Chapter Text
“Agree with you taking on this boy as your apprentice, the Council does not.”
Obi-Wan swallows back the lump in his throat. It’s been less than a day since Qui-Gon died. He hasn’t slept, he hasn’t eaten anything either. The Force sustains him, but even it is nudging him gently towards the prospect of sustenance and rest.
If only Master Yoda would let him leave. But alas.
“He is the Chosen One, Master Yoda. Surely the Council sees that now,” Obi-Wan says. After he’d witnessed what the boy had done on Naboo, it was hard to believe anything else. Qui-Gon had always been wrapped up in old prophecies and legends, but this was the first time Obi-Wan really took any credence in the same.
“Powerful he may be,” Yoda concedes, “but too old, the boy is. Fear clouds his mind.”
“I understand that, Master,” Obi-Wan says, as patiently as he can manage. “But I will not break my word to Qui-Gon.”
It feels strange to say his name in the presence of another master. He’s earned that right now, what with his sudden rank elevation (killing a Sith being a fast-track to all five trials, apparently) but he never got to use it in his Master’s presence.
“Hmm,” Master Yoda humfs. “Stubborn you are. Like Qui-Gon, in this regard.”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan agrees. There’s no point in denying it. Or protesting that it’s a bit early to speak ill of the dead, with Qui-Gon’s body not yet even cremated.
“Darkness in this boy’s future, I sense. Dangerous to train him, it would be,” Master Yoda says, gravely.
“As opposed to what?” Obi-Wan asks, incredulous. “Sending him back to Tatooine to be a slave again?”
“No,” Master Yoda says, and at least has the sense to look a little offended at the suggestion. “But stay in the Temple, he cannot.”
“Master Yoda, that’s ridiculous! The boy is powerful, anyone can see it. If he isn’t protected he’ll end up right back in the hands of slavers or the Sith and you know it!”
“Nevertheless, take the boy as your padawan, you cannot. Stay at the Temple, the boy cannot. Somewhere else he must go.”
“Fine, then,” Obi-Wan says. “If he must go somewhere else, then I’ll go with him.” He is being rash, he knows he is being rash. Qui-Gon always warned him about this, his temper, and its flaring up now when he knows it's more important than ever to keep it contained.
(And yet, he knows. He knows the thick choke of a slave collar, he knows that he can’t let that happen to Anakin again.)
“Careful, Knight Kenobi. Your emotions—”
“I don’t give a damn about my emotions,” Obi-Wan says, pushing himself off his knees. “This isn’t right. I won’t stand for it. If the Council won’t let me train Anakin in the Order, then I’ll do it on my own. I don’t accept the rank of Knight. I won’t take my vows. What good would my word be if you’d have me break mine to Qui-Gon anyhow?”
The words fall out of his mouth before he can fully process that he said them. They’re— stupid. Ridiculous. He’s only been accepted as a knight for five minutes, he doesn’t know the first thing about training a padawan alone— much less training a traumatized nine-year-old boy who was a slave a week ago.
But as he looks into Yoda’s eyes, feels the master’s resignation in the Force, he knows… he knows. It’s what he must do. It’s what he swore to Qui-Gon he would do—
“Think about this, you should. A rash decision it is. Prepared you may not be.”
Obi-Wan nearly snorts. He’s definitely not prepared, but he’ll do what he must.
“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan says, noncommittal as he can manage. He then bows politely, and makes a swift but decisive retreat from the room.
Anakin is waiting outside the door. He should be with Padmé’s people, eating something or sleeping or something else, but he’s been following around Obi-Wan like a little shadow ever since Qui-Gon died, and Obi-Wan doesn’t have the heart to shake him off.
“Come along, Ani,” Obi-Wan says, holding his hand out for the boy to take. He does, easily, hopping up with more energy than Obi-Wan would’ve expected him to have.
“Where are we going?” Anakin asks, following Obi-Wan's brisk pace with surprising ease.
“That is a wonderful question,” Obi-Wan answers, because he doesn’t actually know yet and it seems better to compliment Anakin’s curiosity than to actually admit that.
“Not back to the Temple?” Anakin asks.
Obi-Wan hesitates, then stops, crouches down so he’s closer to little Ani’s height. Big trusting blue eyes look into his own, and for the first time it really hits Obi-Wan just how massive a responsibility this will be.
“The Jedi Council doesn’t want to let me train you, but I promised Qui-Gon I would. So we may have to go somewhere else.”
Anakin frowns. “Will I still be a Jedi?”
Force, Obi-Wan wishes he had let himself prepare even a little bit for that question. The technical answer is ‘no’ because the Jedi are a culture and a people as much as they are a status, but the answer to the question Anakin is really asking might be ‘yes’ because Obi-Wan plans to train Anakin to be as close to a Jedi as he can, at least, without the Order backing them up.
The Order will not like it. They… oh karking Sith hells they might try to take his saber—
For the first time, Obi-Wan’s control slips and panic leaks up into his throat. He can do this, maybe, if he has his saber. He needs to be able to keep Anakin safe, he needs to train him, he can’t give that up, not when the karking Sith might be back after a thousand years. Obi-Wan may have killed the apprentice, but that doesn’t take care of the Master.
Master Yoda had given him time. Surely he and Master Windu will plan to confront Obi-Wan at the funeral tonight. Which means they need to leave right now.
“Mister Kenobi?” Anakin asks, tugging at his sleeve. Obi-Wan snaps back into himself, remembers that Anakin had asked him a question that had set off his thought spiral.
“Obi-Wan,” Obi-Wan reminds him, standing up and taking his hand again. “And sort of. I’ll explain more later, but we really have to get going now.”
Blessedly, Anakin seems to sense that now is not the time for more questions. He follows along quietly, until they reach the hanger bay. Then the next roadblock in Obi-Wan’s brilliant plan reveals itself: they don’t have a ship.
“Padmé might give us one,” Anakin pipes up, sensing Obi-Wan’s dilemma.
“Maybe,” Obi-Wan says, half-heartedly, though he worries about asking and facing rejection and exposure. He’s trying to decide if it would be best to hotwire a Nubian ship or a Jedi one when someone clears their throat behind them.
Obi-Wan whirls around, pushing Anakin behind him as he does. But it’s just Chancellor Palpatine, looking kindly amused at the two boys in the hanger.
“Leaving so soon, my young friends?” he asks, with an air of grandfatherly amusement.
“No,” Obi-Wan says, as Anakin says, “Yes.”
Obi-Wan shoots Anakin a look, and gets a disgruntled expression in return. Ah well. There’ll be time to teach him to lie later.
The Chancellor, for his part, just chuckles good-naturedly.
“Sneaking away before the Jedi can see you off? Aren’t you boys going back to the Temple?”
Briefly, Obi-Wan considers his options. He has no idea why the Chancellor is here now, but he can’t very well steal a ship in front of him. He’s pretty sure it’s frowned upon to try and pull off mind tricks on politicians of this scale, which would probably not be the best way to send off his Jedi career.
Also they might get arrested. That seems like the most pressing issue, if he’s honest.
“No, I’m afraid we’re not,” Obi-Wan says, lacing his voice with the appropriate amount of regret. “The Council has decided that Anakin cannot be trained there, so…”
“So you’ve decided to do it yourself,” the Chancellor finishes. He looks… interested. “My, my. What a difficult decision for you to make, padawan Kenobi.”
Obi-Wan bites back the urge to correct his rank before he remembers it doesn’t actually matter because he’s leaving anyhow. He won’t be a Jedi Knight for more than an hour, it seems.
“I made a vow to my Master before he died that I would train Anakin,” Obi-Wan explains. “I will not break it, even if the Council does not approve.”
“I see,” the Chancellor says, frowning. “Where will you go?”
Obi-Wan— hesitates. It is the million-credit question, after all.
And… he does have an idea. He’s always known, sort of, where he planned to end up. Voicing it now seems both presumptuous and foolish, so he swallows it down, forces a smile onto his face instead.
“Somewhere safe,” Obi-Wan says.
“Well, you could always stay here,” the Chancellor says.
“On Naboo?” Obi-Wan asks, not quite understanding.
“Of course,” the Chancellor says, easily. “I would be happy to donate some space to you both to do whatever it is you need to do. This planet owes both of you so much, after all.”
Anakin is tugging on Obi-Wan’s hand excitedly. Obi-Wan knows exactly why Anakin wants to stay, and it’s not all that comforting a thought. Certainly not reason enough to accept the Chancellor’s offer, which, while convenient, gives Obi-Wan an indescribably bad feeling.
“That is very generous, your excellency,” Obi-Wan says, with a polite bow. “But I’m afraid Naboo will not quite suit our purposes.”
Anakin visibly deflates next to him. The Chancellor is smiling, but it’s thin and wan with disappointment.
“Well, that is unfortunate. But please, help yourself to one of our ships to help you reach your final destination.”
Obi-Wan gets a very strong, negative brush of the Force in the back of his mind. It would be easy to accept the offer— they do need a ship— but the Force tells him it’ll come at a cost they may not want to pay. What exactly that is, Obi-Wan isn’t sure, but he’s not willing to risk it.
“That is very kind of you, Chancellor, but I could not possibly accept,” Obi-Wan says.
Get out, the Force whispers. Now.
Never one to ignore a warning, Obi-Wan bows politely once more.
“We really must be taking our leave. Goodbye, your excellency.”
“And you, my young friends,” Palpatine says, though Obi-Wan is already halfway through dragging Anakin out of the hangar.
“Why can’t we stay here?” he whines, going a bit floppy limbed in protest.
“It’s not safe,” Obi-Wan says, simply. The Force swirls in agreement around him, even though he can’t articulate why.
They end up taking public transport. It’s much easier to mind-trick a transport employee into not checking their nonexistent tickets than it is to safely and ethically steal a private ship. Anakin, still grumpy from being so close to staying on Naboo and yet so far away, is quiet and sulky, which suits Obi-Wan just fine. He doesn’t breathe easy until they’re in hyperspace and even then spends most of the time looking over his shoulder.
It’ll take a long time to get to where he wants to go. Long enough that they’re going to need credits and food and probably their own ship, at some point, though how they come across it will be as good a guess as any. It’s only when Anakin finally succumbs to his exhaustion and falls asleep with his head on Obi-Wan’s lap does Obi-Wan confront the inevitable: he needs help.
He pulls Anakin off with him at the next stop, uses the last of his measly allowance of credits to buy them some kind of street food on a stick. Anakin seems content to gnaw on it while keeping a tight hold on Obi-Wan’s hand and looking around the market they’ve found themselves in with blatant, childlike curiosity.
Thankfully, he finds a public call bay, and sets his robe down for Anakin to sit on the grungy ground while he punches in a familiar comm code. It only rings twice before Siri’s worried face pops into view.
“Sithspit, Obi, where the hell have you been? The Council put out an alert for you!”
If there’s one thing Obi-Wan has always appreciated about Siri Tachi, it’s her lack of preamble. She barely even looks surprised to see him.
“I told them I was leaving,” Obi-Wan says, rather crossly. Siri rolls her eyes.
“Without permission? And you took some kid with you?”
Anakin glances up at Obi-Wan just as Obi-Wan glances down. Obi-Wan pats Anakin’s head, and he goes back to dismantling the droid part they’d found under the seat on the public transport.
“It’s a long story,” Obi-Wan says. “I’ll explain everything later, I promise, but right now I need help.”
“Is that Obi?” A new but equally recognizable voice calls out. Obi-Wan sighs tiredly.
“Oh, don’t,” Siri says, rolling her eyes again. “As if you don’t deserve it. We were worried sick, you know.”
“I told you he’d be fine,” Quinlan says, easily, still off-frame. “Sorry about the old bastard, Obi.”
At this, Siri does close her eyes and sigh tiredly, just as Obi-Wan had. “Good grief, Quinlan.”
“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan says, which is categorically untrue, but he presses on nonetheless. “I just need credits. I’m sorry, I’ll pay you all back, I promise.”
“Are you stuck? When are you coming back?” Siri asks.
“I um. I’m not,” Obi-Wan says. “I quit the Order.”
“Quit as in—“
“As in told Master Yoda I won’t accept the rank of knight and I won’t take my vows and that I’m going somewhere else,” Obi-Wan says, all in a rush. Siri looks undeterred.
“Where in the Seven Corellian Hells do you plan on going?” she asks, hands on her hips.
He hesitates, just a moment. But if this is the plan, then it won’t hurt for Siri and Quinlan to know. They’ll find out soon enough anyway, and he’d rather them hear it from him.
“Mandalore,” Obi-Wan says, not without cringing. He’s met with a few brief seconds of stunned silence.
“Yeah, we’re never getting him back,” Quinlan says, somewhere out of view.
“Shut up Quin, this is serious!” Siri scolds, half her body disappearing from the holo feed as she leans over to smack Quinlan. “Obi-Wan, you can’t—”
“Are they even gonna take you in?” Quinlan asks, interrupting Siri as he pokes his head into frame. “I mean, it’s been, what, five years since you and the duchess—“
“Six years,” Obi-Wan says, even as he feels his ears burning. “And I don’t know. I don’t know if we’ll stay there but I think she’ll help us, at least.”
“Do you want to stay there?” Siri asks.
“I almost stayed last time,” Obi-Wan replies quietly.
Siri presses her lips into a thin line. If they were face-to-face, Obi-Wan knows he’d feel her disapproval radiating through the Force.
Siri never liked Satine. Obi-Wan finds it ironic, since of all his friends, Siri is the most similar to her.
“Well, I think it’s great,” Quinlan says, butting his way into the feed again. “Better late than never, right?”
“Are you sure about this, Obi-Wan?” Siri asks, ignoring Quin. “The Council will still take you back if you come home now.”
“But they won’t take Anakin,” Obi-Wan says. When he’s met with confused looks, he clarifies.
“The kid,” he says.
“I forgot about the kid,” Quinlan admits. “That’s why you left?”
“It’s complicated,” Obi-Wan repeats. “And I promised Qui-Gon and— oh, don’t look at me like that.”
Both Siri and Quinlan’s expressions had soured upon the mention of his late Master’s name.
“I promised, and it’s the right thing to do, and he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. He needs to be trained, whether the Council approves or not.”
“How many credits do you need?” Quinlan asks.
“Just enough for a place to stay tonight and some food tomorrow. We can sneak on the transports easily enough.”
“Easy,” Quinlan says, though Obi-Wan knows it's anything but.
“Thank you,” he says, guilt twisting in his stomach. “I’ll pay you back, I swear.”
“You mean Satine will pay me back,” Quinlan snorts.
“Maybe she’ll give you a job,” Siri says. It comes out a bit more biting than Obi-Wan thinks it was meant to, but he gives her a tired smile all the same.
“One can only hope,” he says. His datachip chirps happily at the acknowledgement of transferred credits.
“Thank you, Quin,” he says, sincerely. “I owe you.”
“Yeah, you owe me a big explanation once you get there,” Quinlan says, but he doesn’t sound as judgmental as Siri, at least. “Stay safe out there, Obi.”
“May the Force be with you,” Obi-Wan says, more out of force of habit than anything.
“You too,” Siri says. “Call us when you’re there.”
Obi-Wan nods, waves, and the feed cuts out. He looks down at Anakin, who’s been suspiciously quiet for the latter half of the conversation, only to find the boy passed out against Obi-Wan’s legs.
“Some master I am,” he mutters to himself, picking Anakin up, shoving the droid bits into his pocket, and carrying him to the nearest motel.
Quinlan gave Obi-Wan more money than he should’ve, and enough that Obi-Wan would be worried about where he’d gotten it from if he hadn’t started taking more Shadow assignments recently. They’re allowed to keep accounts with more credits, due to the nature of their jobs, though sending their friend who’s sort of on the lamb money is probably not what it’s meant for. It’s enough for a night at a motel, where Obi-Wan can blessedly sleep for the first time in what feels like days, and for him to rent a private craft for them the next day.
There’s no way Obi-Wan will ever be paying Quinlan back without help. Maybe Satine really will help him find a job on Mandalore.
He sleeps poorly, as he expected, but he’s rested enough the next day to make it to the rental depot and find the cheapest thing with a hyperdrive, along with some ration packs for the journey. Anakin remains interested in everything around him, but especially the controls of the shuttle. He knows a lot— more than Obi-Wan did at nine, anyway— but not everything. The hyperdrive is especially elusive to him, though he’s fascinated by Obi-Wan’s poor-man explanation of how it works.
Obi-Wan calculates a course to Sundari. He lets Anakin pull the lever on the hyperdrive, and then settles in for the journey.
It takes three days to reach Sundari, during which time Obi-Wan manages to sort-of teach Anakin the basics of shielding and meditation. The boy is twitchy, full of energy, which isn’t helped by being cooped up in a relatively small shuttle day in and day out. He’s also incredibly strong in the Force, to the point where it feels almost blinding.
It only takes one session of co-meditating for them to form a bond in the Force, not entirely intentionally on Obi-Wan’s end. But Anakin’s signature was so desperate for connection, once they recognized each other in the Force it was hard to not. Still, it only highlights how deeply Obi-Wan is in this now. Force bonds, even those just used between padawans and Masters for training, are not easily broken. Obi-Wan can still feel the hollow space in the back of his mind where Qui-Gon’s presence used to be.
The time in hyperspace also gives Obi-Wan time to formulate a plan. He has no real way of contacting Satine, which means he’ll have to just get her attention somehow. It’s lucky they have a ship— if he was on foot, he’s not sure the plan would’ve worked.
Getting through the dome of Sundari is easy enough. They direct him to a landing platform that he ignores, opting instead to swivel towards the royal palace, and then again to the back gardens where he knows the private landing bays are.
He hovers there, waiting, a bit nervous. Just because they’re New Mandalorians, doesn’t mean they won’t blow him out of the sky if he gets too close to the palace. But then—
“Unidentified craft, state your name and purpose,” a voice fizzles out through the radio.
Briefly, Obi-Wan considers responding in Mando’a— maybe it’ll buy him some credibility?--- but after thinking about it for more than a second, he decides it’s a bad idea. They’ll just view him as more of a threat.
“My name is Ben Kenobi,” he says, ignoring Anakin’s confused look. “And I seek an audience with the Duchess.”
“This airspace is closed,” the man on the radio says, sounding deeply unimpressed. “Disengage.”
“I assure you, if you bring the Duchess my name, she will ask to speak with me,” Obi-Wan says, instilling as much confidence as he can in his words, even though internally he has his doubts. He left on good enough terms, but it had been painful for the both of them. Maybe she never wants to see him again. Maybe she’s seeing someone else. Maybe she’s married— but no, he would’ve seen that on the holonet.
“I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing here—”
“You won’t want to be responsible when she hears you’ve turned me away,” Obi-Wan says, once again desperately hoping that’s the case.
“Who even is this lady?” Anakin asks, radio still on, and Obi-Wan sighs internally to himself.
“Is that a kid?” the radio voice asks, sounding disgruntled.
“Yes, and I would appreciate it if you kept the fact that he’s on board in mind,” Obi-Wan says, seizing the advantage while he can. Now, at least, they probably won’t get blown up. “Look, if you tell the Duchess I’m here asking to speak to her and she doesn’t know who I am, I’ll leave in peace. Or you can arrest me, if you wish. But I promise you, she will want to see me.”
The radio is silent for a while. Then—
“Please hold.”
“Gladly,” Obi-Wan replies.
He leans back in the pilot chair, Anakin spinning to face him in the co-pilot.
“Who—” he starts to ask again, but Obi-Wan doesn’t wait for him to finish.
“A friend of mine,” he says. “Or she was, a few years ago.”
“She seems important,” Anakin says, kneeling up on the chair and leaning forward to press his forehead to the viewport. “Her house is huge.”
Obi-Wan can’t help but chuckle at that. The palace is quite large, though to be fair it also holds a good amount of state and government spaces as well as residential ones.
“She is important,” Obi-Wan says. “She rules this whole planet.”
“Just like Padmé!” Anakin says, brightly.
“Quite similarly to Padmé, yes,” Obi-Wan agrees. Satine had barely been older than Padmé when she’d taken up the mantle herself.
“Is she going to let us stay here?” Anakin asks, sticky fingers pressed up against the viewport.
Obi-Wan is saved from having to answer that complicated question by the radio buzzing to life again.
“Please proceed to landing platform seven,” the voice says, sounding distinctly unhappy.
“Does that mean she wants to see us, or that we’re getting arrested?” Anakin asks.
“I suppose we’ll just have to find out.”
Satine, as it turns out, does want to see them. That may not preclude them getting arrested though, if the way she stalks down the landing platform is any indication. She’s got that singularly determined look on her face, her lips curved slightly downward in a scowl, walking so fast her guards have to practically jog to keep up.
There’s no headdress today, just a simple circlet made of what Obi-Wan knows is beskar. She’s in long pants and a light embroidered shirt, her hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. She’s barely aged since Obi-Wan has last seen her, just gained a healthy bit of weight and muscle, sorely needed after the year of near-starvation they’d been through together.
Obi-Wan can’t help but grin at the sight of her— a sight he wasn’t sure he was ever going to get to see again. Even if she looks like she’d like to break her vow of non-violence to punch him in the face.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi, of all the foolish things you could have done—” she starts, not giving Obi-Wan enough time to bow, defend himself, or move to meet her before she’s throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace.
He returns it gratefully, letting the air sink out of his lungs at her touch. She’s always felt like this to him, her Force signature comforting and warm like the heath of a homefire. Too hot at first, before he got to know her, when they were still at each other’s throats every second of the day, but now he feels only peace.
He had missed her in the six years since they’d last spoken or seen each other, and he knows it shows by the way he cups the back of her head, holding her to him. Her hair smells faintly of lilies.
“What an absolutely bullheaded plan— my people nearly blew you out of the sky,” she says as she pulls back, as if she’d never stopped talking at all.
“I’m glad they didn’t,” Obi-Wan says, sincerely. Then, just to make her laugh— “It’s a rental.”
As he expected, she shakes her head in exasperation, though she can’t quite hide her smile.
“If you had just gone through official channels I would’ve seen you, you know,” she says, looking in his eyes, her fingers resting on his chest.
“If I had any official channels to go through I would have used them,” Obi-Wan says. His hands linger on her waist, perhaps a second too long before he lets them drop, if Anakin’s suspicious look in his direction is anything to go by.
This seems to sober her. “I heard about Qui-Gon— I’m so sorry, Ben.”
“Thank you,” he says, quietly. Of everyone who’s offered condolences so far, hers mean the most. For that year, at least, she knew him the same way Obi-Wan did.
“What’s going on? Why are you here?” She asks, and they’re back to business as usual.
Obi-Wan straightens up, refuses to let himself be distracted by her— her pale blue eyes, her strong cheekbones, how her hair shines almost white in the muted domed sunlight. It would be enough to distract anyone, probably, but he has to bite back a smile just at the prospect of seeing her again. Force, but how he missed her.
“I’m here because of Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, beckoning Anakin forward. The boy scoots up, peering behind Obi-Wan’s legs, suddenly shy.
Satine just crouches down to her knees, reaching a hand out for Anakin to shake.
“My name is Satine,” she says, smiling. “Obi-Wan is an old friend of mine. I’m very glad to see the both of you.”
“I’m Ani,” Anakin says, shaking her hand. “Anakin Skywalker, I mean.”
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Ani Anakin Skywalker,” Satine says, squeezing his hand just enough to coax out a smile.
“The Council wouldn’t let me take Anakin as a padawan learner,” Obi-Wan explains as Satine stands again, brushing invisible dust off her knees. “So I left the Order in order to train him.
Her eyes widen in alarm. “You what?”
And… right. Yes. Perhaps he should’ve had some buildup to that crucial point.
“Well, it really sounds worse than it is,” Obi-Wan says. Satine looks like she’s about to call him on his banthashit, but before she can, a small blue blur tumbles into her legs. Obi-Wan shifts forward reaching out to steady her, but she apparently is used to it. She looks down at her attacker— a little boy in a blue and white tunic, maybe five or six— who looks up at her planatively.
“Yes, my love?” she asks, running a hand through the boy’s reddish brown hair. She sounds relaxed, but her shoulders are tense, her Force signature suddenly clammed up instead of warm and open.
“Auntie, olaror norac at or'ilor,” the boy says. It’s only then that he seems to notice Obi-Wan and Anakin standing mere feet away.
“Who are you?” he asks, turning towards them, still clutching Satine’s legs.
Obi-Wan feels, suddenly, a bit faint, though he can’t say exactly why. The boy is small, with a soft face edged out by sharp Kryze cheekbones, blue eyes and reddish brown hair just a touch darker than his own. There is something achingly familiar about his face that Obi-Wan cannot seem to place.
Anakin, it seems, has no such qualms.
“Hey, he looks like you,” he says, tugging on Obi-Wan’s sleeve.
And so he does. This little boy, who is five or six, (five or six, Force, but most likely five) who has Obi-Wan’s hair and eyes and nose, who looks up at Satine like she’s his mother—
Obi-Wan’s gaze snaps back up to Satine’s. She looks, for the first time since Obi-Wan has known her, a bit panicked.
“Auntie?” the boy asks, shrinking back a little. It seems to pull Satine back to herself. She straightens her shoulders, puts her hand on the boy’s shoulder, and looks back up to Obi-Wan with only a hint of nerves in her expression.
“I think you all should come inside,” she says. Her voice is clear, but her Force signature betrays trepidation. “It seems we have much to discuss.”