gon does return when the sun has set and it’s time for dinner, which is just as extravagant as it had been the night before. He escorts Obi-Wan back to his room afterwards and bids him good night, as gentlemanly as ever, and Obi-Wan leans against the door and thinks, I might be able to get used to this.

Obi-Wan does, indeed, get used to it. So much so that eventually he doesn’t need Qui-Gon’s assistance to traverse the Temple, or to be reminded when meals are, or to find the supplies he needs. He grows accustomed to finding plants everywhere, and more importantly learns who he can safely nudge out of the way and who he should tiptoe around. He relearns how to write and begins tackling the copying of books, and only sometimes accidentally passes an entire afternoon reading when he ought to be transcribing.

On one such occasion, he looks up after his eyes protest the extended squinting to find that the sun has set altogether, and the faint moonlight is the culprit for his aching eyes.

Usually, the moon coming out is the signal for Obi-Wan to go to bed and leave the rest for the next day, but he finds himself still wide awake. The current book he is working to copy is a tale of a Jedi’s tangles with various exotic animals, and the most recent passage had been about the poor Jedi falling into a nest of gundarks. Obi-Wan has never heard of them, but they sound absolutely terrifying, and he finds that the secondhand adrenaline is enough that sleep seems a distant possibility.

So instead he fetches his cloak and heads out to the grounds. Qui-Gon had gifted him with extra clothes, but he is most attached to the thick cloak and sturdy boots that Qui-Gon had scrounged up. They make traversing the Temple much easier, not to mention the expansive grounds.

Of course, the thing that makes it easiest to explore the grounds is the fact that there are no dangerous creatures Obi-Wan has to be worried about, even in the night. Apparently, even the wildest animals in the forest can tell that the Temple is cursed, and so do not dare to cross its borders.

When he reaches the main doors, the old gimer tree stirs. “Going somewhere, are you?” Master Yoda croaks.

“Just for a walk.”

“Asleep, you should be.”

“A short walk won’t hurt me,” Obi-Wan says with a roll of his eyes, because the last thing he needs is to be motherhenned by a talking ancient tree.

“Like Qui-Gon, you sound.”

Obi-Wan perks up. He had assumed that Qui-Gon had gone to bed, given the late hour, even though he still has no idea where Qui-Gon sleeps or even if he does, but perhaps not. “Qui-Gon went for a walk too?”

“For fresh air in the maze, that one said. The excuse, familiar to you, it sounds?”

“Then I suppose I’ll join him. For fresh air, of course,” Obi-Wan says cheekily, and slips out of the door before Master Yoda can scold him anymore. He’s glad that the Jedi have been so kind and welcoming instead viewing him as an outsider to be regarded with suspicion, but sometimes, he does wish they would be a little less watchful.

The maze is apparently one of the few plants that was not formerly a Jedi. Qui-Gon had explained that it was using for training Jedi in navigation and reading their environment, once upon a time. It did grow larger after the curse, though, almost tripling in height, which means that Obi-Wan does not bother to try and glimpse Qui-Gon over the top before he plunges inside.

Once inside, the sounds of night soften into a gentle hum. The maze is thick enough and tall enough to block out almost everything of the world outside it, almost like a cocoon, and more than once Obi-Wan has found Qui-Gon sitting within the first few passages, often contorted into strange positions that he says assists with calming the mind or something.

Of course, Obi-Wan has also gotten lost a fair few times, so Qui-Gon had begun marking particular corners with bright splashes of paint to help Obi-Wan find his way.

He follows the guidance of those paint splotches now, through the twisting passageways and confusing corners. The further inside he walks, the more the world narrows to just greenery, vines, and the occasional flower, until he’s in so deep that he can barely make out the tops of the Temple spires.

If he had been more awake, perhaps he might have wondered why Qui-Gon had gone so deep into the maze, but his mind is entirely focused on sharing the story of the gundarks and prying any comparatively exciting stories out of Qui-Gon.

This is why, when he at last finds the clearing at the center of the maze, it takes him a moment to register what he is seeing.

Qui-Gon.

Specifically, Qui-Gon flowing through an intense series of moves, eyes closed and paws grasped around what looks like the silver hilt of a sword. Which would not be surprising – Obi-Wan knows that the Jedi were once formidable warriors – but what is surprising is how acrobatic the moves are.

They are, to put it bluntly, impossibly acrobatic. Qui-Gon jumps too high, twirls too fast, rolls too neatly. He moves like the wind, to the point where a particularly energetic flourish makes him nothing more than a furry blur in Obi-Wan’s eye.

Obi-Wan knows that the curse has made Qui-Gon stronger. This much Qui-Gon has openly admitted, and it makes sense, given his extremely tall and broad wolfish form. And he moves rather fast for one so large, but Obi-Wan had always attributed it to his warrior’s training.

But this? To spin like that? To land so softly? To almost levitate in the air?

That is not the result of the curse. That, Obi-Wan knows all too well, is magic, pure and simple.

Obi-Wan doesn’t even realize that he’s backed away from the display of magic until his back hits the maze. The hedge wall is surprisingly soft, so it doesn’t drive the breath from his lungs, but it also is sturdy enough that he cannot move any further, and his startled gasp is what finally rouses Qui-Gon.

In fact, it alerts Qui-Gon mid-twirl, and he should have fallen flat on his tail on the ground, but instead he twists in the air, somehow, and lands gently on his feet as if he is a cat.

“Obi-Wan – ”

“That was – ” Obi-Wan sucks in a breath, feeling like the very air has fled from the maze. “That was – ”

“A kata used for training, nothing more – ”

“That was magic!” Obi-Wan spits. “Magic and sorcery and witchcraft! You’re a witch!”

“I – ”

“Gods, are you all witches? Is that why even after the curse, the others are able to speak? Is that why your kyber crystals glow? Is that the real reason that nothing will come near the Temple?”

“Obi-Wan, please,” Qui-Gon says beseechingly, and he stretches one massive paw towards Obi-Wan, in a gesture that, in the past, meant he was about to show Obi-Wan something spectacular.

Now, it is only a reminder of Qui-Gon’s cursed form, his wolfish fur and his immense strength – and his magic.

Obi-Wan turns and flees through the maze. He pays no heed to anything but the path in front of his feet, his only thought to leave as fast as he can before Qui-Gon or any of the other Jedi try and stop him. Even as he does, the branches of the maze scratch his limbs and the leaves get in his eyes, as if the maze itself has come to live and wishes to trap him here.

He wonders, briefly, if he is not the first human that has been lured here and died here. If the meat Qui-Gon spoke of was not deer or fowl but human. If the garden remains evergreen and flowering to entice more prey.

But then he trips and falls out of the maze, and all other thoughts vanish under the pressing need to escape escape escape.

Luckily, Threepio has been looked after very well in the stables, so although he’s a bit grumpy to be woken, he’s ready to be ridden. Obi-Wan fumbles through throwing the saddle and bridle on and he’s never been more grateful for all of Shmi’s patient lessons than he is now, when his hands are shaking and he can’t think straight.

In the distance, he hears something – a shout, perhaps, or a plea, but it matters not; he leaps onto Threepio and kicks him into a gallop. They sweep out of the stables, across the pond, and past the maze.

And then they’re in the forest, and the world goes abruptly from pleasantly mild summer to frigidly icy winter in a second. The boundary of the Temple’s curse, Obi-Wan realizes, and he spurs Threepio on when the horse whinnies in protest at the frost covered grass and freezing air.

“Home,” he urges the stubborn horse, “bring me home!”

Unfortunately, if the forest had looked different from day to night, this difference is only magnified by the fallen leaves and first layer of snow. Obi-Wan can’t rely upon the trees, and the path is covered, and the stars above are covered by storm clouds. Even Threepio, with his powerful nose, seems confused about what way to go, but Obi-Wan is helpless to give him guidance. They gallop for what seems like quite a while yet Obi-Wan has no idea how much closer they might be to the village.

Eventually, Threepio’s frantic pace begins to slow. Even when Obi-Wan pats his neck and gives him a gentle kick, he drops down to a canter and then a trot, tossing his head and snorting.

“I’m sorry, Threepio,” Obi-Wan tells him. “Just a little longer – I just need to take me home – ”

That’s when a bright flash of pain ignites in Obi-Wan’s shoulder, like someone had taken a flaming sword to his arm. He yelps and jerks his arm away, which is lucky, because a second later a jaw full of vicious teeth snaps in the same spot.

The creature lands in the snow. It’s like nothing Obi-Wan has ever seen, for although it has four legs and fur, that is the end of recognizable features. It has four eyes like a spider, a back full of sharp spines like a hedgehog, and a naked tail like a rat. It roars at Obi-Wan, crouching as though it intends to pounce –

And something else roars back.

A nexu, Obi-Wan realizes with dawning horror. A nexu like straight out of the guides he’s read in the Archives. And nexus, the guides had said, hunted in prides.

He kicks frantically at Threepio, but it’s too late; another nexu, smaller but with claws no less sharp, leaps from another tree and collides with Threepio’s leg. The horse rears up, thrashing and screaming, and the nexu goes flying into the snow. But another nexu springs from a different tree, and then another, and another, until Obi-Wan is staring at a pride at least ten big.

For a moment, he thinks that the pride seems rather small, and that’s when the rest of the pride shows up. Specifically, that is when two nexu land on his back and knock him off Threepio.

Obi-Wan hits the dirt hard enough to see stars. He rolls and lashes out, and his fist makes contact with something hard – a nexu, he realizes, when one of them yelps and retreats. It eyes him warily, as if not having expected a fight, and then turns its hungry eyes on Threepio.

Threepio, smart horse that he is, bolts.

Half of the pride run after him, but the rest start pacing around Obi-Wan. He looks wildly around and sees a tree nearby, one with numerous branches and a thick trunk, and lunges for it. A nexu bites at his legs and he kicks it, using the momentum to launch himself up and forward to grab the nearest branch. After that, it’s a mad dash up the tree, as fast as he can, but he knows it’s only a momentary respite.

After all, the tree bark under his fingers is scoured by hundreds of gouges that must have come from nexu claws.

Sure enough, one of the nexu hisses and begins to scamper up the tree. Obi-Wan draws his leg back and kicks –

And the nexu goes flying off the tree.

Obi-Wan blinks. In the time it takes him to close his eyes and reopen them, another nexu yelps and gets slammed against a different tree. The nexu circle and lash their tails, evidently confused, and then all of them hit the ground when an enormous boulder crashes into them.

Obi-Wan looks in the direction that the boulder came from and sees –

Qui-Gon.

Specifically, Qui-Gon standing at what must be the very edge of the Temple grounds, for Obi-Wan can see the angry glow of the curse around his entire body. He raises his arm and the ground shakes as another boulder unearths itself; he flicks his hand and it goes flying at the nexu, making them shriek and scatter to avoid being flattened.

It’s the clearest and strongest show of magic Obi-Wan has ever seen.

Qui-Gon hurls another set of rocks at the nexu, and then he lifts his gaze. It must be magic again, for he finds Obi-Wan in no time at all. His mouth moves, and the words land softly in Obi-Wan’s ear like the wind is his servant.

“Run, Obi-Wan.”

The nexu must notice his moment of distraction or perhaps they’re just tired of being pelted. Either way, it doesn’t matter; they all spring to their feet and dash towards Qui-Gon, yowling in fury, loud enough to wake the dead. Qui-Gon shoves the first away before its claws make impact, but the second chomps on his sleeve before he can recover and drags him down. Even on his knees, though, Qui-Gon puts up a better fight than Obi-Wan did, punching and elbowing and sometimes just hurling the nexu away.

But there are six nexu and one man, so it’s an unfair fight. Even as some of the nexu begin to limp away and retreat, their braver or angrier compatriots still tear into Qui-Gon, clawing at his back, swiping at his legs, biting at his chest. His beige tunics begin to darken with blood, but Qui-Gon does not hesitate, continuing to fight until the last nexu hits the ground and does not immediately spring back up. When it rises, whining and whimpering, he stares it down until it decides that Qui-Gon is too difficult of a meal and vanishes into the forest.

Then and only then does Qui-Gon fall, collapsing on the ground like a shaggy heap of fur.

Obi-Wan scrambles down the tree. It hadn’t seemed to take much time to climb it, but now it takes ages until his feet touch the ground again. His ankles protest the abrupt landing; Obi-Wan ignores them and rushes towards Qui-Gon. This time, he barely notices the change from the cold winter air to the summery warmth, because his only concern is trying to turn Qui-Gon over.

“Qui-Gon? Qui-Gon! Qui-Gon, look at me!”

Qui-Gon’s head lolls against the grass. On the bright side, his chest is still rising and falling and Obi-Wan can feel the warmth of his breath from his lips. On the not so bright side, there are visible claw marks on his chest, and each time he breathes, more blood spills out.

Obi-Wan curses and looks around frantically. Even if Qui-Gon had been just a man, he would have been too tall and heavy for Obi-Wan to move alone. With all of the extra mass and height from his furry form, Obi-Wan can barely even lift him.

“I need help!” he yells, and he has no idea if any of the other Jedi can hear him but he hopes, because it’s that or watch Qui-Gon die in front of him. “Someone help me!”

Fortunately, someone does.

“Obi-Wan!” comes Tahl’s voice, and he looks up to see a wave of plants crawling towards him. It’s a bit like watching a garden patch come to life, and if Obi-Wan hadn’t been living with them for a while it would be enough to make him want to flee again, but he just swallows hard and continues keeping Qui-Gon’s head raised.

Some of the other Jedi bring him a wagon large enough for Qui-Gon, but it takes many of them to help Obi-Wan roll, heave, and shove him onto it. It takes even more effort to move the wagon – but not as much as Obi-Wan might have suspected.

“So,” he says, huffing and panting as he pulls, “you’re all witches, then?”

“No,” comes the croaky voice of Master Yoda from where the gimer tree is curled around Qui-Gon’s torso.

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. It’s the shortest sentence he’s ever gotten out of Master Yoda, who is one of the most talkative of the Jedi. But he doesn’t have much time to ponder the answer, because he has to turn his focus into dragging Qui-Gon up the steps, into the entrance, and then into the nearest room with a warm fire.

Once inside, he is instructed on how to boil water, how to tear sheets into bandages, and what leaves to mash into poultices. The other Jedi must be annoyed that they do not have hands with which to assist in the process, but they remain as calm as they always have been. Obi-Wan rather feels like he is on a battlefield and the Jedi are generals – except, of course, that surely no general would be so polite in giving orders.

Obi-Wan is fully expecting Qui-Gon to awaken when he begins to pack the wounds with the poultices – he remembers how it had taken a full six men to hold down old Cliegg when he had lost his leg – but Qui-Gon doesn’t even flinch, much less stir.

“He’s deep in a healing trance,” Tahl explains briskly. “Yes, and now pack that one. It’ll scar, but as long as we get to stop bleeding, that is what is important.”

“A – A healing trance?”

“Like a deep meditation. It allows us to focus ourselves and our energy into healing. No, that one is fine; begin to wrap bandages there, and there. And here as well.”

Finally, when Obi-Wan’s arms are tired and his back is aching, Tahl declares his work done. She does not withdraw, however, and neither do any of the other Jedi. Normally they spread out all over the grounds, but right now Obi-Wan looks around and finds the entire room absolutely covered in plants, even more so than his first dinner. The floor, the walls, the furniture – everything that can hold a plant is holding a plant.

“Now then, young one,” Master Yoda says, uncurling somewhat from his pose at Qui-Gon’s head. “Tell us, you will, of what befell young Qui-Gon.”

Obi-Wan looks at the floor. He can feel his cheeks turning red with shame, but he dutifully explains the story: his encounter with Qui-Gon in the maze, his rush into the woods, his attack by the nexu.

“I don’t understand why he saved me, I – I called him a witch and tried to run – ”

“Always free to leave, you were,” Master Yoda reminds him. “Although glad of the companionship, we all were.”

“Even though Qui-Gon almost died?”

“More than this, it would take, to kill young Qui-Gon,” Master Yoda says. “And not the first to mistake us for witches, you are. But perhaps, less hasty to judge you will be next time, hmm?”

Obi-Wan flushes. “Yes, Master Yoda.”

“Don’t lecture him,” comes the deep rumble of Qui-Gon’s voice. “He caught me doing Ataru in the maze and was frightened. It was not his fault.”

Obi-Wan jumps as Qui-Gon slowly pushes himself up. It is clear that each move pains him, but his eyes are clear and his voice is soft, as though he truly isn’t angry. It makes the ball of shame in Obi-Wan’s stomach grow even larger.

“My own counsel, I will keep, on who I will lecture,” Master Yoda says.

“Of course you will.”

“And remain still, you should.”

“I’m sitting perfectly still,” Qui-Gon says. He turns that brilliant blue gaze on Obi-Wan. “And there’s a misunderstanding we need to clear up. Namely, that we are not witches.”

Obi-Wan swallows hard. “But only magic can allow someone to – And Dooku cursed you with magic – ”

“Technically, that was Sith magic,” Qui-Gon says. “We do not practice such dark arts. We are Jedi, and we follow the will of the Force.”

“The Force?”

“An energy field,” Qui-Gon explains and lifts his paw. A strip of spare linen rises in tandem with it, fluttering gently as though caught in an unseen wind. “It is made of all living things; it flows around us and through us, and, with training, one can learn to listen to it.”

Obi-Wan looks at the still-fluttering strip of linen. “That . . . looks like it’s a little bit more than just listening.”

Qui-Gon smiles. A small smile, but a smile nonetheless. He lowers his paw and the linen falls too. “Well, once you learn to quiet your mind and listen to it, eventually, you can learn to influence the flow.”

That makes Obi-Wan draw back. Influencing is not usually a term that means positive things when it comes to magic.

Qui-Gon smiles vanishes. He says, low and solemn, “I swear to you, I have not influenced you, and I never will.”

“But you could.”

“And you could stand up right now and stab me in the heart,” Qui-Gon counters. “But you won’t. Because you know the difference between right and wrong.”

“Would that even work?” Obi-Wan asks suspiciously.

“You know, I’m not sure. Haven’t exactly tested the limits of the curse that way. I would, ah, prefer that you not test it though.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I never wanted you dead, I just – I needed to get away.”

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t.” Obi-Wan takes a deep breath. If Qui-Gon can have the courage to face down a pride of nexu for him, then Obi-Wan can muster the strength to reveal a secret. “They burnt my mother at the stake for witchcraft. I was thirteen. They made – They made me watch.”

“I’m sorry,” Qui-Gon says softly. “That is a terrible thing.”

“They said she’d made a deal with the devil. Signed away her soul in blood. They put me under so many tests trying to see if I’d been – influenced down her path. Eventually they decided I was innocent, but by then no one wanted me. Everyone said I had a touch of the witch in me. From her.”

Qui-Gon is silent for a long moment. Then he says, “Well . . . technically. You are sensitive to the Force, Obi-Wan.”

“I what?”

“You’re Force-sensitive,” Qui-Gon repeats. “Like Master Yoda, like Tahl. Like me.”

“But I’m not a Jedi.”

“Not every Force-sensitive was brought to us for training, and even after training, not everyone continued on the path. It takes a certain kind of being to commit to being a Jedi. But you passed the Initiate’s Trials. Well, one of them, anyways.”

“Which is . . .?”

Qui-Gon tilts his head towards the window. “How did you manage to get out of the maze, Obi-Wan? You didn’t follow the path I laid out. In fact, you ran in almost the opposite direction. Yet you didn’t go down a single dead end.”

“I – That can’t be right – ”

“When you first came here, you went straight to the same rose bush as Anakin did. There are thousands of bushes on the grounds, yet you found the exact same one. You sensed his presence. And when you called for help, the entire Temple heard it.”

“Loudly,” Master Yoda grumbles quietly.

“I – ” Obi-Wan stares at him, utterly confused. He feels like he’s ready to pass out, with his heart pounding in his ears. “So I am – I am a witch?”

Qui-Gon shakes his head vehemently, so hard that his fur flies back and forth. “No. You are Force-sensitive. You can listen to it, and it listens to you. You signed no deal with no devil; you just . . . have a stronger connection to the energy around you. That is all.” He hesitates. “You’ve probably been using it instinctively all your life and just never noticed. Small things. Creatures more willing to come to you than others. An intuition for what step to take. Feelings about the future.”

“Shmi used to joke that I always knew when a big storm was coming.”

“A not uncommon talent among the young and untrained. I used to make it rain when I was upset.”

“You what?”

Qui-Gon’s tail curls behind him. He hunches his shoulders, as if trying to be smaller, and repeats, “I used to make it rain when I was upset. That’s how my parents knew I should be brought to the Temple.”

“The biggest rainstorm in years we had, when you came to us,” Master Yoda says. “Washed out the entire west garden, you did.”

“Yes, yes,” Qui-Gon says hastily. “Anyways. In time I learned to control it. If you want, I can teach you to control your gifts as well.”

“ . . . If?” Obi-Wan asks warily.

“Well, you did seem rather in a hurry to leave. I thought . . . that you plan to leave again. Now that you know I will live.”

Qui-Gon’s voice is soft and tentative. There is not a hint of blame or anger in his tone; merely a gentle sadness, as though it is no surprise that Obi-Wan should leave. As though he is already resigned to another century – or centuries – of being trapped in the Temple with his fellow trees and shrubs, doomed to remain cursed.

Even before Obi-Wan had learned Qui-Gon would die to protect him, it had seemed too cruel a fate.

He clears his throat. “That would be a poor repayment indeed. After all, you saved my life.”

“I am a Jedi; we are protectors. There is no debt between us. When the sun rises, you may leave, and with our blessing.”

Obi-Wan looks to the door. It is still covered in plants, but Obi-Wan knows that he would only need to take a step towards it and they would part for him. Only a few hours ago, leaving had been the most important and most pressing urge. Now . . .

He turns back to Qui-Gon: to the stark white bandages around his chest, to the smears of green poultice on his arms, to the blood still staining patches of his fur. He’s still stranger than any person Obi-Wan has ever known, and his fangs are sharp and his paws are massive and he looks more wolf than man – and yet Obi-Wan finds that it no longer reminds him of a predator poised to eat him. Rather, now it reminds him of how Qui-Gon had faced down an entire pride of nexu to save him.

Qui-Gon is more dangerous than Obi-Wan had ever imagined. But not to him.

He ventures tentatively, “And if . . . if I want to stay?”

Qui-Gon’s head snaps up. His eyes are blue and wide and very human. “Are you sure?”

“Well, someone has to change those bandages, and your paws would make a right mess of it,” Obi-Wan says. “And – And I’d like to learn. Please.”

“Then I will teach you.”

Because Qui-Gon is Qui-Gon, he decides that their first lesson should take place outside. It makes sense, in a way: outside there are plants, which means more opportunities for Obi-Wan to sense things, and also outside there are less things Obi-Wan might accidentally damage.

That being said, Obi-Wan would be a lot more cheerful about if Qui-Gon hadn’t chosen the winter garden to begin their lessons.

“We really can’t do this in the summer garden?” Obi-Wan grumbles, nestling deeper into his cloak. “Or even the fall garden – there are leaves there!”

“The leaves are too small and flimsy; they would only make things more difficult,” Qui-Gon says from where he is meticulously rolling clumps of snow into little round balls. “And the wind won’t carry these away from you.”

Obi-Wan sighs and finally edges into the winter garden. Most of the time, if he walks the grounds he sticks to the summer garden, which is nice and warm, or the spring garden to see all of the new sprouts. Sometimes he even ventures into the fall garden to marvel at the changing colors. The winter garden, though, is the section permanently trapped by the curse to have snow, ice, and freezing winter all of the time, so although Qui-Gon is perfectly fine in his thick fur, Obi-Wan is very much not, no matter how many layers he wears.

“I don’t know. I think I might prefer battling the wind to battling the snow. Because unlike you, I don’t have a thick layer of fur.”

“It isn’t my fur,” Qui-Gon says. And then when Obi-Wan gives him a disbelieving look, he amends, “Well, it’s not entirely my fur. I can use the Force to control my inner body temperature, so I can be warmer or colder as needed or desired.”

“And the reason I am learning to manipulate snowballs instead of my body temperature is?”

“Let’s learn how to influence what’s outside before we learn how to influence what’s inside.”

“You make it sound like I’m going to set myself on fire.”

Qui-Gon says nothing.

“Wait, am I going to set things on – ”

“Quiet your mind,” Qui-Gon instructs, blatantly ignoring him. “Like I’ve been showing you. Breathe in and breathe out. Feel the Force all around you. Feel the wind around us, and the snow on the ground, and the evergreens at the edge.”

Obi-Wan is pretty sure that he feels nothing but the wind, but he obediently slows his breathing. Qui-Gon has been very clear that the Force requires a calm mind.

A twist of that massive paw makes one of the snowballs drift lazily upwards, as if caught on a breeze. It seems to take him no more effort than a thought to levitate the snowball until it’s as high as his chest.

“Can you feel me doing that?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head.

“That’s fine. Sometimes it’s easier to feel what you do as opposed to what others do. So let me just . . . push it towards you.”

The snowball stops spinning in place and begins to inch towards Obi-Wan. It goes slower than a turtle, as though Qui-Gon wants to give him every single moment of opportunity to feel it, but even when it’s less than a hand’s breadth away from Obi-Wan, he senses nothing. Even when Qui-Gon lets it fall at his feet, he feels exactly the same.

“Nothing.” Obi-Wan blows out a long breath. “Are you sure this works?”

“Who’s the teacher here and who’s the student?” Qui-Gon counters, but his eyes are bright with amusement. “Let’s try again.”

Qui-Gon sends no less than a dozen snowballs his way, but Obi-Wan doesn’t sense anything different. He tries to catch it with the Force as well yet each and every time, the snowball just plops to the ground.

“Alright, let’s try something new.”

“Like what?” Obi-Wan asks warily.

“I think you’re relying too much on your eyes. You’re expecting to see something. The Force isn’t something that can be seen, though. Try closing your eyes.”

“I can’t even touch them when I am looking and you want me to try not looking?”

“Your eyes can deceive you, so you can’t always trust them. My Master used to put a helmet on my head so I couldn’t see.”

“ . . . Please don’t put a helmet on me,” Obi-Wan says, because he knows that there is armor in the Temple but he’s never tried to wear any of it.

“Just close your eyes, Obi-Wan.”

Closing his eyes does do something for Obi-Wan, but he’s fairly certain it’s not what Qui-Gon wanted. Mostly because it just makes him more aware of the freezing wind – and makes him long even more for the warm halls inside the Temple.

“Clear your mind. Yes, including of the cold,” Qui-Gon says. “Focus on the present, not the future or the past. Live in the moment. The environment around you is changing – a snowball is heading for you. Feel the ripples in the Force from the change. Let the ripples guide you to where your body needs to be . . .”

It’s like a whisper in the wind, a subtle twist in his intuition that tells him that his foot needs to be there and his hand needs to be here. The whole world seems to go perfectly, beautifully still. Obi-Wan doesn’t even notice that he’s begun following the whispers until a freezing cold snowball drops in his open palm.

He promptly yelps and drops it.

“Well, it’s a start,” Qui-Gon says.

Obi-Wan pulls his hand back and buries it in his pockets. He glares at Qui-Gon. “You did that on purpose.”

“You chose to open your hand. But congratulations are in order – you’ve taken your first steps into a wider world. Do you think you could try lifting it yourself now?”

“Honestly, I think it would be easier to just pick it up,” Obi-Wan grumbles.

“Where would be the fun in that?” Qui-Gon laughs. He bends over and begins gathering more snowballs at his feet. Obi-Wan has the sinking suspicion that that means that Qui-Gon intends to send more snowballs at him until he actually learns how to catch it, even if Obi-Wan is a frozen ice cube by the end.

So Obi-Wan bends down, scoops up one of the snowballs, chucks it straight at Qui-Gon’s unsuspecting furry head –

And Qui-Gon leans very slightly to the right and dodges it entirely.

“Nice try,” Qui-Gon says. “But next time, try and put a little more power behind the throw. You can use the Force to give yourself strength and speed, or even to reduce the resistance in front of the snowball, but for a beginner I would recommend just trying to give your arm more power and – ”

Which is when Obi-Wan’s second snowball smacks him square in his open mouth.

Qui-Gon rocks back on his haunches. He doesn’t look angry, which is nice, but he also doesn’t look surprised. Almost as if he had known it was coming.

Almost as if he had let it hit him.

“I suppose I could go for the more energetic option,” he says mildly. “Sometimes students respond better when they have no choice but to let go of their doubt and rely on their instincts.”

“What does that mean,” Obi-Wan begins to ask, and then he takes a step back when Qui-Gon raises his arms and a dozen snowballs rise into the air at once. “Qui-Gon, wait, don’t – ”

Obi-Wan does, ironically, sense the flurry of snowballs coming. Unfortunately, the whispers seem a little confused on how best to dodge all twelve projectiles at once, and that is how Obi-Wan gets knocked off his feet and buried in snowballs.

“Would you – Would you just – Sit still! Honestly, how are you some sort of esteemed Jedi Master when you can’t even sit still long enough for me to change one wet bandage?”

Qui-Gon makes a soft growling sound, like a dog expressing unhappiness, but he does finally stop moving long enough for Obi-Wan to pry apart the knot and begin unwinding the bandage on his shoulder. Most of his other wounds have healed beautifully and quickly, thanks to his healing trances. However, the wound on his shoulder has been slower to fully close, and so Obi-Wan has faithfully been changing the bandages and applying more salve.

When Qui-Gon will sit still long enough for it to happen.

“If I may – ”

“No. I am not done yet.”

“ – I might point out that the bandage is wet because someone decided to throw snow at me.”

“Then I,” Obi-Wan says, tearing off a new strip of clean linen, “might point out that you threw the first blow.”

“That was training, not an invitation for a fight.”

“Twelve snowballs is training?”

“My Master once threw dozens of rocks at me,” Qui-Gon says with a completely straight face. And the worst part is that Obi-Wan can almost believe it, given some of the meditative poses Qui-Gon has tried to show to him.

Almost.

“I feel like your Master would have given you a weapon first.”

Qui-Gon raises an eyebrow. “You want a saber?”

“Stars above, no.”

“Then I fail to see your point.”

“My point is that next time, let’s go train in the summer garden with pillows.”

“Hmm. You know, that is a good suggestion.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “No need to sound so surprised,” he says. He winds the final bit of linen around the end and ties a quick knot. He hadn’t been terrible at tending to wounds before coming to the Temple, since their villager hasn’t had a healer in years, but under Qui-Gon’s tutelage he feels he’s learned quite a bit. Certainly, he’d never used half of the plants Qui-Gon has introduced him too. “There, all done.”

“May I have you permission to move then, Master Kenobi?” Qui-Gon teases.

“I will empty this entire pot of hot water on your lap,” Obi-Wan threatens as he rises with said pot. But he pours it into Master Windu’s pot anyways, because Haruun Kal trees like steaming hot water and there’s no sense in wasting water. Master Windu thanks him with a brush of a bright purple flower.

When he returns, Qui-Gon is testing his range of motion. He appears pleased enough by it, for he nods and settles back against the couch.

“Did I pass?” Obi-Wan asks, joining him on the floor, for the couch isn’t quite large enough to accommodate Qui-Gon’s furry form.

“With high marks,” Qui-Gon tells him. “You could be a healer, when all is said and done.”

“Doesn’t a healer have to know how to use those healing trances you keep going on about?”

“Eventually. But you do not wish to become a Jedi, so therefore I think that just learning how to close wounds or slow bleeding or encourage healing would be useful enough for you.”

Obi-Wan rolls his head around to look at Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon has remained steadfast in his opinion that Obi-Wan could have been a Jedi himself, if the curse hadn’t cut the Temple off. Obi-Wan is rather less sure.

Qui-Gon catches his gaze. He smiles a little, like he senses where Obi-Wan’s thoughts are going. “True, you are a bit headstrong, and you have much to learn of the Living Force – but you are capable. You would have been a fine Jedi Knight. Finer than me, I think.”

“And this is the part where I remind you that while you got these wounds by fighting off an entire pride of nexu, I very capably hid in a tree,” Obi-Wan says dryly.

“You think I never ran from something?”

“You?”

“I wasn’t always this tall, you know.”

“Okay then,” Obi-Wan says, crossing his arms, “tell me the story of a time you actually ran from something.”

“Well,” Qui-Gon says, humming softly, “I was fifteen when we were sent to negotiate a hostage release at Dagonet, and I was perhaps a tad overconfident . . .”

Qui-Gon’s voice is deep and slow and calm, and the fire is crackling, and Obi-Wan is full from another excellent dinner. He doesn’t realize that he’s begun to doze off until he finds himself suddenly with his eyes shut, even though he has no memory of closing them.

He also realizes that he is now leaning against Qui-Gon.

Very lightly, but he can feel fur against his cheek and Qui-Gon’s strong arm against his. The fur is soft; even though Obi-Wan has touched it many times since the nexu attack, it always amazes him how soft it is. Now, though, he also realizes that it is warm – very warm. It’s almost like a soft furry blanket, except that it’s only around one side of him.

Obi-Wan thinks about it for a moment, and then burrows deeper against that soft, warm fur. If Qui-Gon didn’t want to be touched, Qui-Gon can always push him off, and right now, with the memory of their ice cold snowball fight still fresh on his mind, he wants warmth.

As he closes his eyes again, that strong arm shifts – and then Qui-Gon is actually pulling him closer, wrapping that blissfully warm arm around his waist so that both sides of him are kept nice and toasty. It makes Obi-Wan want to purr.

“ – and you are not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?”

Obi-Wan yawns. “Some of it.”

Qui-Gon makes a disbelieving noise. However, he also turns himself a little more, so that Obi-Wan is can nestle even deeper in his embrace. He suspects that Qui-Gon is perhaps cheating with his ability to raise his temperature, but right now he has no intent of complaining. He is the warmest he’s ever been and he has no desire to move.

“Oh, I see. I’m just a convenient blanket for you. So much respect for your teacher.”

“Teach me how to warm myself and I’ll stop leeching off of you,” Obi-Wan mumbles.

“I’ll teach you after you learn to actually catch things and not just drop them.”

“Unfair,” Obi-Wan sighs.

“Yes, how unfair of me to try and ensure that my student doesn’t accidentally set himself on fire.”

“Wasn’t I capable five minutes ago?”

“And you’re still capable now. Capable of setting fires. Which I do not wish you to do. Especially now that you have touched the Force.”

Obi-Wan wrinkles his nose. “It didn’t really feel like much.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t.”

“What does it feel like to you then? The Force?”

Qui-Gon is silent for a long moment. Then he says, very softly, “Have you ever been in the dark? Afraid, perhaps? Do you remember how it feels when you finally get a candle to light? Or a fire?”

“It feels . . . safe,” Obi-Wan says, and deliberately does not think of how safe he feels now, wrapped up in Qui-Gon’s warm arms.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon says. “It feels like that.”

Obi-Wan must truly fall asleep after that, for he does not remember any more conversation between them. All he remembers is small snatches – soft fur, warm arms, Qui-Gon’s slow heartbeat – that must be from being carried to bed, for although he does not recall it, he wakes up in his own bed, with his shoes lined up neatly at the door and the blankets tucked around him.

After the snowball fiasco, Qui-Gon agrees to move their lessons indoors. More time is focused on meditation, but Obi-Wan still can’t reliably manipulate the Force; it comes to him in fits and starts. It’s extremely annoying, but on the bright side, at least he can work out his irritation with the katas Qui-Gon is showing him.

“A little higher on your elbow,” Qui-Gon says, demonstrating the move again. “And move your left foot a little more outwards. Yes. Like that. For a more stable stance.”

“I don’t feel stable.”

“Would you like me to come over and push you so you can see?”

“Do that and I’ll push you over,” Obi-Wan mutters. He moves into the next step. “Is this right at least?”

“Better,” Qui-Gon says. “And last movement, do it with me . . .”

Together they move into the final stance of the kata. Obi-Wan has the unnerving feeling that he’s being shown moves meant for a very young Initiate, because the katas have none of the flair or acrobatics he’s seen Qui-Gon display, but he can’t exactly protest being started on a basic kata when he still sometimes forgets which foot to move forward.

“And done. Now. Again.”

Obi-Wan sighs. His arms are starting to shake a little and his legs are sore and his stomach is rumbling in anticipation of dinner; he’s pretty sure that any further attempts won’t be pretty. But Qui-Gon has been very clear that repetition is important for Obi-Wan to master the katas, and he’s been unyielding about letting Obi-Wan skive off.

Case in point: “Come on. One more, you can do one more.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Obi-Wan grumbles as his stomach roils again, and then he drops back into the starting position.

An amused look flashes over Qui-Gon’s face. “I don’t sense anything. And the point of this exercise is to clear your mind and live in the moment. Keep your focus here and now, where it belongs. And not,” he adds wryly, “at the dinner table.”

“Has dinner ever been burnt before?” Obi-Wan asks, moving into the next position when Qui-Gon nods in approval. “Only I think we should check – ”

“Keep your arm up. And if the magic has been able to provide for a century, I think it can handle one more meal.”

“Maybe this is the one time it doesn’t.”

“Wrong foot,” Qui-Gon calls out, circling him with a critical eye. “Here and now, Obi-Wan.”

“Every time you say that, this practice is going to get shorter and shorter.”

“Focus,” Qui-Gon says with laughter in his voice. “Live in the moment. Don’t center on your – ”

When Qui-Gon initially stops talking, Obi-Wan doesn’t immediately notice. The middle part of the kata is the most difficult, requiring all of Obi-Wan’s attention to make sure that each of his limbs is in the proper place and angle. It’s almost enough to make him forget the growing pit in his stomach.

Almost.

“How was that?” Obi-Wan pants. And then, when he hears no response: “It cannot be that bad, Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon?”

He drops his trembling arms and turns around to find Qui-Gon facing the window. His posture is stiff and tense in a way Obi-Wan has never seen. It’s almost like he’s preparing to pounce: his knees are slightly bent, and he has one paw at his waist, and everything about him is predator-still.

That roiling ball of anxiety grows and grows, and Obi-Wan takes a step forward –

In the blink of an eye, Qui-Gon looses a ferocious snarl, whirls around, and lunges at Obi-Wan. It’s like a scene out of his nightmares, back when he had initially thought Qui-Gon would tear him to shreds and feast on his bones, and Obi-Wan cries out and throws up his arms in a futile attempt to protect his face.

But Qui-Gon does not tear into him. Qui-Gon slams him back and down, cradling his head with one paw and making a shield out of his massive body.

Which turns out to be a good thing, considering that in the next second something goes crashing through the window.

Glass shards rain everywhere. Obi-Wan cringes instinctively, curling closer to Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon waves his paw, almost impatiently, and Obi-Wan can see and sense the way he repels the shards, pushing the glass away from them so that the shards fall in a perfect circle around them, as though they are protected by an invisible bubble.

“What was – ”

“Projectiles,” Qui-Gon says shortly. “The Temple is under attack.”

“But why go for the windows and not the door – ” Obi-Wan starts to ask, only for his question to immediately be answered when a flaming bottle is sent through the now broken window. As soon as it smashes, the fire ignites the carpet and curtains, like a spark set against dry tinder.

Qui-Gon snarls again, his tail lashing furiously from side to side. “Take a breath and hold it,” he tells Obi-Wan. “And hold onto me.”

Even though Qui-Gon is, for all intents and purposes, the master of the castle, he’s never given Obi-Wan orders before. Suggestions, of course, and plenty of advice and definitely a lot of training, but never an order. Right now he sounds like a general who expects immediate and total obedience

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath and clings tightly to Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon gathers him close and then bounds up and out. He moves so fast that the Temple walls blur past them, dodging other rocks and spears and flaming projectiles with ease. As soon as he reaches the main hall, he bends his knees and then launches them both upwards, cleaning two landings and bypassing the stairways entirely to land them on one of the upper floors.

Then and only then does his death grip on Obi-Wan ease, and he gently sets him down on the floor.

“Are you all right?”

Obi-Wan nods. He isn’t sure he can muster the breath for words, even though it was Qui-Gon who did all the running.

Qui-Gon seems to understand, though. His face softens and he touches Obi-Wan’s waist with his paw, gentle as he always is. “You’re going to be all right,” he promises. “Go rouse the others. I’ll hold them off here at the entrance.”

“You’re going to fight?”

“Well, if they claim to be travelers lost in the forest, then they’ve got some explaining to do,” Qui-Gon says lightly. Then he sobers. “And I have my fellow Jedi to think about, and you. I won’t let them bring our home down on you. Now go.”

“Qui-Gon – ”

“Go, Obi-Wan. Please.”

It’s another order, and Obi-Wan cannot defy it. He can delay it, though, and so he impulsively darts in and throws his arms around Qui-Gon. He imprints the memory of soft, warm fur and that broad form and that strong heartbeat in his mind, and desperately tries to tell himself that it won’t be the last hug he ever gives Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon rumbles. His tail swishes and he curls an arm around Obi-Wan, squeezing him gently.

“If this is our home,” Obi-Wan whispers into Qui-Gon’s fur, “then you have to live. So it can still be our home afterwards. You have to.”

“Obi-Wan – ”

“You have to.”

“I’ll do my best. But I have to make sure you’re safe. All of you. Now please,” Qui-Gon says, pushing him away. “Go and rouse the others. Avoid the fires and the fighting. Someone will let you know when it’s over.”

“That someone better be you,” Obi-Wan says, but Qui-Gon will not meet his eyes.

“Go,” Qui-Gon repeats. “Now. Please.”

Obi-Wan reluctantly lets go and backs away. Qui-Gon watches his every step, as though he thinks Obi-Wan might try and sneak back when he turns around.

Or like a man watching the last sight of something, determined to memorize every second of it.

And then, when Obi-Wan is at the edge of the corridor, Qui-Gon’s face changes. He takes up the silver saber hilt that is always at his side, and the second it’s in his paw, he looks no longer like the gentle giant Obi-Wan has always known. He looks determined and fierce, like the wolf lord Obi-Wan had feared.

He calls out, “Well, you were right about one thing, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan swallows. “And what’s that?”

“Your practice was short,” Qui-Gon says.

And then he turns and flings himself over the bannister, and as he falls, Obi-Wan hears the distinctive sound of his saber igniting. Because even in the middle of a fight for their lives, he can’t resist being dramatic.

Obi-Wan resists the urge to rush back to the bannister and yell insults down at him. It would serve no purpose beyond distracting Qui-Gon anyways. Also, he can always go yell at him after the battle. And Qui-Gon did give him something to do, something important. So he sets his jaw and turns on his heel and begins running down the corridor.

As he flies past different plans, he alerts them that they are under attack. The ones closest to the sounds of fighting already know, and he can see many a sharp thorn and poisonous vine where there have only been blossoms and leaves before. Thus armed, they begin the slow crawl towards the fighting.

The more he runs, though, he begins to realize that all of the Jedi seem to know. Even the ones who are hidden in tiny, faraway rooms have begun to emerge, almost like there’s something in the air.

Or something in the Force.

He slows down as he passes one of the nurseries. The door is almost invisible behind a curtain of vines, and they are a deep and dark red, like the color of the blood. A sense of danger emanates from them, so Obi-Wan isn’t foolish enough to try and knock.

Instead, he leans close and calls out, “Master Velti? Master Veltri, there’s an attack on the Temple – ”

“Trust me, we know,” comes Master Veltri’s voice. “And anyone who tries to go through this door will get a nasty surprise.”

“Good – wait. We know? Do all the Jedi go?”

“Of course, Obi-Wan,” Master Veltri says. “We are Jedi. Did you think we wouldn’t feel the attack in the Force?”

“But Qui-Gon told me to rouse everyone – ”

“Of course he did. He would have wanted you out of danger. You know a lot of us linger here on the upper levels for the sun; we will keep everyone here safe.”

“That kriffing – ”

Obi-Wan bites his tongue before the rest of sentence can come out. It’s a waste of energy. And honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised. This isn’t even the first time Qui-Gon has willingly hurled himself into danger to divert it from Obi-Wan.

But last time, Obi-Wan had been terrified, weaponless, and out of his league. Right now, he’s well-rested and well-fed and, more importantly, knows the Temple better than any intruder possibly could.

So he spins on his heel and runs back down towards the entrance, ignoring Master Veltri and the other Jedi who call his name.

The closer he gets to the entrance, the more smoke and glass he sees. Shattered windows are everywhere, with the rocks that broke them piling up dangerously in the corridors. Carpets and curtains and furniture are either smoking or on fire, and Obi-Wan spots a few Jedi working to smother what they can and douse the rest. It looks and smells like a battleground, something he has never associated with the Temple, and it breaks his heart.

There is also a lot of shouting, and Obi-Wan speeds up, hoping that shouting means that Qui-Gon is still alive.

He’s almost to the main bannisters when: “Obi-Wan!”

Obi-Wan almost trips over a debris pile. He jumps instead, landing as Qui-Gon taught him, and swivels his head around, because that had sounded almost like –

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin yells, and promptly gets him in a bone crushing embrace.

“An – Anakin,” Obi-Wan wheezes. “Ani, need to – need to breathe – ”

“You’re alive!” Anakin says exuberantly, and only crushes him harder. “Stars above, I knew it, I knew you were alive – ”

“Why would you think I was dead? Also, breathing – still important,” he gasps. He kicks Anakin – lightly, but pointedly – and is finally released. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head to clear it, and Anakin is somehow still standing in front of him when he lifts his gaze back up. “Wait, you’re here? How did you – ”

“Threepio,” Anakin explains. “Threepio came home – he looked he’d been through hell, with so many scratches and bruises, so frightened that I had to coax him in with oats and carrots! But I told Mom, I told her that Threepio coming back meant you were alive and in danger.”

Obi-Wan coughs. “Well, I was, but don’t worry, I got away from the – oh, never mind. Why are you here, Anakin?”

“To free you from the Beast, of course,” Anakin says promptly.

“The who?”

“The Beast! The one who demanded my life for the rose, the one who took you prisoner. I had a feeling that it didn’t kill you right away, but I didn’t have proof that you were still alive until Threepio came home with your bag on his saddle. I just wish your escape attempt had been successful so you would have been home faster.”

“Escape attempt – Wait, Anakin, I wasn’t trying to escape.”

“What, you liked being a prisoner?”

“I wasn’t a prisoner,” Obi-Wan says blankly.

“Right, because the Beast kept you here in luxury and pampered you,” Anakin says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He pulls on Obi-Wan’s arm. “Whatever it’s told you, it’s a lie. We’re here, you’re safe now, we’ll bring you home, Maul said – ”

“Who the hell is Maul?”

“The hunter we contracted to kill the Beast,” Anakin answers. “Cost a lot, but the whole village pitched in. He promised he’ll do the job though. Said he’s killed beasts before. And I believe it, he looks terrifying – ”

Ice fills Obi-Wan’s veins. It’s like the bad feeling he had had before the Temple had been attacked, but now it’s ten times worse. “What does he look like, Anakin?”

“Seriously, Obi-Wan, come on, let’s get out of here – ”

“Tell me what Maul looks like.”

Anakin groans. “Of all the times to be stubborn – gods, Obi-Wan. He’s just got these creepy red eyes, okay? And some strange tattoos. But he says he takes a special potion to give him the strength to take down beasts, and the tattoos mark his victories, so – ”

Just like that, Obi-Wan needs no further description. He knows exactly what Maul looks like.

And he knows too why Maul would have come to their little village, and taken the tiny bounty they could have scraped together, and whipped the villagers into a frenzy so they would attack a peaceful Temple.

He plants his feet and yanks his arm out of Anakin’s grip. He whirls around, looking everywhere and anywhere, and out of the corner of his eye he spots the telltale green flash of Qui-Gon’s saber – and the red flash of what must be Maul’s.

A memory flashes in his mind: Qui-Gon, steeping tea as Obi-Wan examined his saber hilt. It had been the first time he had ever seen Qui-Gon turn it on. A Jedi’s saber will typically be blue, or green, or yellow, though they can be other colors. Master Windu has purple, for example, Qui-Gon had said, a faint quirk in his lips. But the one color they will never be is red. That is the color of a Sith.

“Obi-Wan, what are you – ”

“I have to go,” Obi-Wan says, as much to himself as to Anakin. “I have to go, I have to save him – ”

“Save who? Are there other prisoners?”

“For the last time, I wasn’t a prisoner! Qui-Gon would have let me leave any time I wanted the second I wanted.”

Anakin’s face scrunches with confusion. “Who’s Qui-Gon?”

And Obi-Wan has no answer for him. No answer that isn’t terribly long and potentially embarrassing, anyways, and that icy bad feeling is getting stronger by the second. So he just curses and sprints away, dodging Anakin’s wild grab half on instinct, half due to the training Qui-Gon has instilled in him. Then he pelts up the stairs to where the red and green lights are clashing.

He passes more villagers as he runs, many groaning on the floor or tangled up with an angry Jedi. Some call his name and others are too distracted to even notice; he ignores everyone.

All that matters – the only thing that matters – is getting to Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon must be trying to lure Maul away from everyone, because Obi-Wan follows the icy feeling in his gut all the way to the highest level in the entire Temple. He even has to pause a few times to catch his breath. His endurance has gotten better since he came to the Temple, but the Council tower is the one place he had never explored, because it had fallen out of use after the curse.

It is so out of use, in fact, that the higher Obi-Wan climbs up the winding stairs, the state of disrepair begins to increase: cracks in the walls, cobwebs in the corners, dust in the windows. He also sees rubble and marks on the walls, but given that most of them are still smoking, he’s pretty sure they are more recent acquisitions.

At long last, he ascends the last part of the stairs and comes across the most beautiful and the most horrifying thing he has ever seen: Qui-Gon and Maul fighting.

They are locked in a furious duel, Qui-Gon’s green blade sparking and hissing as it clashes against Maul’s blood red saber. This is not the gentle play-wrestling that Qui-Gon engaged in with Obi-Wan to train him how to fight; this is a fight to the death, and Obi-Wan has never seen Qui-Gon move so swiftly or strike so powerfully. Multiple times when his blade comes crashing down, he can see Maul visibly struggling to block the blow.

Of course, Maul is not without his advantages either. His eyes blaze a sickly yellow and his teeth are bared in a snarl. He flings himself at Qui-Gon as though he doesn’t care if he will live or die, and it is clear that every strike he makes is a blow intended to kill.

It’s breathtaking and awe-inspiring and Obi-Wan’s heart almost leaps out of his chest every time Qui-Gon narrowly dodges Maul’s saber. Because Qui-Gon is currently keeping pace, but Obi-Wan can see that he is beginning to tire. His chest is heaving and sweat has darkened his fur and his breathing sounds like the bellows of a forge. Obi-Wan mutters a curse and begins to look around for something, anything, that he could use as a weapon to try and distract Maul –

Only to himself become a distraction when Maul gestures at him and yanks him forward as powerfully as though he’d attached a chain to Obi-Wan’s neck.

Fortunately, Qui-Gon steps in Obi-Wan’s path and ruthlessly smacks Maul’s saber away with a snarl, forcing him to take a step back, so that Obi-Wan crashes into Qui-Gon instead of being impaled.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Qui-Gon says over his shoulder, and each word is punctuated by a deep breath. “You need to leave, now.”

“But I – ”

“Leave?” Maul says. He twirls his red saber, almost like he’s showing off, and grins. “But the fun’s just getting started, Master Jinn. Why would you make your fellow Jedi leave? Or . . . perhaps . . . perhaps he isn’t a Jedi at all. Maybe he’s just a half-trained Padawan and you’re scared he’s going to rush in and get killed. Honestly, you needn’t worry. He doesn’t need to do anything at all for me to – ”

A vicious growl rolls out of Qui-Gon’s stomach. It sounds pure wolf, through and through, with not a hint of the man he is underneath the furry visage.

“You won’t touch him, Maul.”

Maul’s eyes widen. His jaws part, ever so slightly, as if he’s genuinely surprised. For a second, Obi-Wan thinks he’s been taken off guard.

But then that open mouth becomes a terrifying open smile full of sharp fangs, and Maul says, “Oh, is that how it is? Very well. I won’t touch him, Master Jinn. I’ll tear him apart.”

And Qui-Gon – level-headed, calm, dignified Qui-Gon – roars and throws himself at Maul.

If Maul hadn’t been surprised by Qui-Gon’s threat, he does seem to be surprised by the sudden increase in ferocity. Qui-Gon drives him back across the Council chamber floor with an absolutely vicious set of blows that are almost too fast for Obi-Wan to see, and he doesn’t fight nicely and chivalrously either. Those claws rip a gash in Maul’s side; that massive paw lands a slap on Maul’s face that must leave his ears ringing. Maul staggers backwards, shaking his head, and as he does, his blade connects with one of the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows that line the chamber.

The window, already stressed by long disuse and the rubble flying around, shatters instantly. Obi-Wan cringes and covers his face; Maul flinches and half-turns, as if he thinks someone is going to attack him through the window.

He realizes his mistake a moment later, but that’s a moment too late. Qui-Gon seizes the opportunity and leaps forward, catching Maul’s blade and forcing it downwards with one paw. This leaves Maul wide open for Qui-Gon to slam his elbow into Maul’s chest, followed up by a backhand to the face. Maul flails and tips backwards –

And falls out of the window.

Qui-Gon stands there for a long moment, chest heaving and a rumbling little growl echoing throughout the room. He sounds more like a wolf than he ever has, as if unleashing his warrior’s side had also unleashed the beast.

But then he takes a deep breath, steps back, and shuts off his saber.

“What were you thinking?” he demands harshly. It’s the most aggressive he’s ever been towards Obi-Wan, and combined with the way he stalks towards Obi-Wan, it’s truly terrifying. “You could’ve died!”

So Obi-Wan does the sensible thing. He takes a deep breath and brushes himself off and stands up – and then he rushes forward and throws his arms around Qui-Gon.

The menacing air splutters like a candle that’s been abruptly put out. Or perhaps a hissing cat that’s had a bucket of water thrown on it.

“I told you to run,” Qui-Gon says, but it’s clear he’s struggling to muster up the righteous anger. “Away from me.”

“I had to come,” Obi-Wan tells him, hugging him even harder. “And you sent me on a wild bantha chase! You knew the other Jedi would already know the Temple was attacked!”

“It was the only way I could be sure you were safe – ”

“I am not a child to be sent away at the first sign of trouble! I can make my own choices.”

“Clearly,” Qui-Gon says dryly, but he folds one strong arm around Obi-Wan’s waist, keeping him close. “Still. Maul was very dangerous, Obi-Wan, you should have remembered what I told you about Sith Lords.”

“Hard to forget,” Obi-Wan says, because the Jedi histories had no qualms of describing the ancient and extremely bloody Sith Wars.

“Then why in the name of the stars would you – ”

“I couldn’t just – just run away while Maul killed someone else who I – ”

“Someone else?” Qui-Gon interrupts, because even exhausted from a fight, his mind is as sharp and keen as ever. “What do you mean, someone else? How did you meet – Get back!”

A push sends Obi-Wan flying backwards. It must be enhanced with the Force, because Obi-Wan literally goes all the way across the entire chamber and slams against the entry wall. Qui-Gon activates his saber and begins to spin around –

But now it’s his turn to be too late.

Maul’s glowing red blade sprouts from the center of Qui-Gon’s chest.

Qui-Gon looks down at the blade, and then up at Obi-Wan. There’s surprise still etched on his face. His lightsaber winks out and slips from his slack paw, the silver hilt bouncing on the floor.

And the Qui-Gon falls to the floor, the thump loud and final and too-heavy in the silence.

Obi-Wan screams. Or at least he thinks he does. Whatever sound he makes is drowned out by the sound of every single window in the Council chamber shattering into a thousand pieces, as though his scream had been such a high note that its pitch had been too much for the windows.

This time, Maul doesn’t seem to notice or care about the windows breaking. Instead, he leans over and nudges Qui-Gon in the leg.

“You got slow, old man,” he taunts in a gloating voice. “And your little Padawan – sloppy. Very, very sloppy.”

He draws his leg back to kick Qui-Gon again, and Obi-Wan finds his voice.

“Don’t you touch him,” Obi-Wan spits, and he should be shocked at the viciousness in his voice, except he’s too angry. He wants to punch Maul, or kick him, or grab him by his horns and throw him out the window over and over again until he’s just a smear on the ground.

Maul turns those awful yellow eyes on him. “Interesting,” he comments. “That rage. Mmm. Delicious. Maybe you aren’t a Padawan, little human.”

“What do you care?”

“Well, I’m sworn to kill Jedi. But if you’re not a Jedi . . . things could get interesting. Perhaps I could teach you a few tricks. Show you some things I’m sure this old bag of fur wouldn’t have had the guts to.”

That rage flares up again. Obi-Wan glares. “You aren’t fit to teach a bird how to swallow food, much less anything else – ”

It’s like the very air has vanished. Obi-Wan tries to draw breath and immediately chokes. He scrabbles at his throat, but there’s nothing there, no constriction of clothes or rope, nothing that would stop him from being able to breath.

Nothing except a Sith Lord, who stands in front of him with a malicious grin and a clenched fist.

“Now, now. That was very rude,” Maul says, scolding him like a teacher. “I was under the impression that the Jedi prize politeness. Or at least, old Jinn here does. Hmm. Did.”

Maul walks towards him, raising that clenched fist, and Obi-Wan wheezes in fear as the ground seems to fall away from his feet. He looks down and realizes with a dawning sense of horror that Maul is actually lifting him, levitating him the same way he’s seen Qui-Gon lift snowballs and pillows and books. He’d known that Qui-Gon could lift heavier objects than those, but for some reason he’d never imagined that the power could be applied to people.

Until now.

“Such beautiful anger,” Maul croons. “It smells wonderful. You smell wonderful, in fact. And almost . . . hmm. Almost familiar. And your eyes . . . Oh, you’re the one young Skywalker wanted to rescue, aren’t you? The one they call Obi-Wan? I once knew an Obi-Wan, you know. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Little thing. Blue-green eyes. Fluffy hair. Kind of cute, if you like the helpless pathetic ones. Maybe you do, if you’ve been hanging around Jedi and haven’t been driven up the walls in annoyance at their habit of taking in stray lifeforms. Anyways. Aren’t you going to ask me how I knew Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan kicks at the air, but his legs feel weak and rubbery. Even if he hadn’t been too far away to land a blow, he likely wouldn’t have had the strength to do any real damage with it.

“Fine, fine. Be rude and sulk. Where was I? Oh, yes. Little Obi-Wan. He was such a happy little kid. Always tagging along trying to help his mother. And, of course, watching a little kid like that trying to drag buckets of water or brush horses – well, my heart was touched. Of course I had to offer my assistance. His mother was so happy to get it too. She was looking for a nice man to help out around the house – maybe even be a father figure to her son. She smelled delicious too. That raw potential. Untapped and unused. All for the taking. Really, could you blame me for what I did next?

“But then again, I suppose you’re a little biased, aren’t you . . . little Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan kicks and scratches and tries to scream. Nothing works. No sound comes out. Maul just grins and lifts him a little higher.

“They told me it took four men to hold you while your mother burned. You screamed loud enough that you frightened off all the birds and spooked all the horses. So angry and alone . . . I was going to come back for you, of course, but then they told me you’d ran away in the night. Slipped away into the fog like a wraith. I guess now I know where you ended up. And now you’re all grown up . . . and I can sense that same raw potential from your mother in you. Well. Maybe not quite so raw. Someone has been trying to train you. I assume that oaf? Ah well. You’ll still burn beautifully, Obi-Wan. As beautifully as your mother. I just have to make sure you can’t run away again,” he says, and draws back his blade to strike.

Obi-Wan tries to reach for the same rage that had shattered the windows. He thinks about the terror in his mother’s face as she’d been dragged from their home, her pleas for mercy as they’d tied her to the stake. The way she’d screamed in agony as the flames had licked at her flesh.

But the rage does nothing. The Force does not come to Obi-Wan’s call, and Maul doesn’t shatter like a window. In fact, Maul almost seems strengthened by it, like Obi-Wan’s rage feeds him.

Fear and anger. Qui-Gon had said those were the pathway to the dark side. The Sith used them, but never the Jedi. A Jedi needed a calm mind to access the Force.

Clear your mind. Focus on the present, not the future or the past. Live in the moment.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes. He lets his mother’s screams die away, back to the past where they belong. A part of Obi-Wan, yes, but only a part – not the whole. He is the Obi-Wan who is the orphan child of a witch, but he is also the Obi-Wan who is a beloved member of the Skywalker family, ever since the day he had first met Shmi, starving and dirty and alone. And he is also the Obi-Wan who is part of the Jedi Temple, ever since the day Qui-Gon had agreed to let him stay.

He had been frightened, then. He lets the memory of Qui-Gon’s deep voice and twinkling eyes and warm smile rise up, and the fear falls away.

Obi-Wan lets one hand fall away from where he’s been grasping at his throat. He holds it out in the direction Qui-Gon’s saber had fallen and he calls to the Force – not in fear, or anger, or hatred. In calm. In the moment. He needs Qui-Gon’s saber. He needs it in his hand. He needs it now.

He begins to close his hand – and his fingers close around that cool hilt as the saber smacks into his palm.

The green blade passes through Maul’s midsection as easily as a knife through butter. Maul jolts and a horrible gagging noise emanates from him. He looks down just as his legs collapse one way and his shoulders fall the other.

Obi-Wan crashes to the floor. Fortunately, when he drops Qui-Gon’s saber, it deactivates, so he doesn’t accidentally slice himself in half. He’s pretty sure he bruises his back and possibly his head, though, from how hard he hits the floor.

Not that it matters. He takes half a moment to desperately pull air into his lungs, and then he sits up because he has to make sure Maul is dead.

If the smell is anything to go by, he definitely is. Obi-Wan inches forward and pokes him in the forehead, wincing, but the expression of surprise does not change, as though it was permanently etched onto his face when he died. He slides his fingers to underneath Maul’s chin, checking his pulse, and is relieved when he feels nothing.

For a moment, he feels relief, pure and clear, washing away the fear and anger like water rushing through a stream. Then he remembers:

“Qui-Gon!”

Obi-Wan scrambles to his feet. He rushes to Qui-Gon’s side, and the smell from the smoking wound in his chest is as terrible as the smell emanating from Maul. Yet when Obi-Wan lifts Qui-Gon’s head off the cold floor, he feels a warmth to his sweat-stained, blood-soaked fur. Almost as if he’s still –

“Only a little alive,” Qui-Gon murmurs. “It’s – It’s too late.”

“It’s not! It can’t be. You have – the healing trance, go into a healing trance,” Obi-Wan says desperately.

Qui-Gon coughs, and it wracks his entire body like an earthquake. “It’s too late,” he repeats. “This wound – it’s too great. Even the best healers couldn’t save me now.”

“Just try! Isn’t that what you told me, that I had to try or I’d never know?”

A faint smile crosses Qui-Gon’s face. Those beautiful deep blue eyes open, and Qui-Gon says, “Actually, what I told you is do or do not, there is no try. A favorite saying of Master Yoda.”

“Fine, then do! Just – just close your eyes and go into the trance and heal yourself! You healed from the nexu, you can heal from this too.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“My body has gone into shock,” Qui-Gon informs him, as lightly as though he’s describing the color of a plant. “My organs are beginning to shut down. Soon my heart will cease to beat, and then I will die. A healing trance would only delay the inevitable for a few hours at most.”

“A lot can happen in a few hours,” Obi-Wan argues. “Just give us some time and we can – we can fix you, the others can tell me how to – how to wash it out and what plants you need and how to bandage you – ”

A soft paw brushes his cheek. Obi-Wan stutters, caught off guard, and stares.

“It’s too late for me, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon tells him. “It’s not the way I wanted this to go, but – but at least you’re safe. That is the only thing that matters.”

“That is not the only thing! You living is what matters!”

“I’m so glad you found the Temple,” Qui-Gon continues, as if Obi-Wan hasn’t spoken at all. “I regret the circumstances, but . . . you brought us so much joy. You reminded me why I took the oath of a Jedi Knight. Why I carry that lightsaber. I want you to have it.”

“But it’s yours.”

“And now I pass it onto you. I’m sorry I couldn’t train you more, but . . . use it to protect yourself. Please. Since I won’t be able to anymore.”

“Don’t talk like that! You’re going to live, you just have to shut up and – and go into that healing trance. You’ll be around for – for another hundred years, just you watch, you’ll outlive me and everyone else – ”

“The Force is calling me home,” Qui-Gon says. “One day, you and I will meet again there. I’ll wait for you. If there’s anything you know I’m good at, it’s waiting and being patient.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. He possibly shakes Qui-Gon a little bit as well from how vehement he is, but he just says, “Stop talking like that! I’m not taking your saber because you are not dying. Now go into the healing trance!”

“If you won’t take my saber,” Qui-Gon says, and then he has to pause and cough again. It’s a rattling cough, the kind Obi-Wan has only ever heard in the dead of winter, when the sick have gone so far that there’s nothing to be done for them besides making them comfortable. “If you won’t take my saber, then take the kyber crystal.”

“What are you – ”

Qui-Gon fumbles weakly at his waist. Obi-Wan leans over and spies a blue glint from one of his many pockets. He reaches for the belt and opens the flap – and finds that same glowing blue kyber crystal, the one that Master Yoda had given to Anakin, the one that Obi-Wan had tried to give back to Qui-Gon. The one that had started this whole adventure.

“Take it,” Qui-Gon rasps. “It’s yours.”

“I can’t. I didn’t – I was supposed to work for years to pay off the debt!”

“Take it,” Qui-Gon insists, pressing it into his palm with an insistent, if weak, paw. “For me, if nothing else. I need to – I need to know that you’ll be well settled when I’m gone.”

“Why?” Obi-Wan asks desperately. “Why would you even care about me, you’re dying, you should be thinking of you – You should’ve turned around when Maul came back, not wasted time pushing me out of the way – Why does it matter what happens to me?”

“Because you’re my everything,” Qui-Gon says simply.

Obi-Wan stares at him. Of all the answers he had expected, that had not been one of them. Not in a million years.

“Take the kyber crystal. For me,” Qui-Gon says, and he has to draw a visibly painful breath in between each word. “There was never a debt between us. How could there be? You saved me. And I . . . I loved – ”

Between one gasped out word and the next, Qui-Gon’s eyes go blank and unfocused. That awful, rattling cough ceases immediately. His entire body goes still, and his paw slackens until the blue kyber crystal falls to the floor with a gentle clink.

“Qui-Gon? Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon!”

Obi-Wan shakes him, this time on purpose. Qui-Gon’s head flops in his arms like a dead fish. There is no gasp of pain, no dramatic flying open of eyes.

“Qui-Gon!”

But for the first time, Qui-Gon does not respond when he calls. He lies still and quiet on the floor, and when Obi-Wan grasps desperately at Qui-Gon’s shoulders, he realizes to his horror that Qui-Gon’s fur has gone cold. It’s a foreign sensation, that cold fur – Qui-Gon has always been warm and soft, a constant that has kept Obi-Wan happier than the biggest roaring fire.

“No, no, no,” Obi-Wan says mindlessly, shaking him. “No, no, no! No! Qui-Gon!”

There is no answer. Even the Force is silent when Obi-Wan reaches for it, as if he is alone in the room, the only living thing present.

As if Qui-Gon truly is –

“No!” Obi-Wan shouts. “No, you can’t die! You were supposed to go into a healing trance! You’re not supposed to be dead! You can’t – You can’t just die! Qui-Gon! Qui-Gon!”

Qui-Gon’s fur is cold and matted and smells of blood and sweat. It makes for a terrible pillow, but Obi-Wan buries his face in it anyways. It’s all he has left, after all.

The tears come then. The torrent comes without Obi-Wan’s permission, but he lets it flow through him. The tears almost look like kyber crystals as they fall onto Qui-Gon’s fur, shining and sparkling – but only for just a moment. After that, they sink into his fur, becoming indistinguishable from the blood and the sweat.

“Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan says miserably, “you can’t die. You have to come back. I have to tell you I love you, you can’t die before I tell you I love you, come back, Qui-Gon, I love you – ”

He has no idea how long he stays there, on the cold hard floor with Qui-Gon’s cold body in his arms. He knows that he should get up and go stop the fighting, that he should reveal himself so that the misunderstanding can be cleared up. But at the same time, he knows that the Jedi will do their best not to kill and it’s unlikely the villagers were prepared to fight sentient plants who can use the Force, so it’s possible that a truce can happen without him. Perhaps he can just stay here until he too passes into the Force.

It’s a foolish thought, though, and he knows it. Qui-Gon willingly gave his life to protect Obi-Wan; he would not want Obi-Wan to waste away. Eventually, he will need to face the reality of a cold dawn without Qui-Gon. But not yet, he tells himself. Just a few more minutes. A few more. One more.

He’s counting down his last minute when light begins to fall upon his closed eyes. At first, he thinks that it is the sun rising, and he sighs because if there ever is a sign to get up and move, it’s the fact that the night has passed.

But then he opens and his eyes, and the light is not from the sun.

Qui-Gon is glowing.

As Obi-Wan stares, the glow becomes brighter and stronger and hotter, until Qui-Gon shines like a star. He spares a moment to wonder if perhaps this is a typical thing for Jedi after that, but then he has to hastily let go of Qui-Gon because the glow has become too hot. The light becomes too strong too, until Obi-Wan has to shade his eyes.

As if the magic had been waiting for Obi-Wan to take his hands off Qui-Gon, the second he pulls back, Qui-Gon’s body begins to lift off the floor. It’s like watching a puppet pulled on strings – but the movements aren’t jerky or awkward. This is a smooth slide upwards, until the wind from the missing windows ruffles Qui-Gon’s fur and clothes.

Then the glow becomes even brighter. It blazes from his paws and his feet like torches and it illuminates his entire face like a lantern. But it shines most brilliantly from the wound in his chest, pure golden light like the sun, until Obi-Wan can see each individual strand of fur around the edge of the wound.

Except the wound is somehow smaller. The raw charred edges cease to smoke, and then begin to soften, and then to lighten as the wound shrinks. It’s like watching a circle of ice vanish under a fire, except that the circle is a massive wound and the fire is a magical golden glow.

A fiery glimmer out of the corner of Obi-Wan’s eye catches his attention. He turns his head, and is shocked to realize that the golden glow is not limited just to Qui-Gon in the Council chamber. A golden dome is visible in the sky, and from it, streaming sparks are raining down onto the Temple, like falling stars plunging to earth. The more sparks fall, the more the dome cracks and pales, breaking down and vanishing.

It’s true and undeniable magic, and Obi-Wan just stares with his mouth open.

And then: “Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan yelps and whirl around, because he knows that voice – he knows it in his bones, in his heart, in his very soul – but it’s impossible, it can’t be, he watched Qui-Gon die.

But that is Qui-Gon standing in front of him, whole and alive, with his blue eyes and ruffled fur. He’s staring at Obi-Wan like he can’t believe what he is seeing.

And honestly, neither can Obi-Wan.

Slowly, he pushes himself to his feet, eyeing Qui-Gon warily. He reaches for the Force, but it tells him nothing – or rather, it tells him too much, overwhelmed by the sheer power of the falling sparks.

“It’s me,” Qui-Gon tells him. “It’s just me.”

“How are you . . . alive?”

“I’m not entirely sure that I am,” Qui-Gon says seriously. “But . . . But either I am alive or you are also dead, and I – I can’t think about that. Can you – Can you please come here?”

He reaches out with one massive paw, and it’s such a familiar sight that Obi-Wan’s heart jumps. He wants to take it – he wants to run forward and throw his arms around Qui-Gon and feel the warmth of that soft fur against his face. But if he’s learned anything from Maul, it’s to be wary.

Obi-Wan looks at Qui-Gon closely. He looks very much the same, to be fair. The same disheveled fur, the same sweat-stained tunics, the same scuffed up belt. But what catches Obi-Wan’s ear is the hole in those tunics – the charred hole, round and smoking, right where the wound had been.

Now, though, there is only fur.

With trembling fingers, Obi-Wan stretches out his hand and lets his fingers touch that paw. It’s exactly how he remembers it: warm and soft and furry, and Qui-Gon curls it around Obi-Wan’s hand as gently as he always has, careful of his sharp claws.

The touch is enough to cut through the noise in the Force. This time, when Obi-Wan reaches for it, the whispers are clear and insistent, a constant refrain of yes yes this is yours.

Obi-Wan swallows hard. “Qui-Gon?”

“Yes, Obi-Wan?”

“You,” Obi-Wan declares, “are truly a beast for dying on me before I could tell you that I love you.”

And then he throws himself at Qui-Gon, because he has to.

Qui-Gon catches him, of course. He always does. A rumbling purr rolls through his chest as he hugs Obi-Wan closer, warming Obi-Wan more thoroughly and completely than any fire. It’s a sound Obi-Wan has only ever heard from Qui-Gon, the final confirmation that this is indeed and truly his Qui-Gon.

So Obi-Wan smiles and nestles closer and lets himself be warmed.

“So this is where you’ve hidden yourself.”

Obi-Wan jerks guiltily and scrambles to his feet, but Qui-Gon only gives him an amused huff and walks over. He has changed into a clean set of tunics, thank the stars, so that Obi-Wan no longer is reminded of the terrible duel every time he looks at Qui-Gon. He’s also washed the blood out of his fur and now looks as calm and put-together as he always does.

“Is everyone settled?” Obi-Wan asks.

Qui-Gon dips his head in a nod. “Yes, we’ve found blankets and pillows for everyone, and I believe they’re setting up to camp in the halls and the salles. We’ll resume our discussions for tomorrow. Especially since our main negotiator snuck away during dinner and hid in the maze.”

Obi-Wan flushes and ducks his head. As the person known to both the villagers and the Jedi, he had known that he was important to keeping both sides calm, but after having to tell everyone multiple times that he was not a prisoner, that he had not been at any point mistreated or hurt, that the Jedi were not witches hell-bent on killing everyone, that the Temple was no longer cursed, that Qui-Gon might be beastly in form but not at heart – well.

“I wanted some peace and quiet,” he says weakly.

“I noticed. Although I wonder if you’d mind me intruding on that peace and quiet?”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “It’s your Temple. If anyone is the intruder, it’s me,” he points out, but he sits back down on the soft grass.

Qui-Gon copies him, folding his legs underneath him gracefully. His flexibility is still surprising to Obi-Wan sometimes, but fortunately Qui-Gon has never insisted on Obi-Wan meditating in his so-called lotus pose.

“The Temple is your home too now,” Qui-Gon tells him. “Especially now that you’ve broken the curse.”

“Are we sure it was me?”

“Yes.”

“And how are we sure?”

Qui-Gon shifts in the grass, almost as if he’s uncomfortable. But he answers Obi-Wan as readily as always, saying, “When Dooku came to us, he wanted me to lead the Jedi in battle for his cause. I refused to fight. Even when he raised his blade to me, I did not engage. He was angry that I had refused to lift my saber for him. So when Dooku cursed us, he said that the curse would remain until I found someone I was willing to fight for.”

“And that someone,” Obi-Wan says slowly, “is me?”

“When Maul came to me, I raised my saber without hesitation. I should have tried to talk him down first or otherwise subdue him, but . . .” Qui-Gon blows out a long breath. “I had to fight. To keep you safe.”

It’s a humbling thought for Obi-Wan – that he could have convinced Qui-Gon to do something that even Dooku, a man Qui-Gon has spoken of so fondly even after so many years, could not. Especially since Obi-Wan has read many of the histories and knows now that the Jedi way is one of peace and diplomacy and negotiation, not aggression and fighting.

Yet because of him – for him, Qui-Gon had fought.

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “But everyone else turned back to their original form,” he says, because it is the one thing still left outstanding. “All of the Jedi, they all transformed back from their plant forms. You’re still a beast. Doesn’t that mean the curse isn’t broken?”

“How do you know I wasn’t a beast beforehand?” Qui-Gon says with that sly smile of his, blue eyes twinkling.

“I’m not an idiot. I saw Master Tahl and Master Giett corner you when we finally got everyone to lay down their pitchforks.”

“Alas, I fear my skills at subterfuge have decreased. I’ll have to work on that.”

“Qui-Gon.”

“Yes, yes. I was not a beast before the curse. But I was also dead, so I’ll take what I was given. Perhaps the curse’s magic was used up in bringing me back to life and nothing was left over to return me to a man. Or perhaps Dooku never intended for me to regain a human form even after the curse was broken. He could be . . . spiteful.”

“And you and he were friends?”

“Well, he was my old Master.”

Obi-Wan blinks. “He trained you?”

“And raised me. That was why he thought I would agree to fight on his behalf, I imagine. But we had always disagreed on certain matters, especially in the arena of politics. And I suppose he wasn’t that surprised that I refused his offer; he did come prepared with an extremely powerful curse, after all. That is not something that could be crafted on a whim.”

“Do we have to worry about more curses?”

“Hmm. I don’t think so. The Nightsisters do not like working with outsiders. Not to mention, of course that you have told me that Dooku’s rebellion failed. They would either have died with him or withdrawn.”

“ . . . Maybe we shouldn’t mention that to my friends,” Obi-Wan says.

“No, I imagine that they are still a little too jumpy to learn that the Force can be used in magic,” Qui-Gon acknowledges. “It will take them time to come to the place of understanding that you have.”

“Only with your help,” Obi-Wan reminds him.

“Give yourself some credit, dear one,” Qui-Gon says. “You have feared witches all your life, and yet you still saved me and opened your mind enough to ask questions. That was a courageous feat.”

“I didn’t feel courageous.”

“That doesn’t change the fact of the matter.”

“I think you’re biased.”

“Master Yoda agrees.”

“He is also biased,” Obi-Wan says, because he’s seen Master Yoda whack no less than six people with his gimer stick since he returned to his original form. In contrast, Obi-Wan got a pat on the leg.

Qui-Gon smiles. “Perhaps,” he acknowledges. Then he raises his paw and examines it. “In any case, it is not our way to dwell on what was or what could have been. I am alive; that is enough. And I must confess that it would have taken some time to adapt to not having fur. For both of us, actually. After all, who would you steal warmth from?”

“Still you,” Obi-Wan declares, and promptly snuggles against Qui-Gon’s side to prove it. “See?”

“The summer garden is not cold enough for you need my fur,” Qui-Gon protests, but he makes no move to shove Obi-Wan away. In fact, he even wraps his arm around Obi-Wan’s waist to let him nestle closer.

“Maybe I just want a nice pillow.”

“Oh, I see. That’s all I am to you, then? Just a pillow and a blanket?”

“Well, I also love you. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?”

Underneath him, Qui-Gon goes as still as a statue. It’s a little unnerving, actually, and given that Obi-Wan literally saw him die not so long enough, it’s enough to make him scramble to get up and on top of Qui-Gon to make sure that he’s still alive.

“Obi-Wan – Obi-Wan, I’m alive, I promise,” Qui-Gon says, stopping Obi-Wan’s frantic hands from trying to check his chest. “Listen – Listen to me. I’m alive. The wound isn’t coming back. The curse is broken. You saved me. You saved all of us. We’re fine, I’m fine.”

Obi-Wan slumps in relief. He lets his head come to rest against Qui-Gon’s chest, reassured by the powerful beat of his heart.

“Don’t scare me like that,” he demands.

Qui-Gon rumbles and wraps his arms around Obi-Wan. It is another reminder that he is alive and well, and Obi-Wan relaxes into it.

Well, up until: “Wait, why did you freeze?”

Qui-Gon goes stiff again. “I – ”

“No, we are not becoming a statue again,” Obi-Wan says. He raises his head and pokes Qui-Gon in the chest. “Why did you freeze?”

Qui-Gon averts his gaze. “I . . . You took me by surprise.”

“How?”

“I wasn’t sure. If you’d still feel that way.”

“I kissed you.”

“You were still caught up in the exhilaration that I was alive. And I can’t discount the adrenaline from the fight. Especially since you saw that all of the others returned to their original form but I am still a beast – ”

Obi-Wan shrugs. “I’ve never known you in any form but this,” he points out.

“You’d want me like this?” Qui-Gon asks, and the pain is clear in his voice. “Fur and paws and tail? You could have anyone, Obi-Wan.”

“I thought you were okay with remaining a beast. Fur and all.”

“I am. But I don’t want you to hold yourself back because you think you owe it to me. You saved me – you saved all of us – by breaking the curse. If anyone owes anything, it’s me. So I – If you want me to forget what happened, I will. I won’t say a word. I’ll do whatever you want. Even – Even if you want me to go away. I can’t imagine many suitors will be pleased that a beast is lingering on the outskirts watching over you,” he adds with a smile that he must intend to be teasing but instead is only painful.

And Obi-Wan had thought that he knew Qui-Gon well enough that nothing could surprise him anymore, but he finds himself surprised anyways. Qui-Gon has always been so steady – sure and strong and confident. He had never expected that Qui-Gon would be the one to suffer a crisis in faith.

But if there is anything Qui-Gon has taught him, it is that the Jedi way is to adapt.

So Obi-Wan clears his throat. He lifts his chin and says, “Whatever I want, you’ll do?”

Qui-Gon hangs his head, but he does nod. It’s clear he expects to be rejected, especially since he begins to gather himself up as if he thinks he needed to leave the maze.

“Okay. Well, then I suppose you’ll have no problem kissing me.”

Qui-Gon’s head jerks up in shock.

“And no problem with touching me. And – And no problem with me touching you,” Obi-Wan continues, trying not to let his voice shake.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon says in a hushed voice. “I – ”

“You said whatever I want. I want this.”

“But I’m a beast.”

“And Master Yoda is a green troll and Master Koth has horns and Master Ti has montrals. Are you saying none of them can have sex?”

Qui-Gon winces. “Please don’t bring Master Yoda into this.”

“Fine. But unless you’re telling me you can’t have sex, then – then the only thing I can think of is that you don’t want me.”

Qui-Gon’s paw whips out. It’s too fast to see, which is par for the course for Jedi speed, and he grabs Obi-Wan’s waist tight enough that he knows he’ll bruise.

“Never think that,” Qui-Gon says, low and fervent. “I love you. I’ve loved you since the day you came here, and I’ll love you until the day I die. I want you, and no one else.”

“Then we should be on the same page. Because I want you. And no one else.”

“But I – ”

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

Qui-Gon growls irritably at him, but he does kiss him. It’s different from when they had kissed in the Council chamber – that kiss had been rough and bruising, both of them too full of emotions to hold back. This kiss is gentle, soft, lingering. Obi-Wan would almost call it inquisitive, like Qui-Gon is still waiting for him to declare he’s changed his mind and run away.

So Obi-Wan begins to wrestle with Qui-Gon’s tunics.

“Obi-Wan, I don’t think – ”

“You said anything I want,” Obi-Wan reminds him, wriggling out of his own shirt as quickly as he can so he can go back to fighting with Qui-Gon’s belt. “And I want this.”

“But – in the maze?”

Obi-Wan shrugs. “The walls are high enough and thick enough that no one will see us.”

“Not think enough to prevent sound.”

“So we’ll have to stay quiet. Is that a problem for you? Because it isn’t for me.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes flash. “We’ll see about that,” he says.

Then he proceeds to rip Obi-Wan’s pants clean off his legs and do his level best to drive him out of his mind. Obi-Wan bites down as hard as he can on his hand, but he’s pretty sure it’s not nearly enough to prevent anyone out for a night stroll from hearing some suspicious cries. Of course, when Qui-Gon buries his face between his legs, he rather stops caring about anyone or anything besides Qui-Gon and his soft fur and his clever, dangerous tongue.

Qui-Gon takes him right then and there, in the middle of the maze, with the grass beneath them and the stars above. It’s just like the night when Obi-Wan first stumbled upon him doing katas here and thought him a witch practicing magic, and Obi-Wan would swear that Qui-Gon must be doing magic now, because no one should be that good at making Obi-Wan lose his mind.

“There, there – stars, yes, please – Qui-Gon – ”

Qui-Gon bares his teeth in a feral grin and curls his paw tighter over Obi-Wan’s hip. “And you said – you said you could be quiet. This isn’t quiet.”

“And who’s fault is – wait, no, do that again – ”

Eventually, they settle on a compromise. Qui-Gon lifts Obi-Wan into his lap, so that it’s easier for them to trade kisses and muffle their noises into each other’s mouths. He still is mostly the one doing the work, lifting Obi-Wan up and pulling him back down with his strength, but Obi-Wan enjoys the ride and certainly takes pleasure in the way it allows Qui-Gon to thrust even more deeply into him.

He’s in the middle of dropping down and moaning at how good it feels, actually, when something changes.

“Wait – wait – ”

Qui-Gon grunts. “Close,” he rasps.

“Yes, but – ” Obi-Wan pants, because now when he grinds down, there’s a thickness there hadn’t been before. As if Qui-Gon is growing in size, and he’s already sizeable enough that Qui-Gon had had to make Obi-Wan come twice before he was relaxed enough to take him. “Are you – What is – ”

He clenches as he slides down again, and it’s a mistake. Qui-Gon’s whole body jerks and he roars, sounding every inch like a beast. His claws digs into Obi-Wan’s hips, so that Obi-Wan can’t get away even as the thickness suddenly expands inside of him.

“Qui-Gon – ” Obi-Wan says in alarm, but when he tries to move away, it makes them both hiss.

“Don’t – Don’t pull,” Qui-Gon grits out. “Stars above – I – Obi-Wan – ”

“What – What is that?”

“A knot.”

“Like – Like what dogs have?”

“And wolves,” Qui-Gon says, wincing. “I didn’t know that would happen, I swear. I can – It should go down.”

“How did you not know – ”

“I was trapped in the Temple for a century with no one else but plants, you know that.”

“And you never – ”

“I’m a Jedi Master. We learn control before we’re even out of the cradle.”

Obi-Wan laughs breathlessly. He shouldn’t, but the thought of Qui-Gon remaining celibate for over a hundred years before Obi-Wan came along and destroyed everything is too funny not to. “And so this is, what, your first loss of control in a century?”

“Yes. And don’t – don’t do that, please.”

“Why? Does it hurt?”

Qui-Gon bares a fang and snarls at him. “If you don’t stop clenching down, then I’ll be tempted to keep knotting you all night long.”

Obi-Wan shivers at the idea of it – of Qui-Gon losing control and pinning him down and shoving that thick knot into him again and again and again – and then he has to close his eyes and moan, because the movement brings the knot into the perfect position to press against his sweet spot. And to make matters worse, it’s so large that he can’t quickly find a way to shift away from that.

Worst of all, Qui-Gon notices. He notes, “You liked that.”

“No need to gloat.”

“I’m just observing it. Just like I’m observing the fact that you haven’t asked me to use the Force to separate us. And like I’m observing the fact that you haven’t come yet.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes fly open in alarm. “Qui-Gon – ”

But it’s too late. Qui-Gon rolls his hips beautifully and devastating, so that his knot torments Obi-Wan in the best possible way, and he keeps one hand firmly on Obi-Wan’s hip so he can’t get away. When Obi-Wan tries to push at him, he finds that he can’t move his arms, like an invisible and unbreakable rope has been wound around him.

“Isn’t using the Force during sex cheating?” Obi-Wan pants.

“If you wanted me to cheat, you only had to ask,” Qui-Gon teases, which is when he brings his free paw around and starts rapidly jerking Obi-Wan off.

Obi-Wan comes like that: impaled on Qui-Gon’s knot, stuck in his Force grip, held in his arms. He has no idea if he screams or struggles – the world itself goes white, and a roar fills his ears, and wave of pleasure sweeps through his entire body, leaving him limp and dazed and exhausted in its wake.

When he finally manages to gather some semblance of his senses, Qui-Gon has laid them both on his robe and is purring very softly under Obi-Wan’s ear.

“We,” Obi-Wan mumbles, “are so doing that again.”

Qui-Gon brushes a kiss over his hair. “But perhaps on a bed next time?”

“Whatever you want,” Obi-Wan says. He shifts his head until he can make contact with those beautiful deep blue eyes again, because his next words are important and he needs Qui-Gon to believe him. “Because I love you.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes soften. For the first time, he doesn’t protest or pull away. He just rests one warm arm on Obi-Wan’s waist and draws him close.

“And I love you,” Qui-Gon replies. “From this day to my last.”

“From this day to my last,” Obi-Wan agrees.

A long time ago, in a faraway galaxy, a Jedi lived in a beautiful Temple. But the Jedi was not happy, for he and his people and his Temple were living under a terrible curse, one that turned him into a terrible beast and his people into trees and prevented any of them from stepping a single foot beyond the Temple’s grounds.

But then, one cold night, a beautiful stranger came to the Temple. He was frightened and alone, but courageous, and the Jedi admired that in him. Soon they came to an understanding, and over meals and books and walks in the gardens, a connection blossomed, one that soon deepened into true love.

And true love, of course, is enough to break any curse, so the beastly Jedi and the beautiful stranger lived happily ever after.