A/N: If you like this chapter you can thank en-shaedn, who encouraged me that a short, action-packed chapter might give a nice breather after all the exposition-heavy plot and melodrama that has become my modus operandi. Enjoy!


Dooku's mission carried on in silent urgency. No one, not even the Council, was sure of his movements or location at all times. He was gone for two weeks, and then three, and now over a month.

However, Jedi, even those trying to avert galactic war and genocide, did not hold their breath over things they could not control. Training continued even in Dooku's absence.

"Obi-Wan," Ben warned, arms crossed as he watched the match with an eagle eye, "a Jedi knight does not gloat."

Obi-Wan grinned, blue light from his saber reflecting off his teeth and giving his eyes a playful glint.

"A Jedi knight also knows how to block properly," Aola piped up, cutting in through Obi-Wan's defense to send the older apprentice barrelling awkwardly to avoid a hit, "padawan Kenobi,"

"Aola," Ben snapped. "That goes for you too." He shook his head and muttered softly to himself, "Honestly."

Senior padawanhood was a time of both focus and expansion. While apprentices were expected to deepen their understanding of the Force and refine their fighting style, they were also expected to do so outside of the tutelage of their own masters. Jedi Knights did not work in isolation, so the second half of apprenticeship was often used as an acclimation period, teaching padawans to work closely with other masters and knights. With Obi-Wan and Aola now both officially in this transitionary period, Ben had been more than willing to tutor them in saberplay. Unfortunately, their comfort around Ben resulted in lax standards of decorum with each other.

"Ah, youth," smiled Qui-Gon, coming to stand beside Ben. Ben glanced at him.

"I was never this bad."

"We were all this bad, once," Qui-Gon corrected philosophically.

Ben sighed. "Our species is a ridiculous one."

They watched as Aola made a high backflip - completely unnecessarily, Ben thought - and came down, violet sabers spread to take on Obi-Wan from both sides. Obi-Wan somersaulted beneath her just in time. "To be fair," said Qui-Gon, "so is hers."

"Hmm," Ben thought about it. "Maybe it's just adolescence."

"As I said."

Ben glanced at him again, irked. "Have you come to take him off my hands?"

"Oh no," Qui-Gon put out empty hands in defense. "I am a lowly spectator, Master Kenobi."

"Ow!" Aola hissed involuntarily. Obi-Wan stepped back.

"Hit," he said.

Ben looked up, having seen the move from his peripheral vision. "That's a match," he announced, much to Aola's annoyance. He stepped toward the pair, eyebrows drawn in calculation. "You're both being far too extravagant with your moves. This is a dojo, not an acrobat's arena. Aola, that flip was entirely unneeded and would've only worked against you in a longer fight."

Aola bit her lip and nodded. The businesslike tone in Ben's words must've reminded them that they had enlisted the help not of Ben, but of Master Kenobi.

Ben continued, "Obi-Wan, if you spend all your time looking for a perfect time to strike, you'll forget you also have to block. You almost lost at least six times that I saw." He glanced at Aola. "Aola is a superior gymnast, but don't interpret that as a challenge."

Obi-Wan flushed slightly, but nodded. "Yes, Master," he muttered.

"Good. Now, go again, a single point bout." Ben stepped back again, arms still crossed. Obi-Wan and Aola took to their ready stances, nodded respectfully to each other, and launched into the fight.

Made aware of their mistakes, this fight was more deliberate than before. Neither of the combatants said anything as they darted back and forth, lightsabers thrumming. Between each strike they circled each other like panthers, Aola readjusting her grips on her sabers, Obi-Wan adjusting his footwork every time the threat shifted. At the last moment, he changed his grip to a lithe Makashi hold and leaped forward with a lighting-swift fleche. Aola knocked his blade away with one hand, but he was back on the offense as soon as she turned, his swing aiming for her stomach. She rolled out of the way and leaped up, tucking up her legs so his sideways swipe was made in vain, before falling back down on him with a diagonal strike. He made the block in time, but it was exceptionally close, a violet blade glancing past his face with centimeters to spare.

"Watch your upper guard," Ben said. Obi-Wan grit his teeth and carried on. Facing a jar'kai duelist with one saber was not impossible, but it was exceptionally difficult, especially with a duelist as flighty and nimble as Aola. The twi'lek padawan was indeed the superior gymnast, but Obi-Wan was the superior swordsman. With careful planning - and a good deal of blocking, too - Obi-Wan kept in the fight until he could spot a weak spot in Aola's otherwise relentless offense. Once offered his chance, Obi-Wan launched into her with remarkable speed, cutting past her defense to grab one saber arm by the wrist. At such close quarters, it was difficult for her to maneuver her other saber around to block in time, and Obi-Wan landed a sound hit to her side.

"Dammit," she hissed quietly. Ben chose to ignore the profanity. The two combatants disengaged their sabers, chests heaving for breath, and looked to their instructor.

"Very good. Obi-Wan," Ben said, face still stern, "waiting for an opportune moment should not detract from your defense. Aola, there's little you could have done there, at least with Ataru." He gave her a look and she nodded in understanding. "Knowing the weaknesses of your form is just as important as knowing its strengths. You must learn to compensate for them, or go into battle prepared to deal with the consequences, understand?"

Beside Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon's expression was grim. Aola considered the prospect within her own imagination, and grimaced.

"Good," sad Ben, "take a break, why don't you? You've both done well."

The padawans bowed to the master and went the side of the dojo where there were towels and kegs of water.

"You are a relentless teacher, you know," Qui-Gon told Ben as the apprentices retreated. Ben shrugged.

"From a certain point of view."

Qui-Gon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he shot Ben a glance and said, "Anakin?"

Ben nodded. Qui-Gon chuckled. "He was a menace," Ben explained, shaking his head, "I might as well have been training ten children, not one. I dare not imagine what he'll be like when he gets to the padawan dojos."

"And you'll be teaching him then, will you?" Qui-Gon quirked an eyebrow. Ben opened his mouth, and hesitated. He did not have time to find an answer, as a loud voice interrupted his thoughts:

"Aha! I thought I could hear the sound of arrogance floating in on the aircon," smiled a lanky newcomer as he came around the doorway, padawan braid swinging.

Obi-Wan looked up from his water. "Garen!" He grinned, tossing his plastiform cup away, "Takes one to know one, you insufferable rake. When did you get back from Malastare?" He went up to embrace his friend, and glanced beyond Garen to the much shorter, assured redheaded female who was coming up behind him. He bowed hastily. "Master Rhara," he said, "I didn't see you there."

She pulled her lips taught in a contained, amused smile. "Padawan Kenobi," she nodded, "silver tongued as ever, I see." Obi-Wan blushed. Clee Rhara chuckled and moved past him to greet the other masters.

"Garen! You can't run ahead like that!" Bant appeared in the doorway after them, walking in serene strides alongside her master, Kit Fisto.

Garen turned away from Obi-Wan and made a face at her. "I said 'I'll race you', what did you think I was going to do?"

"The Temple halls are not meant for racing," Bant insisted, trying to exude a serene Jedi air as she walked. Kit Fisto, a notoriously laid-back master, seemed amused by this.

"She would never say such things if the halls were filled with water," he said, which made Bant scoff. He glanced up at Garen and Obi-Wan. "But you two know it better than anyone; people still talk about that fountain swimming incident, years ago." The boys chuckled and Kit turned to his apprentice. "How old were you, again?"

Bant drew in a breath and sighed it out again, vexed. "Thirteen, I believe."

"Hmm," Kit smiled widely and eyed the older apprentices, enjoying this inside joke. He looked past Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Padawan Tarkona, it's good to see you. Planning on handing Muln's backside to him again?"

Aola smiled when Garen scoffed. "Only if he lets me," she replied, throwing away her cup. Garen shook his head.

"Oh no," he said, marching to meet her on a dueling square, "I have a score to settle with you, and you are not getting a singular slice of this." He gestured to his entire person.

"Careful," Obi-Wan warned, "She nearly took a hunk out of me, she'll make mincemeat out of you."

Garen shot him a sour look, and glanced at their mutual Mon Calamari friend. "Bant, slice him up for me, will you?"

She smiled brightly. "Alright," she agreed, a bit too cheerily for Obi-Wan's taste.

"Oi!"

Bant laughed, and went to stake a claim on an empty fighting square. Obi-Wan followed her, walking backwards so he could tell Garen, "Might want to cover up any important bits, Garen," he gestured vaguely at the other man's body, "armory is that way."

Garen turned away from Aola to reply, deadpan, "Is it? Well, I'd borrow your suit, but some of it's far too small for me."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "You always do overestimate yourself."

Behind Obi-Wan, Bant Eerin's globular eyes rolled in massive, exasperated circles. Aola regarded the males impatiently. "Shall we leave you two alone?" she asked, loudly. The boys looked at her in unison. "The only bits either of you have got large enough to merit armor are your massive egos. Now, are you ready or not?"

Obi-Wan and Garen gave each other parting scowls, while Bant smiled at Aola appreciatively. With the fierce, remorseless competitiveness of friends, they fell into their respective duels.

"You know," said Kit Fisto, approaching Qui-Gon, Ben, and Clee, "this is why I always knew I wanted a female padawan."

"They'll grow out of it," Ben defended, and ignored Qui-Gon's amused expression. "Eventually."

Kit grinned. "We shall hope so." Then, of Qui-Gon, he asked, "You should be getting ready to wash your hands of yours, shouldn't you?"

"Just about. All in good time."

"Of course. He does you proud, Master Jinn." They all cast a look back at Obi-Wan, who was, all immature jokes aside, performing beautifully against his clanmate.

"I do hope we have not upset their training regiment," Clee Rhara spoke up, eyeing Ben.

"No, quite the opposite," Ben assured her, "they've been fighting no one but each other so far, the variety is good for them." They watched the duels for a moment, and Ben was gratified to see that his younger self was holding his defense much better than before.

"Aola has made admirable progress as well," Clee nodded, and laughed. "Garen can always be taken down a peg or two. It's good for him. Her master must be very proud - where is he?"

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to answer, but from behind him, a voice answered, "Just arrived, actually," Feemor came up between Ben and Qui-Gon. He raised his eyebrows at the two duels going on on the opposite side of the dojo. "Quite the rounds you've put them through, Ben," he commented. Ben shook his head and raised empty hands.

"They've started this on their own," he said. Feemor laughed.

"Aye, so they have. Youth."

They all chuckled. Kit Fisto, who was arguably the youngest of their group - when Ben's true age was taken into consideration - stood up a little straighter. "Youth indeed," he chuckled. Expression disguised by unreadable black eyes, it was difficult to tell what he was thinking. At length, he said carefully: "What do you say, Master Kenobi, would you like to show these younglings how it's really done?"

The question took Ben by surprise. He was suddenly aware that four sets of eyes swerved on him as one, waiting, extremely curiously, for his answer. It was no real secret that Ben Kenobi did not spar. He fought with Qui-Gon, and Feemor, and their respective apprentices, and no one else. Ever the incident with Pong Krell, Ben had very intentionally avoided duels.

But, Ben realized, that had been years ago. Seven whole years. He was more comfortable in his own skin, now. He'd proven that not all Grey Jedi would fall. He'd changed things, shone light into the darkness of his own memories. And surely, there ought to be some reward in that. "Do you know," he said, smile slowly growing, "I think that would be rather fun."

The Nautolan beamed, and of all Jedi, Kit had an incredibly handsome, infectious smile. A lively wave of competitive energy bounded across the Force. Ben and Kit passed by the apprentices to take up a spot beyond them.

"Oi, Ben," Feemor called out, and Ben turned to look at him. "Winners face off?" he said, and patted Qui-Gon's shoulder. The elder man looked down at the brown hand and sighed.

"Oh dear."

Ben smiled and nodded.

"Come on then, master," Feemor smiled at his old mentor, "it's been far too long."

"Master Rhara, would you care to arbitrate?" Qui-Gon asked as Feemor led him away.

"My pleasure, Master Jinn."

A single senior dojo wasn't usually so busy at one time. With a capacity to accommodate thousands of Jedi talents every day, the Temple's training levels had more than enough space to allow each duel its own arena. But in the confined space, the duels fed into each other's competitive energy, and soon there was an impromptu tournament in the works, masters fighting other masters, padawans dueling padawans. "The best of you has no hope against the best of us," Clee reminded the upstarts from across the dojo after Kit defeated her - of course, Ben had defeat Kit just previously.

Obi-Wan, who had just claimed an easy victory against Garen, smiled impishly. "The Force is a powerful ally, Master Rhara. We shall see."

"He's going to be as bad as you, you know," the short pilot accused Qui-Gon. The taller man smiled.

"Oh, I know," he said, replete with chagrin and pride.

And so the tournament proceeded, continuing in three-point bouts, winners fighting winners and losers fighting losers for second chance slots. It would have been a short affair, but the energy of the room was drawing newcomers: masters and senior apprentices training nearby were drawn in by the commotion and all too happy to join the fray. Some solitary knights came in as well, the younger ones allying with the padawans whilst the older ones pressed their luck against the Order's best.

On the younger side of the dojo, Obi-Wan and Aola were both having a fun afternoon. Aola was disqualified first, but she was not put out in the slightest, and became one of the most enthusiastic - and most vocal - spectators.

Obi-Wan was another story entirely. It was impossible to overstate how well he fared against his peers, plowing through matchups as if he were practicing katas. However, true to Kenobi form, he was so polite and self-deprecating to everyone (except perhaps Garen) that no one said anything about it. He continued on, an undefeated and polite juggernaut mixed in with the other matches. But when he started taking on Jedi knights - and winning - his fellow apprentices started raising their brows and muttering to each other.

Obi-Wan himself was somewhat baffled by the whole thing. He'd been training primarily with Qui-Gon, Dooku, and Aola for several years, and had not realized exactly how much he'd improved. The same victories that made his peers mutter and shake their heads in astonishment caused Obi-Wan to blink in confusion. Was that it? He thought to himself more than once. Qui-Gon had been saying more and more often that he was an excellent swordsman, but secretly, Obi-Wan had always thought it was his master's sentimentality coming through. Dooku certainly never said anything of the sort. It began to occur to Obi-Wan that, perhaps, he really was getting good. But the thought made him uncomfortable, so he tossed it away and focused on fighting.

On the other side of the dojo, Ben had the pleasure of facing off against Alara Dahn, the Togrutan knight who'd accompanied him to Herdessa so many years ago. She'd been a freshly minted knight when they'd met, but was now accompanied by a young Kiffar girl, whose blue tattoos accentuated the lingering baby fat on her face.

"You're holding back," Alara accused halfway through their fight, when Ben had let her score the first hit.

"Your apprentice should see her Master in the better light," he said. It was not an uncommon courtesy given to new masters while in the company of their padawans.

Alara laughed. "Not beside you, Master Kenobi. I'm afraid I've told her too many stories. She's helbent on learning your style of Soresu."

"Is she now?" Ben was surprised and flattered in equal measure. "Well then, she'll want to watch closely." Ben landed the next two hits in a sound - but, he was proud to say, not easy - victory.

The newcomers were arriving and leaving so quickly it was as if the event had been broadcasted to the entire Temple. In a way, it had. News of the sudden tournament spread from the dojo to classrooms and all the way to the council chambers, by word of mouth and through the Force itself.

"What are the standings, then?" Vokara Che landed on the bench beside Qui-Gon Jinn, who started slightly at her sudden appearance. She bit into a large fruit - her lunch, apparently - and surveyed the busy room.

"Ben's topping off the Master's side, though he's got some strong competition. Obi-Wan is leading the padawans, I'm happy to say. Last I saw, he and Quinlan Vos were about to go toe-to-toe."

"Oh, now that's a pair, I've arrived just in time."

"You're here to compete?" Qui-Gon asked, eyeing her food dubiously.

Vokara seemed to find this humorous. A lightsaber hung at her belt as it had since the day she'd been knighted, but in all his acquaintance with her, Qui-Gon had never once seen her use it. "Don't be ridiculous, Jinn, it wouldn't be fair. I have an intimate knowledge of all anatomies represented here today, including their weaknesses. You'd all be finished before you knew we'd started." She sucked back half a glass of water. Absently, Qui-Gon wondered if all healers were wont to inhale their food. "I am here as an impartial spectator."

"Will the Halls implode without you this afternoon?"

"We shall see if they do. Luna's on task," the Twi'lek finished off her food and dusted her hands. "It'll be a good exercise in crisis management for her. Besides, I wager there will be a few overzealous ones in this lot that I'll have to take care of. Maybe Ben will try to take someone's arm off again. That would be something."

"He's been doing rather well," Qui-Gon told her. "In fact, I think he might be having fun."

"I'm glad to hear it," and she was genuinely happy to see the progress Ben had made since the days when they met in her offices every week. Still... She narrowed her eyes at him. "It would still make things more interesting."

The maverick and the head healer laughed together. "It certainly would," Qui-Gon agreed.

Soon, there were junior padawans in their midst too, a whole classful of them, led into the margins of the arena by Cin Drallig. Their sabermaster pointed out different forms and moves to those closest to him, while others stood agog at the dazzling show.

It was when councilors started to appear that things got really interesting. Plo Koon, Yarael Poof, Saesee Tinn, and Adi Gallia edged their way into the competition, working their way up the brackets. Their apprentices found their own melees on the other side of the room.

Adi Gallia and Plo Koon were the only two councilors who Ben faced personally. Saesee and Yarael did not seem bothered by this; both of them had always been more focused on the academics of their path rather than the fighting. Their spectatorship did, however, compel both masters and padawans to push themselves even harder to impress their superiors.

Adi Gallia was first, and seeing her fight again was a bittersweet moment for Ben, who'd last seen her saber when he'd retrieved it from the site of her death. But she was alive now, alive and in her prime. Ben was surprised at how easily he met her stroke for stroke; she had always boasted decades more fighting experience than him, and he'd even trained under her tutelage as a padawan. But now, in his second lifetime, it was Ben who held the upper hand. He had just as many years' practice under his belt as she did and his unusual style of Soresu gave him the element of surprise.

When he'd defeated her with a neat cut at her shoulder, Plo Koon had stepped right into the ring, playfully suggesting he'd avenge his fellow councilor.

Ben knew better than to underestimate Plo. He was still far older than Ben, all time travelling mathematics taken into account, and was exceptionally crafty.

"I have not seen you duel in quite some time, Master Kenobi," said Plo, swinging his saber in slow, preparatory arcs, "but Master Drallig tells me it is something to behold."

Ben nodded gratefully. "I must defer to the judgement of my betters, of course."

He did not know if Kel Dor could smile in the same sense humans understood the gesture, but if they could, Plo would be doing so with wicked glee. "Good!" the councilor said, cheerfully, "Listen to mine carefully, then."

Form V, particularly in the skilled and energetic hands of Plo Koon, was a force to be reckoned with. More than once, Ben found himself physically driven back by Plo's strikes as the Kel Dor landed a saber blow and a Force-push as a single strike. Ben's saving grace was, as ever, his defense. Their matchup was one of the longest on the masters' side, and actually compelled many padawans to pause in their own tournament to watch.

Plo landed the first point, but with much patience, Ben was able to wait until the energetic Form V wore Plo down and offered small but exploitable mistakes. With quick bursts of Ataru grace, Ben claimed a victory that took even Plo by surprise. A ripple of shock ran about the room, some masters even sounding offended by the councilor's defeat. Plo himself accepted it gracefully.

"We must all defer to the judgement of our betters," huffed the Kel Dor as he bowed and shook hands with Ben. "And unfortunately, I now owe Cin Drallig twenty credits."

Ben laughed with him.

Eventually, the duels began to dwindle, leaving more spectators than participants. There were eight duelists left on either side, and then four, and then two, and then, the victor of the masters and the victor of the apprentices met in the middle of the room for the final match.

"Oh, now this is going to be good," Garen Muln grinned like a lothcat.

The opponents bowed to each other.

"Master Kenobi."

"Padawan Kenobi."

Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan could see Feemor, Aola, and Qui-Gon standing together. Aola's grin was wild with excitement, eyes darting between the two Kenobis - now more alike in her mind than they had ever been - eager to see the fight unfold.

Ben looked past Obi-Wan to the door, where he was surprised to see Masters Windu and Yoda slip into the room.

Yoda laughed at the scene before him and stepped up to the edge of the fighting area. In unspoken accord, the Jedi around him all looked to their grandmaster for a word.

"Work in curious ways, the Force does. Interesting this will be." He waved a claw. Standing behind him, even Mace Windu was smirking.

"You ready?" Ben asked his younger self. Obi-Wan was very nervous, he could see, but the padawan would never show it.

"Are you?" He shot back. Ben smiled, and launched.

As much as the two Kenobis had trained together in the past, they very rarely crossed blades. They had dueled each other in earnest once before, shortly after Ben had arrived in this time, but then Obi-Wan had only been fifteen. Now, at twenty-two, he was a different person and a different opponent entirely.

In the Clone Wars, Ben had been through more than his fair share of saberfights. Maul, Ventress, Dooku, Opress, Grevious, even the separatist MagnaGuards, if you could count them. Of all these duelists, Yan Dooku had been the only one to ever actually defeat Obi-Wan Kenobi. Ben was reminded of this fact as he fought his younger self, and another fact as well: Dooku had been training Obi-Wan for the past four years.

With a parry that Ben had taught him and a wicked Makashi strike, Obi-Wan landed the first point against his older self. Ben was nonplussed.

"A point to Kenobi - er, Padawan Kenobi," called Cin Drallig from the sidelines. Quiet murmuring amongst the crowd.

Obi-Wan dared to look smug. Ben realized he must've looked astonished. "Savor it while you can," he advised, and let the padawan lead them back into the fight.

Ben's mastery of Soresu had led him through the tournament thus far. His defense was second to none in the Order; a solid, indefatigable wall. But Makashi, seldom-studied and rarified as it was, had always been his weakness. Dooku was the only real master of the form, as far as Ben was aware, but here Obi-Wan was, using his saber as a scalpel to slice away at the finest chips in Ben's armor. If Ben made the slightest mistake, Obi-Wan was there. He'd been chiding Obi-Wan earlier in the day for his sluggish guard, but now the tables had turned, for every time Ben parried Obi-Wan's lightsaber, it glanced off centimetres from his skin. After one too many close calls, Ben switched his form, using one of the only Vapaad moves he knew. The distracting change was enough to let him land a hit on Obi-Wan's left shoulder.

"A point to the master," Cin Drallig called. "Tied even."

The muttering grew excited once again. It would've been boring if the master had dominated the fight straightaway, and it would've been pitiable if the apprentice had done so. But the pair were evenly matched. Given Ben's superior experience, it should not have worked, but it did: endurance pitted against precision, patience against impulse, defense against offense. Their familiarity with each other was enough to make their differences more threatening.

The last point took the longest. Both growing tired, Ben and Obi-Wan both reverted to the style they both knew deepest in their bones. Ataru was an acrobatic fighting language, and the latter half of their spar spread to the edges of the dojo, occasionally causing spectators to duck.

"Watch yourself," Ben reprimanded when Obi-Wan nearly hit a youngling.

"Speak for yourself," Obi-Wan huffed, deflecting a hit.

Obi-Wan's footwork was nearly on par with Ben's, these days, which was particularly frustrating when the twenty-year age gap between their knees began making itself known. As Ben tried to coax his joints into holding on a little while longer, Obi-Wan launched forward, sword hand in front, left hand extended back in a fencer's pose. Ben only just swung in time, dashing the blade away from his leg. On the spot where it would have landed, the scar left by Dooku's blade decades ago burned. He barely had time to register the flashback before Obi-Wan was rebounding his offense on Ben's unguarded right side. The master dashed in sloppily to guard himself. In a move of last resort, he stepped on top of Obi-Wan's foot and threw his elbow into in his gut.

Obi-Wan bent over himself without taking eyes off Ben. He rolled through the pain, adjusted his grip, and feinted to the right.

The grip change was his undoing. It was, perhaps, one of the very, very few weaknesses of Makashi in a duel. Unlike Ben's Soresu grip, which was solid, planted in the middle of his saber, Dooku had encouraged Obi-Wan to adopt a Makashi grip, placed further back toward the pommel. It gave a fighter's wrist a wider range of motion, and allowed greater leverage on the blade. Unfortunately, this leverage worked both ways.

Ben parried against Obi-Wan's first, second, third strike in one fluid, desperate motion. For a moment, the heat of the apprentice's blade was so close, Ben was sure he'd hear Cin Drallig call out the third strike. He did not, so Ben pressed forward, determined to end this before he lost. He feinted low, and when Obi-Wan went to block him, he caught the younger man's hilt with the tip of his saber and, with slight leverage against the metal, flicked it from his grasp. It deactivated and spun to the ground.

"Match point, Master Kenobi wins," Cin Drallig called. The room erupted in cheers, some claps, and a smattering of halfhearted "aww"s, from defeated padawans.

Obi-Wan smiled at his older self, shaking his head. "Of course," he shrugged, and bowed politely.

Ben was not smiling. He looked - and felt - winded. "You nearly had me there," he panted. Obi-Wan shook it off.

"Yeah, right."

"No, really," Ben said, and Obi-Wan met his gaze, smile fading into surprise. Ben shook his head, breathing more heavily than the apprentice was. "You very nearly had me." He smiled absurdly. He summoned Obi-Wan's saber to his hand and handed it over. "Well done." The master bowed.

Flushed with shock from the praise and the fight, Obi-Wan bowed back. He glanced at his master, who was beaming with pride. His eyes glanced also over the herd of Master Drallig's initiate class, who were watching him with unabashed hero worship.

The audience began to file out. "What a show!" Cin Drallig approached the victor and his young companion. "Talent must run in the blood. Honestly, it's a crime that you don't spar more, Master Kenobi," the sabermaster jibed, "forget padawans, you could teach us masters a thing or two."

Ben chuckled. "I'm flattered, Master Drallig," he said, still catching his breath.

"And Obi-Wan," the master turned to the younger Kenobi, "I've seen plenty of padawans focus in two forms, but Makashi and Ataru is a new one, even for me. It's remarkable what you've done there."

Obi-Wan was frozen in an uncharacteristically awkward haze. As a hot-headed, overconfident initiate, he'd grown up under the severe critique of Master Drallig. Although Cin had been outspokenly impressed with Obi-Wan's progress over the years, receiving his praise remained a foreign sensation. "Thank you, Master. I do have the advantage of lineage in that respect," he demurred. "I'm sure I would never have managed it without Master Qui-Gon and Master Dooku's help."

"Of course, I've seen you working with Dooku. Very impressive." He nodded. "Well, I must get back to classes. Very well fought, both of you, you especially, Master Kenobi," he acknowledged the victor. Ben bowed. Cin turned as if to leave, then said, "And Obi-Wan?"

"Yes, Master?"

A half smile spread across Cin's face, laughter lines drawing it up into his cheek. "I'd like to duel you sometime. Got to prove to the initiates that I can still run with the best of them, yeah?"

"Of cour-" Obi-Wan began to reply robotically, but then his brain caught up with the implicit compliment. "Of course," he stammered, cheeks very quickly growing red. "Um," he was unable to compute a suitable reply in time for his mouth to use it, "Tha-thank you, master," he said, distinctly baffled. Cin Drallig drank up the response with a laugh.

"Well done, Obi-Wan," he turned and left.

"Ah, now you see, you've put poor old Jinn in an awkward position," Feemor approached the two as the crowds dispersed. "Which one is he supposed to congratulate first?"

"They both did very well," Qui-Gon said mildly, coming up to the group to stand by Obi-Wan. He put a hand on the padawan's back. "Very well indeed," he smiled. Obi-Wan could not catch a break from blushing red. It was the exercise, he told himself.

"That was amazing!" Aola was leaping as she made her way toward them. She hugged Ben first, and then moved on to Obi-Wan, who laughed at her exuberance but hugged her back. Bant and Garen were on their way over as well, both smiling, Garen throwing endearing obscenities at his friend.

The gaggle of padawans carted off their champion for convivialities, and Feemor laughed at their antics. He wiped his forehead on a thoroughly soaked sleeve and grimaced. "Ugh. If you'll excuse me, I did not escape so unscathed as some. The showers are beckoning." He slapped Ben on the shoulder as he passed by, smiling. "Well done, little brother."

Ben turned to smile back, "you as well," which Feemor accepted with a dismissive toss of his hand.

When Ben turned around, Mace Windu was making his way over. "Very well done, I'd say," he graced them with a rare smile.

"You missed out on all the fun," Ben accused the Korun master. "It would've been far more interesting with you in the mix," he said, and glanced at Qui-Gon. "I haven't seen you two face off since… oh, since I was a boy. I wonder who would win," he said with exaggerated interest. It was no secret to him that Mace Windu had once allowed Qui-Gon to win in order to impress Obi-Wan - much as Ben would have done for Alara earlier that day. Mace smiled. Qui-Gon affected not to understand the reference. Ben chuckled.

"Another time," Mace said. "I would have come earlier, but was otherwise occupied in the briefing rooms. It seems Master Dooku has found what we've been looking for."

Qui-Gon and Ben both straightened. "He's found Sifo Dyas?" Ben asked.

"Not as such. I told him we'd comm back when we had you in the room." He looked at Qui-Gon, somewhat apologetically. The taller man stood back, ready to back out of what was obviously a confidential conversation.

Ben glanced at his master. "No, let him come too," he decided. "It's high time he was brought up to speed on things. We'll need all the help we can get."

Pleasantly surprised, Qui-Gon leaned back into the circle of conversation. Mace merely nodded. "Very well. Follow me."

They met Master Yoda at the door and proceeded on toward the nearest turbolift. As they walked, Ben winced at his sore muscles. Yoda cast him a critical glance.

"Limping you are, Master Kenobi," he said. Ben sighed.

"I'm not as young as I once was."

"Hrumph," Yoda stood a little taller as he leaned on his gimer stick. "No excuse that is."

They packed into the lift, Ben squished in between Qui-Gon and Mace. "You know," muttered the Master of the Order in an aside, "you really ought to know better." Qui-Gon tried and failed to hide his smile. Ben sighed.