DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and all publicly recognisable characters, names and references, etc are the sole property of George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc and 20th Century Fox. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
The several young people - there were six of them, not counting Obi-Wan, between ten and eighteen - were in the kitchen washing up after the meal. The adults and the very young children had retired to the main living room.
Qui-Gon sat back in the overstuffed chair, resting his stocking clad feet on a footstool. Their first day in his mother's home had passed without serious incident, although he had an uncomfortable feeling in the back of his mind. He knew that this feeling stemmed from the knowledge that before long he was going to have to sit down with his Padawan and have a very long, very embarrassing talk. In fact, he had to have 'the talk.' Facing down space pirates, slavers, or greedy diplomats was something Qui-Gon excelled at - telling a thirteen year old boy the facts of life frightened the Sith out of him. But it needed to be done - and quickly. He'd seen the way his little niece, Fea'la, looked at his Padawan. He shuddered. He could remember when she'd been just a wee little baby. Qui-Gon suddenly felt very old.
The thought of a baby reminded him that he was supposed to be thinking of a name for his first great-nephew, born a few days before his arrival. The child in question was nursing at Keena's breast in a quiet corner. He scowled into his tea mug. A pair of young scalawags interrupted him from his contemplation.
"Tell us a story, Uncle Qui-Gon." His seven year old nephew Mul'kan begged. Mul'kan was the youngest son of Qui-Gon's older brother.
"Yes, please. A good one. With a princess." This came from his youngest niece, Kipte, who was also seven. She was the daughter of his younger sister, Trela.
"No way! Not a girly story. A fighting story, with lots of blood and - "
"Enough, enough. Quit bothering your Uncle." Qui-Gon's sister scooted the two youngsters off the footstool they had climbed up on.
Qui-Gon chuckled, "No, it's alright. I'll tell them a good story, but wait until the older children get finished with the washing up."
As if on cue, the young people emerged from the kitchen. They were covered in soapy water and Qui-Gon suspected a water fight of some kind.
"Alright, now, everyone settle down," Qui-Gon's mother said, her aged voice gentle, but with a note of iron that bespoke years of motherhood.
Obi-Wan took a seat on the floor near his Master's chair, settling himself comfortably among the animal pelts and cushions that ringed the floor. Qui-Gon noticed with a faint smile that Fea'la nestled herself down close to Obi-Wan. They were not touching, and Qui-Gon suspected the reason they weren't had to do with the presence of so many adults.
"Are you gonna tell a story now, Uncle Qui-Gon?" Kipte asked.
"Yes, child, I am. But only if you're good."
Kipte immediately snapped her mouth shut and scurried to sit in her mother's lap.
And so Qui-Gon began to tell an old legend, one of mystery and intrigue, love and betrayal, murder and grief. His hypnotic voice spun such a web of wonderment, that Obi-Wan found himself transfixed. So caught up in the story was he that he didn't even notice his eyes drooping. He yawned. It had been an exciting day, but a long and weary one. He yawned again and blinked. The meal had been filling and he was pleasantly sleepy. The Jedi Apprentice fell asleep just so, surrounded by peace and love and all the good things in life.
Qui-Gon finished the story some time later that evening and, looking around, he noted with pleasure that everyone under the age of eighteen was fast asleep. He rose from his chair, stretching.
"That was a compelling story, big brother," said Trela, giving him a grin. "You've single-handedly put all four of my children to sleep. Most nights it's much more labor intensive."
He winked at her. "Never underestimate the power of a Jedi," he said softly.
"You mean…you did that on purpose?"
"Of course I did. I had a feeling that bedtime would shatter the moment, so I just gave them the suggestion that they were very, very sleepy. And, as you so noted, it worked."
The younger children were carried off to their beds, while the ones too old to carry were left on the floor where they lay. Qui-Gon regarded the sleeping form of his Apprentice in something of a quandary. He didn't want to wake him up to move him, nor did he want him spending the entire night curled up next to his fourteen-year-old niece. Settling for something of a compromise, he gently nudged Obi-Wan's mind with a touch of Force, sending him deeper into slumber. Once the boy was well and truly asleep, he hefted his form, grunting slightly. Obi-Wan was growing rapidly, he noted. He carried his Apprentice to the room set aside for the two of them and laid the boy on his sleep couch. With an afterthought, he covered him up with an old blanket. Qui-Gon gathered his kit bag and turned to go change into his pajamas. As he did so, he looked out the window. He smiled. A fresh snow was falling gently. It was a sign of good fortune if snow fell during Alban Arthan.
Once changed and washed, Qui-Gon knelt in the classic meditation pose on the floor of his room. He needed to find a name for the baby. He wasn't quite sure how to go about it. He recited the Jedi Code. And then he did it again. And again. He sank into a trance, letting his mind roam. He picked up the positive, healthy life images of his family and his Padawan. It was one of the things he liked best about coming here. The Jedi Master was deeply in tune with the Living Force and the waves of contentment emanating from the household were nearly palpable. He sought outward with his mind, seeking the baby. Finding a tiny spark of pure innocence, he focused on it. He contemplated his own name and the names of those around him. His mental label defined their life-signatures, they did not have inherent names, or if they did, he was incapable of finding them. He sighed, breaking out of his trance. In the morning he would speak with his Apprentice and see if the boy could offer a fresh perspective on the issue.
The cold woke Fea'la sometime in the middle of the night. She shivered. She sat up, looking around, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. The fire had died down to a few embers. She rose with the intention of stirring up the ashes and making the room a little warmer. Struck by a thought, she frowned.
/Wait a minute. I'm in the living room. This is strange./ She thought to herself. Then the memory of Uncle Qui-Gon's story came back to her with a rush. /Where's Obi-wan?/ was her next thought. She looked to the place where the Jedi Apprentice had lain, and the pillows still showed the indentation of his body. She reached out and touched them, but they were cold. So he hadn't moved recently. She wondered if he had been awake at the end of the story. But no, she remembered seeing him close his eyes, right before she had closed hers. /Maybe Uncle Qui-Gon woke him up and made him sleep in a real bed. Ooh, a bed. Hmmm. A bed sounds nice. Where did Grandma say I was gonna be sleeping?/
Fea'la took a moment to cover her ten-year-old brother, Othyn, with a blanket before she set off on a quest to find her room. Once there, the teenage girl snuggled under the covers, pulling the heavy comforter up to her nose. She fell asleep, to dream of presents and snowball fights and, of course, Obi-Wan.