Starkiller: An AU

[sanerontheinside]

So this is going to be interesting to transfer.

Credit for the origin of this au goes to tumbluser letslipthehounds. Their post can be found here, but I'm going to copy over some of this in a readmore, in case things get lost.

I literally do not have anything but the idea, and this one scene. Basically, post ROTJ Luke and Force Ghosts Obi-Wan and Anakin end up traveling back in time to when Qui-Gon is a Padawan. Because the Jedi don’t believe Force Ghosts are possible, they can’t see Obi-Wan and Anakin, which… makes things interesting for Luke. Also, for some reason, I’ve got it in my head that Luke is going by the name Starkiller, just to be safe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Now this is interesting. I think they’d remodeled this section before I came here,” Anakin said.

Luke wasn’t ignoring him, he just couldn’t respond while in public.

“They did,” Obi-Wan said. “I think I was 17 or 18 when they finished.”

Luke glanced at them and stopped walking, studying the maintenance hall.

“It really was a lot more efficient the old way,” Obi-Wan added.

“Jedi Starkiller, what are you doing?” Jedi Knight Dooku asked.

Luke smiled faintly. “I’m listening to the Force,” he said.

Anakin started laughing. “You are such a liar, Luke. You are doing no such thing.”

“Actually, we are part of the Force now, Anakin. So from that point of view, he is,” Obi-Wan said.

Dooku’s Padawan, Qui-Gon Jinn, frowned. “What is the Force saying?”

“Not a chance, Obi-Wan. And will you stop it with the point of view Poodoo? That nearly got Luke killed!”

“Actually, it’s arguing with itself over points of view,” Luke said calmly, trying very hard not to grin.

Jinn didn’t look convinced, Dooku looked like he wanted to have Luke committed, Obi-Wan was snickering, and Anakin had his head in his hands. “You’re going to be the death of me, son,” Anakin groaned. “Did you have to take Obi-Wan’s side?”

Luke bowed to the other two living Jedi. “I believe I should go meditate,” he said calmly.

As soon as he could get to a private room, he was going to burst out laughing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And, really, that’s all I have. That’s all I honestly want to have, because otherwise I’d have to build a serious, Sith destroying plot around what is a very cracky little scene. If someone else wants to take this on, feel free.

myurbandream picked up the thread here!

So I was bitten by the plot bunny from this little idea. Adding my two cents to what @letslipthehounds started:

”What is the Force saying?”

”Actually, it’s arguing with itself over points of view.”

~~~~~

About 1 hour earlier:

Luke climbs to his feet, bracing himself on the ornately filigreed stone wall when his knees wobble alarmingly. He looks around - nothing has visibly changed from before the… whatever it was, but his father and Ben are nowhere to be found. And he feels… weird.

Luke reaches with the Force, and immediately pulls back, clapping both hands over his eyes in a vain attempt to reduce stimuli. That felt like trying to look at the inside of a reactor core, and now he’s got a blinding headache for his trouble.

“Ah, there you are,” Obi-Wan says, and Luke uncovers his eyes and sees the Force Ghost of his old teacher.

“What happened?” Luke rubs his hands over his eyes again.

“I have a theory,” Obi-Wan says mysteriously. “But first, let me find Anakin. Don’t go anywhere,” he instructs, and then vanishes before Luke can react.

“Note to self,” Luke mumbles. “After dying, retain ability to answer questions directly.” He leans against the wall and starts rubbing at his temples, trying to dispel his headache.

It’s a few minutes later when Obi-Wan returns with Anakin, and Luke hears them before he sees them.

“ -kriffing sleemo dut’chak Force trap just about discorporated Luke as well as us!” Anakin is complaining at full volume.

“Trust me, I’m aware,” Obi-Wan says dryly as Luke reluctantly opens his eyes once more. At least the lighting in this corridor is dim.

Obi-Wan still looks like his usual old self, but Anakin has reverted to his pre-Empire appearance, something he tends to do when stressed - and he looks exhausted. So does Obi-Wan, for that matter. Luke pushes off the wall, concerned. “What happened?” he asks again.

“We’ve been temporally dislocated,” Obi-Wan responds, entirely serious. Luke stares for a moment, and then decides he was fine with the mysterious non-answers after all.

“What,” he manages.

“How do you know?” Anakin closes his eyes, winces, and starts rubbing at his face just as Luke was doing a second ago. “Oh, that hurts.”

“Don’t try to touch the Force just yet,” Obi-Wan admonishes. “And I know because I took a look at the main hall on my way back here, and the announcement postings are dated 5157.”

“Hello?” a voice calls from down the corridor, while Luke is still trying to translate that number into something meaningful. “Is anyone there?” A young human male appears at the nearest corridor junction, dressed in dark brown tunics nearly identical to what Anakin and Obi-Wan wear when they’re looking younger. The stranger sees them and turns back the way he’d come, calling to someone else, and then starts jogging towards Luke.

“Luke, if anyone asks your name, use the family name ‘Starkiller’,” Ben says urgently.

“Why?” Anakin asks, but there isn’t time to respond before the young Jedi approaches them.

“Sir Knight.” The boy - young man, really, he looks about 18 years old by Luke’s best guess - bobs his head to Luke in an abbreviated bow. He completely ignores Anakin and Obi-Wan. In turn, Anakin looks only mildly curious, but Obi-Wan is watching the boy with a look of deep suspicion.

“Are you well?” The young Jedi asks, pulling Luke’s attention away from his apparently-invisible companions.

“Yes,” Luke says, and then winces. “Well, I’ve got one hell of a headache,” he amends.

“My Master and I felt a disturbance and came to investigate,” the young Jedi says, fiddling with the thin braid behind his ear. Luke has seen his father wear a braid like that, in his youngest appearances. “What happened?” The young man prompts.

“I can honestly say that I have no idea,” Luke grumbles, “but I’m in no hurry to repeat the experience. It hurt.”

The young Jedi looks alarmed. He glances down the hallway and a smile brightens his face.

“Here, Master,” he calls to the man walking towards them.

From the corner of his eye, Luke sees Anakin and Obi-Wan both startle as the Jedi Master approaches. He appears to be a little older than Luke, but still young, probably in his 30s, with a distinguished full beard and an intimidating expression. Very tall, wearing dark brown and black tunics.

“Hello,” Luke nods to the man.

“Good evening,” the older Jedi nods back, also ignoring - or not seeing, it seems - both Obi-Wan and Anakin.

“Kriffing Sith hells,” Luke’s father mutters. “Is that-?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” he hears Obi-Wan reply faintly.

“Knight Yan Dooku, at your service,” the older Jedi introduces himself, “and my Padawan, Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“Luke - Luke Starkiller,” he remembers to say.

“Well met, Knight Starkiller,” Dooku bobs his head in another nod. “Do you know what disturbance occured here moments ago?”

“I don’t know what it was, but it affected me,” Luke evades, not sure how much he should say. A quick glance to the side shows Anakin looking mildly alarmed, and Obi-Wan-

Obi-Wan looks younger than Luke has ever seen him, possibly the same age as Jinn, with a braid trailing down his chest nearly to his waist and his eyes shock-wide. Even through the blue glow of the Force, Luke thinks he looks unusually pale.

One more thing to ask about later, Luke decides.

Apparently done lingering in the corridor, Dooku collects Jinn and leads the way out to the busier parts of the Temple, sweeping Luke into his wake with a gesture and raised eyebrow, and the three of them start walking, trailed by two gobsmacked Force Ghosts.

Luke has a lot of questions, but it looks like they’ll have to wait until he can shake his still-living company.

~~~~~~

And that’s all I’ve got. Anyone else want to chip in?

I couldn’t find anything for Dooku’s official first name, but I remember seeing Yan or something similar used somewhere else, so let’s go with that. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

As for “Starkiller” - I think it’s a code word that only Councilors know about. I think Luke isn’t the first time-traveler to land on the doorstep of the Jedi, so the Council developed protocols and a code word: any Jedi using the family name “Starkiller” is to be watched carefully but not questioned about their history or identity. Obi-Wan learned those protocols from his time on the Council, but Anakin didn’t get that far, and Dooku doesn’t know it either. If Yoda shows up, he would know.

to which I followed up with another excerpt:

Qui-Gon had rarely seen anyone drive his Master so quickly to annoyance as Knight Starkiller, and with so few words. Starkiller was soft-spoken, and smiled in an utterly guileless way, but his blue eyes were lit with fiery humour and a clever mind. Qui-Gon bit back a smile at his words - the very idea that the Force could be ‘arguing with itself over points of view’ seemed hilariously improbable - and reached out to the Force itself.

It certainly felt odd - the dull echo of something in the air, though he couldn’t have said what. It didn’t feel like arguing, precisely. It felt like a thrill of humour and playfulness, as if the Force were giggling and exasperated in equal measure. And then Qui-Gon briefly caught the faintest impression of being studied in return, which was fairly unusual and most unnerving.

“Padawan,” Master Dooku called him back to the present in a voice that had never needed to be sharp to command attention. “Knight Starkiller, are you injured?”

“No, I don’t believe so,” he replied.

“One had best be certain about these things. I will accompany you to the Healer’s ward.” As always, that tone brooked no disagreement.

Luke hesitated for a moment, head cocked to one side as if still listening, then nodded.

Qui-Gon, summarily dismissed while his Master conveyed Knight Starkiller to the Healers, made his way back to their quarters in an unhurried shuffle. He was alone again in-Temple. Tahl and Micah were both away on missions, and the Council would probably hand his Master another assignment within the next few days.

The Master-Padawan quarters reflected his mood back at him, silent and empty stillness crowding around him like he’d displaced the air in the room by entering. Qui-Gon released the barest sigh and made his way to the kitchen to prepare tea for his Master’s return.

They’d already presented their report to the Council. With little else to do, Qui-Gon settled on the couch to sort through all the material he’d missed in the last few months and begin work on the assignments he owed. When the kettle had boiled, when the Coruscant evening had faded to night, when he’d hit a nearly incomprehensible knot in an old philosophy text, Qui-Gon looked again at his chrono and sighed, fervently hoping Knight Starkiller was alright.

With a sigh, he decided that the length of time he’d spent labouring over the text was, frankly, embarrassing, as the words had made absolutely no sense as the passed from the page to his eyes. Tossing the datapad aside, he sat up and stretched, feeling vertebrae click pleasantly. A moment more, and Qui-Gon rose to move into the small Padawan’s room.

He’d grown a few inches again in the last few months. He noticed this all too clearly as he settled down onto the bed, finding his feet very nearly hanging off the end. The door shut, the lights turned out, only the city lights spilling in through the window, Qui-Gon turned stiffly to his other side and stared at the traffic patterns streaking past his window, blinking. Exhaustion had altogether fled, leaving behind it only an empty ache. He couldn’t even say what it was, where it was from, but it felt hollow and seemed to claw from within, like hunger.

His awareness suddenly filled with the sense of a sympathetic sigh, and the sensation of an almost-touch on his shoulder. Suddenly there was a pleasant, somnolent weight in his limbs, as if brought on by a Force-suggestion. It wasn’t enough to send him under, but it was certainly encouraging. The Force did not trill dire warnings at him, so for once, Qui-Gon simply breathed in, resting, too wrung out to question it. The imagined hand slid to the back of his neck and into his hair, and after a few moments Qui-Gon fell asleep to the feel of someone’s fingers carding through the too-long, thick strands. He’d have to cut them, soon, but his last thought as he gave in to sleep was that he really didn’t want to.


Mornings were a trial and a half. Dooku had apparently come and gone from their quarters sometime in the night, without so much as a word to his Padawan - not even a note.

He’d thought, at first, that the box had been left there by his Master, or for him. But as Qui-Gon set the kettle that morning, the small box kept snagging at his attention, like something meant for him. It was almost infuriating, as if the object itself were Force Sensitive, and moving around after him. He couldn’t even be sure it hadn’t moved, when he finally did look over at it.

Once he got it open, though, Qui-Gon blinked at the contents in complete befuddlement. Sapir was hardly a common tea on Core Worlds. He honestly thought he might never come across it again. Tucked under one of its corners was a small piece of flimsi, addressed to him: ‘Qui-Gon - thought you might enjoy this’. On the reverse side was a Coruscant level and district, and a name - Dexter Jettster. The handwriting was unfamiliar, the Force signature elusive - not even a trace of his Master’s presence. A prod or two with the Force told him there was no danger in it, however. It was a gift, and kindly meant.

Feeling somewhat mutinous, Qui-Gon decided to avoid his Master’s tea, just for this morning, maybe. But as he breathed in the scent, he felt warmth spread through him, coursing through him to his toes and fingers and the very tip of his nose. Warmth, and something that felt suspiciously like bliss.

Unseen across the table from him, a Force ghost sat, a little mournful at the state he’d found Qui-Gon in last night. Curiosity had tugged Ben away from Luke’s side to find him, but what he’d seen - the loneliness that Qui-Gon lived with - it brought tears to his eyes. Obi-Wan had been hesitant to reach out then, worried he might startle him, but Qui-Gon - he’d been so desperate for even a touch, it seemed, that he hadn’t even questioned his ghostly presence. It tore at Obi-Wan’s heart anew.

Now, though, he smiled a little, pleased by the delight that had appeared on Qui-Gon’s features. It smoothed out his brow, made his eyes sparkle. Really, that look had been too old for a Padawan. Now, he felt, he was finally seeing Qui-Gon as he should be: young, brilliant, practically glowing with the Living Force, soon to be Knighted. Obi-Wan cocked his head to one side, and wondered how much of a right he had to be here now, spying on the man who was his Master - who would one day become his Master - bloody hells, but time travel wrought havoc with tenses.

Yet he was grateful for it: he had several years’ worth of experience figuring out how to move objects between different planes of existence, and the experience had certainly aided him in obtaining the Sapir. Ridiculously sentimental, perhaps, but worth this quiet moment over breakfast. At least it was a little like the days he’d made tea for his Master.

If Ben had been able to see himself at the moment, he would probably have shaken his head at his own foolishness. He looked every inch the Padawan he had once been, to the long braid down his shoulder. He can’t even see you, Ben thought, bitterly disappointed at the distance between them. Though…

It was a reckless thought. He didn’t even know if Luke was permanently stuck in this time period, or perhaps not at all. Maybe his presence here would also be short-lived. But, looking at Qui-Gon now - Qui-Gon, who had always listened for the Will of the Force, and didn’t fly into a panic at the flutter of a Force ghost’s presence; Qui-Gon, so terribly alone here, and how was it that nobody noticed? -

Ben stopped and dared to look again. Qui-Gon, still seated, seemed to have slipped into a light trance. The training bond was long gone, of course, but if there was even a chance that he might be able to reach out and touch that mind again, Ben realised, he had to try. Qui-Gon hadn’t felt nearly nearly enough of a comforting touch, not even a mindtouch, by the time he’d taken Obi-Wan as his Padawan - now Ben was certain of it.

Perhaps he might even find a way to help Qui-Gon See him, and Anakin. It was an odd thought, because honestly Obi-Wan hadn’t the first clue of how to do it. Out on the dunes, under Tatooine’s blazing sands, it had taken him years of meditation and expanding his awareness of the Force before Qui-Gon could appear to him. Years, and far too much grief in between. But this younger Qui-Gon, with a keen awareness of the Living Force that Dooku had never been able to appreciate - how to draw his attention?

Ben sighed, trying to keep the sound of it restrained. Not that anyone could hear it anyway, he then thought, with a soft humph worthy of Yoda. To his surprise, he saw Qui-Gon stir a little at that, but wrote it off as coincidence. He was all the more convinced of it when Qui-Gon rose to clear the table, and remained seated at the table, watching, as Qui-Gon cleared away everything and moved to the common room window to meditate.

As the Padawan settled to his knees and closed his eyes, letting his breathing settle into a slow pattern, Ben felt a rush of nostalgia. It would be - not enough, perhaps, but it would still be something, to meditate alongside his Master. He’d rarely had the chance to simply sit beside him and soak up the feel of his presence in the Force. With barely a thought, Ben rose from the chair and floated over to kneel beside Qui-Gon. His last thought, as he gave himself up to the meditation, was that even if he couldn’t reach out to touch Qui-Gon’s mind at first, he could certainly draw his attention. Or Yoda’s.

A treacherous voice rose up from the depths as Obi-Wan opened himself to the Force: pranks, it pointed out, could be damned useful.


It started with mostly innocent things, things largely aimed at cracking Dooku’s composure. Qui-Gon caught his Master looking harried and unsettled more and more often. Objects moved from place to place, the chair was always wrong, the dinner plate was offset. Gods forbid Dooku looked away from his meal for even a moment - in the next instant his fork would inevitably stab at the table. Qui-Gon was as befuddled by it as his Master.

But for what it was worth, the odd mishaps seemed to intensify any time Qui-Gon caught the sharper edge of Dooku’s tongue. Lectures on the dangers of compassion over adopting a new ‘pathetic lifeform’ were met with all the shed hair of said lifeform somehow appearing on the Master’s carefully groomed cloak and well-shined boots, or - on one occasion - the sad collapse of a frightened kitten right onto his head as it attempted to leap from shelf to shelf. Qui-Gon wasn’t quite certain, but there might have been claws involved. Ultimately, though, the kitten found its feet in a surprisingly soft landing that had Qui-Gon frankly gaping. That wasn’t possible yet, surely? Not at that age?

And Master Dooku, perpetually holding his domain within the bounds of tight discipline, found his abode turning into a right mess. He couldn’t find anything anywhere - a pen, once it left his hand, gravitated to the other end of the room. A datapad unaccountably moved from the dining table into the coldbox, of all places.

All the lessons in diplomacy stood Qui-Gon in good stead now, as he fought to keep his amusement from his face, and from ringing in the Force.

More than one person had already suggested the possibility of a ghost haunting their quarters - most in jest, but some, having kept a little more of their planet’s culture with them, were quite serious. Even Qui-Gon wasn’t quick to dismiss it - not nearly as quick as his Master.

Yet every time he reached for the Force in those moments, he found that same impish humour, and the sense of welcome and recognition. It was both familiar and not, at the same time. After about a ten of odd occurrences, Qui-Gon finally sought out Yoda, but the little troll hadn’t given him any more than a soft hum in reply.

So it happened that Qui-Gon found himself in the Archives now, looking for reviews and commentary on that old philosophy text that had eluded him for the last week. Eyes tired, head aching, Qui-Gon put his head down for what felt like only a few seconds, only to look up and find three more books at his elbow - all of them excellent references, though quite obscure. He wouldn’t have found them in a year, probably. And Master Nu had taken a particular dislike to him from the start, though he couldn’t say why, so he never expected help from that quarter.

Settling back in his chair, almost at east, Qui-Gon lost himself in a surprisingly well-written work that was likely to be the best of the three someone had kindly bestowed upon him. As he relaxed, he barely noticed another couple of books float over to rest in a separate stack. But about an hour later, when he surfaced, he noted this new collection with some surprise. Leaning forward, he caught the muted dot on the spine of one of them - a real leatherbound volume - which marked it as a book from the more tightly controlled, just-short-of-‘Restricted’ section. He arched an eyebrow at it quizzically, as if it were the best way of communicating with this - this ghost, or thing, that was pursuing him.

But the title of the volume intrigued him nonetheless - Ancient Order of the Whills - he could have sworn it reminded him of something, perhaps one of Yoda’s crèche stories. His interest piqued, he reached across and gingerly opened it, and began to read.

About an hour later, through no fault of the author certainly, his head began to tip forward onto the book. With a sigh of exasperation he shook himself off enough to focus for a moment, and growled, “That’s all very well, but how do I get this book out of here?”

To his surprise, the little tracking dot fell right off and onto the table. “Oh,” was all he could manage, though he still had the presence of mind to sweep it quickly off the table and into a pocket.

Another Force-carried grin reached him. He swore at it goodnaturedly, grinning, as he collected the books and made his escape from Master Nu’s territory. And no less than just in time, as it happened, because even as he followed that lilting smile through parts of the Archives he’d never been in before, Master Nu had found his little nook with the full intent of catching him in some unseemly act, like, gods forbid, sleeping in her library.

The whispers of the Force led him out a way he’d never gone before, yet it didn’t pass Master Nu at any point, and for that he was certainly grateful.

At the door to his Master’s quarters, however, just as he was about to step through, Qui-Gon could have sworn he’d seen a quick burst of colour out of the corner of his eye. A flash of red-gold and blue-green, was the best his mind could offer him after the fact.

‘Intriguing’ didn’t even begin to cover this odd nebulous prankster, and Qui-Gon was certainly fond of a challenge.

And there is an au outline, which I should probably put in a separate post.