Chapter Text
Obi-Wan was infuriatingly easy to like.
But no, Savage shouldn’t think that way. Feral clearly adored Obi-Wan and it was just as clear that the feeling was reciprocated. So Savage sucked it up and dealt with it. At first, he did as he always did: sit on the sidelines and watch as his little brother and Obi-Wan played. Savage continued to ignore any and all offers to play from the other younglings. In fact, most of them didn’t ask anymore because they already knew what the answer would be.
Savage refused to acknowledge the sinking feeling in his gut. Refused to admit that he was beginning to become desperate for Feemor’s familiar, easy smiles.
Sometimes, they still went back to Feemor’s to get away from the noise, but Obi-Wan usually accompanied them. The little boy knew when to be quiet and so they spent many evenings in Feemor’s apartment, curled up in the bedroom far away and safe from the rest of the galaxy, or curled up on Feemor’s couch as he read to them.
Savage loved it when Feemor read to them. One of the only things he let himself remember were the stories the Brothers told each other over the fire. Grand, free things that made Savage forget where he lived. Back then, it was so easy to forget that he was trapped in a way none of the characters in the tales were. They’d always free themselves or be saved, and in the end they were always happy and loved and surrounded by family.
Now, listening to Feemor read from his datapad, or one of the rare few printed books he’d managed to salvage over the years— it was equally freeing. But in a strange way he never felt back on Dathomir. As Feemor read, Savage knew he was just like in those stories. He’d freed himself. He’d freed his brother. And here he was. Maybe it wasn’t safe, he couldn’t let himself believe that quite yet. But at least here, in that moment, he could let himself feel something like it. Here, with Feral tucked into his lap and Obi-Wan curled into his side watching Feemor’s face as he exaggerated dialogue—
Here, Savage let himself feel at home.
And maybe he was.
-:-
“All slaves have a transmitter placed inside their bodies somewhere,” Shmi tells them as she refills Feral’s glass of water.
He murmurs a quiet thank you, resolving that that is his last one. He’s a Zabrak, which means his body is built for harsh climates. It’ll be fine to go without water for a while.
“I’ve been working on a scanner to try and locate mine,” Anakin rushes to say, tone far too matter-of-fact for Feral’s tastes.
“Any attempt to escape—” Shmi starts.
“And they blow you up! Boom!” Anakin slams his hand on the table and Feral wants to be sick. Wants to clear the image of blood and gore and Anakin’s limp form from his mind.
“I can’t believe there’s still slavery in the galaxy.” Padmé exclaims incredulously as Shmi refills her glass, too. “The Republic’s antislavery laws—”
“The Republic doesn’t exist out here,” Shmi cuts in, curt. Padmé has only known the luxuries of the Mid Rim. Shmi clearly understands the girl’s naivete but rightly will not let it stand in her house. “We must survive on our own.”
Shmi shifts and Feral’s eyes catch on the slip of her sleeve across her wrist. There’s a pale scar there, rough but precise and far too close to the vein. Alarmed, he glances up at her and catches the edge of a second pale scar at her collarbone. She meets his eye and smiles. It’s a thin thing stretched far too tight. A chill spreads through his veins and his hearts stumble offbeat.
Feral knows, he knows they’re self-inflicted. They’re old and make Feral wonder if maybe she tried to cut her transmitter out. Once, twice, as many times as it would take, before they hid it well enough and deep enough that she could never hope to find it.
He wonders if she tried the same thing for Anakin.
If her slavers learned their lesson once and dug that awful thing deep into him, too.
Feral nearly retches, which would be a damn shame because the lamta are delicious, sparking heat along his tongue and down his throat, lingering in the corners of his eyes.
“Has anybody ever seen a Podrace?” Anakin interrupts the awkward silence and Feral is guiltily glad of it.
“They have podracing on Malastare,” Master Jinn says, biting into a piece of the Ahrisa they’d baked. “Very fast, very dangerous.”
“I’m the only human who can do it.”
There, that matter-of-fact tone again. So many times today have Feral’s hearts stumbled and ached. This little boy will be the death of him. Feral doesn’t think he can take worrying about him for much longer, though for some strange reason he doesn’t mind the thought. Welcomes it, in fact. Anakin is such a bright little light and Feral— The Force sings in a way he’s never felt before.
“You must have Jedi reflexes if you race pods,” Qui-Gon says amusedly and Force they haven’t had a moment to speak about Anakin but does this man not feel the- the sheer and brilliant potential surrounding this boy? And his mother even?
Anakin’s gaze drops and his fingers scratch idly at the table. “You’re a Jedi Knight, aren’t you?”
Grasping at his cup of water, Feral takes a slow sip of water. Exchanges a glance with his best friend’s Master, sees the wary calculation in them.
“What makes you think that?” Jinn asks mildly, if somewhat curiously. It’s a test, as so many things are with Jinn.
“I saw your laser sword. Only Jedi carry that kind of weapon.” The boy knows he’s caught them out on a lie. A lie of omission, at least. The Force rises like the tide, like the crest of a wave and Feral wonders if this is the shatterpoint Master Windu saw. If Feral was meant to be here for this.
“Perhaps I killed a Jedi and took it from him.” Qui-Gon leans back and glances at Shmi who watches everything unfold with a master sabacc face.
“I don’t think so,” Anakin proclaims triumphantly, condescension colouring his voice. “No one can kill a Jedi.”
“I wish that were so,” Jinn says, old grief roughening his voice.
Feral must close his eyes for a brief moment. It’s been years since Master Tahl’s death and yet it’s still an awful blow. She always looked out for their little friend group, always willing to lend an ear and some hard-to-swallow but wise advice. As much as Bant adores Master Fisto, she clearly still grieves for her first Master.
For Master Jinn, it had been almost harder. He and Tahl were crèchemates. They’d known each other for as long as they remembered. He hadn’t known a life without her friendship.
Jedi are not immune to death. Far from it.
Feral- he can’t—
Force.
He can’t even imagine a life without Obi-Wan. The very idea makes his hearts break. Makes him want to- to—
Anakin seems to notice the grief wash across Master Jinn’s face because his gaze drops. “I had a dream I was a Jedi,” Anakin admits. “I came back here and freed all the slaves.”
Feral can’t help but be drawn to Shmi again. She watches her son with mixed pride and grief.
“Have you come to free us?” Anakin looks at Jinn, then, awfully, his gaze lands squarely on Feral. There’s terrible hope there. Anticipation. “Baschna?”
Feral nearly breaks down into tears.
“No,” Jinn confesses sorrowfully, “I’m afraid not.”
“I think you have. Why else would you be here?” Suddenly, Anakin seems far older than his years, and yet so much younger. For all that he’s been a slave his entire life, he still has so much hope. He sees so much good in the galaxy. Feral stares into those bright-blue eyes and thinks:
I will.
I must.
You will be free, even if I must die for it.
And yes, it’s a startling, awful, shattering thought. But- Feral is surprised to find that it is true. It feels right. He must free them. Maybe this is why he’s here. It must be.
Feral is meant to free this child and his mother.
-:-
So with Savage beginning to like Feral’s little friend, there was no way he was going to stand by when one of the other younglings pushed Obi-Wan into a pond.
Their crèche went to the Room of a Thousand Fountains a couple times a week. It was the most beautiful place Savage had ever been. The plants were so soft and vibrant in a way they weren’t on Dathomir. Of course there were many different kinds of gardens in the seemingly endless room and Savage enjoyed roaming everything from barren rocks with spiky plants to towering trees with swinging vines. He’d even heard there were underwater gardens, but he didn’t know how to swim yet so he couldn’t go down and look. He couldn’t believe they’d managed to fit everything in here but Feemor said it’d been cared for, for several thousand years.
On this particular day, Savage sprawled out in the sunlight and let the rays soak into his skin as Feral and Obi-Wan played at the water’s edge. Savage had drilled it into Feral’s head not to go in unsupervised, not until they learned how to swim.
By now Savage was comfortable enough to relax a bit as Feral and Obi-Wan played. This is why he didn’t see Bruck Chun watching Obi-Wan and Feral with jealousy. Nor did he see Bruck stalk up to them and push Obi-Wan into the water.
He did hear the splash and he did hear Obi-Wan’s little yelp.
He heard Feral’s sharp scream.
Immediately he bolted up. He zeroed in on Bruck standing with his hands on his hips, on Feral safe and sound but terrified. He couldn’t see Obi-Wan. Not anywhere.
But there were the flailing arms poking out of the water and suddenly Savage’s hearts were in his throat and he was dashing to the water, not even thinking that he couldn’t swim he just had to get Obi-Wan he had to protect him.
Luckily the water wasn’t deep. Savage was able to snatch Obi-Wan and dig his feet into the stones at the bottom of the pond and push them up and out, gasping for breath. There was water in his mouth, so he coughed and spluttered as he scrabbled for the edge of the pond and pushed Obi-Wan up first. The little boy weakly clambered up and collapsed in the grass.
Fear still making his hearts spasm against his ribs, Savage tugged himself out of the water and came face to face with—
A fight?
Still coughing, Savage watched, flabbergasted, as Feral pummeled his little fists into Bruck’s already bruised and bloodied face. He watched for a second more, before stumbling up and snatching Feral’s collar. He dragged him off the other boy and held him back as Feral struggled to twist and kick himself free.
“Feral,” Savage bit out sharp and rough.
“He hurt Obi!” Feral shrieked, tears spattering hot from his lashes, dripping down his cheeks. “He- he—”
Pride welled up in Savage’s chest, and disappointment, too. It was good that Feral fought for what he loved. Savage wanted his brother to fight tooth and nail for what mattered most. Wanted him to fight for his own life and not just take abuse laying down.
But, staring down at Bruck whose cheeks were also wet with tears. Seeing that hurt and fear, sharp and painful upon the boy’s face. How the bruises from his little brother’s fists were already blooming bright and ugly—
Savage didn’t want his brother repeating the past. This is how all Brothers grew up. Fighting tooth and nail, bloodied and beaten. Savage looked down at Bruck and his little brother and all at once he was back on Dathomir amidst the fear and the desperation and the cruel savagery. He was only lucky Feral hadn’t tried to gore the other boy, for his horns were just starting to sharpen.
Savage didn’t want his brother growing up like that. That’s why he’d smuggled him away in the first place.
And the Jedi- The Jedi would never stand for this.
He could easily imagine disappointment colouring Feemor’s face and it made his stomach knot heavy and cold and sick.
“Apologize,” Feral demanded, staring into Bruck’s eyes.
The little boy hiccupped and nodded. He turned ashamedly to Obi-Wan who gaped at them. “I’m s-sorry,” he mumbled.
Feral sneered in triumph, but then Savage shook him lightly by the collar. “Apologize.”
Feral turned wide, startled eyes up at him. Then they narrowed into stubborn anger.
“You shouldn’t have hurt him back,” Savage said sternly. “You don’t repay violence with violence. Apologize.”
Feral stuck out his lip and crossed his pudgy arms. Then, reluctantly, he bowed his head and turned back to Bruck. “I’m sorry,” he muttered petulantly.
“Good,” Savage said, satisfied. Then he dragged them all up to the infirmary.
Somehow, it was the beginning of an unbreakable friendship between the three little boys.
And somehow, Savage became Dragon Clan’s older brother.
-:-
“What if this plan fails, Master?” Obi-Wan’s voice crackles over the comm uncertainly. “We could be stuck here a very long time.”
Feral watches Anakin from his perch upon the tiny terrace huddled between the upper entrances to several slave residences. They’d already been by Watto’s and thankfully the Toydarian had agreed to Master Jinn’s proposal. Feral hadn’t pushed for the Skywalkers’ freedom. Not yet. He knew if they pushed too hard from the start, the Toydarian would never agree. He hasn’t even brought it up to Qui-Gon yet.
The plan rolling around in his head…It’s risky. Maybe too risky. As rebellious as Jinn can be, Feral knows the Master would immediately object to it.
He knows Obi-Wan would hate it.
So, he’s just going to have to do it his own way.
“Well, it’s too dangerous to call for help,” Master Jinn tells Obi-Wan, “and a ship without a power supply isn’t going to get us anywhere.”
“I agree,” Master Aylward pipes up over the comm. “Our mission is time-sensitive and I doubt the Queen will be willing to sit around for much longer. We don’t have enough provisions to last us much longer. We could try to get work or even gamble but it would draw too much attention to ourselves and we wouldn’t be able to earn the amount of wupuipi we need quickly enough.” He pauses, clearly weighing the situation. “In lieu of a safer plan…I trust you, Qui-Gon. If you feel this is the right decision, I’m willing to follow it.”
Feral swallows. Feemor has always respected Master Jinn, but he never hesitates to speak his mind or oppose Jinn’s opinion. If Feemor really thinks this is the only option they have…
“Thank you, Feemor.” A hint of a smile curls Jinn’s lips before he continues. “The Force is…It’s insistent. And…” He glances at Feral. “There’s something about this boy.”
A noise of interest crackles over the comm. “Another one of your strays?” Feemor half teases, though there’s an air of seriousness in his voice. In the background Feral can just barely hear Obi-Wan’s groan and he grins at that.
“Perhaps,” Jinn acquiesces. “But…I think it might be more.”
There’s a distant shout as Anakin fusses with his podracer, then Padmé’s laughter.
Jinn’s eyes stray towards them, lips pursing. “I’ll check in with you later, Feemor, Obi-Wan. If anything comes up, please contact me.”
“Of course, Qui-Gon,” Feemor says, Obi-Wan echoing him.
Master Jinn tucks the comm back in his belt, then casts Feral a significant glance. “Now might be a good time if you wish to speak with my Padawan.”
Startling, heat burns Feral’s cheeks and he nods, hurriedly retrieving his own comm as he hops up onto the roof. He turns and wanders a little bit away from Jinn, treading carefully upon the uneven stone.
The comm beeps for a few long seconds before it’s answered.
“Obi-Wan?”
“Feral!”
Affection washes over him, soothing his soul in the way that no one else can. He closes his eyes against the onslaught and lets out a soft, shaky breath. They don’t normally contact each other while they’re on missions. No matter how much Obi-Wan means to him, they’re Jedi. It would be unprofessional if they lost focus. Deadly, even. But right now, Feral doesn’t really care. This mission looms upon the horizon like none other, lingering in every breath. Like the air right before a lighting strike.
It unsettles him in a way that only Obi-Wan can soothe.
“How are you doing?” Feral asks quietly.
“Well, the Naboo are restless. The message we received from the Governor has shaken them and they’re eager to leave. Jar-Jar is in relatively high spirits. He seems to have realized it was the right decision to stay aboard. He went outside once and immediately turned tail to head back into the ship, saying it was too hot.”
“No, how are you doing, Obi-Wan?”
Obi-Wan’s silent for a few moments. When his voice crackles through the comm, it’s significantly softer. Wearier. “I’m also eager to leave. I’m worried about Naboo. I’m worried about you.”
Feral’s hearts stutter, but it feels quite different from when Anakin shocks or saddens him to his core. He takes a second to breathe. Stares out into the endless blue sky stretched out across the rooftops of Mos Espa. Hearing the anxiety in Obi-Wan’s voice…he can’t tell Obi-Wan his plan.
He can’t.
Guilt gnaws away at his bones.
“I’ll be alright,” Feral reassures, uncertain whether he’s lying or not. “We’ll be back by tomorrow evening. As soon as the race is done we’re leaving.”
There’s a slight chkt across the comm, like Obi-Wan’s clicking his tongue in disapproval. “You’re resting all our fates on this boy.” And yes, the disapproval is clear in his friend’s voice. “I expect this from Qui-Gon, but not you.”
Feral can’t even find it in himself to be annoyed. Ordinarily this is true. But Obi-Wan hasn’t met Anakin. He hasn’t walked the streets of Mos Espa, where it teems with slaves. Hasn’t sat at Shmi Skywalker’s table and watched pale scars stretch across her tanned skin as her son slams his hand against the table and yells boom!
“I think—” Feral swallows uncertainly. “I think I’ve found the shatterpoint.”
There’s silence for a moment. Then:
“The boy?”
“Yes.”
More silence. It doesn’t put Feral on edge. When not in the thick of action, his friend takes the time to turn the facts over in his head. To examine them from every angle and pick them apart until they’ve laid all their secrets before him.
Feral watches the twin suns chase each other across the sky. Watches their endless cycle.
The Tusken Raiders call them the Sky Brothers, Anakin told him sleepily late last night. The floor of the boy’s bedroom was uncomfortable, but not overly so. Feral had slept in far worse places, with far worse company.
One day the younger brother showed his true face to the tribe, which is forbidden, Anakin had continued. A- a sin, I guess. I don’t know why. But because of that, the older brother tried to kill his young brother. It was what duty demanded. But he failed. Burning, bleeding, the younger brother chased his sibling across the sky. The older brother ran for the hills, but his younger brother never stops chasing him. They can never rest.
What a sad story, Feral had said, staring up into the darkness.
Yeah, Anakin had replied, then yawned. The younger brother exposed his face, and the older brother exposed his failure. And they couldn’t hide that. Everyone knew. They’d seen what happened. That makes the brothers ashamed and they turn that shame into anger and they turn that anger on everyone they see. Their gazes burn through flesh to reveal our secret selves. Anakin had paused for a few long, lingering moments. So long, in fact, that Feral thought Anakin might have fallen asleep.
But the little boy finally piped up again. Quiet and weary. It’s- it’s about expectation, I guess. Being unable to forgive.
And sorrow, Feral had said quietly. They were brothers, he didn’t say. They were supposed to protect each other. Love each other.
Feral isn’t worried that his friend will strip his words bare to expose his insane plan beneath. If Obi-Wan was here, then yes. Yes, Feral would be afraid. Obi-Wan’s stormy gaze would burn right into him and he would see.
But Obi-Wan is not here. He is a whole city away, cooped up in a ship far too conspicuous for these dusty wastes, tethered together only by the tenuous crackle of their comms. Far away from Feral’s desperation. His churning guilt. Unable to feel that pinprick at the forefront of Feral’s mind, where the mirrored, jagged edges of dark and light splinter against each other. A kaleidoscope of memoryvisionemotion that Feral cannot hope to comprehend.
So no, Feral is not afraid Obi-Wan will figure it out, and Feral is determined to give him no reason to.
“Be careful,” his best friend finally relents. “Don’t make me lose you.”
“You won’t.”
-:-
Savage just kept gathering up more and more younglings into their little circle. First, it was Reeft who tripped and fell and Savage found himself on his knees, calming the little boy down before Crèchemaster Vant got there. Then it was Bant who quite decisively decided she should teach the brothers to swim because “the water is so nice and great and there’s nothing better than just jumping right in!”
Then came along Garen with his exhausting pranks and Taria with her rib-cracking hugs and then Lin and Hu-Van and Rocun and Zielyana and—
Well.
Before Savage knew it, the entire crèche was under his bewildered wing. They weren’t scared of him. They didn’t avoid him. They didn’t mind when he wasn’t up to playing and when he was they were amazingly enthusiastic about it. Crèchemaster Vant seemed entirely too pleased.
Once, when Feemor was tucked under a blanket on Feemor’s sofa, taking a much-needed break from the ruckus of fifteen-odd tiny children, Feemor asked him how he felt.
Savage stared down into the cup of tea cradled between his hands. He wasn’t sure whether Feemor was asking how he felt about suddenly having fifteen baby siblings or how he felt about being with the Jedi as a whole. Maybe the man even meant how he felt in that moment. Tired? Hungry? Ready for bed?
Savage stared down into that cup, steam wafting warm across his cheek and he realized that for the first time in a very long time…that he wasn’t frightened. He wasn’t eager to leave. And maybe he’d felt like that for a while and just hadn’t noticed.
“Good,” Savage murmured. “I’m good.” And he glanced up at the man’s gentle expression and found he trusted this Jedi implicitly. That, in itself, was a little terrifying. But he found he didn’t like being scared, and so he let that fear go and said, “I am a little hungry.”
Feemor’s food was always the best.
-:-
Ending the call with Obi-Wan leaves Feral feeling sick with guilt, but more determined than ever. He will save Anakin and Shmi. He must. Obi-Wan will just have to worry about it when they get back all safe and sound. But by then, there will be nothing to worry about.
So.
Feral heaves a sigh, exhaustion pulling at him. Even from up on the rooftops, Anakin’s laughter soars high and loud. Feral’s attention is drawn to Shmi. Qui-Gon has left her to join the others on the ground. She casts a lonely figure upon that tiny terrace, arms wrapped around herself. Like she’s hoping to hide that aching grief, her constant companion.
Feral wraps the Force around himself, seeking that soothing warmth as he breathes through his anxiety, his own grief. It takes a minute for his composure to return, but when it does, he pulls a small smile onto his lips and hops off the roof. He exchanges a nod with Shmi but cannot find it within himself to speak with her just yet. So instead he makes his way down the narrow winding steps so he can join the rest of his companions.
Except just as he steps away from the foot of the staircase, a scruffy Twi’lek bumps into him.
“Oh!” Feral exclaims. “My apologies, are you alright?”
A delicate blue hand grips his forearm and pulls him into the scant shadow of a doorway. Already Feral’s twisting, leg whipping out to catch them off guard. They expertly twist with him, hopping over the sweep of his leg only to grab the back of his neck and attempt to slam him into a doorjamb.
“Feral!” a very familiar voice hisses before he can jab a cruel elbow into their gut. “Calm down! It’s me!”
Faltering, Feral goes slack as his opponent lets go. Disbelief trembles in the back of his mind. But really, what was he expecting? This is Quinlan’s apprentice he’s talking about.
“Aayla,” he breathes, turning on his heel so he can meet the younger woman’s gaze. Her eyes are just as fierce and piercing as usual, which is a relief. Though the state of her clothes and the grime upon her skin is not. At least she’s not in a revealing outfit, instead hiding beneath unflattering rags.
“What are you doing here?” Aayla demands before he can ask the same of her. “Master Vos said he saw you in the market yesterday! Picking fights! Tatooine is very far from the Temple. It’s dangerous here!”
“We didn’t pick a fight,” Feral sighs resignedly. “We’re just- too noticeable.”
Aayla eyes him up and down, lingering on the stark tattoos upon his face. “I’ll say,” she says sharply. “All Master Vos could figure out is that you’ve got a ship on the outskirts and you’re asking around for parts. What’s going on?”
“A mission, same as you.” Feral gestures at her get-up and Aayla isn’t even embarrassed. She rarely is. It’s something she learned from her Master.
When her eyes only darken, Feral sighs again. “It’s- a delicate mission. We were supposed to facilitate negotiations between Naboo and the Trade Federation which has blockaded their planet. Instead they attempted to kill us and now we’re on the run with the Queen and her contingent. We’re here completely by accident. Our ship’s hyperdrive is busted and we don’t have any local currency.”
Aayla frowns, crossing her arms as her eyes go distant with thought. “That is a predicament. Unfortunately, Master Vos and I don’t have the wupuipi you’d need to get those replacements, and there's not much we can do without getting our cover blown. Our mission is very sensitive and very important. It was a huge risk even coming to find you here.” Apology softens her features.
“It’s alright, Aayla,” Feral reassures. “We have a plan.”
One eyebrow raises in a delicate arch. “A Jinn kind of plan or a Windu one?”
Awkward, Feral shrugs. “A bit of both, but mostly neither.”
“Hmm.” Aayla considers him for a moment, then nods. “I’ll let Master Vos know what’s going on. We’ll keep an eye out, but like I said, there isn’t much we can do. If you get in serious danger—”
“We’ll be fine.”
The girl stares at him for a moment more, and for all that they are both Padawans, she is much younger and Feral—
Well.
Mace Windu is Feral’s Master. Feral’s learned how to persuade people to do what he wants, whether they like it or not.
“We’ll keep an eye out,” Aayla repeats, and with that she’s gone, easily drifting out into the sun and between wandering slaves. Feral loses sight of her almost instantly. There certainly are benefits to having a Shadow as a Master.
-:-
Savage met her in the Archives. He had his tongue pinched between his teeth as he carefully learned his letters. He stubbornly hadn’t told Crèchemaster Vant that he didn’t know Aurebesh. It was so strange and angular, very different from the curving, elegant script his Brothers had begun teaching him. In reading lessons, he stared at the pages and flipped them when he saw the other children do so. He strained his ears listening to their quiet murmurs as they carefully mouthed the words.
Sometimes he even raised a brow and asked one of the kids to read aloud to him for practice. They did it dutifully, strangely eager to impress him, and he was only slightly sick with guilt as he desperately tried to follow along on the page, peering over their tiny shoulders.
Feemor noticed though. Of course he did. Savage doubted there was a single thing that the man didn’t know. It was slightly terrifying but awfully relieving when Feemor knew how Savage felt before he could even express it. Not that Feemor didn’t encourage him to express himself. Feemor seemed to want Savage’s opinion about everything. Seemed to think Savage should tell people what he thought rather than bottling up everything inside.
What would you like to eat today? Do you like this story? Why are you frustrated?
It’d taken a while, but Savage was slowly becoming more comfortable with the Temple and the people inside it.
He was more comfortable with himself.
So when Feemor casually brought Savage down to the Archives only to sit him down at a table with a couple of datapads, Savage was only slightly anxious. The anxiety spiked when Feemor patiently showed Savage how to work them with the audio assist so he wasn’t left floundering with a thing he couldn’t read and thus couldn’t use.
But then Feemor left with an encouraging smile, saying that he would just be on the other side of the Archives if he wanted help or company. It was…freeing. Feemor trusted Savage on his own. Trusted that Savage could learn on his own and that-
That meant everything to him.
So Savage curled over the tabletop and carefully learned his letters.
Then a girl sat down at the other end of the table.
Savage startled. He hadn’t noticed her approach and usually that meant bad things. But when he looked up she wasn’t paying him any mind at all. She was a Mirialan around the same age as him. A dark brown headdress fell about her shoulders, complementing the sweeping browns and blacks of the rest of her clothing. The curve of her cheek was sharp, a lovely pale green, and when she glanced at him he realized her eyes were a startling, deep blue.
Suddenly self-conscious, he stared down at his pads, mind whirring and mouth snapped closed. He could move. He could go find Feemor or wander until he found another open, empty table. But- he’d already been here a while. He liked this table. It was his.
Before he could make his decision, the pad at his elbow beeped and the one clutched in his hands reminded him: “You have not repeated the given phrase. Please repeat and retrace the letter Vev.”
Ears burning, Savage hurriedly slapped the mute button, but it was too late. The girl had fully turned her head to stare at him. He couldn’t bear to look back. Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell she was studying him. Shame and embarrassment churned in his belly.
“You are learning Aurebesh?” she casually asked, as if she weren’t asking him to reveal the secret he’d done his best to hide. As if she didn’t know this made her better than him. As if she didn’t know this was one of the many reasons why Savage wasn’t meant to be a Jedi.
There was a lump in his throat, so of course he couldn’t answer back.
“It can be difficult,” the girl continued mildly. “Some of the letters look really similar and the grammar can be confusing. Sometimes it feels like I’ll never stop learning it.”
Startled, Savage hesitantly peered up at her. Her lips were dark and kind as she smiled as him. A tiny, diamond tattoo sat in the middle of her chin like a blessing.
“I’m Luminara. Maybe we can help each other?”