Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

To: LIST: Para’s Ven’riduure
From: [email protected]
Subject: Arrival and Messages

Su cuy gar, cyarese.

We have arrived without issue on Takodana. We were the first, unsurprisingly, and there was some anxiety about orbital bombardment. However, a contingency of our party stayed in orbit until the Republic party arrived.

While they waited, Sati, myself, and several others went ahead to the planet’s surface, meeting Maz Kanata at the entrance to her palace. She’s quite amused to be hosting such an event and I believe she thinks it will be great fun. I do hope everyone in attendance keeps good track of their valuables. I’m glad that Sati’s and my jewellery are the only things—besides beskar itself, which most of those Kanata has employed for this conference have learned better than to covet—that might tempt theft.

Kanata greeted us with great aplomb, making sure we had a good set of rooms for everyone, all cleaned intensely. And only the bare minimum of bugging, too, though I’m sure our security force has replaced those with haste.

Or, left them and added to them.

The Republic party arrived closer to three hours after midday for the palace. We had already had a meal with Kanata, setting up some extra security measures from her. For a fee, of course. Pirates. Kalan is pouting.

Kanata is playing host, so she joined up with the Jedi in attendance—Councillors Yoda, Depa Billaba, Adi Gallia, and Plo Koon along with Knights Mallie, Stass Ali (who I understand is Master Gallia’s cousin), and Kento Marek—to make introductions between the parties. Along with the Republic’s odious Chancellor, a number of senators have come along. Naboo—Padmé Amidala—and Alderaan—Prince Bail Organa—are two of the biggest names of Palpatine’s opposition who have come along, but they’re also the only of that opposition who have come along. Of those more on the side of Palpatine, or in the middle, we have the senators of Malastare and Corellia and the Kaminii senator.

Far and more, the surprise of this has been the attendance of a number of naval officers. Almost all of them are steeped in blood, and not the guilt that Skywalker carried. No, it lingers on that collection out of pride. It is their glory.

You know well that my family agrees with the Vode An about glory.

I am not looking forward to their military, which they keep so separate from their politics usually, being an important part of their party here. And they are not here for protection. Apparently they had planned to bring some clones, but when we made it clear that we would see that as an insult they folded. The clones they had brought have been sent along back to Coruscant with the ships, to return in two months.

Vor entye Ka’ra.

There have already been tiffs breaking out among their party, too. Quite unprofessional in my opinion, and something that will work to our favour.

I do wonder if they have actually consulted with the Kaminiise about this or if they just told them to find something to discredit me. In which case, I’m sure Buir’s planning will come quite to fruition there. Unless the di’kute displaced that particular collection of data.

Along with introductions, we had a first session that hammered out what the next two months will be like. Palpatine did not like that we’d be extending it so long, but the party itself was made to see what a boon this is for the Republic. Not only will we be concerned with the testimony they have requested, we have time to discuss other issues. T hings like t rade, the incidents of overflow of the war, what plans are in place for recovery after the war… We’ve made a good argument, and even those on his side agree.

We will rest every other day, focusing on interpersonal meetings rather than the larger ones. Lunches every day will be affairs of both parties. The large bits of testimony will happen once a week, but from the schedule it will either be Sati or I only once every two weeks.

The thing that was hardpressed for them was a mandate of a communications blackout. Every two weeks, we will have holonet access to download any mail we might have received and send any further things. Much of the Republic’s time, it seems, will be spent pushing the testimony to the wider Senate. However this does mean that our people will be under similar constraints.

Please let the children know I love and miss them. I’d like to request that as many messages as possible are compiled into one mail, to streamline the time involved, especially as I will need to quickly reply to any issues.

This isn’t ideal, but what of this situation is?

I also promise that the children are not the only people I miss.

With all my heart,

Para

Para makes something between a study and a sitting room out of a room Kanata offers them. It gets them out of their rooms, keeps people feeling they can wander in and out of said rooms, and generally the smaller room lessens the feeling of lonliness. It has a large window, looking out into Takodana’s thick flora.

Typically two of the lieutenants will join them, enjoying their time as a kind of honour guard to tease and chat with them about things back home.

At this moment, though, it is only Daria of those four. They’re not alone, though, as Ursa and Jobal are making themselves comfortable in the chairs Para has collected for this room. They both are sweeping their gazes over the room, judging and cataloguing everything.

“I don’t terribly suppose there is something you two want,” Para says with amusement, sipping their slapdash shig.

Jo’ba snorts, adjusting his lower montrals so all three fall behind his shoulders. He is the only one with his back to the door, but that’s the kind of thinking that means he’s going to be the first one to notice anyone trying to come in. Sometimes Para finds themself jealous of that ability.

Not today, though.

“What do you think about this week’s sessions?” Ursa asks.

It’s only the second day, the first rest day, but they’ve already been sorting through plenty of things.

“I think that we need to reassure the Republic that not only do we mean them no harm, we also care about how the galaxy around us is affected by their nonsense,” Para says, shrugging. “They have my family practically hostage, but that is hardly the only reason we act against them as we do.”

“Many of them are making noises about you wanting peace,” Jo’ba says, amused.

Para rolls their eyes. “Let them make all the noises they want. What I want isn’t peace, it’s sustainable change. Their little war is hardly even a facsimile of that.”

Ursa stifles a chuckle.

“Shall we walk, Mand’alor?” Ursa asks, nodding to the outside.

Jo’ba nods.

“I think it might be good for all of us to get a bit of fresh air. And excitement. I’ve seen some of Takodana’s animals through this window and I’m quite interested in seeing how they hunt.”

They all get up, meandering their ways outside where Daria sweeps everyone else for chips then Ursa sweeps her. They find only four contact ones, three on Para and one on Daria, destroy them, and then head out on that walk.

“All Republic?” Ursa asks.

“Oh completely,” Daria grunts. “The pirates are polite about their bugs, compared to them.”

Para laughs, light and joyful. “I hope that they enjoy whatever they’re hearing. How much did I actually say that they wouldn’t know already?”

The others all scoff.

“Really, I think these early sessions are to get all of our feet wet,” Para continues. “And the longer we take, the better.”

“Not wrong, tat’ad,” Jo’ba allows, dropping his forehead against their temple. “It also gives all of us a chance to get to know each others’ habits. And for decisions to be made.”

“That’s a funny way to say ‘start a coup,’” Ursa says, smile wry.

“Is it?” Jo’ba asks, eyes sparkling.

“Don’t underestimate them,” Ursa adds, though. “We know some of their infighting is normal, but only with the senators. The Navy is an unknown.”

“Well it’s a good thing I want nothing to do with their performance of being verde,” they reply.

None have approached them yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

At the end of the first week, Para and the Lieutenants delouse all of the chairs, even if the bugs are neither alive nor organic in the slightest they have taken to calling it such, and put the chairs out into the warm sunshine for Para and Sati’bu to speak with the barristers. All three, from eldest to youngest, are in their beskar’gam.

And all three have the kind of enjoyment on their faces that particularly smart predators have while hunting.

“Lovely to see you three properly enriched,” Para jokes dryly.

The youngest of the three barks out some laughter and the two of them exchange a fist bump.

“Young people,” the eldest grumbles good naturedly.

The middle one clears his throat. “Now, about this week’s sessions. How are you both feeling?”

This week’s testimony had been a long, complicated explanation he made of Mandalorian inheritance and citizenship. Quite simple for anyone familiar with the concepts, but the complications came from when they ran up against the preconceived notions that the Republic party all had of both things. Even with minor differences between each other, they were quite discomforted by the clan system’s legality.

It didn’t run like their peoples’ systems did. So why should it be legal?

Finally it had dawned on them that the Mandalorians don’t care that they don’t understand the legality or how it would apply in the Republic. The thing the Mandalorians care about is that they understand that it is legal for them and they are not the Republic. But neither are the clones Republic citizens.

And there is precedence for recognizing Mandalorian citizenship when it comes to employment.

And even if there wasn’t, the Mando’ade would still fight for it.

As to the other sessions, they’d all concerned trade. There were mixed feelings about the Mandalorians shirking the Trade Federation, but enough of the senators were interested in what they were doing to ask about it, which had spiralled into full sessions about reorganizing how trade worked in the galaxy. The Federation made it all easy , and for that planets paid in high prices and putting up with interference. Amidala was especially interested.

Para crossed their ankles. “I think it’s going well. There is turbulence, of course, and there always is going to be. But most of the extra sessions...we don’t care as much.”

Sati’bu nods. “We give things up there and it makes them feel like they have to give up more.”

The eldest barrister purses her lips. “Not too much, though, or they might think they can walk all over us.”

“Or that we’re just trying to trick them,” the youngest adds, leaning back in her chair.

Para hums. “How is this going, with our laws? With what we’re doing?”

The middle barrister bares his teeth. “ Well, Parliament has to ratify anything we agree to. Once the Duchy might have been able to make these decisions on their own, to the people’s great distress, but now that you are working with them, your Grace, they are a way to get out of anything we find truly reprehensible.”

“So we only have to pretend to sell our hearts,” Para mutters, but they smile. “It is what it is.”

“Indeed, Mand’alor.” he says.

They all exchange looks.

“What do we need to be prepared for in the coming week?” Para asks.

“Let’s run through the points of your testimony.”

“State your name and title, your Grace?” one of the staffers from the Republic asks.

“How long do you want it?” Para asks, lips twitching.

“As long as it is.”

They nod, pursing their lips. Full thing, then, and with them finally having given in to the Parliament… “Mand’alor te Ka’ra. Para Mereel-Fett, Clan Head of Clan Fett, member of House Mereel, child of House Kryze, heir to the Duchy of Mandalore and its holdings.”

“Can you translate the first part?”

They smother a groan. “Mandalore the Star.”

There are murmurs from the Republicans, but they ignore them.

“And how do all of those work together?” Vice Chancellor Amedda asks dryly.

“Mand’alor is the title of the elected leader of the Mandalorians. Te Ka’ra is the title that our Parliament has given me. I am Para Mereel-Fett because I am Para, eldest child of Jango Fett and only child of Pactra Mereel. Adopted eldest child of her Grace, Duchess Satine Kryze. By Mandalorian and Kalevalan law I qualify as her heir.”

The Kalevalan senators aren’t here, weren’t invited. They’re considered too close to Mandalore, in a way that likely rankles them. But it’s only playing into the Mandalorians’ favour right now. They’re not lying, they are heir through Kalevalan law as well, despite mostly being unacknowledged as such by them. But the Republic has no experts to ask outside of the Mandalorian party, on that particular mess.

“You have a parliament?” one senator asks baldly and loudly. “That’s rather civ—.”

One of the senators next to them smacks them.

Para takes note of who was smacked and who did the smacking. Best to keep that all together. At the very least, they can give the one with tact a thank you.

“Our Parliament is made up of the heads of each clan,” Para explains anyway. “While not every family in Mandalore space is currently a recognized clan, there are efforts being made currently to bring them into the Parliament. They ratify all of the decisions, and it is best that everyone has a hand in the governing of the system.”

“Not every family would agree with each other though,” someone points out.

This isn’t what the testimony was supposed to be and the staffer sighs, noting the same.

“There are systems in place for disagreements,” Para says, glaring at the senator—not a senator, another staffer—who said it. “We are not stupid. And this is not why I am here.”

The first staffer clears their throat again, and the one who had interjected looks chastened. “Your Grace, my apologies. You are claiming the clones that make up the Grand Army of the Republic as members of your family. Can you explain how?”

“By blood, they are Fetts,” Para says. “They are clones of my buir—my father—and because of such they are my aliit, they are Fetts.”

“Brothers, then?” one asks.

“No, just clan,” they explain. “The clones do not have the same kind of concept of family that we do. I will not claim them as something they do not consider themselves as. But they consider themselves related and they are. And by myself, as the leader of Clan Fett, claiming them as such, they are.”

The staffer nods. “Thank you, your Grace. That is all for today.”

“And thank you.”

Tono and Kalan are on guard duty, which really means that they’re sitting around talking to Para about the trade discussions going on and how the other merchants will react, when Depa Billaba knocks on the door to Para’s odd office situation.

“Master Billaba,” Para greets. “How can I help you?”

Billaba smiles warmly. “My apologies for interrupting. I was wondering if you would terribly mind having tea with me.”

Kalan and Tono exchange looks without moving their heads, then look to Para.

“I usually like to have a bit more time to prepare for such things, Master Billaba. But I have nothing pressing taking my time at the moment.” They glance at Kalan.

Xe nods. “Not for two hours, anyways,” xe says, picking xerself up from xer chair. “Master Jedi.”

Tono picks himself up too and they both set themselves by the doorway, watching Billaba carefully as she makes her way to the desk, a tea tray following her. It’s packed well with food and Para suspects Shawoor is getting up to Akel and Rook’s tricks.

“Help yourselves,” Billaba tells Tono and Kalan.

They nod but don’t touch the spread.

Para pours the tea for both of them, though their attention is on Billaba as they do so.

Billaba takes the saucer gracefully and settles into the chair. “I felt a desire to speak to you. Personally.”

Para hums.

“Mace Windu was my master, when I was a padawan,” she says, fingering the cup and taking a sip. “There are a wide variety of forms a master-padawan relationship can take. With my own padawan, back at the temple, I seem to be falling in very similar patterns to him, though. He was like a father to me.”

Para sips their own drink, ankles crossing back and forth under their skirts. They don’t particularly care for the anxiety building in their chest at the way this conversation is going.

It makes their ribs ache.

“Fathers and daughters,” they say eventually.

She nods. “I’m sorry, for what happened to your father. Everything I have heard about him makes it sound like he was an honourable man. He always kept his word.”

Not always, but… “He tried to. Not all promises can be kept.”

“No, they can’t,” she agrees sadly. “...You and your brother, are you happy? I understand Duchess Kryze adopted both of you.”

“And my younger sister,” Para adds meanly, watching Billaba wince. “Another unaltered clone, but the Kaminiise hid her from my father. Otherwise...she would have always been my sister.” They pause, sipping their tea. “But we’re as happy as we can be. Boba feels his absence the most.”

Billaba sighs and looks out the window. At length, she says, “My home planet has parts like this.”

There had been brief discussion, recently, about a member of the Fett family. One of their ancestors, who had come from Chalacta. Akshita. She had been a princess, and she and her riduur had become wrapped in legend quickly. One of the Mandalorian holidays even took from their legend. “It’s been many generations, but the Fetts are part Chalactan.”

Billaba smiles. “I know. My cousins have told me stories about it. We’re distantly related, you and I. But we’ve already established that’s not why I’m here.”

Para nods, wonders.

“Maybe once all of this is over, I can facilitate you meeting our other cousins. Consider it the start of reparations.”

Para shakes their head. “I won’t seek—.”

“Personal reparations,” Billaba says, cutting them off. “I still have my father because you do not have yours. But I lost my sister in the same battle. I...It’s different, but I want to help. Just personally.”

Nothing in the Force is a warning, it all is simply warm and light and right.

“Alright,” Para says.

Para collapses on their bed, groaning and terribly happy that everyone has made sure that their rooms are completely clear of bugs. Their office may be free game, but they don’t have to worry about going outside to talk to ghosts like this. “I hate this.”

Jango hums, leaning against the side of the bed. “Only eight more weeks, soon. Tomorrow morning is when the blackout lifts, for a while, at least.”

They hum.

There’s a shift in the air and they crack open their eyes to find a fuming Jaster leaning against the end of the bed.

“Have you heard the noises those di’kute are making?” he half snarls.

Jango raises his eyebrows. “Which ones.”

“He’s right,” Para grosses. “That doesn’t narrow it down.”

“That Kryze’s adoption of Para makes their claim to clan Fett void.”

“Ah,” Para says. “That one.”

“That’s now how Mandalorian law works!” Jaster says, now pacing back and forth and talking with his hands. “I’d not have been able to use the Mereel name after the Vizslas adopted me if that was how it worked!”

“Kalevalan law leans more towards that direction,” Para allows. “But no, Mandalorian law doesn’t. And that’s what matters in this case, because it’s Mandalorian law that allows the clones’ citizenship.”

Jaster is still spitting mad though.

Jango exchanges a look with Para. Then he pokes the mythosaur. “I still can’t believe you slept with Tor Vizsla.”

Jaster freezes.

It’s said with levity, but, well. Para’s hardly the only one who has had intimate issues with Vizslas.

“I can’t believe he was in love with him,” Para says, moving that a bit further away from the conversation at hand. “Jo’ba found me snaps—he was not a particularly attractive man before his jaw got karked up. Not ugly, but bland. Much like his son.”

Jango laughs and Jaster sputters and it becomes one more night of soft, healing family.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re; Arrival and Messages

Su cuy gar, Para,

Mij wanted to fill the entire first paragraph with terms of endearment, but we valiantly dissuaded him. Still, I was judged the best of us to compile and send this.

Thank you for letting us know you’ve arrived safely. Hopefully you’re taking care of yourself, or at least letting Baar’ur Shawoor take care of you. We’ll mail Jo’ba too if we think you’re not. You’re very much missed here, too, between us and all of the kids. Everyone is having a rough time, without you, but things are still marching along.

The archaeologists have been working with the artists with restoration and everyone at the Archives is documenting everything. There will be plenty for you to go through when you come home.

Jocasta wanted us to remind you that her weekly conversations with the Council are ongoing.

The building of the other apartment complexes is wrapping up nicely and as a whole they’re integrating well into Keldabe City society. There’s discussions about adding the typical walls around each complex to make them true keldabe as parts of the city, but that’s up to the city council and they’re snipping at each other. From what one of them was telling Colt, it could take decades to get it agreed on and then more to get it done. So none of us are pressed.

The kids all send their love. Boba is still blazing through his science modules and I’m debating bribing him to try and spend that much energy on his other ones. Either way, he’s fine. Omega has gone a bit spare, with you gone, but we’re trying some things out to redirect her energy. Paz has taken to sleeping with us, over these first two weeks, but we’re pretty sure that soon he’ll be back to sleeping in his own bed. It hurts to watch how torn up he is, so much, but we’ve all got a handle on it. We’d pass him off to Kix and Fox, but they’re having almost a worse time.

Fox is about the only thing, besides Mij’s regular intervention, holding Kix together. I think part of it is anxiety and part of it is that he’s worried about you, because we all know he can do this stuff.

But he doesn’t want to. We all know it.

He wants to be a doctor just like Mij.

Sorry, I’m a bit maudlin about it. Watching him stress isn’t good for us :p but we’re helping.

Parliament is working with him, at least. Well, most of them. A chunk of the old Kyr’verde are taking even more exception to him than they do to you. But Spirba and Cro are arriving soon—a new cousin was born, apparently, and they were delayed. I’ve attached pictures at their request, for you and Ashiba.

If you have any advice you can think of for getting them to fall in line a bit better, let me know. I’ll pass it on.

Or maybe, if you can manage, send him a personal one. I know things are sticky timing wise, but it might help him cope a bit better. I do promise he’s holding up better than I’m making it sound.

Kar’taylir darasuum, from all of us,

Ven’ti

Chapter Text

To: LIST: Para’s Ven’riduure
From: [email protected]
Subject: Messages - First Blackout Relief

Ner cyarese,

Seventeen’s reply has reached me fine. I’m quite thankful to you all and though it makes my heart ache to be apart from you, these notes do remind me that you are waiting for me. It eases some of the strain of being away from you.

Tarre insists that I relay his bastardy in that he promises to take care of me. Cassus tossed him out the window of my makeshift study.

For the most part, our people are the well behaved ones of this conference, and I’m terribly proud of them for holding their tongues towards each other. At least, they are holding their tongues compared to the snipping and simpering that happens among the Republic party, of which I am quite tired of, We are only two weeks in and I am already exhausted of the Republic. I understand that they are many different cultures but some of them have more in common than Mandalorians from different planets and yet they still rail against each other.

The Republic’s problems with each other aren’t even very interesting.

We have had some issues among ourselves, but most of those are being filed away to explode upon our return. I would suggest that things are set into place to make sure everyone can battle it out.

As it is, there’s a lot of communicating with spouses about other ways to handle the build up of steam happening today.

I hate it here.

I’ll be sending Kix his own mail, but please pass these messages on for the others.

Korkie: Keep your chin up, cousin. Tono showed me the message he received from Aden’tra, and the both of you need to find something to occupy your minds while we’re all gone. Ask Seventeen if he needs more help, wrangle your other cousins’ tailoring appointments, post ridiculous SekTek videos. I know you. You are great and creative and you have so much going for you. If you absolutely must, bother Pretend and RB. With love, Para.

Boba: Congratulations on your continued advancement you little brat. Do you think you could finish all of your secondary sciences before we return? If you need space from everyone, the palace library and the archives in both cities are open to you. Buir would be so proud of you. Your loving or’tat, Para.

Omega: Be a bit kinder on yourself, little sister. See if any of the mechanics might be available to teach you some new things. Get to know everyone else a bit more. Garden with Arla. This will all be over before you know it. I’m so proud of you for getting through this, but know that you can rely on other people. It’s important you learn that. Your sister, Para.

Paz: Hello baby. I miss you so much. I expect plenty of hugs when I get home. Make sure to give them to your other buire and your ori’vod, too. Remember, keeping up with your modules and your work with Ven’ti is important. Less than two months before I’m home, now! And then I think the entire family will have some nice, relaxing time off. Remembering you and your ori’vod back home is keeping me going. Be brave for me, kar’ika. I love you more than all the stars in the galaxy, Par’bu.

And to you three, thank you so much for supporting everything while I’m gone.

Ret’urcye mhi, kar’taylir darasuum,

Para

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Advice - First Blackout Relief

My beloved boy,

I wish I was there to help you with all of this. If we’d had a chance for me to introduce you to Parliament, maybe this would not be so difficult for you. That I have taken many of the more level heads likely does not help.

I’ve attached a chunk of the discussions we’re having with the Republic, aside from the clone issue.

I do truly believe in your ability to do this job. Your ba’buir and I would not be relying on you for this if we did not. You know her well enough to know that is true.

I unfortunately have not had the time to give the issues you are having the time they deserve, between receiving Ven’ti’s mail and writing this, but I believe I still might have some advice that might help. Do not remind the former Death Watch members they lost—plenty of those who were on our side will remind them for you. Do remind them that they have an out—to become dar’manda. Be firm. Grit your teeth and glare if you must. Your spine is beskar, make sure they know that.

Take some time with Shin in the Forge. I think maybe the advice of a goran would help you.

My darling one, you shine so brightly that I can see it even here,

Your Par’bu

Para smooths their skirts, then grasps it in their hands and lifts it, just slightly, to have a bit better mobility. Ahead of them, Walon Vau stands up on a fallen long, and he extends his hand to help them up and over it. Kalan and Kal Skirata both take up the rear.

“Not a bad looking planet,” Skirata grumbles as Kalan helps him over the log. He adjusts his knee brace once he’s over it. “I can see why the pirates like it.”

“It’s an odd place,” Para says, not disagreeing but too chilled by the occasional dreams they’re having—memories of Jango’s of a terrible time in his life. “Not the worst location to speak with the Republic.”

Both men snort.

Kalan knocks xer shoulder against theirs and smiles.

“That woman,” Vau says, and he’s referring to Sati’bu they know, “is supposed to testify next week. Claiming you and confirming the relationship between your different clans.”

“She is,” Para agrees.

Skirata scoffs. “I do wonder how far she’s willing to go with this. She only signed up for this so you would fix her problems.”

Para hums. “And assuage her guilt.”

All three of their companions exchange upset looks.

“She’s doing it, though. She stumbles. All the time. But she is trying to be a good mother and a good leader. And to keep her promises.”

“Your buir would not like her,” Vau says, helping them over a rough patch of ground.

“Oh certainly not,” they agree, amused. “I don’t think he’d be the ancestor who had the most difficulty with her, though.” Cassus is actually the one to rage about her the most.

“Why did you say yes?” Skirata asks.

They hum. “Because I was tired. And I was hurt. And she was being honest, for once.”

“You think she can be trusted, then?”

“I doubt they’d be doing this if she couldn’t be,” Vau answers for them.

They incline their head.

The group of them is silent as they continue their little walk, at least for a little while longer.

“Are you happy?” Skirata finally asks. “With her as a buir?”

Para thinks about that a spell. “I am not happy with the increase in responsibilities, for myself and for my other aliit. But I am mostly happy. And I am proud she is my buir.”

“Then that’s enough,” Vau says. “You’re Jango’s child. And you make Mij happy. So we care.”

“Thank you,” they breathe.

Para curls up on their bed, a knit blanket spread out across their lap. Sati’bu is sitting at the end of the bed, a datapad in her hands.

“Is it odd that I miss your brother and sister?” she asks after an extended silence.

“No,” Para decides after a moment. “It just means you are used to them. And love them.”

“I didn’t expect to,” Sati’bu admits.

Para sits with that admission a moment. “You didn’t have to adopt them, either.”

“They’re your siblings. I couldn’t just...leave that distance between you,” she says, a little like grieving. Para doesn’t know her entire story, probably never will, but it does make her wonder. About Bo-Katan, about Korkie’s mother. The three sisters’ odd father, their absent mother.

“And now you love them.”

“I do. I’m glad that what I’m going to be talking about won’t just be for you. I love you, and it started for you. But now it’s for your siblings too. And for Kix.”

Para smiles.

“I’m worried that they’re going to attempt to use the other sessions as a way to chisel away at what we’re doing for the clones,” she admits, and Para’s face falls again.

“Right. They have a vested interest in that.” They sigh and scrub their face. “But we’re going to succeed. I know it. We have too many fail-safes in place. They’re so certain that the clones will stay no matter what. They don’t realize that I know how to talk to them.”

“Or that the Jedi, mostly, agree with us.”

They hum. “As an organization at least. I’m sure some of them are more attached to the Republic, and see it as a betrayal. Some of them might see it as a personal betrayal, thinking about all they’ve done for them. People are complicated. Even Jedi.”

Sati’bu frowns, but she doesn’t argue. “What should we do about some of the things the Republic is pushing for,” she says instead, “that could impact the clones negatively.”

“Point out we can’t ratify anything without the Parliament, as we have been doing. Point out we aren’t a member of the Republic and do not plan to be.” They laugh. “They keep forgetting, and they end up not remembering that we have the opportunity to walk away from all of these deals the moment they no longer suit us, honestly. With individuals, at least.”

Sati’bu laughs. “I think I do too,” she admits. “Despite having continued the long-standing separation.”

“I do believe our ancestors would come back to life just to kill us all if we decided to join the Republic,” they tell her wryly. “Dara is pissed off enough that we’re entertaining these little alliances.”

“Dara ended up the lackey of a Sith emperor and lead the largest destruction the galaxy has ever known under that direction.”

“And enjoyed it,” Para adds with a wince.

They ignore the horrified look Sati’bu gives them.

“But he’s hardly the only one who distrusts the Republic,” they point out.

“No,” she allows. “And their example in that is probably one we should follow in.”

“State your name, your Grace?” the staffer asks, the same staffer who had posed the proper questions to Para.

They shift slightly in their seat, pressing their arm against Ashiba’s.

Ashiba presses back, comforting.

Sati’bu answers with aplomb, face as stony as if she was carved out of marble. “Satine Kryze, head of House Kryze and Duchess of Mandalore, Countess of Arraiy and Merrooi on Kalevala.”

“Thank you, your Grace. What is your relationship with Para Mereel-Fett?”

“I am Para’s adopted mother; she is my daughter and my heir as head of House Kryze.”

The staffer nods along. “And what is your relationship with the clones that make up the Grand Army of the Republic?”

Sati’bu shifts slightly, her back straightening even more than usual. It turns her petite frame into something statuesque, especially as she levels a disapproving look at the poor staffer, who winces. “As Para’s parent who is not of the clan she represents, I am considered a custodian of the clan. It is this role that connects me to the Fett clones.”

“And you have to take that role, culturally?”

“No,” Sati’bu allows, inclining her head almost imperceptibly. “I only take that role because I feel it is important to my family. I only take that role because it is necessary. In other situations, the custodian role is not necessary. When you consider the expansiveness, of this situation, however, and the considerable connection it has directly to my daughter, my accepting of the position is a duty.”

“No one would blame you for not taking this role, though?” the staffer still prods.

“I would,” Sati’bu says, voice ice cold. “I would blame myself for not taking the role.”

The staffer stares for a long moment, then swallows visibly and nods. “You agree with your daughter’s determination that the clones are part of her clan, legally?”

“I do.”

“Is there any reason that would not be the case?”

“Even if Para Mereel-Fett Kryze were not my adopted daughter, I would agree that she is correct in her determination that the clones are part of her clan. She is following Mandalorian law. Unless an individual does something completely anathema to being Mandalorian, they are not cast out of their clan completely, though children may cut ties with their parents. And those instances of being cast out of their clan, and Mandalorian society, are determined legally, per individual, by the clan leader.”

“There is no one ahead of your daughter to be the leader of the clan?”

“No. Both of her siblings are younger than her. Her aunt is not only not mentally capable, she also abdicated her rights to the position. It is only Para.”

It’s not what the Republic wants to hear, Para knows. They’re trying to break the Mandalorian defence, to cause a breakdown of what they believe and what they are fighting for. And it’s not working. Some in the room already knew this. Some it is dawning on them now. And some will soon learn that it is the case.

The staffer nods again, hands clutching painfully at the datapad they record proceedings on. “Thank you, your Grace. That is all for today.”

“And thank you,” Sati’bu says, just as Para had. And like Para had, she stands gracefully and the Mandalorian party follows her lead, moving as one out of the room being used to record testimony.

Tea with a member of the Republic party is becoming a habit, only days after testimony is given by a member of Para’s family. This time, at least, Padmé Amidala requests it well ahead of time, even before the testimony was given.

Para does not particularly look forward to it, but she gives enough respect to make a show of her choice of guards.

Some of the Republicans might think that Ashiba and Daria are weaker, not just because of their gender expression but because of their lean builds and short statures. Those Republicans are idiots.

But who is Para to not use an insult to their advantage.

So Ashiba and Daria stand guard and Amidala comes, along with a staffer who carries the tea tray this time, and she sits primly on the chair offered to her, across from Para.

Para watches her carefully and does not move to pour the tea. The staffer does instead, before leaving. “It’s nice to see you again, Senator Amidala,” they say softly.

“And you, Mand’alor,” she says, still prim. “How is your family?”

“They are well.”

She twists her lips, a small tick, clearly thinking. “How are the former Guard?”

Para raises their eyebrows. “Every member who was in recovery is, at this point, well healed. They are all finding positions they have decided suit them, and they are integrating well into our society. Many have been adopted by Mandalorians who were close to them on Coruscant, before they fled the planet with them in a show of solidarity.”

“Oh,” she says, “Good. Good.” She sips her tea.

Para nods. “How are things on Coruscant?”

She brightens around the eyes, just slightly. “Obi-Wan is spending time helping Anakin heal physically. He’s glad for the break, and, well… Anakin is doing alright. He’s coping. And he’s finally talking to someone about what happened on Tatooine.”

Their eyes narrow a hair. “You?”

“No, not me,” she says, and then she must catch on to what she’s admitted. “...I thought I loved him, you know. And that he loved me. But I wonder now.”

“I know what it’s like. To be in someone’s sights like that,” they say, giving her an out. “I didn’t ever think I loved him, but it was suffocating. I can only imagine what I would have forgiven if he broke me.”

Amidala stares at them for a long moment, uncomprehending.

“Sati’bu found me after I had been kept as a concubine by the leader of Death Watch for over a year,” they explain.

“And you made her free you.”

Para looks at her sharply, looks at the sympathy on her face. “No. I was barely conscious and from what others have told me I was nearly catatonic at the time. I value free will, Senator Amidala. Words mean nothing if they are not true. And if I changed things by holding someone in my power, which I don’t know how to do, they would just change them all back when I lost that control. It is not sustainable.”

Amidala reels back, chastened. “I didn’t mean—. I just know that the Force can be used to influence people.”

“Weak willed people,” Para says softly. “I would not call Satine Kryze weak willed. And I would not call you that either, Padmé Amidala. We are all strong women here.”

Amidala flushes angrily, but she doesn’t say anything on that. Instead, she changes the subject to asking about Para’s wardrobe. She questions the fabric and the style and makes impressed noises and Para suggests that after the war they figure out some way their favourites might collaborate.

She leaves and a different staffer comes to take the tea tray, and then Daria and Ashiba drop into seats and Para shuts the door with a wave of the hand.

“Ohhoho, I loathe her,” Daria says, slinging herself across her chair. “Sanctimonious—.”

“I know, bur’cya. But she’s a good ally once she’s swayed to your side. Unless you go completely off the rails. We can see that from Anakin Skywalker,” Para says.

Daria still grumbles.

“Are you alright?” Ashiba asks, though. “You don’t like thinking about Concordia.”

“No,” they agree. “I do not. But I’ll be alright. I have others I can speak to so I may calm down.” They relax their hands where they find they’ve clenched them painfully, little crescents of dripping red are bitten into their palms.

Ashiba sighs and digs out some antiseptic and bandages out of her belt. “I’m going to call Baar’ur.”

“Alright,” they say, not fighting it.

Dara tucks himself around Para’s curled up body. Behind them is the phantom feeling of Cassus rubbing their back.

“I hate this,” they say into their own shoulder. “I should be over this.”

Jaster sighs from the end of the bed. “Darling child, that is not the kind of trauma that someone gets over. You should be gentle with your scars. The mental ones as much as the physical.”

“Recovery isn’t linear,” Cassus reminds them, stroking their hair. “You know this.”

Dara hums. “You didn’t have to reveal that trauma. She did not deserve to know, ba’ad.”

“It was easier,” they mutter.

“An easier time with the politician and hours upset after. You had to cancel all of your meetings for the rest of the day. Your baar’ur is panicking,” Jaster says.

“Akel is used to it,” Para points out moodily.

Dara holds them closer. “You killed him,” he reminds them. “He can never hurt you again. You won, totally and completely. His son calls you and your ven’riduure his buire. His organization is gone, the splinters once again working with the rest of our people. He has failed, to break you and to break Manda’yaim. And anyone else who tries it will have a very dark surprise coming for them.”

They giggle wetly.

“Cry, cyarela ba’ad,” he whispers. “Cry and sleep and let yourself take a while off. You are doing so much.”

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re; Messages - First Blackout Relief

Allow us to get these over with first :p

From Korkie: Thank you for the advice you busybody. How you have time to write off extremely pointed missives for me when you should not know at all what I’m up to is terrifying. I know Aden’tra’s mail to Tono wasn’t nearly as comprehensive as would have been needed for that all. Just for that I’m posting a blooper reel on your SekTek.

From Boba: Challenge accepted. Take care of yourself. Don’t want you to come back sick – Boba

From Omega: I’m gardening with Arla now. It’s actually not that bad. And I’m working with some of the mechanics. Maybe you were right. Boba and I are going to work on something for you when you come home!

From Paz: I miss you too! I love you and I miss you and I love Mij’bu and Ven’ti’bu and For’bu but I miss you. Over a month is too long! This month isn’t even over yet. But I’m going to be brave, just like you said. Even if I do miss you!

Back to Fordo. Kix is also making a fuss, let me tell you. He cried for over an hour after your mails came in. But he’s doing better with Parliament already, and he’s been sitting with Shin a lot.

She’s a good influence.

Mij and Ven’ti both say to ask Cassus to toss Tarre out a window again, if you don’t mind. Even if we really do appreciate that someone is looking after your heart over there.

Thorn got himself in some trouble, you’d be delighted to know. Thankfully they didn’t lose much in chiselling him out and he just had to be hosed off after. RB and Pretend have officially moved in together, to take care of some of the littles. But we all know that it’s just an excuse to get used to living together. Some of the more scientific minded of us have started bothering the hospital and now Baar’ur Hiralan is making noise about inviting some Kaminiise. Horrifying prospect in my opinion.

A month and a week, ner cyare.

We’ve decided that each of us will cycle every week, consolidating everything. And we’ll let Kix do the last one. Mij said that he’ll only do one, and Ven’ti and I will share after him. Love and miss you.

Fordo

Chapter Text

To: LIST: Para’s Ven’riduure
From: [email protected]
Subject: Messages - Second Blackout Relief

Ner ani’la kar’ta,

Thank you so much for passing on the notes from the kids. I’m a little sad not to have received anything from Kix, but don’t tell him that. Especially knowing now that he’ll be in charge of the final mail.

I know I said previously that these mails are, at least, a balm. But I will admit this last week has utterly wrecked me. It is, partially, my fault. And I’m being chastised for it by almost everyone who knows about Concordia. I let myself think on it too long, and I have been paid in kind with my own distress. I miss all of you so much. I miss warmth in my bed and skin on my skin. I miss your voices and your habits. I’m not surprised to miss these things, but the ache festers at my scars.

I hate that I know this was the best option.

Some of the Republicans are trying to finagle a military alliance between us and the GAR. I don’t like it and we’re all doing our best to stonewall them and to make it clear that the Mandalorians as a whole will not make that kind of alliance.

If they want us to fight, they will hire our mercenaries.

Still, they try. I believe it is bloodlust that many of them have, though they do not admit to such. They claim to want the Confederacy to come back to the Republic, but it sounds far more like they wish to punish them for ever leaving. While I do not agree with how the Confederates have been conducting their warfare, they have valid reasons for leaving the Republic. Were it not for Dooku’s position, I might have been tempted to join them once.

Scorching planets, besides, is not the way to keep the galaxy together once the war is settled.

I’m tired, cyarese.

I admit freely that I have not been sleeping well and I desperately need a longer break than a day. Sati’bu is trying to arrange things so I’m stuck in my rooms for the next three rest days. I’m going to go mad, but at least I might finally get some energy back.

Mij I promise Shawoor is doing well with me, so do not even think it’s her fault. Despite what we’ve attempted with the schedule, it is still far too taxing for me, especially with incessant meetings.

At least I find myself wondering about wheels that started turning before I ever stepped on the ship to come here. Have we heard from any of the groups who went to bargain with the Hutts?

I hate working with hut’uune but it is my hope that these things can be resolved in little time.

I do agree with the hospital’s request for a visiting Kaminii. I will, perhaps, broach the topic with Senator Burtoni. Her testimony was a great help to us; she was asked whether she could confirm my identity and she had brought a copy of the genetic profile that Jango ensured would be on file to prove a separation between myself and the clones, at the time, and my relationship to them, later.

I am sure she hates losing to these kind of things, but maybe a financial element might tempt these scientists. I will let you know what I find out though I do encourage you to all reach out as well.

Consider this my blessing to use the clan accounts.

You three are the core to whatever star our people claim me to be,

Your Para

“You really don’t have to do this,” Para tells Jo’ba, spitting their hair out of their mouth.

He hefts them higher on his back. “Shawoor’s orders,” he says, clearly amused.

They roll their eyes.

Vau and Ashiba are already sitting about, pouring shig. These outside meetings are getting to be a regular occurrence. That Shawoor has deemed the outside air good for them has only helped with this, so every day a little group of them ends up milling about among the flora and fauna of the planet.

“Is Kal’s leg bothering him?” Para asks as Jo’ba finally allows them to slip down, shaking out their skirts so they lay right again.

“He and Tono are playing cu’bikad,” Vau explains. “That Baar’ur insists he not traipse about so often.”

Para snorts and settles into the seat next to him.

“What is your testimony this time about?” he asks, handing them a cup that smells strongly of behot. Maybe this is what they’ve been missing—though they really didn’t think they were drinking that much shig before.

“Jango’s plans for the clones,” they admit sourly.

Vau’s eyes flash a moment. “His plans,” he repeats, voice dry as Tatooine.

Para raises their eyebrows. “The plans I am so obviously carrying out,” they reply primly.

Jo’ba laughs, taking his own cup of shig. “Para is Jango’s heir,” he points out. “And all at once it is both soothing and insulting to the Republic that he might have wanted better for the clones.”

“Did he?” Vau asks. “Does he?”

Para hums into their cup—Vau is borderline on how sensitive he is. Not sensitive enough to be a Jedi or to be given up to his home planet’s system for Force sensitives, but enough that he picked up quite a bit from Tigaan’ade, though he refuses to refer to himself as such. It’s not surprising he knows that Jango has been hanging about, though they wonder if he can even see them. “He didn’t. He does.”

Vau shows a remarkable breadth of emotion by rolling his eyes. “Well, at least I know it’s a fiction turned fact.”

“If it hadn’t turned fact,” they ask, “would you still support me?”

Vau is the center of attention at the little table. He snorts. “Of course I would. My own children are in that demographic.”

They smile. “How are they? Have you gotten any mails during the blackout lifts?”

“Karagi is handling much of that, right now. For all of the squads of mine who have arrived thus far.” He tops off his cup with more shig. “They’re doing well.”

“Good.”

“You’ve heard from Mij?” he asks, then.

Ashiba snickers.

“Not directly. My three are trading off who sends so that everything is easy in and out. Much like Karagi is, I think.”

He nods.

“Mij is the next one,” they add.

“He’s been mailing me,” Ashiba says smugly. “Lots of hospital gossip.”

“Did they finally get to fire that one?”

“Yeah, finally.”

Vau and Jo’ba laugh at them.

“We are missing so much here,” Jo’ba says, half mournfully, half amused. “But it’s worth it.”

“I’m excited for it all to be over,” Para admits. They glance up at the sky, which is starting to cloud. “I’m afraid we’re being cut short today.

“Rain,” Ashiba says like a prayer. “Finally something to break up the nights.”

“Were they getting stuffy?” Para asks, helping her collect everything small. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Para blows out a long breath. They had been hoping the tea requests would die down a bit, with how much they’d been out from under everyone’s eyes over the last week. There was talk, of course, about them being ill, and sickly. Weak.

When they were on, they were on. But the moment they were able to be shuffled away, everyone was doing it.

It was working, mind. They were more energized and they were starting to recover from the mental shake they had from speaking to Amidala. Sleeping better, eating a bit better...finally they were getting back to balanced. Kanata had begun to have firstmeal with them and Shawoor and Jo’ba, all three trying to get a handle on the way Para’s abilities were growing. That had been one of the reasons for Shawoor’s declaration that they needed more time outside.

“You are growing faster than anyone I have ever known,” Kanata had said.

They are certainly feeling the growing pains, a migraine building as they look at the Republic Navy grunt who is wincing in front of them. They sigh. “I need to speak with a few people, but I will consider Admiral Tarkin’s request seriously. Find me before my next testimony, alright?”

“The Admiral expects a response now, your Grace,” the grunt nearly wails.

“Well then he must learn that expectations do not always meet the reality,” they snip back.

The grunt still stands there.

“Go,” they instruct, enunciating the word slowly with their eyebrows raised.

The grunt flees.

They watch him, sighing, then find their comm. It’s local circuit only, with the communications blackout. Functionally a pager system.

The barristers arrive shortly, though they’re already in the middle of proofing a report for Parliament on the suggestions about tying infrastructure together—notes on the side with their own snide commentary—and the trio accept the opened request and pour over it.

They finish up their notes and save it to the encryption file that will go out when the blackout next lifts. “What do you think?” they asks grumpily.

“I don’t like it,” the youngest barrister declares easily. She chews on the inside of her cheek.

“It might be useful to see if he’ll let something loose,” the middle one suggests. “It’s probably to try and tempt an alliance, though.”

“One,” the eldest barrister says, sounding like an instructor, “it would be an insult to say no. Two, he might still prove useful.”

To sow dissent against Palpatine goes unsaid. There are bugs in this room, they all know.

“You’re right,” Para says, nodding. “I still don’t want to. But...it’s necessary.”

“Have Vita and Skirata on guard duty,” the middle barrister suggests. “They’re the hottest heads.”

“Munit tome'tayl, skotah iisa,” Para quotes, amused. “Quite. Alright, I will meet with Tarkin a few days after I give my testimony. We will see how much that changes what he is attempting to do.”

“Do you think they’ll take it so poorly to learn about your buir’s plans?” the youngest barrister asks.

“Buir had a sense of honour,” Para allows. “And usually, that meant his contracts were at the top. He kept his promises, and a contract was just that. However, this was the kind of situation that superseded that, especially as the training went on. The Republic wanted Mandalorian warriors. He could not just give them that. You do not get Mandalorian warriors without them being Mandalorian.”

“But they’ll take it as an insult,” the eldest says, nodding along with a sigh. “Because they are idiots who want to eat their cake and have it too.”

“What of that,” Para asks, “is surprising?”

The three laugh.

Para has a migraine. It’s the first time they’ve had one while giving testimony, but at least for now it’s a mild thing. It will grow, but they have time.

“Your Grace,” the staffer recording today, a young human woman who had been on the edges until now, “how did your father feel about the clones?”

Para feels their lips quirk up. “He hated them,” they admit. “He hated what they meant. But personally, it was different. He could find something he liked about every one of them.”

“He told you this?”

“He would come visit, when he was bounty hunting. He’d had to get Pac’bu’s permission for my genome to go into Kamino’s files, for one. He told her, too. He told me how much I would like some of them, how well I would get along with many. How he wished I could meet them sooner. Of course, I got to meet my brother. But it was made very clear to me that there were others—aliit—and buir was going to figure out how to help them.”

There are murmurs, sour faces, across the whole of the Republic’s side. A few on their own side even mirror them.

“He drew up the plans, I admit. He would be the one doing all of this had he not taken the job for Count Dooku to act as head of security on Geonosis. He liked things to be clean and legal, even if they were not moral, you know?”

The staffer swallows. “Did he instruct you to carry these plans out?”

“No,” Para allows. “But he did have me keep the plans. I had, initially, planned on enacting them much closer to the beginning of the war, but there were...obstacles.”

The staffer nods. Behind her head, Para can just barely see Palpatine sneer. “ Were all of the plans legal? Or were some of them illegal?”

“All of them were legal, either by Mandalorian or Republic law, and often by both.” They look down at their hands. “It hurt him, I think, that he had to make it so. He had been a slave, you know, and it was the Republic’s fault then. And yet slavery is illegal in your borders.”

“You believe the clones are slaves?”

“A slave is defined by the Republic as any person who is held in custody of another person without crime, who is not paid for labour and who is not given control over where they go and what they do. Those who hold custody of them are not held responsible if they die,” they recite, the definition long since seared in their mind. “The clones are held in Republic custody. They are not paid. They are not given control over where they go or what they do. They are killed indiscriminately by enemies and they are sentenced to death by superior officers for minor offences.”

The staffer winces. She clearly agrees and she clearly doesn’t want to ask her next question. “You believe the clones are people?” she asks, a bit like she’s choking the words out.

Para locks a hard stare on her, then sweeps it out across the attending. “The Republic recognizes citizens of foreign entities as people. The clones are Mandalorian citizens. But if you want more than that, the Republic definition of a person is for that person to be a sentient being with the ability to think for themselves, who can participate in communities and who can experience emotions and pain. I am sure it is well documented among you that the clones fit all of these requirements, though you have long ignored that. And even if it were not well documented, their citizenship among Mandalorians supersedes that.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” the staffer finishes, trembling.

“And you.” The migraine beats behind Para’s eyes, painful and sticky. When they stand, it takes them a moment to properly regain their balance. They make it out of the room, at least, before Jo’ba has to catch them around their waist.

“Para,” Jo’ba murmurs. “Close your eyes, ad’ka.”

They shut them hard. They feel like they’re burning.

“Is it anger, do you think?” they hear Shawoor ask. “They’re usually much better at holding it back than this.”

Jo’ba finally just lifts them. “One of us needs to speak to the Jetiise. Could you also feel the crushing feeling, throughout their testimony?”

“You think—?”

“I think there need to be things put in place for all of the Force sensitives who go in that room. Why there haven’t been until now is a mystery to me.”

“I’ll take care of the Mand’alor,” Shawoor promises, sounding more distant. “You can speak to them.”

“Elek.”

Everything vanishes.

Para is well enough two days later when the next session is held to attend, and the day after that they set up their study with Daria and Tono. They even make sure the tea is delivered before Tarkin arrives, not trusting the man to think to bring it with him.

Tarkin arrives on the hour, as promised, and Para rises to greet him.

“Thank you so much for requesting to have tea with me, Admiral,” they flatter. They can tell Daria and Tono are rolling their eyes behind their buy’ce.

“And thank you, Mand’alor, for honouring me with your acceptance,” he replies smoothly, taking their hand and smacking a dry kiss on their knuckles. “You are feeling better, I trust? I understand you had been ill, and then had a further decline after your testimony. Your people were quite frantic.”

They smile and wave him to one plush chair—covered in both their own bugs and some of the Republic’s. “Sit, sit, Admiral.” They sit themself back in their own chair, crossing their ankles and tucking them behind one of the chair legs. “I have been quite lucky that my health has held for so long, while we’ve been here. That was, indeed, the first time I had a migraine since we arrived. Terrible things, but it thankfully didn’t take much out of me.” They sigh theatrically. “Back on medications, for me.”

Nothing of the sort, but he didn’t have to know that. Not when discussions with the Jetiise had proven there was some kind of interference happening at the time.

“I’m surprised these kinds of things don’t make it impossible for you to be in such a station,” he says without a thought. “Migraines, even well treated ones, keep most people who have them out of the Navy. I would think the Mandalorians would care about that.”

Para laughs. Foolish man. “Not at all. Mandalorians have been fighting together for millennia, Admiral. It is part of our religion. Those with disabilities are able to worship with everyone else.”

He frowns for a fraction of a second, then it smooths back away. “Well, quite good for you all.”

There’s a shiver in the air and out of the corner of their eyes, Dara and te Sol’yc consolidate. Interesting.

“Indeed,” they reply through their upper teeth. They bare their teeth at him and he replies with a twitch of a smile. “What made you want to take tea with me, Admiral?” Finally, they pour their own, leaving the pot for him.

“I wondered about your opinion of the Confederacy,” he tells them looking grumpy as he pours himself some as well. “They are currently unchecked, and it’s well felt among us that they need to be checked. It’s quite clear to those of us in the Navy that you won’t give up on your crusade for those poor wretches, but I know there are those among them that agree with us about the Confederacy. So I thought I would ask you directly.”

They dim their threat display down to a brief, bright smile. “I would see Count Dooku’s head set at my feet,” they proclaim loftily. “But I have no quarrel with the Confederacy. Many of my people even agree with their arguments. You must understand, Admiral, that we understand not wanting to be part of the Republic, but their leadership puts us off of their cause.”

Dara laughs. “And the droids,” he mutters snidely to Sol’yc.

Indeed, the droids.

“So while I personally want the Confederacy’s leader dead after a nice bout of suffering, I do not particularly care to call my people to war with them. Besides the politics of the situation...Well, we do not play with toy soldiers. It is not honourable.” They bare their teeth again. “And it is much less fun.”

Tarkin sits back in his seat, blown back a little.

“Did not expect that, bloodstained one?” Sol’yc jeers unheard. “What kind of warrior are you? Refuse to get your hands dirty for your own desires.”

“We prefer a challenge,” they tell him, eyes narrowed but still smiling.

“Well,” Tarkin says, almost stumbling to try and find his next words. “Can’t droids be that?”

They shrug. “Is it really war if one side does not bleed? People never learn if there is not death, and they will never see the real cost of war if they are only seeing credits disappear.”

Sol’yc settles behind Para’s chair, leaning forwards over it to loom.

Tarkin may not be Force sensitive, but he somehow still is cowed.

“We told you all that we would not ally with your military, Admiral Tarkin,” they say coolly. “You will not change my mind.”

“I wonder,” Dara muses, “if they think it’s a way to get out of paying the clones?”

That shutters Para’s expression faster than anything else. They slide their gaze over to Daria and Tono, who are at full attenion.

“Emergency for you, Mand’alor,” Tono says, as if he knows something they do not. But their comm has not chirped. Theirs would have been alerted as well. “The Parliament members want your intervention.” It’s said so smoothly and calmly, they could almost believe him.

“I’m terribly sorry, Admiral,” they say, “but I really must see to my people.”

“Of course Mand’alor,” he says, smoothing his dismay from his face as he stands, placing his untouched cup back on the tea tray.

Para follows him out, Tono and Daria on their heels, Tono holding the tray. Best get some eating done.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re; Messages - Second Blackout Relief

Dear Para,

I hope you’re feeling better, but I have my suspicions. So does Akel; she’s requesting a full health update. Perhaps she’s simply frantic. We’ve had some illness here. Paz, Boba, and Omega caught a small stomach virus. Thankfully there are more than enough adults to attend to them. Tristan and Sabine Wren did as well, and so Alrich had plenty of help and they were all in like company. Still, it was a miserable three days. They’re all well again, I promise, and I’ve even attached snaps of them.

The hospital is running as well as it can. We’re honestly at a bit of a lull, thanks to the lack of current influx. Or, at least, less influx than usual. Commando squads have continued to arrive, and we’ve had two battalions show up since you left, but most of them are in good health.

All of the groups we sent to talk with the Hutts have arrived and sent reports of progress, though not always good progress. One team is following a further sale. Hut’uune, bah.

Thankfully, things are going rather smoothly, for them. One group is already on their way home.

I know this isn’t as long a mail as Seventeen and Fordo have sent, but I have no notes for you this time around, except that the children send their love, and that we all miss you.

Much love from myself, Seventeen, and Fordo

Postscript. I wish I could be there to hold you. It’s so painful to hear of your loneliness when I know I could help if only I were there. But soon, it will all be over. Less than a month left.

Mij

Chapter Text

To: LIST: Para’s Ven’riduure
From: [email protected]
Subject: Messages - Third Blackout Relief

Kar’tayl’ade,

Much like the last message, this was written over the last two weeks and then I added some things upon Mij’s mail.

Seventeen: How is the planning for Boba’s verdgoten going? I’m looking forward to that being the only majorly involved thing in the future, I will admit. Politics are inevitable in my position, but it will be nice to have something so relatively mundane for us. Have you been talking to Shin about it? Gorane are such an important part of the ceremony.

Fordo: Can you please speak to some of those in Parliament there about blackballing the Republic Navy from Mandalorian space? I feel it might be necessary. These captains and admirals are detestable.

Mij: Could you please please please make sure that my bath oils are topped up? I don’t plan on removing myself from the water for days :p But really—frond seed oil, luck flower oil, behot extract, and sativa floret extract. I know that all of those were rather low in their bottles when I was leaving, and only two of them are in my usual orders. I’d very much appreciate them all being stocked when I return.

As requested, a health update for Akel (and Mij, don’t think I don’t know you wanted one too): one major Force stress migraine, exhaustion. My appetite is going up and down and I understand the need to continue eating but it is extremely difficult, to the point that I am, occasionally, made nauseous by it. Shawoor has put me on “minimum exertion” which means that I am often being hauled about by a rag doll. We’re finding that time outside helps considerably, more than Shawoor says it usually should. Every tigaan’ade in our party is theorizing about it. No nightmares, at least, or visions. There’s a grating on everything, though, and I’m quite relieved to only have less than a month left here. Thank the stars for Kanata’s hospitality, but if I have to spend much longer with any of the Republic’s secular attendees I may be forced to follow in Dara’s footsteps just for a bit of quiet.

Jo’ba and Sati’bu are already considering how they can reduce my workload when we get home. I’ll be speaking to the members of Parliament who are here with us about it tomorrow.

I am ready for this all to be over.

The other sessions are going well, at least. Trade agreements that are not too terrible are being hammered out with Naboo and Alderaan in particular. Senator Organa—the Queen of Alderaan’s husband—has invited me to visit once the galaxy is more stable. I told him that we would think about it, but that he should not be surprised at a number of clones in my party when we do.

Ursa, meanwhile, is suggesting a much sooner trip to Krownest. Three words: saunas and snow.

I’m sure the kids will get plenty of enjoyment out of it.

My heart lies with you, ven’riduure,

Your Para

They didn’t bring much of Parliament—it was smarter to keep most of their governing body back home in Mandalore sector—but there are a number of other clan heads attending this conference.

They all gather around a thick table, one usually used for sabbac, Tono standing with a datapad to take notes at the door to the room they’ve appropriated. Para is settled in a chair, legs curled up under their skirts with Jo’ba on one side and Ursa Wren on the other. Sati’bu has left anything she wants to say to Para and Jo’ba, instead spending this time with Amidala and trying to once again reassure her that nothing is wrong with her.

No migraine, today, but already the little room is filled with arguments that pound against the bottom of the back of their skull. Unchecked, it might even become a legitimate migraine.

Finally, Jo’ba calls them all to order, knocking his clenched fist against the thick wood of the table.

Some jump, some grumble, but they all settle back, ready to find out what this is about.

“Considering some of the gains we have made here, over the last month and change, and how much more we stand to make in the next few weeks, we thought it would be smart to start delegating,” Para says, voice soft but precise.

“Like what?” Kast asks, huffing.

They nod back and forth. “Working through the logistics of adding planets to the trade routes. Securing planets the Republic won’t touch. Enabling any further arrivals from the Republic. Keeping the Navy out of Mandalorian space, hopefully. I’d hope we could all make detailed notes of our experiences here for the Archives, but I understand if any of you don’t want to. I’d like to get the outermost planets dug in, in case this all manages to go to osik.”

One of the other aliit’alore from Gene’tve crosses her arms. “You think they might strike out?”

“I think that the Republic doesn’t like losing, and we are making them lose out on many, many things with this conference,” Para says. “And I think that if the war starts again, we need to continue to hold our positions. And even if it doesn’t, the Galaxy has never been a peaceful place. I am done with our people being taken advantage of.”

Ursa smiles wryly. “Oya Manda.”

“Oya!” the table booms.

“Besides, we’ve been making a lot of changes ourselves. Showing ourselves to be a united front...it may be the only way they can survive.”

“An Empire, again?” one of the former Death Watch members taunts.

“We will not be going out and expanding our claims over space,” they reply sharply. “But consider the new clans entering Parliament, consider the changes in terraforming. We do not need to conquer people to show we are strong, and if we can be a refuge for some—.”

“For the Jetiise,” someone who had followed Jaster grumbles.

“For anyone fleeing the Republic,” Para continues, “then we should be it.”

They all exchange looks around the table.

“So,” Jo’ba finally says, “how shall we split this all up, hm? At least for a while, the Mand’alor needs—.”

“To rest,” the table booms, knocking Para back a bit with the force of their will.

Jo’ba smiles. “Exactly. So, delegating. Let’s start with the changes we’ll need to make to the Corps.”

Para wraps their hands around a mug of shig, looking out the window of their rooms, out above the expansive jungle. They’re just in a shift and leggings, and they still need to get ready for the day, but today is a slow start, the last one before Sati’bu’s testimony tomorrow. For now, they can just experience the cool morning.

Sati’bu finds them like that, heels taptaptapping on the stone floor as she enters their rooms, then muting when she crosses the carpets. Para doesn’t turn to greet her, just sips their shig.

“How are you doing?” she asks, boosting herself up to sit on the windowsill next to them.

“Tired, as usual,” they admit. They shut their eyes and lean their head against the transparisteel. “I miss them all so much. My friends are great, but it’s...very apparent that my priorities have changed, besides being Mand’alor. I want my siblings, and my children, and my ven’riduure. I want to go visit Cut and Suu, I want to check on everyone who has come to Mandalore for me.”

“It’s been a long time,” she notes, “since you weren’t able to go anywhere.”

Their stomach grumbles. “I want some meat skewers,” they admit. They blow on the transparisteel and sketch a kar’ta beskar in the condensation with the tip of their little finger.

“We’ll get them,” she promises. “Only three more weeks.”

They hum.

“Thank you, Para,” she says after a long moment. “Vor entye.”

They finally turn and look at her, blinking. “Why?”

She smiles and reaches out to pat their hand. “You forgave me, and you’ve helped me. Both with changing Mandalore and with changing myself. I want to be a better person, for you. And I want to be a better Mandalorian for you.”

They swallow hard, a bit choked up and with tears prickling at their eyes. “Sati’bu…”

“Even just referring to me as your buir...you don’t have to do that,” she murmurs. “It makes me happy, though. I am always going to stand by you and your decisions. I trust you to not go mad with power or to start trying to take over everything, but...I don’t think I would stop you if you did.”

They snort. “I won’t,” they still promise.

“I know.” She squeezes Para’s wrist. “It doesn’t change the fact that I would still stand beside you and support you. Korkie was the first thing that happened to me that made me want to be better, but you and your siblings have truly solidified that drive in me.”

“I love you, buir,” they says softly.

“And I love you, dear one.”

“Your Grace,” the staffer says, the same one who had take the first two bits of testimony from Para and Satine instead of the girl who had last taken Para’s. “How do you feel about the clones?”

“The clones are, in the end, beings who are genetically close to three of my children,” Sati’bu begins. “I have gotten to know a number of them, and while I hold out on making any broad sweeps about personality or intelligence, every single one I have met has proven to me within moments that they have the resolve to be wonderful people.”

“You agree with your daughter that the clones are people, then?”

“It is unthinkable, to me, to come away with a conversation with them under the impression that they are not people,” she says coolly.

The staffer nods. “And do you agree with the assertion by your daughter that the clones are Mandalorian citizens?”

Sati’bu nods. “Even if my daughter had not fully claimed those of the Fett genome as clan members, I would agree wholeheartedly that they not only deserved to be Mandalorian citizens but they were, naturally, Mandalorian citizens. Their genetic connection to not only my daughter but to her father and the surviving members of their extended clan, along with their rejection by not only the Republic but by the planet they were born on, would have had me extending that invitation to them. The treatment of the clones by the Republic in general and Kamino in particular have been disastrous.”

“So you agree that your daughter’s adoption of the clones as clan gives them full Mandalorian citizenship?”

“I do.”

“And there’s nothing that would change your mind about that?”

“Nothing in our laws prevents them from being citizens and, indeed, some parts of our laws would see them receive that right upon birth. So no, nothing would change my mind about that.”

Para hums, leaning against Jo’ba’s side. It’s obvious that they’re trying to make Sati’bu the weak link, but it’s not going to work. She is no slouch, in terms of will power, and...she promised. This won’t be a questioning that ends well for the Republic.

Especially not when they ask the same question again, a third way.

Sparks of annoyance flash in her eyes. “Do you have any other questions for me?” she asks, tone ice cold and face stony. “Or will you insist to make a farce of your position?”

The staffer flinches. “You haven’t answered the question,” he finally claims.

The barristers’ attention all consolidates on him.

“I have answered the question twice. I agree with my daughter’s assessment of the clones as Mandalorian citizens. Accept the answer or we are done here.”

The staffer looks frantically down at his datapad. “...answer accepted, your Grace.”

“Good.”

He sucks on his own lip a moment. “The Republic put you in power, your Grace.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “Myself recently, and my entire family centuries ago. I am here because you asked me to be here. My daughter is Mand’alor and the one who is an elected official by the Mandalorian people. While she is the next duchet, that is a position that means far less than the one she already has. And yet you asked for me. Most of the Mandalorians do not even accept my position as anything more than a bit of Kalevalan colonialism. And they are correct, though we are now working together to rectify the sins of our past. And to fully refuse Republic interference. That, however, is not the issue here.”

The staffer shrinks back.

“The issue is that we have told you what our laws say and we are demanding the recognize them under your own precedent,” she finishes. “We’re done today.”

“Yes, your Grace,” he murmurs. “Thank you, your Grace.”

She does not thank him, she simply stands and walks out of the room. The Mandalorian contingency following her with delight in their footsteps.

Para is relieved to have some time to just spend under the warm light of Takodana’s star, just Ashiba and Kalan with them, even if the pair are prodding at her to eat some of the tea tray they brought along.

“Not eating, you are?” a high, reedy old voice says from somewhere behind them, sending all three of them jumping.

Para peers around their chair, back into the forest. To their surprise, it’s the eldest of the Jedi—Yoda, if they are remembering correctly—hobbling out of the flora with a pair of frogs in his claws.

“I’m not terribly hungry, Master Jedi,” they reply.

He harrumphs. “Join you, may I?” he asks, and Kalan kicks the other chair out for him with the air of a curious youngling. “Thank you.”

The trio watch with horrified curiosity as the old Jedi ties up on of the frog’s limbs, attaching the squirming creature to his belt before swallowing the other whole, then settles himself, tapping his walking stick against the ground.

“Distinctive in the Force you are, young Mand’alor,” he says, eyeing Para. “Grand Master Yoda, I am.”

“Well met, Master Yoda,” Para says, dipping their head. “I’ve certainly heard that before.”

Yoda harrumphs again. “Only one other being like you have I known. More powerful you are. A memory keeper?”

They blink—they haven’t heard the phrase except in Jocasta’s searching. “From what we can understand. Myself and my eldest, both, though we compile them differently.”

Yoda nods seriously. “Well trained, you are. Your uncle?”

“And my father,” they say, letting the words slip out before they can regret them. They’ve made their peace with Jango and their relationship with him. He is flawed, but he loves them and he always has. “Both of them saw to it that I had as complete an education in my abilities as they could.”

“Dreams, you have?”

“Don’t we all?” they challenge.

He laughs, an odd little cackle. “Clever,” he says with clear approval. “Wish for Jedi on Mandalore, you do.”

“I wish for our people to get along.” They pick up one of the muja and cheese sandwiches from the tray. “And I do not think the Jedi will last belonging to only the Republic.”

Yoda’s pointed ears droop and he shakes his head. “Tied to the Republic, we are, for safety.”

“Yours, Master Jedi, or the galaxy’s?” Ashiba asks, pouring an extra cup of tea, finally. “The way I see it, you aren’t very safe with the Republic. They ignore the Reformation to throw you at another legal entity.”

“Seen as dangerous we still are,” Yoda admits, eyes narrowed. “Our home the Republic is. But wrong you are not.” He sighs.

“You’re no dangerous than any Mandalorian,” Kalan declares. Xe huffs. “The Force empowers you, yes, but your culture more so. There will always be Force sensitives, as long as there are stars in the galaxy.”

Para chuckles. “You are mixing folklore and fact, Kalan.”

Xe shrugs. “Am I really, though?” xe challenges.

“Hrmmm, stars you say,” Yoda murmurs. He fixes his large eyes on Para in a way that works its way under their skin. “Important, the stars are.”

“We’re inviting your people to work not just with the Republic and possibly the Confederacy too,” Para says. “We are inviting the Jedi to be part of the galaxy, not just the Republic. Is that not something that would be good for everyone?”

Yoda considers that. “Many years seeing the end I have spent. Wrong I am not. Often.” He tilts his head. “Changed since your adoption, things have. Lighter not is Coruscant. Yet breathe easier we do.”

“So you’ll consider it?” Ashiba asks, watching as he inspects the tea she poured for him.

“Eat, the young Mand’alor should,” he says instead.

Para eats and Kalan manoeuvrers the conversation to some of the Jedi’s youth. The elder takes the opportunity for what it is, and they think they might have won something, here.

“I wonder what he meant about the stars,” Tarre says, kicking his feet back and forth through the windowsill.

“It could have just been a pointed comment. Or a general one. The stars are important,” Para points out, leafing through a book they brought to take notes on.

Jaster hums from of their shoulder. “Well, yes. But the Fetts have a long noted connection to the stars. It’s not just you—Jango could equally have been dubbed te Ka’ra. They didn’t, and it’s easy to see why in the differences between the two of you, but the Fetts…”

“Were farmers,” Para points out. “I want to eat some voidmelon.”

Both men laugh at that.

“But there are many Mand’alore in your ancestry,” Jaster points out. “Not just myself and Dara and Tarre. Sol’yc was Cassus’s...great grandparent?”

“Great-great-great grandparent,” Tarre corrects. “More Mand’alore have either married into the Fett family or had descendents marry into the Fett family than any other family. Many of your ancestors by blood are members of the Ka’ra.”

They look up, at that, surprised. “Wait, really?”

“Even most of the Vizsla Mand’alore had connections one way or another. Kori’s second cousin was your mother,” Jaster reveals. “But it’s more than that, I think. You’re feeling more energized the more time under the starlight you get.”

“What, do you think it’s part of whatever is going on with me?” they ask. “Whatever Jate’kara did?”

Tarre hums. “Maybe. Have you figured out what that was, anyway?”

Para sets their book aside and pulls their knees up to their mouth. “Yes and no,” they say, words muffled against the fabric of their leggings. “I don’t want to find out if I’m right.”

Tarre and Jaster share a look.

“You really think it’s that bad?” Tarre asks, hopping off the window to come sit next to them on the bed. “I mean, it’s obvious you’re more powerful, now. Your reaction to Palpatine’s attempt at interference was clear enough. It was like Kuat’s moon all over again.”

“I think it’s not something I ever would have asked for,” they say softly.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re; Messages - Third Blackout Relief

Cyare,

Don’t think I don’t recognize some of those bath oils. You didn’t say in any part of that medical update that your nerve aches were back. Though I suppose it was rather apparent by your choice of telling us to refill the ones you use when you need the most comfort.

Only two more weeks, dear kark.

Kix and Mij both say to try and take it easy. I’d hope you have access to a water shower at least over there, but I get it if Kanata doesn’t spring for those things, considering her usual guests.

Take it easy, these last two weeks, and don’t get into trouble. We’ll make sure to refill all of the bath oils. And don’t worry about the Navy. Parliament is delighted for the chance to keep a major part of the Republic out of their way. The Corps are already taking to the instructions happily.

Everyone in Keldabe is excited for you to get back. There have been a lot of changes that you’ll love.

We’ve extended the invitation to the Kaminiise and we’ll see what they do and what kind of things we’ll have to do to impress upon them that it’s in their best interest. There is only one more team out searching through Hutt territory. Only one other team found something terrible, thank kark.

We’ve also had news about Dooku. He’s apparently ensconced himself pretty totally in Serenno.

I don’t think he’ll be moving any time soon.

The other generals in the Confederacy are obviously making their careful little plans. They’re for the Republic to deal with, though if General Grevious makes an attempt in this direction he’ll be facing quite a bit of resistance. Too many stories about him killing padawans for those sabers.

We love you so much,

Fordo

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re; Messages - Third Blackout Relief

Hello pretty thing,

Is it terribly obvious that we’re missing you if I’m starting the mail like that? Probably. Mij says it is.

I’ve got the plan finished up for Boba’s verdgoten, and Shin has helped me finalize things. We’re waiting until you get back until we present it to him, though. He deserves to have the entire family here for that kind of announcement.

I think he’ll enjoy it.

By the way, he’s nearly done with his science modules you terror. Couldn’t have had him get cracking on the other ones? smh

Fordo says he already got onto you about the bath oils.

(Take care of yourself and we’ll pick up some of the massage oils too ;) )

The moment you get home, we’re stealing you and the people will not be getting you back for at least a week. Then maybe we can consider Krownest.

Paz is very excited for you to get back. These next two weeks might be worse than all the others put together, though. He’s very excitable, always ready to cross off each day on the erasable calendar we made up for him for the conference. I’ve taken snaps through the entire thing so you can see them when you get home.

I hope you don’t mind the double mails, Fordo and I had a snit about who should send it since we both had things to say.

Kar’taylir darasuum ner Para,

Ven’ti

Chapter Text

To: LIST: Para’s Ven’riduure
From: [email protected]
Subject: Messages - Fourth Blackout Relief

Ner cyare’la ven’riduure,

We’re almost done. I’m so relieved for it to only be two more weeks. Yes Seventeen, I do want to see those snaps. Once I have held him for a good hour or two, at least. My skin itches with energy underneath it all directed towards care. I’m so tired of people. I want family.

We all are, I think. Everyone’s tempers are running a little shorter, a little higher. We are all anxious to get things done.

You’re right about the bath oils and my body aching, though it isn’t nearly as bad as you are making it in your heads, I think—I really am going to need a long rest once I return. I will even accept pampering if you three insist upon it. But moreover, I want to sleep through the night. I’m still not having nightmares or visions, but that doesn’t mean I am sleeping soundly.

I’m concerned about Dooku isolating himself. Part of it, I think, is him seeing the writing on the wall about this conference. Suing for peace is going to happen soon, I think, from one party or the other. It is only a matter of how sustainable they believe this war is after the Republicans return.

And with what Dooku and his generals have done, I think there will be quite a reckoning for them.

If not the entire Confederacy.

We are closing up testimony next week and I am both anxious and relieved. I believe we have set things up well for the clones. I am hoping I am not putting too much faith in the Republic.

We all know how poorly that can result.

Please let Kix know not to go too all out in his relief to not be in charge any longer. I know that boy. He’s going to try and make everything as embarrassing as possible in the hope that we won’t dare do something like this again. I’m apologetic when it never works and usually feel quite humiliated while it’s happening.

I love him more than anything, except Paz who he is of course equal to, but he really does take both good and bad from us, Mij.

If I can receive nothing more, when coming home, than latemeal and a bath and a long, long sleep then I would be grateful. There is already a list I am compiling, now, of what all personally I’ll have to do, outside of our unit. Check on Boba and Omega. See Arla. Let Akel poke and prod. Tell Boba about the plan for his verdgoten with Seventeen.

It’s all so much, but I know I can do it.

Sati’bu is doing much better than I am, admittedly, though she’s deeply frustrated with her friends among the Republic and how even the most liberal and considerate of those along for the conference have acted.

Please let Jocasta know that I have officially made the acquaintance of Grand Master Yoda and that he’s an absolute trickster of a being. I should like he get to visit Manda’yaim one day, but I do not hold my breath about it. He is terribly sad, I think. His shields are good, but there is something about his age that simply evokes exhaustion with the state of the galaxy.

I can’t imagine doing much better, seeing so many people die before me.

It feels awful to type, like bile on the back of their tongue. They need to figure out if there’s a way to make Jate’kara—.

They are fine.

I will see you in two weeks and, what, two days?

Maximum?

I miss you all so much. I can’t wait to see you again,

Your Para

Ursa and the lieutenants have co-opted Para’s study by the time they arrive, spreading flimsi sheets over the desk and holding datapads with their other hands. They’re all in beskar’gam and are obviously making the most of Para’s late start today.

“Really?” Para asks, already exhausted, and with the day only just beginning. Why do they have friends?

They all look up at them and at least have the presence of mind, and compassion, to look apologetic. Except for Kalan. Xe looks smug.

“Yours wasn’t too big, but wasn’t too small. And we knew you’d be here eventually,” xe points out.

“What are you even doing?” they ask, coming around their desk and trailing their fingers along the flimsi. Star maps, mainly, and hyperlanes. Copies with various routes marked out.

“Planning our return,” Ursa explains, moving to the side so they can sit in their chair and scowling when they consider staying standing. “Have you eaten yet? I don’t want to get in trouble for enabling your poor habits.”

They stick their tongue out at her as they sit . “I ate. Jo’ba brought me firstmeal and we spoke about this week’s sessions.”

“It’s odd that so many of these planets who are so powerful do not have normal natural resources,” she gro u ses, crumpling up one iteration of the various maps . “There are so many luxuries they have available, instead of things we might actually need .”

“Are you surprised?” Tono asks. “Some of these planets were only settled by humans once the places they were first from had industrialized to the point they could sustain other planets.”

“You can say Naboo,” Para says wryly. “I think I would rather befriend their gungans than their humans. At least those are people who understand how to sustain themselves without shipping things in. Alderaan, at least, has farming even if they don’t have manufacturing.”

“Bracca and Kuat are fine enough for that,” Daria grumbles, shuffling closer to them .

“ Among other places,” Para says, poking her in the side. “Now, what are we doing besides complaining?”

“We need to make sure it will be safe returning home. A few of the people we’ve been in correspondence with during blackout lifts have noted that there have been Naval manoeuvrers coming closer and closer to Mandalorian space. They’ve been happy enough to set things up to tell them to kark off,” she says, changing the subject, “but we don’t want to cross their paths on the way in. At best, they’d try to kill us. At worst they’d complain about not being allowed closer.”

Tono snorts. “You know, I think they’d think of it the other way.”

“Ah,” Para says, waving a finger at him, “but we’re allowed to kill them for the first. Trying to kill them for complaining is considered rude.”

“Alas,” Kalan sighs, slumping against the wall

“Alas,” the other lieutenants agree.

Ursa smiles and shakes her head. “You’re all so young.”

“You’re not that much older than we are,” Para points out, curling up further into their chair. “And don’t use Tristan and Sabine as an excuse.”

Ursa holds up her hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. You’re just all weird.”

They all pepper her with crumbled up flimsi balls.

The youngest barrister tempts Para with a game of cu’bikad while they all talk, a few days before the final testimony.

“So how do you think the closing events will go?” Para asks the trio as the board starts up.

“I think that there will be many promises of cooperation and getting everything done, lots of lip service,” the middle barrister observes. “You know, the usual diplomat stock phrases.”

“They’re going to try for a bit more leeway in what we’ve asked and what we’ve set up,” the youngest says, sliding a knife rather close to one of Para’s hearts. Para doesn’t even flinch, instead sliding a knife directly across but will away from one of hers.

“ That’s no surprise,” the eldest says. “We’ve given on just enough that they think it’s worth it. Not everyone has caught on what we’re giving in on and what we are remaining solid on. After all, there have been things that they are obviously going to try to exploit with the clones.”

“Not realizing we know,” Para considers, parrying one of the youngest barrister’s knives that is well away from either their hearts. “Or thinking we won’t be able to counter it.”

“But we can, we wouldn’t have agreed if we couldn’t.” The middle barrister sighs. “They’re too used to getting what they want, Mand’alor. Have they realized how badly they’re losing, do you think? Or do they simply so up their own shebs—.”

“Kiidaran,” the eldest barrister says sharply.

He flinches. “I have a point though,” he mumbles.

“I think some of them realize they’re losing,” Para says. They slide a knife directly into one of the youngest’s hearts. “Why else would they be courting Mandalorian interference, when they have worked so hard to keep us out of the war until now.”

The youngest winces as the blade goes through and her counter goes down to half. “Because they think they can blackmail us?” she offers, going back to where Para had parried earlier.

“Maybe, but they wouldn’t consider it now unless they were past the point of being able to shove us to the side and ignore what we want,” the eldest explains. She taps a finger against her chair. “It’s not just that they want to try and work around the clones, though. I think it’s something else.”

Para sighs and slides their knife into the youngest barrister’s final heart. “Probably.”

“But at this point, they can’t actually act against you here. They’ve let too much happen, so it would have to be very good blackmail,” the middle barrister says.

“Or something they think would convince you that it’s worth our while,” the youngest says.

“Does anything like that exist?” the middle barrister asks.

“No,” the eldest says, sharp eyes on Para and a smile twitching on her lips. “But I think there certainly are things that exist that they think would.”

Para chews on their bottom lip. “Palpatine is going to want to have tea with me.”

“He’s not going to want anyone else there,” the eldest replies. “So he’ll come without and make a point of it. But if anything happens to you while you two are alone, he’s at risk of all of our ire. He won’t harm you.”

Para sighs. “I hate this man.” For a moment, their nails glow and they cannot feel their heart beat.

“Oh, my dear Mand’alor, I believe we all do at this point,” the eldest says, patting their hand. “No more playing games with these fools.”

“No,” they agree. “No more playing games.”

“Your Grace, if we accept your suit and recognize your claims of the clones having Mandalorian citizenship,” today’s staffer, different than both of the ones before. An umbaran woman, this time. “You understand you would be taking our way to defend ourselves.”

Para blinks blandly at the woman. “For one, if you are relying on an army of slaves to defend yourselves then perhaps you have a problem. For another, as I have clearly stated time after time, the clones are free to continue to fight for the Republic if they wish and they are treated like any mercenary army would be treated by the Republic. Full rights, full pay. I have maintained that from the moment we put our suit forward. They are Mandalorians. They will always be willing to fight, for the right price. The issue entirely here is the treatment of those who should, functionally, be contractors to your Republic.”

The woman narrows her eyes back. “And what are the rates you believe we should be paying them.”

Para smiles genially and names the rate that Parliament agreed on. The same rate that Jaster and then Jango had used, of course, but adjusted for inflation just as it would have been if either man was still leading a mercenary company.

The umbaran woman pales further in rage. “That is extortion.”

“That is business,” Para replies. “My father and grandfather used the same rates for people far less desperate than you imply you are. Of course they would look extortionate when you have gotten this far by abusing your power over the clones to have them fight for free.”

“We paid for their creation and their training,” she retorts.

“They never asked you to,” Para purrs. “And despite the fact that your government signed off on it, those that did were breaking a number of their own laws to do so. But more than that, you hired Mandalorians. You wanted Mandalorians warriors. You simply do not want to pay our price tag. Unfortunately for you, you cannot eat your cake and have it too. Next time the Republic decides to defy their own laws and people for the sake of imperialism, I suggest you clone someone who is not part of a group of people with honour.”

The woman trembles with anger in front of her.

“The clones can fight for the Republic under standard mercenary rates, if they wish to continue to do so in those changed circumstances,” they repeat themself, sitting back in their chair. “Any further lines of questioning?”

There’s a slight tightening around their throat, just a moment, but it’s cut off shortly and the umbaran woman throws a betrayed look at Palpatine.

Sloppy.

“No,” the woman finally grits out. “That is all.”

Para is wearing shining, shimmering gold. From the fabric to the jewellery, it’s all gold, with green and blue gems dotting the surface and a red one on their circlet. It’s not something they’d usually wear, but it had been packed for if they needed to make a statement. Had they not been so sure this would happen, they would have worn it while giving their final testimony. Instead they wrote green and blue with red and gold jewellery.

So why wear it on the rest day before they all go home tomorrow?

Because it mirrors their feelings well, set across from Palpatine’s Sith red.

They sit over tea, outside under the approaching twilight of the day. So far it has been pleasantries, Palpatine feeling out her positions one head of government to another. But as the star’s setting light turns the horizon bloody, he finally opens the game.

“Why is it that you are trying so hard to befriend the Jedi?” he asks. “They have only brought your family pain.”

They slide their gaze up from over their teacup. “Whatever do you mean, Chancellor?”

“Mace Windu killed your father. The Jedi massacred your people on Galidraan. They lead your family to their deaths. The only times they have touched your people have been to hurt them.”

They make a show of considering that. “The work for the Republic. If they also worked for Mandalore, they could make our worlds better.”

“Do they really make the Republic better, though, my dear? This war started in spite of them. Considering Dooku’s former allegiance to them, it could be said it started because of them. All of these planets who trusted them and yet they were betrayed by them. They were ignored, their horrible governments were backed. All for centuries. The Jedi exist to benefit those in power, and the Republic is corrupt. We need something new, in the galaxy, and the Jedi will prevent it.”

They hum. “You have been Chancellor for nearly thirteen years. You were a senator far before that.”

“And I have done my best to shape the galaxy into something great. But my progress has been hampered. As, perhaps, an Emperor I would finally have the power to make things great again.”

“Why not work with the Jedi, then?” they ask. “They have their connections to the Force, they have diplomatic training and they are tied closely to the Republic thanks to the Ruusaan Reformation. Controlled by them, even. So why give that up?”

“They have proven themselves indebted to ideals that hamper progress.”

“Such as?”

Palpatine’s gaze skitters, insect-like, over their gown and their skin. “They keep knowledge from others, they turn blind eyes to their corruption. It took your intervention to alert them to Anakin Skywalker’s darkness.”

“Why put them at the head of a war, then, Chancellor?” they ask. “If you are so sure of this?”

He waves his hand, as if trying to shoo away concern. “I might as well make some use of them. It’s not like they could say no. What would they have done? Coruscant would have turned on them even faster than they already are, would have woken up to their hypocrisy faster. And the Jedi would be gone and we would still be at war.”

“When did you first hate the Jedi?” they ask him.

He startles, just slightly. A twitch around his eyes. “Oh, I was a child when I discovered their duplicitous nature.”

“How did they fail you?” they ask.

His mouth twists. “I wanted knowledge. Like anyone. Like any Force sensitive.”

“And they kept it from you.”

“I was not a Jedi. It was not for me to know, they said. And they said the same thing to my teacher, to my teacher’s teacher.”

“If you had teachers, why would you want the Jedi’s knowledge?” they ask.

“They destroyed the Sith, and stole that knowledge of theirs that remained in existence, what other knowledge is there?” he replies.

There’s a thrum, deep inside them where their heart is. “There is always other knowledge.”

“But in the end,” Palpatine declares, “it is useless compared to the Jedi and the Sith. You would understand that if you let me show you. Other knowledge, other power. You are powerful in your own right, but you are untempered.”

For a brief moment, they see a glimpse of Jango behind Palpatine’s back. He pauses, as if he was walking past them and heard something interesting or concerning. Slowly, he moves his attention from ahead of him to the back of Palpatine’s head.

“Untempered?” they ask. Perhaps, with their constant need for adjustments to how they interact with the world and the Force.

“I could teach you,” he tells them. “You would be a proper weapon, to defend your people.”

“And what would I have to give up?” they challenge him, setting down their tea cup.

He smiles and his attention skitters like an insect up their gown and their skin. “Nothing. That is the way of the Sith. You would rule the galaxy by my side and I would make you into the sharpest blade in existence. No one would hurt you or your people ever again.”

Maybe.

If they wanted power. If they weren’t secure in their place on Mandalore. If they didn’t know Jocasta. If they didn’t have Mij and Seventeen and Fordo, and Kix and Paz. If they didn’t have Jo’ba or Sati’bu. If they didn’t have their ancestors whispering advice in their ear. If Palpatine and his line of Sith hadn’t killed Jaster, hadn’t torn Mandalore apart, hadn’t massacred their people and sold Jango into slavery, hadn’t cloned him to make weapons.

Maybe.

If Pre Vizsla hadn’t already done all of this, without the addition of tempting them with the Force, or tempting them with a choice.

“My apologies, Chancellor,” they say softly. “But I cannot.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, but there are boot falls coming this way. More than one set.

“I simply have been here before,” they say, “so nothing you say can tempt me.”

Jo’ba and Shawoor come around the building, the lieutenants behind them. They are all in beskar’gam, all holding themselves to defend Para if they need to. They come to a stop just an arm’s reach from the two leaders.

“Mand’alor,” Shawoor says, ignoring Palpatine. “I understand you must have lost tract of time, but it is time for you to retire for the evening. It is best you are well rested for our trip back. I wouldn’t like to have to tell your husband that I let you get away with threatening your own health further. I do believe he would figure out how to kill me.”

A moment of understanding and frustration shows on Palpatine’s face—something he missed, something he attempted to replace because he didn’t know it existed and bungled his whole argument with.

That’s not it, by halves, but it is part of it, they’d admit.

“Of course,” they say, standing as gracefully as they can. Their legs are shaking, fear they didn’t let themself feel. They reach out and Jo’ba takes them by the arm.

For a moment, the entire small party’s attention is on Palpatine.

Then Jo’ba grips the hilt of the beskad on his other hip, and Daria and Tono unholster their blasters, and then they all walk, as one, back around to the entrance to the building.

Daria and Tono stop at the entrance to their rooms, Kalan and Ashiba at the entrance to their bedroom, and Shawoor and Jo’ba escort them inside. Jo’ba leans heavily against the windowsill and Shawoor begins to take Para’s jewellery off of them, setting it all in the travelling case that is nearly packed full for leaving. When that is done, they unlace the dress, letting the heavy golden fabric drop to their feet in a puddle of finished vengeance.

They stand there for a long moment in just their corset and shift and underwear. They know Shawoor is working their laces loose, but it feels like there’s nothing.

“Jango found us,” Jo’ba says. “He said you needed us to come get you.”

They shut their eyes. “Vor entye.”

To: [email protected]
From: kaliki kryze @duchy.mand
Subject: Arrival Plans

Su cuy gar, Par’bu,

I’ve missed you. I know that you’re likely on your way home now and at least I can be relieved I haven’t disappointed you. Preparations have been made for your return and I promise that Mij’bu held me back from being too terrible. I figured you’d had a rough time, anyway, though the buire all refused to let us know if they knew anything about your health.

I just had a feeling.

The Republic is in a tizzy. Their media centers have all announced findings that Palpatine was funding the Confederacy and that he might have been feeding them information too. His popularity is at an all time low, there’s been a vote of no confidence he lost, and it sounds like they’ll be arresting him upon his return to Coruscant. Possibly also anyone who was close with him and his doings.

But let’s be real, that’s not what you care about. I’ve attached notes.

Boba: Finally, you’re coming home! I can’t wait to show you what I’ve been working on! And! I convinced Nala Se she should come along with whoever the Kaminiise send! I know you never really liked her, but she’s the one who always let me have the books on genetics and everything. I want to talk to her about if there could be some crossover learning between the Kaminiise and us? Do you think that would be okay? Hurry up and get home. – Boba

Omega: I missed you so much. I’m glad you’re going to be back soon. Arla and I are still working in her garden, but the mechanics think I need some people who are better than them to continue learning with. Not that they’ve told me to go away! They still help a lot when I’m building stuff. I promise it’s not too destructive! I only singed my hair. None of Boba’s this time. – Omega

Paz: Bu’s coming home! Bu’s coming home! Bu’s coming home! I was scared you weren’t ever going to come back. Mij’bu and Ven’ti’bu and For’bu all said you would, but...I thought maybe you’d like it better if if you didn't have to take care of me, like Pre and Bo did. I don’t know, I was scared and you weren’t here. I thought it was all going to go bad again. But it’s not! Right? Kix says I’m right, but I think you know more than him. So is it? – Paz

Paz is having a tough time, but I think we’ll all feel better with you home.

I know I will.

The buire all send their love and promise they’ll be right there when you get home.

Ret’urcye mhi,

Kiki