Feemor knows he’s the right choice for this assignment, the Force sings with rightness from the moment he’s called.
That doesn’t mean he likes it.
He’s forgettable and subtle, ever since his Knighting he’s gained a reputation for careful shadow work. The kind of work that doesn’t allow for getting caught.
It’s not what he was trained for as a padawan.
It’s what he’s good at.
What he lacks in dueling skills and sheer power he more than makes up for in careful weaving see-me-nots and a face that doesn’t falter when told of the horrible things done to his family.
It hurts though, and he’s tired.
He’s so tired of chasing leads and shadows and finding nothing, or worse, finding something unforgettable.
He knows it’s concerning people, he’s promised the council of Shadows to take a long sabbatical from missions after this one.
So, he takes the sparsely laden datapad and retreats to his rooms.
There’s hardly anything, of course.
Feemor is quickly becoming a last resort when cases go cold.
Obi-Wan Kenobi.
A happy, if somewhat anxious little initiate by all accounts. Nervous about finding a Master to take him on, as they nearly all tend to be. He tries not to look at the picture beyond what he needs, the smiling little face haunts him anyway.
Disappeared on Bandomeer, not a witness to be had, hardly a clue.
It’s been a year.
He runs the numbers in his head.
If Obi-Wan still lives, he’s nearly fourteen now.
Still so young, so vulnerable.
He leans back in his chair and sighs, pressing his palms against his eyes.
He’s so tired.
He keeps reading.
There’s a dozen reports, rumors and whispers.
None of them are very useful.
He makes his way through each one anyway.
The initial report from AgriCorps, detailing when he was last seen and with whom. It doesn’t help much, far too much time had gone by between when he was last seen and when anyone realized he was missing.
He parses out Qui-Gon Jinn’s report, a mixture of self-recrimination and the emotional fallout of seeing his former apprentice again clearly present in his recollection of his brief stay.
Feemor lets the lingering hurt at his former master’s involvement pass. There are far more important things to focus on here.
He moves on.
To the other investigations into Offworld on Bandomeer.
Before they managed to petition the senate to force the AgriCorps off the world with claims of Offworld assistance making Jedi intervention meaningless. Before the investigations into unethical practices turned up nothing but rumors and hearsay. Before everything went wrong. There was something.
Xanatos, the head of Offworld, his former Padawan brother, said something very odd.
Something about it being strange that Qui-Gon Jinn wasn’t still poking around. Something about a missing Padawan. Something about the Order and its failure to protect its children.
It was almost missed in the flurry of activity, the mess of pointed comments and sneers that was the disastrous investigation into Offworld Mining.
By that point the nightmare of an investigation had expanded to include several Jedi, all of whom were on the lookout for their then only recently missing initiate.
Xanatos certainly could have known, could have found out second hand. Perhaps that’s why the details were all wrong.
One stray comment, especially one missing so much information, shouldn’t set Feemor off like it does.
It is, after all, just a sneering insult from a bitter former Jedi.
There could be nothing in it at all, but it is also after all, a sneering insult from a bitter former Jedi.
There is no Shadow who would underestimate the power of that.
His predecessors followed up on it, of course. They looked into Offworld, looked into Xanatos, tried and failed to find any indication that he might know where their missing child lay.
They searched and searched and came up empty.
All reports indicate Xanatos seemed content to allow their digging, provided the Jedi stayed far away from Offworld Mining’s planetary holdings, smugly smiling all the while.
A few pointed comments, mostly about Jinn, and then, eventually, suddenly, seemingly without warning, everything stopped.
He stopped making pointed comments, started upping security, blockaded them at every turn.
Apparently, he’d had his fun.
Feemor looks into where the last Jedi investigating Offworld had been before the shutdown had been, Bandomeer.
One of the Shadows had managed to sneak their way near the mining platforms, in spite of the restrictions. They’d been caught and threatened before they could find anything, but that was the last time anyone at Offworld Mining had been willing to even speak to a Jedi.
A few days later they’d caught some rumors in Hutt space of a slave matching Obi-Wan’s description and their attention had quickly shifted. Nothing came of it, no sign there was any truth to it at all.
It isn’t a lead, not really but it’s the only thing Feemor has.
He’ll take it, as far as it goes.
-
He’s been having trouble sleeping lately, he isn’t sure why.
He hopes it doesn’t become a problem.
He re-reads the files again. It doesn’t take him long.
-
Bandomeer is… tense.
There’s something in the air, in the Force. Something has happened, or it’s about to.
He saunters up to a bar, just enough to be confident, not enough to attract eyes.
He casually complains about ship repairs to the vaguely disinterested bartender and drinks noticeably just a little too much for the average human.
The small inn he stays in is noisy and the people in the next room come back shouting at odd hours.
Feemor spends his days quietly working out the streets of Bandor, learning the atmosphere of the capitol.
He takes his time, spending his evenings in bars getting the regulars used to his presence.
He glances casually in the direction of Offworld enforcers and makes sure not to stare.
He is, for all intents and purposes, just an unlucky spacer doing his best to get off world.
It takes time, figuring out the best places to listen, he stifles the itching instincts that want to hurry. A single misstep could ruin all his hard work.
He steps up to the bar, just like he does nearly every night, just enough to be confident, not enough to attract eyes. The bartender’s eyes light with recognition.
He listens, and he hears.
One of the mines has fallen.
The Deepsea mines, the ones the Jedi never got to see.
The workers have revolted, a few declare, those weren’t workers, even fewer respond.
It’s a slave revolt.
This is… far outside Feemor’s mission parameters.
It isn’t often a slave revolt happens, much less succeeds.
He needs to know what happened, before Offworld rallies and crushes them.
-
Getting to the mine is fraught with challenges, finding a way to it without getting shot at by revolting slaves or Offworld in the process nearly impossible.
Feemor will make it happen.
-
It’s spreading, come the whispers.
Another mine has fallen, emboldened by the first.
Offworld hasn’t brought the reinforcements yet, they say. It’s only a matter of time, they lament.
-
Offworld is panicking, they hiss to each other.
One mine is easily crushed, its slaves replaced with hardly a thought, but five?
It cannot be done.
Not without losses, not without manpower, manpower that will need to be brought in from elsewhere.
Change is in the air, the Force sings with it. It sings with freedom, with vengeance, with justice.
By the time Feemor has finished making his arrangements to visit the first, seven of the mines of Bandomeer have fallen.
-
He travels with a small group of locals, searching for signs of relatives long thought lost to the Great Sea and its mines, bringing weapons and supplies to shore up their efforts.
They brave the seas, the danger of the fighters firing on sight for the chance to help and maybe, just maybe to see their loved ones again.
Feemor supposes he’s the same.
He only met Obi-Wan once, in one of the quiet corners he liked to sit and stew in as a teenager. Lamenting his own failures and weaknesses and wallowing, as teens are wont to do.
A tiny little initiate, guided by the Force. Who came over and patted his head because that always made him feel better. Who sat next to him and told him it would be alright and then burst into hysterical sobs when Feemor asked where the rest of his crechemates were.
He meditates as best he can as they drift in the sea, hoping to find a living child at the end of his journey and not another tragedy.
-
He steps onto the rig and all eyes turn.
It’s uncomfortable, it isn’t what he’s used to.
He resists the urge to hide away in the Force. He can tell they’re only curious about the outsider, he isn’t good enough to pass himself off as one of their people, he is good enough that they see nothing but a strange spacer.
“Hello, I’ve come for my brother.”
They confer, grumbling about outsiders and the Republic.
“You do not wish to interfere?”
Feemor considers them, the way they glare and shift. The Force warns of the significance of this moment. He considers the question and how to answer it.
“I’ve come for my brother, that is all.”
This seems to be the right answer, the leader nods, pleased.
“Bandomeer will be free again, we will thrive again, on our own. The Republic has paid us no attention, has allowed atrocities to continue. We have suffered for their wealth, we suffer no more!”
Feemor nods, he hopes it will be so.
He wonders what gave them the impression he was from the Republic.
“Tell us of your brother and we will see what can be done, we have channels to the other mines. If he is not here, we can find him, or at least tell you his fate, so you may be free of your burden.”
“Thank you.”
He shows them the holo and none of them even blink, merely nodding gravely as if they expected it.
“He was here.” Feemor notes the past tense and swallows back his disappointment at another child lost. “He was the bravest of all of us, the only one who could have deactivated the collars. We lost sight of him in the initial fight and cannot tell you his fate. We mourn for him, as you do. Know that we did our best by him, as the youngest of our number. There was no body, but the seas are deep and the casualties were many. We have laid him to rest according to our traditions, as one of us, may you do the same according to your own and may his spirit rest in the knowledge he was loved by many.”
“Thank you.”
He builds a pyre for a child gone far too young and leaves Bandomeer soon after.
The report feels heavy on his tongue and he hardly registers the reactions of the council at the news.
He can see Master Yoda’s ears droop, Master Windu’s brow furrow, and Master Tyvokka’s eyes close in silent sorrow. It just feels so distant and far away.
Stars, he’s so tired.
He must look it too from the concerned expressions of his fellow Jedi.
He distantly registers quiet plans to break the news to the younglings, especially Obi-Wan’s crechemates. They’ve been working with mindhealers ever since he disappeared of course but… it’s... hard to get that final confirmation.
They’ll hold a funeral. The closure will do those who knew him well. There is nothing for the pyre but there’s nothing to be done about that.
He’s drifting, he can tell.
The council of Shadows will no doubt have him temple bound for months after this.
Master Yaddle gestures to get his attention over the holo, she looks concerned.
Feemor isn’t sure how long she’s been speaking.
They all look apologetic as they ask, if he could stop by one of the nearby systems.
A young shadow has gone unexpectedly silent and missed more than one check-in. They may need some backup or a rescue. They would send someone else, anyone else but there may not be time.
He smiles tiredly and says of course.
Feemor understands, they are more and more spread out these days. He can handle one more short mission before he goes home.
He meditates on the journey, trying to center himself. The Force is warm in its embrace but it cannot soothe the ache in his heart completely.
It’s so hard to mourn and mourn and get back up to do it again. Hoping that he won’t have to mourn this time.
He breathes in and out, carefully centering himself and starts the landing procedures. The Force buzzes with low anticipation, he can’t tell if it’s good or bad.
He docks in the city and checks for any updates about the Jedi he’s searching for.
There’s a message from the council, they’ve finally checked in, four systems away, something about the will of the Force and a small slave ring.
He sighs, glad he can pack up and return home.
Something tells him not to. The Force still hums with anticipation and excitement.
He’s so tired.
He wanders the streets of this new city, dangerous and seedy. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for.
The mechanics yards are quiet, less bustling than the markets closer to center. He isn’t sure what draws him there.
He climbs a wall and sits down to meditate and ask the Force for guidance.
He reaches out and nearly falls out of his meditation at what he finds.
There are other Force Sensitives here!
He stretches out his awareness again.
One of them is hurting and has been for a long time. Their shields are near non-existent and torn apart in a way that speaks to torture. The other is young, very young and in much better shape.
He opens his eyes and looks for them.
He’s drawn to a ship in the center of the yard, well equipped and dangerous. There’s a Mandalorian pacing outside. The background hum of anticipation grows.
The slightest shift in body language is the only indication the Mandalorian allows to show their suspicions at being watched.
Feemor prepares himself to strike.
-
They’re in a standoff, Feemor needs to be careful.
He nearly snarls at the Mandalorian’s denials. He knows they have younglings, hurt younglings, very hurt younglings and he won’t leave them to whatever plans this man has for them.
He readies himself for a fight when movement catches his eye from the ship.
He takes the risk to glance over.
There, wary and alive, are two younglings. A little Twi’lek half hiding behind an older… He can’t help the breath he sucks in. He would never mistake the face for another. It’s the initiate he’s been looking for all this time. The one he’s mourned and grieved over.
“Obi-Wan?” He breathes out. He can’t believe it. He’s alive!
He looks… unwell, unsteady and tired and scarred, tucking the smaller child behind him. Feemor could cry with relief.
He’s alive!
Somehow, someway, this little initiate made it off of Bandomeer.
“You’re alive…” He can’t help the helpless little smile. It isn’t too late. For once it isn’t too late.
It’s a relief to hear that he doesn’t need to fight the Mandalorian for them, although he’ll be ready if that changes.
He’ll be sure to look into Jango Fett as soon as he gets a chance.
He nods to little Aayla Secura but he’s still filled with nothing but that overwhelming relief. His heart breaks for him. The way it’s obvious that he’d thought they’d stopped looking, as if they ever really stop. While the search for Obi-Wan Kenobi might have ended with his apparent death, the search for force sensitives never ends, the slave rings are unending, the rumors abound.
He’s just so glad.
He knows that Obi-Wan doesn’t want to talk about it, Feemor has enough to go on for now. He won’t push, this isn’t the time for that.
He takes a breath and focuses. Aayla, he needs to talk to Aayla.
“Hello Aayla, it’s nice to meet you. My name is Feemor” He introduces himself politely.
“Hello, you’re a Jedi?” She’s a little shy but looks him in the eye.
“I am.”
She nods seriously.
“Obi-Wan told me about Jedi.”
He smiles. “Good things I hope.”
“Yeah, he misses it, I think.”
“Yeah,” he sighs, “I’m sure he does.”
He explains, carefully, that it will be difficult to be a Jedi. That she has options if she wants them, that it’s her choice.
He can see the clear determination in her eyes and he can hear the Force sing its approval. She’ll be a Jedi, there is no doubt.
-
Feemor can’t delay any longer, he’s explained everything to Aayla and exchanged all the necessary information with Jango and Obi-Wan.
It’s time to go.
He can see that Obi-Wan isn’t coming, can hear it in the soft mourning of the Force.
All he can do is hope.
There’s a lot of trust between the lost little Initiate and the Mandalorian.
Feemor wants to ask how that happened, how a little Jedi became so comfortable with a Mandalorian, more comfortable than with him.
He doesn’t ask, Obi-Wan isn’t ready.
He smiles, a little sad, but anything is better than a pyre. He makes sure Obi-Wan knows he’ll always be welcome.
He’ll be sure to tell his crechemates everything he can. They’ve been so worried about him.
Slipping into Dai Bendu is easy. It’s comfortable and it feels like home.
He wants more than anything for Obi-Wan to know that he is loved, no matter what happens.
The future is uncertain, the past mired in tragedy.
He will do all he can in the present.
He says goodbye.
He hopes it isn’t for the last time.