A/N: I've got an outline, I'm done with coursework, let's do this! I apologize that this chapter is a little slow, I'm hoping to start picking up the pace soon.


Hyperspace was cold, Obi-Wan thought glumly, tugging his cloak tighter around himself. Very cold. He sighed, a cloud of frustration puffing discontentedly at the universe at large. The comlink which he held fisted in his right hand chuckled at him. He glared at it. He hadn't realized that Ben had already picked up the signal.

"This is not the longest hyperspace journey I've ever been on," the apprentice confessed to his distant companion, glancing with severe displeasure at the ice crystals forming on the small port window next to him, "but it sure feels like it."

"Mandalore is not so far, I thought," Ben said from the comfort and warmth of the Jedi temple on Coruscant. Obi-Wan resented his easy, casual tone. He vowed to never grow so mellow in his old age. "It is on this side of the core, is it not?"

"It is. But unfortunately," Obi-Wan watched his own breath form clouds in the air, "this ship's heating systems are broken."

"Oh no."

"Oh, yes. Obviously they're still somewhat functional, seeing as I'm not an icicle yet," the padawan glared at the red, blinking thermostat, as if by sheer force of will it would smarten it into working order. "but that could change.

"You're far too dramatic, padawan," Ben accused, which only made Obi-Wan roll his eyes. "Have you comm'd me expressly to complain?"

Obi-Wan sighed again, because no, he hadn't, though part of him wished he could. It was all the same in the Force; he had more important matters to inquire after. "No, master. Actually, I wanted to talk about… well, before we left, you and I were talking about Master Dooku." Obi-Wan chewed on his lip, the small wrinkle between his eyebrows making an appearance.

"Ah yes. I remember, you seemed disturbed by something."

"Well… not exactly." Obi-Wan wasn't sure that he'd felt disturbed, per se. Only… "Master Qui-Gon and I were speaking about it recently – about Dooku, that is. I can't tell you everything right now," and there was a lot to tell, "but… it came up about how… Master Dooku is… grey. Like Master Krell. Do you know what I mean?"

A pause. Ben sighed quietly on the other end. "Yes, I know what you mean." Obi-Wan frowned; he'd learned to recognize when Ben knew more than he was letting on. He had not, however, learned how to discern the hidden truths behind those sighs.

"I just… I was wondering what that meant. For Master Dooku. I respect him a great deal," He said it quietly, casting a look over his shoulder in case Qui-Gon was listening too intently, "he seems a good teacher, an amazing swordsman. I enjoy learning from him. But is that… is that wrong? With him being so…" he thought of Pong Krell, and of Ben's outburst years ago, and of Qui-Gon distrust of Dooku. "…so grey."

Obi-Wan was surprised and annoyed in equal measure to hear his older self chuckle. "You are getting quite ahead of yourself, Obi-Wan. Master Yan Dooku is a skilled instructor and an accomplished Jedi. You should not decry his guidance, especially in Makashi. It is a rare form."

Ben was right, of course. In spite of his reservations, Obi-Wan nodded and rubbed the wrinkles form his brow. "Yes, of course, master. I just… wondered."

"Yes, I know. But it does not do to dwell, especially while on a mission. Keep your focus in the here and now – this conversation will keep until you get back."

"Yes, of course." Of course. Here and now. Here and now. Mission; Mandalore; a civil war and a duchess. Obi-Wan had read the dossier twice already, and knew it would not be an easy assignment.

No easier than freezing to death in the silent, merciless clutches of hyperspace. He clenched his numb fingers and sighed. "Kriff, it's cold."

Naturally, it was at that moment that Qui-Gon decided to materialize behind him. "Obi-Wan," He reprimanded, flicking the boy in the back of the head for his foul language. Obi-Wan spread his hands defensively at the comm unit. "It's just Ben," he explained. Ben laughed. Qui-Gon rolled his eyes and continued on into the cockpit.

Once his master was gone, Obi-Wan hunched into his cloak more deeply. The ice crystals on the window had grown. "I hope they get it fixed soon. This cloak used to be warm, I'm sure." He dug his hands into his pockets, seeking warmth of even the slightest degree. "I've already forgotten what it feels like… what's this?" There was something in one of his pockets.

"What's what?"

Obi-Wan pulled out the trinket to inspect it, and let out a laugh. "A hitchhiker," he told Ben who could not see. "You know that holocron you gave me?"

"Yes,"

"I've just found it in my cloak pocket. I haven't seen this thing in… well, over a year at least." He levitated it in front of himself and folded open the tiny locks until the old projection flickered into view. "How on earth did it get in there?" He wondered.

"Odd indeed," Ben agreed sagely from lightyears away. "But the Force works in mysterious ways; perhaps you will need it on your journey."

Obi-Wan tilted his head to consider it. Absently, he patted the old, smooth riverstone which he still kept in an inner tunic pocket. Wilder things had happened. "It does. I will meditate on it."

"Good."

Obi-Wan squinted at the small cube. "You don't suppose it could keep me warm, do you?"

Ben chuckled again. "Keep talking to yourself, and the hot air will work just as well." Obi-Wan scoffed, not sure if he was allowed to be insulted by himself. "You ought to get going," Ben said. Obi-Wan didn't want to lose the company, but he knew the master was right. "May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan, and with your master as well."

"I'll send him your regards. Force be with you, Ben."

He hung up the comm and determined to call Ben back when he made it to warmer environs. In the here and now, however, there was nothing to do but grasp his holocron in one hand, his river stone in the other, and sink into the Force's luminescent depths.


On Coruscant, Ben never received a call from Obi-Wan when the boy had reached warmer weather; he was not surprised. With Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan due to be absent for so long, Ben found it easiest to occupy himself with work and friends - sometimes at the same time. He would've despaired had he foreseen how much time he would spend in the Senate building in his new life, but at least this small corner of it had begun to feel like home.

"Dooku?" Bail Organa's eyebrows rose briefly before sinking back down into a smirk. "He's not from Serenno by any chance, is he?" It was meant to be a joke.

"He is, actually," Ben answered. Bail turned back around to look at him, surprised. The Jedi allowed a grin. Not a joke anymore. "As I understand it, there is a sizable Countship waiting for him there, should he ever renounce his vows to the Order." Ben sipped at his whisky with unrushed ease. Bail's glass hovered in between the desk and the senator's mouth, a bewildered limbo as its owner recouped.

"I had no idea," Bail said, with the genuine shock of someone who had met the Dooku family before, and could not imagine them giving up one of their own to the Jedi. "And he taught Master Jinn, you say?"

"Yes. They're not…" how to be diplomatic about it? "The closest of colleagues, but talent runs in the lineage."

"Hmm," Bail had recovered and now took a leisurely sip of his drink before looking back down to the myriad of datapads and notes strewn about his desk. "For all you say about him, I still have no idea what Master Jinn looks like. You ought to introduce me sometime."

Ben smiled. "He's been saying the same thing about you – unfortunately, he and his apprentice are off planet at the moment."

"Your nephew?"

"Yes. They've been sent as emissaries to Mandalore."

"Oh," Bail winced. "Yes, I heard about that mess. I hope they're able to sort it out promptly."

"As do I."

Ben picked at the edge of his glass, trying to distract himself. Bail was shuffling through flimsi and holodisks. Ben watched him a moment and shook his head.

"Bail, it's nearly dark. You oughtn't work yourself so hard."

A deep, heavy sigh. "I can't help it."

"You can. Moderation is a virtue, even in work. We must find peace amidst the chaos."

Bail forced himself to set down his work and folded his hands. He sent Ben a small smile. "Here I was thinking that you've been trying to help me. All this time you've been trying to turn me into a Jedi."

Ben laughed out loud. "I am trying to help you. As to the second, I do not possess such power; although I must say, I think you would make a wonderful Jedi."

Bail laughed off this compliment, even if Ben had meant it in truth. "My family would convene with the Dookus, then. Alderaan would be a far less controversial place without me," he joked.

"Bite your tongue."

"It's only true."

Ben shook his head, swirling his drink and finishing it off with an appreciative sigh. "Dooku has actually been away for years, I'm not sure where. He only came home recently - after a stop by Alderaan, in fact."

"Oh?" Bail was still nursing his drink. "For what purpose?"

"He was picking up a new recruit; Anakin Skywalker."

"Little Ani?" Bail perked up, and Ben smiled at the nickname. The genuine pleasure in Bail's voice warmed Ben's heart. "So Shmi sent him away after all?"

It was a bittersweet truth for them both. "So it seems. He is settling in well, I've checked in on him when I can." Ben chuckled. "He's found a soft spot in his new crèche master.

Bail's smile was a rare, pure specimen on a senator. "I'm glad to hear it. How long ago did he arrive?"

"Not quite six months."

"Ah," Bail nodded at some answered question. "I've not seen her since then. I shall have to relay your good reports to his mother next I see her."

Ben's eyebrows raised. "You see Shmi often?"

"No, not often," the man amended, finishing his drink and leaning back. "At state dinners, occasionally. She's found a job as a handmaiden to a courtier, you see."

"Well that's wonderful," Ben said, heart full to imagine Shmi Skywalker actually living, working as a free woman. "With what family?"

"With a particular lady, actually. Her name is Breha Antilles. She's from one of the noble families of Aderaan."

It took a very sudden and severe level of control for Ben to keep himself from looking surprised or pleased – both of which he felt acutely at the mention of that feminine, commanding rock of years past. "Antilles," he repeated. Every year that he lived in the past, he grew slightly better at feigning ignorance; and yet every year, he found moments in which he could hardly contain himself. The Force must've seen fit to challenge him doubly this year. "I've heard of them."

"Have you met Lady Breha?" Bail asked. Ben trained his expression and watched Bail's with interest.

"Met her? No. I have heard of her. A keen woman; wise for her age."

"Yes," Bail concurred, and the smile that crossed his face was different than his usual smile. "She is a rare individual. She hired Shmi after making friends with her at the marketplace, apparently. She prefers human company to protocol droids. Calls them witless wirebrains." this memory made Bail chuckle, eyes crinkling. Ben squinted at him just slightly, as if he could see the pieces falling into place. He put his hand over his mouth in mock concentration. It and his beard hid the smile that had snuck its way onto his lips. In his past life, he had not had the privilege of seeing Bail and Breha match wits for the first time. He wanted very much to seize the opportunity, this time around.

"She sounds lovely." He meant it.

"She is, that."

"Hmm," Ben let down his hand once he'd worked his smile into a diplomatic neutral. "You are lucky to find such allies at home."

"Ally?" The idea seemed to take Bail off guard. "I've only met her once, Ben."

"You ought to meet her again," Ben set his empty glass aside. "If nothing else, to relay my best wishes to Shmi Skywalker." Ben Kenobi, matchmaker. Who could have guessed?

"Of course," Bail nodded, mind lingering for a moment on Shmi – and on Breha. Ben watched with muted amusement. Quietly, Bail picked up a datapad from his desk and began reading

"Bail," Ben snapped.

"What?"

"Stop it."

Bail sighed and poured himself another drink.

Their social evening burbled on with intermittent gossip and banter, advice and talk of the senate. It was good to have this, Ben thought to himself, friends. Bail was not like the Jedi Ben lived his life alongside; he was not seeking advice nor giving it, not concerned with platitudes and ethereal wisdom. He did not know who Ben was; and that, in this instance, was a refreshing, pure gift.

But moderation was a virtue; even good things must come to a close in their time. As Bail put away his decanter and Ben sensed the Force's sociable gold dim into a drowsier shade of purple, he knew he ought to go. They said their goodbyes and wished each other well in the casual way that friends do, assured that they will see each other before too many suns rise and fall.

As Ben rose to take his leave, Bail was reorganizing his piles of work. He found an invitation under an old report and raised a finger in recognition. "Oh, Ben," He called, causing the Jedi to pause in his step toward the door. "There is a committee meeting next month, I wondered if you'd like to attend."

"Oh?" Ben paused and folded his arms into opposite sleeves. "What is the topic of discussion?" The word 'dinner' was misleading; these things never had to do with food, Ben knew.

"We're to discuss the colonization of Alaris Prime – have you heard of it?"

The name tickled a distant memory, hazy and unrefined. "I'm not sure," Ben said.

"It's a moon in the Alaris system, recently discovered. The Wookies have been petitioning the Senate for colonization rights for years, and my coalition is attempting to resolve the matter." He shrugged, not wanting to go into too much detail. "Anyway, preliminary reports suggest the moon might house remains of an ancient Jedi temple. Your high council should know. Perhaps they'd let you be the Order's representative?" He smiled. "I'd be grateful for a familiar face."

Ben considered it. Something in the back of his mind told him he ought to recognize some of what he was hearing; he did not. "I will ask," he said. "I'm sure Master Windu will be more than happy to relinquish his claim to any senate engagements."

Bail laughed at this. "A shame. I enjoyed it when he moderated the summit talks last tenth month. His facial expressions spoke for us all."

Ben chuckled. "Our Master of the Order is not one for politics, I'm afraid."

"He's very refreshing in that way."

"As are you, Senator."

Bail shook him off. "Flattery doesn't suit you. Go home, Master Kenobi."

"You should as well, Bail," Ben shook his hand at the stacks of paperwork. "This will all still be here tomorrow. Go rest."

Bail sighed and sat back, acquiescing. He gave Ben a parting smile. "May the Force be with you, Master."

"And also with you, senator."


Days passed, and then weeks. Ben did not have an apprentice of his own, but the younger generation never ceased to keep him busy.

"Good morning, Master Kenobi," bowed the first of his students to arrive.

"Padawan Lechii," He nodded in greeting.

"Morning, Master Kenobi," huffed a breathless Graan named Ty. Ben chuckled.

"And to you, Padawan Grat. Catch your breath."

And so the morning began. The group filtered in as classes let out and crowds of junior apprentices flowed to their next modules en masse. Ben waited quietly, smiling at his young charges in their turn. Garen, Obi-Wan, and the rest of his inaugural saber class had all since aged out of the group courses, and were now expected to hone their skills with their masters and individual tutors. Ben had stayed with them for three years, and had only recently returned to teach another cycle of padawans. Happily, though he had not planned this when he'd volunteered to lead another course, his new posse included a familiar face.

"Aola," Ben greeted, forgoing formality to smile widely as the gangly twi'lek came through the door. "I was wondering when I would see you back in the dojo. How was Alsakan?"

Aola shot him a half grin, and he noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes. "…Tiring, master," she decided. "I am glad to be back."

Ben nodded in understanding. "Very well. Gather your strength – you'll need it today."

"Yes, Master."

Courses were much the same as they ever were. Ben spent the most time with the students who needed the most help, which would normally have excluded Aola, but today he had to go to her side several times to correct her stance and raise her arms. Her fighting lacked its usual verve, and not once did he have to remind her of mindfulness. He wondered if it had more to do with exhaustion or puberty – or both. He did not let her mistakes go unnoticed, but tried to make his rebukes as helpful as possible.

At the end of class, as other students stretched their aching muscles and shuffled off to lunch, Aola hung back. When Ben was finished answering the questions of one of her peers, Aola approached him. He smiled at her.

"You did well today," He said. She had.

"Not as well as usual," she demurred.

"Pride does not befit a Jedi, Aola," He reprimanded. She nodded.

"Yes, master." Her hands were folded in front of her, a polite position belying her social air. He glanced at them meaningfully.

"Can I help you with something?"

"Yes, Master, I…" she picked at the edge of a tabard. "I wondered if I might speak with you."

"Of course." He frowned at her reservation. "What is it?"

"Well," she glanced to the side, where a dozen or so padawans were still conversing and showing off moves to one another. She wrung her hands, uncertain.

Ben's senses told him that this, whatever it was, was larger than the dojo would allow. He glanced at the other apprentices and then at Aola's hesitant face. "This isn't about sabers, is it?" He asked, quietly.

Aola looked at him, and then at the floor. She shook her head.

Ben gave a slow nod. He uncrossed his arms and took a step toward the door. He jerked his head for her to follow. She fell into step with him and they walked out of the dojo together.

They continued on in silence, following a single hall until the midday crowds began to thin, leaving them alone to their strolling and their conversation. They were in an old hall, full of pillars and statues and quiet contemplation spots. The cloth carpets and tapestries ate up the echoes of their words, wrapping them in privacy, even in plain sight.

"What is it?" Ben asked the apprentice at last.

Aola let out a massive sigh, as if uncorking a bottle fit to overflow. "You have visions, don't you?" she asked in a desperate tone.

Ben glanced at her. "Sometimes."

"I do too. Sometimes." She was still wringing her hands as before.

"Yes, Feemor has mentioned it before." Beat. "I take it you've had a vision?"

"Yes… and… and I don't know what it means."

"They do not always mean anything, padawan."

"No, but this… this one has to." Her tone made Ben's footsteps falter ever so slightly; the Force tilted. "I don't…" She choked mid-sentence and the tilt became a crash. The ambiance changed instantly; Ben realized that she was on the verge of tears. He slowed his step and guided her into a small alcove. He sat on the bench there and guided her to sit beside him.

Face wrought with sudden concern, he face her and asked, "Aola, what did you see?"

"I… I don't know, I don't… It can't be, maybe I saw it wrong," she burbled, wiping frantically at her eyes where tears appeared unbidden.

"Padawan," Ben snapped. It gave her the jolt she needed to regain her composure. She refused to look at Ben while she explained,

"It was while we were on Alsakan. I… It was like a dream, but… more."

Visions often were. "What happened?" Ben coaxed. Aola sniffed.

"I saw a man… A… I guess it was a man. I was looking at him in an alley. It was dark. He was hunched over, and I could sense pain. I thought he needed help, that he'd been hurt. But when I stepped toward him, he stood up to look at me. His eyes were red - but not like a chiss or a duros. They glowed, bright red. He..." Her face scrunched in sudden emotion and she ducked it further down. "He had a red lightsaber."

Ben went stiff. His fear made her suck in a breath and sob.

"He said something in some evil language and attacked me. That's… that's when I woke up." She put her hands over her mouth to stop herself crying. "I'm sorry, Master Kenobi," she mumbled embarrassedly through her hands.

"There now," Ben reached out and took her by her arm, stroking a bare, freckled shoulder with his thumb. "No need for that, it's just a vision," he said, though his heart was racing and it was only through a heroic effort that he was able to shield his shock from her.

"But it can't be," She said, wiping her face. "It's never just a vision," she insisted.

"Sometimes, padawan, it is just that, take it from someone who knows."

"But…" She scrambled. "But why, then? It happened the same way both times, and I-"

"Both?" Ben demanded. "What do you mean, both?"

She looked down, sinking lower as she shrugged. "I had the vision twice. While we were away."

Ben was reeling, hand still on her arm. He blinked rapidly and took a breath. "What did your master say about it?" He asked reasonably. Aola shrunk further in his hands.

"I haven't told him," she whispered in shame.

Ben let go of her and leaned back. "Aola," He snapped. "Why not?"

She winced. "I'm sorry," she managed.

"Do not give me an apology, give me an explanation."

Her face was locked in a grimace, and her mouth raced to beat out her thoughts before the tears returned: "Master Gard's never had a vision in his life. It freaks him out, I know it does. He never knows what to do when I have visions, and I've never had one like this, and I just… I didn't know how to…" She was breathing fast, her hands shaking. "I'm sorry, I didn't… I was scared, and I didn't know how to tell him, and Obi-Wan said that you get visions sometimes, like he and I do, but he's not here, and I thought if I told Master Gard he might…" she hesitated.

"He might what, padawan?"

"Might… regret me."

Ben stared at her for several silent seconds in bewilderment. "Regret taking you on?" He asked. She nodded. He could not comprehend the thought. "Aola," He began, resuming his touch on her shoulder, more gently this time, trying to imagine how she must feel and trying desperately to find a way to communicate the truth to her. "Aola, Feemor would never," He began. "You're like his daughter."

The idea made her look up at him in surprise. Ben met her gaze and held it for the first time since her confession. "He's told me that he took you on after you saw it in a dream." She nodded. "Do you really think he would've done that if he wasn't prepared to have an apprentice gifted with foresight?"

Either she hadn't considered this, or she had not considered it in the same light. "But… that's just it. He only took me on after I said I'd seen us in a vision – I had. But… but what if he felt obligated? Like if he hadn't, it would've been wrong? What if I was wrong? I… Why would the Force give me a master who doesn't know what to do with visions? They're getting worse every year and I don't know what to do, and now this one keeps coming back, and I'm scared it'll come back again, and I don't know what it means, and-"

"Aola," Ben held a hand out by her mouth, and she quieted. She was shivering. Ben would have offered her a cloak, but they were both fresh from the dojo; there was not a cloak to be had. "Fear leads to anger, young one." He reminded. "And here, it is entirely unfounded." She nodded, but her face remained taught. Words only did so much for a scared, insecure child. Ben pulled her into his shoulder and she clung to him. It was a gesture sure to be frowned upon by all Jedi except perhaps the crèche masters, and even they would say she was too old for coddling. But they were alone, so Ben Kenobi and his heresies would remain a family secret.

"Feemor worries for you out of compassion; he does not regret you in the slightest," Ben told her, beard brushing her temple. "You must get that out of your head – Force only knows how it got in there to begin with." He pulled away and was glad to see her calmed somewhat. "You must not withhold this from him, Aola, he will be able to help you more than I can."

"But he doesn't get visions," Aola protested. "He said so himself."

"And you will be better for it. Let your master help you gain perspective." He gave her a smile. "When I was growing up, my master was the same. It was the best thing that could've happened to me."

Aola frowned, confused. "But… I thought Master Yoda was your master."

Ben gaped at his misstep. "Master Yoda saw me knighted," he said – which was not a lie. "But I was raised by someone else."

"Like… like Master Gard was?"

"Yes."

Aola gaped, studying Ben in a new light. "Oh. Who was it?"

Ben shook his head. "It doesn't matter now. He was a man who knew absolutely nothing of the Unifying Force. Openly disregarded it, in fact. Infuriating – be glad Feemor isn't of that strain." She chuckled, and he counted it as a small step forward. "But it was good for me. I had night terrors almost every week, visions of horrible things. Most of them never came to anything, but they terrified me. He and his doubts kept me rooted in reality." He fixed her with a wizened gaze, and made sure she was listening when he said, "the future is always in motion, padawan. You must not center on your anxieties."

She took a shaky breath and breathed it out more steadily. "Yes, master."

Ben smiled at her. "Good girl. Now." He took his own deep breath and brushed her tabards straight. "You are going to find your master straightaway and tell him everything that you've just told me. Then he will give you his thoughts, and you will meditate. And then, and this is very important," He paused for effect, "you will drink no less than a full cup of jeru tea and sleep for the rest of the day. Understood?"

Aola nodded, drooping from exhaustion and confusion but still standing. "Yes, Master. Thank you."

But all was not as simple as that; Ben fixed her with a sternly cocked eyebrow. "You must trust your master, Aola. It is highly inappropriate for you to not tell him these things – it is even more inappropriate for you to tell me before you tell him." He let the seriousness of her misdeeds sink in before saying, "he will do his best to understand – even if he does at first - how did you say - freak out."

Aola, head drooping in shame and eyes dark and puffy, gave him a miniscule smile.

"Go along, then," He gestured. She nodded and scurried away, bowing deeply at the last moment.

Ben's smile disappeared as soon as she was gone. He leaned against the wall and let his heart feel the shock he'd been hiding for Aola's sake. The wrinkles in his brow felt heavier than before.

A red lightsaber.

Oh, he had a very bad feeling about this.


Ben was unsurprised when Feemor arrived at his apartment later that evening.

"How is she?" Ben asked upon opening the door. Feemor let out a pent-up breath.

"Asleep," He said, and let himself in to sit on Ben's couch. "For which I'm glad." He fell silent and Ben said nothing. The visitor was still swimming in tumultuous thoughts, tossing up the Force in restless patterns. He shook his head. "I should've known. She was distracted on Alsakan, I wrote it off as a growing spurt, youthfulness. I should've sensed she wasn't sleeping. Force." He tossed himself back in his seat. "What kind of master am I?"

"A very typical master, I suspect," Ben said, bringing over a cup of caf and setting it on the table. Feemor stared into the curling steam, as if the fleeting images would give him revelation.

"I'm too typical," Feemor said, clenching one hand over the other. "I'm just… I don't know about visions, Ben," His bottled anxiety burst. "I've never had a vision in my life. I don't even understand the living Force, but I sure as hel don't know about the unifying Force. I'm just… I'm too damn ordinary. I'm below ordinary. Visions? Jar'kai ataru? I studied Niman, for Force's sake." The master rubbed at his temples, shaking his head softly. He looked at the cup of caf that Ben had made for him but did not reach for it. "She deserves so much better," he whispered. "I don't know what I'm doing."

Ben smiled softly. "You don't give yourself enough credit."

"But I don't," Feemor insisted.

"No one ever does, Feemor. But you are not ordinary, I do hope you realize that."

He scoffed. "Pardon my skepticism. Between time-travelling messiahs and visionaries and the crown prince of the living Force, I think I cut a rather forgettable figure."

Ben shrugged. "Well… perhaps in those respects," he allowed. Feemor shook his head in a slow, resigned rhythm.

"I don't mind it," he said, finally picking up his cup and looking into its depths. "Truly. Not for myself. But Aola… I'm in so far over my head."

Ben watched the man's face and was saddened to see the same shades of fear and shame in his expression as those he'd seen in Aola only hours before. How was it possible, he wondered, for two people so close to each other to grow blind to their mutual, unfounded anxieties? He supposed it was part of raising a child.

"Feemor, I spent most of my youth scared to fall asleep for fear of my own dreams. I understand what Aola is going through. And I can tell you from experience that there is absolutely no one in this temple more suited to the task than you."

Feemor looked thoroughly unconvinced. Ben took the silent critique with a smile.

"You forget who raised me." Feemor considered it, and sighed. "Qui-Gon was nothing if not baffled by my visions. He wouldn't tell me, that, of course. He just ignored them most of the time. We spoke of them, we meditated on them, but he never let me become preoccupied, as some counselors do. He made sure we ignored them; sometimes to a fault."

"And that was… helpful?" Feemor asked, confused.

"Immensely." He met Feemor's eyes and when the elder remained resolute in his befuddlement, Ben allowed his expression to soften further. "You don't see it, do you?"

"See what?"

"You're not ordinary, Feemor. You may not be a sabermaster or a disciple of the living Force, or match my own… exceptional circumstances. But you are…"

"What?" Feemor demanded, tired of this patronizing game. Ben sighed.

"You're so… good. You don't see it, but you're absolutely rooted in the light. I'm envious of you sometimes, you know."

"What?" The notion was absurd.

Ben was squinting at him, eyes boring into his soul and the place where it lay against the greater cosmos. "Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, myself… we all live very dramatic lives. Eventful. Our paths are full of twists and turns, and we've all nearly fallen off the tracks multiple times. You haven't. For your lack of what you call exceptionality, you are steady. You are an anchor in the light, Feemor."

"All Jedi are, Ben," Feemor reminded. He appreciated the man's kind words, but could not take them to heart.

Ben was still watching him, an odd look in his eye. "Have you ever been tempted by the dark?" he asked.

Feemor frowned. "What?"

"Have you ever been tempted to turn?"

Feemor's frown intensified, and he shook his head adamantly. "Of course not. Why would I?"

Absurdly, Ben laughed. "You see?" he asked, proud and gleeful and sad all at once. "Who is the greater man? The one who wrestles with temptation and overcomes," He tapped his own chest. The next comment was directed at Feemor: "Or the one who looks temptation in the eye, turns his back, and walks away the happier for it?"

Feemor's incomprehension was evidence of his own merit. "You are a rock in the light," Ben told him. "Aola is being tried, perhaps for the first time, by the dark." The notion was a daunting one, but a surge of paternal resolution made Feemor take it in stride. "You have to remind her to keep her head above water. Aola must not dwell on her visions. If she's allowed to stew with visionaries like me, she'll go mad. I know I would. Keep her busy. Do not lean on your understanding of visions; lean on your understanding of the Light. Then, let her lean on you."

Feemor sighed heavily. "I will try," he sipped at his drink.

"Do or do not, padawan, there is no try." Ben smiled when Feemor snorted into his cup. "I'm shocked you'd forgotten."

"Oh, none of us forget that old troll's maxims. We can only hope to repress them."

Ben laughed. They drank in silence for a while. Eventually, swirling the last of his caf around in its porcelain bowl, Feemor said, "She said he had a red lightsaber."

Ben paused. "Yes."

"What does it mean?"

"It could mean nothing."

"She saw it twice, Ben."

Ben hesitated for one, two, three seconds. He sipped at his tea. "It could mean nothing," he repeated.

"But it could mean something," Feemor insisted. Ben glanced at him.

"Yes."

Feemor let out a breath. He'd been holding out hope that Ben would ease his fears. No such luck, it seemed. "No one has a red lightsaber, Ben," He whispered. "No one we've seen in centuries."

"No," Ben agreed, so easily that it set Feemor's teeth on edge.

"Something is coming, isn't it?"

"Yes."

Feemor watched Ben carefully. He burned with questions. He wanted to know what was coming, how he could prepare, how he could prepare his apprentice, his Order. He knew that any answer Ben gave would not be good enough. He turned his back and walked away. "The Force did not send you back to play errand boy, did it?" He joked.

Ben laughed, his mind replaying the looped image of a Sith stalking toward Aola, the same fragmented thought tossing around in his skull as it had been all afternoon. He wrestled with it, neither victor or defeated – not yet. "No," he said. "Not really."