Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Twelve was not a good year for Obi-Wan. It started out well, the knowledge that soon he would be a padawan instead of an initiate, but as the year dragged on, his doubts and fears grew until he was expelled for an unsanctioned fight and sent to the AgriCorps.

He knew thirteen wouldn’t be a good year, because he turned thirteen with a slave collar around his neck and electric burns scarring his skin. Even stopping Xanatos and freeing his fellow slaves didn’t give him hope, because he had learned to be cautious. Master Jinn took Obi-Wan as a padawan, out of guilt or obligation, and Obi-Wan was too desperate to realize it.

Thirteen was slavery and it was a master who didn’t want him and then it was Melida/Daan and the strength to walk away from the life he had always wanted and to instead fight for those who needed help.

Obi-Wan doesn’t hold out much hope for fourteen. His life day present is a blast that sends him hurtling through the air. He doesn’t get his bearings in time to use the Force, and so he slams hard into the ground. His shoulders take the brunt of the impact, but it jars his neck and his head, and he knows he’ll be stiff for days.

Obi-Wan rolls to his feet to avoid a rain of blaster fire. His muscles scream at him for the movement, but he pushes the pain and distraction into the Force. He doesn’t have his lightsaber, that was taken by Master Jinn, returned to the Temple with Master Tahl and Obi-Wan’s stubbly padawan braid.

Answering blaster fire gives Obi-Wan cover to sprint behind a makeshift bunker. He drops down next to Nield. Obi-Wan’s breathing heavily. His left sleeve is torn, along with his skin, a nasty rash that will sting when he cleans the dirt out of the scrape. Blood trickles down his forehead.

“Here.” Nield hands Obi-Wan a blaster.

The weapon, which once felt unfamiliar in Obi-Wan’s grip is now a comfort. Obi-Wan gathers his strength. He senses the upcoming lull, the moment when the enemy has to pause and reassess.

He waits, waits, and then stands, already pulling the trigger. The Force tells him when he makes a hit. When a person dies, they flare brightly in the Force, an attempt to cling to life or maybe that’s their soul being absorbed back into the Force. Either way, the spark and then the cool silence is jarring.

This also was once unfamiliar. But Obi-Wan grows used to it as well.

#

“There are people here,” Nield says.

Obi-Wan wants to protest. He wants to close his eyes and block everything out so he can sleep. The smell of the sewers doesn’t bother him, not when he reeks with sweat and body odor and blood. Not when blaster discharge clings to everything.

The Young had a victory yesterday. They claimed a supply depot, and there were much needed ration packs and blankets inside it. Just as needed were new weapons. Obi-Wan now has a long-range sniper rifle to learn to use. He wonders if it’ll hurt less to kill someone if he’s farther away from them when they die.

“What kind of people?” Cerasi asks.

“They’re in metal suits,” Nield says. He frowns. “Maybe they’re droids.”

“Who do they fight for?” Cerasi asks.

“I don’t know,” Nield says. “Their ship landed near the settlement. Mawat sent the warning.”

Shit, Obi-Wan thinks. Their settlement is the most important thing they have. More important than their own supply stashes. More important than rations or blankets or even fresh water. The settlement is where the youngest of the Young are. It’s their safe haven.

If it’s been found…

“No strike on the Daan,” Obi-Wan says. His voice is rough and scratchy. He inhaled too much smoke when the thermal detonator when off. There isn’t any tea to soothe the pain.

They had plans for another raid, to catch the Daan while they were on the back foot and maybe even get some heavy weaponry, but that plan is gone now.

Nield nods, agreeing, but his jaw is clenched as if he also doesn’t want to give up this opportunity. “We draw all our forces back and save the settlement.”

The Force whispers its approval. Obi-Wan cocks his head curious. The Force doesn’t speak to him much anymore. Or maybe, he tries not to listen. The Force hurts here on Melida/Daan. But it likes this plan.

“Did they come on ships?” Obi-Wan asks.

“One ship,” Nield answers. “It’s an AIAT/i transport. But it isn’t a passenger vessel.” Nield’s smile is grim. “Lots of weapons.”

“Let’s prepare a scout team and then plan,” Obi-Wan says. Maybe this is what the Force wants. A starship could change things.

#

Obi-Wan sets up on a high ridge. Through the scope of his rifle, he can see the transport. He can also see the nine armored potential combatants. Nine is a lot, especially if they have armor. Especially with all the weapons he can see them carrying.

These people are more dangerous than the Elders. Which only makes it more important that Obi-Wan and his team have a successful strike. One of the figures has a red cape. Obi-Wan already starts thinking about how he can use the cape to his advantage. It’s long. Obi-Wan could use the Force to wrap it around the enemy’s visor and reduce their visibility.

“Hold position,” Nield says over comms. “Mawat’s scouts say they split up as night approaches. A group to hunt, a group to scout, and a group to watch their camp.”

“They split into groups of three?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Yes,” Nield confirms.

“We focus our firepower on the three at the ship,” Obi-Wan says. “We overwhelm them and then steal the ship. By the time the other six realize something’s wrong, we’ll be in the air and have their weapons.”

“They’ll be tough opponents even if there’s only three of them,” Nield says.

Obi-Wan knows. But the leader, the one in the red cape, isn’t the only foolish one in the group. Most of them have capes. “I can disorient them,” Obi-Wan says. “We can cause enough confusion that Mira can slip onto the ship. Her mother worked in the shipyard. I bet she can figure out how to fly it.”

Nield knows Obi-Wan’s a good warrior. He doesn’t question if Obi-Wan can do what he says. And he doesn’t point out that they might lose everyone but Mira in this attack. He and Obi-Wan both know it would be worth it. The weapons on the ship are invaluable. But a transport…they could go to a different part of the planet. They could even leave.

“We wait for them to split,” Nield says. “I’ll tell the others.”

Obi-Wan settles in to wait. He keeps watch on the group through his scope.

#

“Now!” Nield orders.

There are only three figures at the ship, and the Force is with Obi-Wan because they all have capes. It’s easy to stir the wind, and even easier to use it to wrap the capes around the warrior’s helmets.

The three warriors immediately try to pull the fabric away. Aware they’re under attack, two of them draw a blaster, prepared to fire even as they use their free hand to try and clear their vision.

Obi-Wan keeps the wind blowing as he lines up his first shot. The warriors are armored, but all armor has gaps. Obi-Wan breathes in. He breathes out. He fires.

Obi-Wan can hear the shout from his perch as his bolt hits home. One of the warriors drops their blaster as Obi-Wan hits them in the elbow, where there’s a gap for mobility. One of the other warriors aims their blaster at Obi-Wan’s position as if they knew where the shot came from.

Obi-Wan rolls out of the way of enemy fire.

The Force roils with chaos and confusion as the Young concentrate their own fire. Obi-Wan looks through his scope again, but it isn’t to shoot this time. He directs blaster fire away from Mira as she sneaks into the camp. She slips onto the ship.

Obi-Wan breathes a sigh of relief and then lines up his next shot. This one hits a shoulder pauldron as the warrior moves. The bolt deflects off the metal, and Obi-Wan’s stomach sinks. This is high end armor.

He prays to the Force and all the old gods and anyone else who is listening that Mara will be able to get the ship off the ground and get away safely.

He hears the jetpack and twists to see one of the warriors descending on his position. Obi-Wan’s rifle is no use at close range. He drops the rifle and pulls his blaster. He fires four times, but he was caught off guard, and the Force slips through his grasp, abandoning him when he needs it the most. His shots hit armor and do no damage.

“Alor, the sniper’s a kid,” the warrior says as they land on the ground. Their voice is deep, even through the helmet’s vocorder.

Obi-Wan scrambles to his feet. His blaster isn’t doing much good, but he has a knife. He draws it as he holsters his blaster.

“Aw, he’s a Kal’ika,” the warrior says. And then the warrior raises their hands in what might be a gesture of peace. “Hey, kid, do you speak Basic?”

Obi-Wan debates answering. But this is one of the scouting warriors, and he can’t allow the warrior to return to the ship. He needs to stall. “I do,” Obi-Wan says.

Obi-Wan’s comm crackles. “They’re blaster proof!” Cerasi warns. “Everyone fall back.”

“How many of you are there?” the warrior asks.

Obi-Wan’s smile is half-feral, and he can feel the warrior’s tinge of fear, even though it’s muted. “More than you and your friends can handle.” Obi-Wan studies the warrior, noting all the places their armor doesn’t cover.

“We’re not here to fight you,” the warrior says. They take the two blasters from their holsters and place them on the ground.

“I’m a kid, but I’m not stupid,” Obi-Wan says. “You have projectiles in your vambraces. And if your armor can deflect blaster bolts, it’s strong. You’re a walking weapon.”

“You’re not half-bad yourself,” the warrior says. “Why did you attack us?”

“You don’t belong here,” Obi-Wan says.

“Do you always shoot first?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t need this outsider’s judgement. He spits at the warrior’s feet. That appears to be a universal gesture, because the warrior doesn’t like it. That’s okay. Obi-Wan doesn’t need the warrior to like him. “It’s kill or be killed. Not all of us have shells to hide in.”

The warrior really doesn’t like that. They bristle in the Force, offended. They even reach for their belt, and Obi-Wan bets there’s some kind of blade hidden there. So much for disarming themselves in a show of peace.  

“MARA!”

Cerasi’s scream rings in Obi-Wan’s ears. It doesn’t come through the comms, it comes through the air, and Obi-Wan curses that his back is to the ship. He can’t look away from the warrior to confirm his worst suspicions.

Nield’s voice comes next, this time through the comms. “We have one of yours,” Nield says, his voice dark and dangerous. He always sounds older when he’s angry. “I’m willing to agree to a prisoner exchange.”

Mara’s alive, then. Obi-Wan allows himself a moment of relief, but he can’t relax, still trapped in a stalemate with his warrior.

“We can discuss terms,” a new speaker says. Their voice comes through the warrior’s comm. “Are you the leader of your people?”

“Yes,” Nield answers.

Obi-Wan’s warrior looks Obi-Wan over. “Are we going down there as well? If this is a meeting between leaders, there will be food. You look like you need it.”

Obi-Wan adjusts his grip on his knife. “You don’t know anything about what I need.”

“Kid, we’re not here to hurt you,” the warrior promises.

“Your leader is holding a child hostage,” Obi-Wan says. “Your promises mean nothing.”

The warrior tilts their head as if they’re listening to something. And then, out loud, they say, “The sniper is proving to be stubborn, Alor.”

“Stand down, Obi-Wan,” Cerasi says, her voice clear through Obi-Wan’s comm. Obi-Wan wonders what kind of trick this is. Has she been captured as well? “Mara’s safe. They let her go. They say they don’t hurt kids, but they called us something else.”

“Ade,” Obi-Wan’s warrior says. “It’s children in our language.” After a moment of hesitation, the warrior removes their helmet. They’re human beneath it. “You’re a good shot, kid. You could put a bolt between my eyes if you wanted, but I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Who are you?” Obi-Wan demands.

“Dustin Beviin,” the warrior answers. “Come to our camp with me. You can meet the others. They’re all impressed with you. You’re a hell of a shot.”

“Obi-Wan,” Cerasi pleads. “They have a medic.”

Obi-Wan hasn’t been on Melida/Daan his entire life, this war isn’t his the way it is the others’. If Cerasi thinks they can trust these adults, then maybe they can. And if they can’t, Obi-Wan hasn’t revealed his secret yet.

“Fine,” Obi-Wan says.

“We can walk,” Dustin says. “Or, we can take the quick route.”

Obi-Wan glances at the jetpack, and he knows Dustin sees the way Obi-Wan’s eyes light up for a moment. Obi-Wan scowls to cover for the moment of weakness.

“I’ll have to hold you,” Dustin says. “I’ll have my hands full with you, and you’ll have your hands free for your weapons.”

“Fine,” Obi-Wan says again.

He takes Dustin’s blasters off the ground and dares the warrior to say anything. He doesn’t. And then Obi-Wan hesitantly steps into the man’s arms. A moment later, they’re airborne. The wind whips by them, and Obi-Wan smiles where Dustin can’t see it, because this is kind of cool.

But then they land on solid ground again, and Obi-Wan reacts before Dustin can. He grabs the man by his thick brown hair and then kicks the back of his knees as hard as he can. The warrior grunts as he goes to his knees, and Obi-Wan jerks his head back using the grip on his hair. Obi-Wan presses his knife to the man’s exposed throat.

Only then does Obi-Wan look at the assembled group. Cerasi and Nield have Mara with them. The other warriors, there are only seven of them, all tense. None of them reach for a weapon, even if a few of them twitch as if they want to.

The warrior with the red cape isn’t wearing his helmet anymore. His dark hair is cut short, and his eyes are kinder than Obi-Wan expected. He glances at Dustin and flutters his hand. Obi-Wan recognizes hand signs when he sees them.

Obi-Wan digs his blade into Dustin’s neck until he draws a drop of blood. “Stop that,” Obi-Wan orders. He looks at Red Cape’s hand in case he missed Obi-Wan’s meaning.

“I’m fine,” Dustin tells Red Cape. “And I’d be better if you didn’t set the kid off.”

Red Cape holds his hands out to show he isn’t holding a weapon. “My name is Jaster Mereel. We heard there was a war on this planet and there were children in danger, so we came to see for ourselves.”

“You’re here to help?” Obi-Wan asks. He glances at Nield to see if he believes this bantha shit.

“We are,” Jaster says. “And unlike your friend Mara, we know how to bypass the locks on our ship. She is very brave.” Jaster offers her a smile. “She told me she was commandeering my ship for the Young. Is that what you call yourselves?”

“Yes,” Cerasi answers. “We’re the Young. The fight on our planet began between the Melida and the Daan, but our faction was born out of the desire for something better.”

“And you’re all children?” Jaster asks.

“No one else cares about us,” Cerasi says. “We protect our own.”

One of the warriors still wearing all their armor curses and then kicks a crate twenty feet from camp. Obi-Wan’s glad he doesn’t startle at the display, because he could have accidently hurt Dustin. And then he decides they don’t need a hostage. These warriors are all upset, even if they aren’t all kicking things. They’re furious that there are children in danger.

Obi-Wan releases his hold on Dustin and takes a step back.

“Thanks, kid.” Dustin rubs his neck as he stands up. “Do you have a name?”

“You called me something before,” Obi-Wan says.

“Kal’ika?” Dustin grins. “Kal is Mando’a for knife. One of our commandos named himself Kal because he’s so good with them. Kal’ika is like little Kal. If you met Skirata, you two would get along.” Dustin’s smile stays open and easy. He flicks his wrist and a knife slides out of his vambrace and into his hand.

“Neat trick,” Obi-Wan says. And then, because the warriors are all looking at him expectantly, he says, “My name is Obi-Wan.”

He doesn’t expect the wave of grief-anger-fury that comes from the warriors. Neither does he expect Jaster to close his eyes briefly and then ask, “Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

“How do you know my name?” Obi-Wan demands. He shouldn’t have let Dustin go. The Force tricked him, made him think he was safe, but they aren’t safe. Are these slavers? Is Xanatos still hunting him?

“Peace,” Jaster says. “We didn’t mean to alarm you. Your name is Stewjoni in origin.”

“How do you know my name?” Obi-Wan repeats.

“Because the only name that accompanies Obi-Wan is Kenobi.” A different warrior answers. This one is humanoid and male, but his skin is blue, the same shade as the accents on his armor.

“I don’t understand,” Obi-Wan says.

“Myles,” Jaster says softly, and the blue-skinned man steps back, deferring to Jaster. Jaster looks at Obi-Wan with compassion in his eyes. “Obi-Wan Kenobi roughly translates to Child of No Clan.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says. It doesn’t surprise him. He knows his parents didn’t want him, he was dumped on the Jedi, lucky he was told, because Stewjon often drowned Force sensitive children. And then the Jedi didn’t want him either. Obi-Wan Kenobi. His name is a warning. Unwanted. Stay away.

“How did you end up on Melida/Daan?” Jaster asks.

Obi-Wan laughs. It’s harsh and bitter, like shattering glass. “You already know. I was left here. Child of No Clan.” He repeats Jaster’s prior words in a mocking tone. It doesn’t make him feel any better when Jaster winces. He didn’t push any of his hurt on Jaster. Now, they both hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says. Shame fills him and he hangs his head. “That was rude.”

Myles laughs, and it’s lighter than Obi-Wan’s laughter, a pleasant rumble. “You’ll apologize for your words but not your actions?” He looks over at Dustin who scowls and rubs his neck again.

“I apologized for giving offense when only information and understanding was offered,” Obi-Wan says, finding his calm. “I will not apologize for defending myself or my people against a threat.”

“Well spoken,” Jaster says. “I’ll introduce my people and then we can discuss how to end your war and also returning Laurent to us.” Jaster points to his warriors as he introduces them. “Mij Gilamar, Dustin Beviin, Myles Itera, Dysari Ordo, Walon Vau, Rav Bralor, and Soxo Gedyc. Currently with your other scouts is Laurent Rodarch.”

“Where are you from?” Cersai asks.

“Concord Dawn,” Jaster answers.

It sounds familiar, but Obi-Wan can’t place it. “I thought the Republic didn’t want to help Melida/Daan.”

Myles snorts and Dustin makes a rude gesture.

It’s Jaster who answers. “We aren’t part of the Republic. Concord Dawn is in the Mandalore system.”

Obi-Wan takes a step back. Around him, the air vibrates, stones and sand rising from the ground. He’s heard of Mandalore and Mandalorians. He was stupid if he didn’t put it together before. Armor, weapons, fierce fighters. Ancient enemy of the Jedi.

Shit. Obi-Wan goes perfectly still. Around him, the planet stills as well. The dirt and rocks fall back against the surface. The wind doesn’t dare to blow. Obi-Wan takes a step back. He studies the eight Mandalorians and knows he won’t be able to escape them all.

“It’s okay,” Jaster says. “You have the Ka’ra, but you’re a child. You aren’t our enemy. Have you been using your powers to help the Young?”

Obi-Wan nods.

“The wind,” Jaster realizes. He smiles as if to try and put Obi-Wan at ease. “That was you, with our capes? You’ve very clever.”

“The Young need help,” Obi-Wan says. “It’s why I’m here.”

“It’s why we’re here as well,” Jaster tells him. “Would you be willing to enter into an alliance with us?”

Obi-Wan glances at Cerasi and Nield.

“I will negotiate with them in turn,” Jaster says.

He thinks Obi-Wan’s important enough to negotiate with individually? Is it because Obi-Wan doesn’t belong? He isn’t part of the Young so he’s his own entity? Or does Jaster think Obi-Wan’s more powerful than he is? Will Jaster be disappointed when he realizes Obi-Wan isn’t a fully trained Jedi? How long until he realizes Obi-Wan doesn’t have a lightsaber? Will Obi-Wan become a hostage instead of an ally then? Obi-Wan will have to remain on his guard.

“Very well, then,” Obi-Wan says. “When would you like to begin?”

Jaster smiles again. He smiles a lot. More than Obi-Wan would expect for a Jedi-killing Mandalorian. “Food first,” Jaster says. “And Mij has been very patient, but he would like to look each of you over. He is our medic. Baar’ur in our language.”

“I don’t need a medic,” Obi-Wan says. If Mij looks him over, he’ll realize how weak Obi-Wan is after months of poor sleep and lack of food.

“Do you heal yourself with the Ka’ra?” Jaster asks.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan answers immediately.

Mij, a human male who is kneeling at Mara’s side and checking her over for injuries, narrows his eyes at Obi-Wan. “That’s a lie. You shouldn’t lie to the medic. Or hide from them.”

“There are others who need you more,” Obi-Wan says. “Like Soxo.” Obi-Wan points to the warrior he had shot when he was back on his perch. Maybe it isn’t a good idea to remind them he’s a threat, but Obi-Wan doesn’t like how they’ve decided to treat him like a child. He’s a general in the army of the Young. He has been a slave and he has been a padawan and now he’s a soldier.

“We all have field training,” Jaster says. “If your concern is for others, may I look you over? And then only if it’s something I can’t treat, we can ask for Mij’s opinion?”

“Let them, Obi,” Cerasi tells him. “They’re here to help. You’re the one who said not all Elders are bad.”

Obi-Wan told her that when he and Master Jinn landed on the planet. And then he was made a liar when Master Jinn used the Young to find Master Tahl and then left. That Cerasi still has hope, after all the evidence to the contrary, it’s enough for Obi-Wan to give Jaster a tiny nod.

“How old are you?” Jaster asks as he moves to where Obi-Wan stands at the edge of camp.

Obi-Wan watches him warily and doesn’t answer.

“I have a son who is fourteen and a daughter who is seventeen,” Jaster says, as if he doesn’t mind Obi-Wan’s silence. “Will you remove your outer layer?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t want to, but Cerasi gives him an imploring look, so he shrugs out of his tunic, leaving him in shorts and a cut off shirt that show too much skin and too many injuries. Jaster’s emotions flare in the Force, but none of them show on his face.

“Thank you,” Jaster says. He looks at the abrasion that covers most of Obi-Wan’s left arm. It’s red and pebbled where his skin heals and recovers from the blast from last week. “My son’s name is Jango. And my daughter’s name is Arla. They each command their own squad of commandos.”

“At fourteen?” Obi-Wan asks. Jaster looks around the small camp, and Obi-Wan glares. “It isn’t the same thing. We don’t have a choice. You have all of them.” Obi-Wan gestures to the Mandalorians. He uses his right hand which calls attention to the long cut on his arm. It’s stitched together and healing, but the edges of the wound are crusted yellow.

“He isn’t alone,” Jaster says. “He leads a squad, yes, but he has trusted commandos to help him become a better leader and a better fighter.” Jaster’s hands are gentle as they hold Obi-Wan’s wrist and elbow so he can examine the wound.

“It isn’t infected,” Obi-Wan says.

“I’m glad. I would like to put some salve on it and wrap it to speed up the healing. May I?”

Obi-Wan nods.

Jaster opens his medpack and tends to Obi-Wan’s wound. He keeps up a steady chatter as he works through the rest of Obi-Wan’s scrapes and bruises. Obi-Wan learns that Jaster Mereel used to be a Journeyman Protector which is kind of like judicial before he became a Mandalorian. Jango and Arla were adopted a few years ago, and Obi-Wan finds himself jealous at how warmly Jaster speaks of the children he chose.

Jealousy is unbecoming of a Jedi, Obi-Wan reminds himself. But he isn’t a Jedi anymore, is he?

“Wait,” Obi-Wan says, as a new thought comes to him. “Dustin called someone Alor. Is that a nickname for Rav Bralor?” Or is there another Mandalorian unaccounted for?

“Alor is short for Mand’alor,” Jaster explains. “It’s my title.”

Jaster had been putting salve on one of Obi-Wan’s deep bruises, the one on his thigh that twinges every time Obi-Wan sits down or stands up. But when Obi-Wan tenses, Jaster removes his hands and rests them on his thighs.

“Have you heard of the Mand’alor?” Jaster asks.

Obi-Wan nods.

“One of the others can finish helping you if I make you nervous,” Jaster says.

“You’re the Mand’alor,” Obi-Wan says. “They all listen to you.”

“As long as my orders bring them no dishonor,” Jaster says. “And there is nothing more dishonorable than harming a child.”

“You’re the leader,” Obi-Wan says, struggling to convey his point. “Of all the Mandalorians. Why are you here? Why are you helping me?”

“Because a leader should be willing to do anything he asks his followers to do,” Jaster answers. “A leader should be an example for his people to follow. Because there is no greater calling for a Mandalorian than to protect children. This is the way.”

“This is the way,” the other Mandalorians echo.

Obi-Wan isn’t sure what to make of these people and their words, but the Force doesn’t warn him of any danger, and they don’t seem like they’re lying. It isn’t the Force that makes Obi-Wan cautious, it’s experience.

Chapter Text

After a long meal and even longer preliminary negotiations, the Young scatter to their hideouts. Jaster wants to offer them the bunks on The Protector, but he knows they won’t accept and even the offer could damage the tentative trust he’s building.

He heard rumors of a war on Melida/Daan, a few snide comments in cantinas about how it was surprising no Mandalorians had tried to recruit the population given that they’d been at war for decades. It was Myles who asked the important question, if war had gone on for so long, then what about the children?

And now they have their answer.

Per his agreement with Nield and Cerasi, the self-appointed leaders of the Young, he’s allowed a check-in with Laurent. Laurent is unhurt aside from his pride. He may not eat well tonight, he may refuse entirely to keep from being a burden to his captors, but he’ll be back with Jaster tomorrow when the Young return to plan their joint offensive.

For now, it’s Jaster and most of his team, free to talk in Mando’a, now that they don’t have guests who don’t understand the language.

“A jet’ika?” Soxo asks. She’s a zabrak female with the cranial horns which mark her as being from Iridonia, not Dathomir. She rubs her bandaged arm and scowls. “I should be glad he had a blaster and not a jetii’kad or one of us might have a more serious injury.”

“He saw people who needed help, and he offered it despite the cost to himself,” Jaster says.

“No,” Myles says mildly. “You aren’t allowed to adopt him.”

“He isn’t a jetii,” Jaster says. “If he was, there would a second one.”

“I don’t care about that,” Myles says. “We have plenty Ka’ra blessed Mandalorians. But you have two children already. Let the rest of us have a chance.”

Rav shakes her head as she laughs. Her long red braids swing as she moves. “Maybe I’ll adopt him.” Her hair is a darker red, like blood when it rises to the surface of a wound. Jaster frowns, even though he knows she’s joking. Rav is one of their best trackers, and she can hunt any quarry with infinite patience, but she isn’t one for glory or attention. And a Ka’ra blessed child would bring a lot of attention.

“Maybe I should get first dibs,” Dustin says. “I am the one who found him.”

“And then he held you as a hostage,” Dysari says. Dysari, a cathar female, has the fur and mane her people are known for. Her fur is a light brown with a bit of gold sprinkled in. Her armor is stacked neatly on her bunk as she grooms herself.

Jaster goes from frowning to gritting his teeth as his squad debate which one of them would be the best parent to Obi-Wan. Jaster can’t get the image of the boy’s face out of his head when he learned what his name meant. It was sadness at first, but worse was the resignation that followed. The acceptance, as if he had heard confirmation of something he’d always suspected.

Jaster wants to give Obi-Wan a clan and a house, the best Mandalore has to offer so he’ll never look that gutted or alone again.

Around the same time Jaster realizes that he’s grinding his teeth audibly, Myles throws his head back and laughs. “You’re the Mand’alor, Jaster. No one will make an offer before you. You can unclench before you hurt something.”

“This situation is fucked,” Walon says. He’s been suspiciously quiet, but Jaster knows better than to think he doesn’t care.

There are few secrets between the Mand’alor and his trusted commandos. Jaster knows the scars on Walon’s skin, which ones have come after pledging himself to Jaster, the ones he got while searching for a place to call home, and the ones carved into him by his dar’buir. All Mandalorians value children, but Walon becomes especially protective when there are children in danger.

“We’re going to unfuck it,” Myles promises.

“We can’t wipe out all the Elders,” Soxo says. “The children are brave, and they’re survivors, but they can’t be responsible for their entire civilization.”

Melida/Daan is too far from the Mandalore system for Jaster to annex it, but there’s no reason he can’t install a protectorate of some sort.

“They’re tired of fighting,” Jaster says. “Sick of war. They want something different. Does it remind you of anyone?”

“Oh, fuck no,” Walon says.

“Exile the whole lot of them,” Dysari says. She makes a rude gesture. “Let Kryze spread peace and then choke on the tattered remains of his honor when children have to defend his peace.”

“Duke Kryze is Mandalorian enough to love his children,” Jaster says. It’s about the only thing he and the duke agree on. Well, that and Death Watch is the worst of the three factions vying for control of Mandalore. “We can’t exile the New Mandalorians, but we can alert them of children who need help. We’d leave some of ours here, too, for protection. But we can’t leave as many Haat Mando’ade as I’d want. Not with our forces needed to fight Death Watch on the home front.”

“Mand’alor the Negotiator,” Myles says lightly. And then he makes a show of stretching. “We should bunk down. Tomorrow will be the start of many long days.”

Jaster volunteers to take first watch. His thoughts aren’t quiet enough for him to find sleep yet.

#

The sun rises to welcome the new morning. This is something Jaster has seen thousands of times, but it never stops surprising him. The day he did the right thing and killed his fellow Journeyman Protector, the sun rose. The first morning he was an exile, the sun rose. Today, after learning about children forced to fight a war, the sun rises.

If Jaster was poetic, perhaps he’d see it as a sign that there is light and hope, no matter the horrors of the day before. But Jaster is practical. The sun rises, because the planet completed its rotation. And as the sun rises, so does Jaster, because there are things to do.

Myles is already awake, and he sits outside the ship. The solar stove is still set up from last night, and Myles has water already boiling. By the time Jaster sits next to him, helmet resting on his lap, Myles has a cup of shig for him.

“Thank you,” Jaster says. The heat from the drink warms his hands and he takes a moment to breathe in the steam. The familiar scent settles him, even before he takes his first sip.

“We’re going to make this right,” Myles says.

“We are.” But Jaster can’t help but think of home. The New Mandalorians don’t take up arms, but the Haat Mando’ade and Death Watch have been fighting for years now.

“We love our children,” Myles says as if he can read Jaster’s thoughts. Or, more likely, he simply knows him too well. “We protect them when they’re too young to fight and then we protect them by training them to defend themselves and their home. We don’t abandon them.”

“And we won’t fight an unending war,” Jaster says. Some days, it feels as though they will. It’s part of Death Watch’s tactics, small terrorist strikes meant to demoralize. “Once Mandalore is united, the children will have choice. They will know peace, and it will be up to them whether they defend that peace with weapons, with their mind, with a homestead and acres of farmland.”

“Mand’alor,” Myles murmurs, agreeing with him.

Not for the first time, Jaster wonders what he was thinking naming Montross as his second instead of Myles. He knows what he was thinking. Montross was on the more traditional side, and Jaster was hoping to court some of the warrior clans who saw Jaster’s changes as too much in the wrong direction.

It didn’t help. Instead of swaying any clans to the Haat Mando’ade, Montross’s importance in Jaster’s inner circle almost led to the destruction of the Haat Mando’ade. Montross ignored Jaster’s order to retreat on Korda VI and decided to fight a losing battle. And when Jaster risked his own life to save the disloyal di’kut, the man left Jaster to die in his place.

It was Jango who saved Jaster’s life and Arla who shot Montross from the sky when he tried to flee. Arla carries a scar from her fight with Montross. A thin pale line from her scalp to her cheek. She grinned when she saw it, proud to have a reminder of the fight. She told Jaster she needed a war wound to set her apart from the New Mandalorians. She had always been self-conscious about her blond hair and pale skin, so different from Jango and Jaster and the other Haat Mando’ade.

Jaster messaged both his children last night to tell them of the situation here. They both wanted to bring a full company each to aid him, but he talked them down. They can’t afford for all their forces to be on the wrong side of the galaxy. Jaster’s squad is more than enough to handle the situation.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, huh?” Myles asks. He drinks his own shig, big swallows because he doesn’t believe in savoring anything except top shelf whiskey. “I haven’t met one before.”

Because most children without a clan don’t last long in the galaxy. Jaster can’t help but wonder how Obi-Wan made it off Stewjon. Or maybe he had been born off-planet and his dar’buire left him behind when they realized he could access the Ka’ra.

“He won’t be a Kenobi for long,” Jaster says. He ignores the way Myles smirks into his cup. “Unless he stays here, I suppose.” Jaster doesn’t like the thought of leaving Obi-Wan behind when they leave. He already carries too much on his shoulders. Jaster wants to surround him with adults who will help him carry the burden.

“He has too much mandokar in him,” Myles says. “I talked with Dustin last night. He was nervous when it was only the two of them on the cliff. He said if Obi-Wan attacked him, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to subdue him without hurting him. Maybe Laurent will adopt him. He’s a little like a feral asharl panther.”

“I don’t want him to be tamed,” Jaster says with more bite than he intends. He sips his shig until he’s under control. “It’s clear the adults in his life have failed him. I want him to see that we’re better. I want him to trust us.”

“If anyone stands a chance at doing it, it’s you,” Myles says.

#

Jaster has been at planetary negotiations less fraught than this. From the dark circles under Obi-Wan’s eyes, Jaster isn’t sure he slept. Obi-Wan and the Young came prepared with a long list of intel and targets, and then refused to share any of it until Jaster read their list of demands and agreed to them.

They brought Laurent with them as well, and Laurent went straight for the caf as if he didn’t get much sleep last night either.

“I’d feel better if one of my commandoes led your squads,” Jaster says. There’s a headache building behind his eyes that no amount of shig or sleep will cure. 

“We won’t take orders from Elders,” Nield says. He crosses his arms over his chest, stubborn and abrasive in a way diplomats aren’t.

But this isn’t actually a treaty negotiation, Jaster reminds himself. Nield is a child soldier forged in the blaster-burned streets of his home city.

“You don’t know our styles,” Cerasi says, and her soft words are the balm to Nield’s sharp ones. “And we don’t know yours. It’s best to stay separate.”

“Your worry only proves their point,” Obi-Wan says before Jaster can do more than open his mouth. “You want a commando at the head of each squad to protect them. But that isn’t how we fight. And it isn’t how you fight either.”

“This is a war,” Nield says. “In war, soldiers sometimes die.”

Jaster wants to shout or grab these children by the shoulders and shake them. Yes, soldiers die in war, but children shouldn’t be soldiers. He presses his fingers to his forehead and takes a deep breath. “Will you agree to let us take point and draw the enemy fire?”

“Duh,” Nield says. “You’re blaster proof and we aren’t.”

Myles’s shoulders are shaking as he keeps himself from laughing out loud.

“Nield,” Obi-Wan says and it’s enough for the boy to lower his shoulders, but he doesn’t apologize.

Obi-Wan pulls up a holomap of Melida/Daan and then he begins marking it with known locations of the Melida and the Daan. Important targets have different colors depending on what they are. He talks the whole time, explaining what he’s doing, and it’s like any other debrief except the person giving it is a child.

They reach their next sticking point once they begin to assign teams to the various targets and Jaster learns that Obi-Wan is a one-person team.

“No one else can keep up with me,” Obi-Wan says, and it’s too matter of fact to be boasting.

“You use the Ka’ra when you fight,” Soxo says. “Do you have a jetii’kad?” At Obi-Wan’s blank look, she mimes wielding a sword and makes a whooshing sound.

“Oh, a lightsaber?” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “But I’m good with a blaster now, and I have the Force.”

“What can you do with the Force?” Myles asks and even though it’s an important question for an ally to ask, it’s also a dangerous one, and Jaster isn’t surprised when Obi-Wan gives him a non-answer.

“Through the Force, all things are possible,” Obi-Wan says.

And that—that does surprise Jaster. It sounds like a mantra, like a phrase oft repeated, which means Obi-Wan had probably been at one of the temples once. Jaster doesn’t know if the Coruscant Temple reaches this far out. He isn’t sure what other temples there are. But this is a potential hiccup in his plan to adopt Obi-Wan.

“Oh, yeah?” Myles challenges, but he’s grinning as he does it. “I know you can make the wind blow.”

Obi-Wan considers for a moment and then he backs up away from the main group. He holds his hands out and says, “Throw something at me.”

“What?” Myles asks.

“It doesn’t have to be a knife,” Obi-Wan says. “It can be a rock.”

Myles picks up a rock and then throws it. There’s enough space between him and Obi-Wan that Obi-Wan could easily dodge it. Instead of dodging it, though, Obi-Wan waves his hand, and it pushes the rock off its path, and it falls harmlessly to the ground.

“I can do that with blaster bolts,” Obi-Wan says. “But I assume you won’t test that.”

“No, Myles is not going to shoot at you,” Jaster says. He beckons Obi-Wan back to the group. “Where do you think you would be the greatest help?”

It’s difficult to ask, even though he suspects Obi-Wan is near Jango’s age, and he would have no problem asking for Jango’s assessment. But Jango, who was a boy when Jaster met him, had a farmer’s body, and he’s grown into it, filling out with muscle. Obi-Wan is slight and small, underfed, and Jaster knows the largest warrior in the room isn’t the most dangerous, but Obi-Wan looks too much like a child for Jaster to be entirely comfortable with this.

“Here,” Obi-Wan says pointing to a spot on the map. And then he explains why this is the best place for him and talks about the risks. Jaster does his best to listen patiently and attentively and focus on the plan instead of images of this boy broken and dead on the ground.

#

Jaster isn’t the only Mandalorian motivated by not seeing any harm come to the children. He and his squad set out on their assignments, and they’re brutally efficient. Or maybe it’s that these Melida and Daan, for all that they’ve only ever known war, aren’t any good at it.

Or, and this is Jaster’s dark thought, the one he has as he takes out mounted guns and stuns the enemy, the Melida and the Daan are only good at war when their opponents are children. It’s difficult for Jaster to control his rage. All the worst parts of him tell him to change the setting on his blaster back to kill. They tell him to use his fists and tear these dar’buire apart.

But he can’t.

He can, however, walk through the streets of the city and dare these pathetic excuses for sentients to shoot him. They do, even when their blaster bolts ricochet off his armor. And then they duck and hide when he shoots back.

Hut’uune. Cowards.

“Shit,” Rav says through their comms. “They’re using us as a distraction.”

“The Daan are targeting the Melida’s hospital,” Obi-Wan adds, and his voice is distant, detached, and Jaster is in the air, propelled by his jetpack before he’s even thinking.

Jaster has to dodge a thermal detonator. It explodes mid-air and then there’s another one. It takes him a moment to realize it’s Obi-Wan. He’s catching the grenades the Daan are throwing and flinging them into the air, so they do no damage when they go off.

But while he moves his arms like a conductor, directing the charges someplace safe, the Daan shift their force to target him. Jaster hits two before they can even raise their weapons. There are too many. Blaster fire is concentrated on Obi-Wan, but he uses one hand to direct the grenades and he uses his other to send the blaster bolts harmlessly into the ground.

Holy shit, kid, Jaster thinks.

The Daan pour out of their hiding places, at least twenty of them. Their projectiles are gone, but they still have blasters. Jaster calls for back-up over his comms.

“Why won’t you stop?” Obi-Wan demands, and there’s nothing detached in his voice anymore. He is grounded in anger, in a deep, aching pain that echoes in Jaster’s own chest. “What is wrong with you?” And then Obi-Wan throws his hands out and pulls.

Jaster’s surprised when his blaster is pulled right out of his hands. Exclamations of surprise and curses come from the Daan below as their weapons are ripped out of their grips and, like a magnet, Obi-Wan pulls the weapons to him. They clatter at his feet. Obi-Wan sways and then falls to his knees.

The Daan don’t have weapons, but they seem to realize their opponent overextended himself. They rush him, and Jaster dives, flamethrower raised. He doesn’t care how many of the Daan he blasts before they realize the danger and scramble backwards. He stands over Obi-Wan’s body and wards off the Daan with fire until his commandos pick them off.

As soon as he trusts his commandos have the situation well in hand, he turns off his flamethrower and kneels beside Obi-Wan. The boy is sprawled on the ground, and his face is too pale, all white, ashen skin, except for the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.

Obi-Wan coughs and more blood dribbles out. His blue eyes are hazy, but they try to focus on Jaster.

“I guess—” Obi-Wan’s interrupted by another cough. “I guess I couldn’t deflect them all.”

His hand falls limply to the ground, and Jaster swears in every language he knows at the blaster holes in Obi-Wan’s shirt. Because blaster holes in his shirt mean blaster holes in his body.

“You aren’t alone,” Jaster says. He grips Obi-Wan’s chin. “I’m here kid, and you’re not dying today.”

“The Force brought me here for a reason,” Obi-Wan says. He smiles, which Jaster is attributing to blood loss and not religious fanaticism.

Jaster doesn’t argue with the kid. He lifts him as gently as he can and then runs for the hospital Obi-Wan was prepared to die defending. The building is in lockdown, but the locks are no match for Jaster’s determination. He breaks into the healing ward and grabs the nearest droid.

“Save his life,” Jaster orders.

“I will do everything I can,” the droid promises. It tuts over the five blaster holes in Obi-Wan’s stomach. The first thing Jaster is doing once this is over is fitting the kid for armor.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan wakes up groggy, pain a dull ache in his head and a dull throbbing in his side. It’s perhaps a sign of the drugs in his system that his first words are, “They had bacta this whole time?” Because he knows that smell, thick and cloying and stopping up his nose.

How many Young could have lived with access to bacta? If Obi-Wan had known…no. He never would have made a hospital a target. He has vague memories of Jaster carrying him to the hospital.

“I told you he would live,” a mechanical voice says.

The droid barely gets out of the way before Jaster is at Obi-Wan’s side. His armor is scratched and scored, and there are streaks of dried blood on it, but the man himself looks unhurt. He clasps one of Obi-Wan’s hands in his large, calloused hands. He bends his head until he presses his forehead to Obi-Wan’s hand.

All he does is breathe raggedly, and it takes Obi-Wan a long time to realize that he’s scared. Obi-Wan scared the Mand’alor, the leader of the Mandalorians. It’s weird to think that the Mand’alor wasn’t scared of the Force or blaster bolts or taking on two entire armies with only nine Mandalorians and a handful of kids but that somehow Obi-Wan getting hurt scared him.

“You nearly died,” Jaster says, and he grips Obi-Wan’s hand tighter.

“Oh.” Obi-Wan should have a bigger reaction, probably. But his head is still pretty fuzzy. And then he realizes that he should have a more formal reaction. He tries to sit up, but Jaster stops him with a hand on his chest and an impressive glower. “I owe you a life debt.”

“You do not,” Jaster says.

Obi-Wan matches Jaster’s glower. “Here, before Jaster Mereel, Mand’alor, I swear to the Ka’ra and those watching that I owe him a life debt for saving me from certain death.”

“Fuck,” Myles says.

“Kid,” Jaster begins, but at Obi-Wan’s look, he sighs. “Accepted. What were you thinking? I was there, and I have armor.”

Obi-Wan tilts his head. First, Jaster is angry that Obi-Wan properly swore him a life debt and now he’s angry that Obi-Wan was willing to sacrifice himself for the good of others? All Obi-Wan has ever wanted to do is help people. He was going to do it by being a Jedi, but the Jedi didn’t want him. But then Bandomeer happened, and Obi-Wan understood. The Force sent him to Bandomeer for that moment. His life for others.

It didn’t end up being necessary, but Obi-Wan learned the lesson.  

“There were too many of them,” Obi-Wan says. “They would have hit you and then they would have killed you.”

“And it was better for you to be their target?” Jaster asks.

He sounds like a man barely leashing his anger. Obi-Wan blinks and tries to clear the fog from his head. This is simple math. He’s surprised the Mand’alor doesn’t understand. “I am an unwanted child, and you are the Mand’alor. Astronav was never my best class, but even I can do that calculation.”

Fury burns through the air, and it threatens to smother Obi-Wan. There’s nowhere for him to go, stuck on this bed, and he whimpers. Between Force exhaustion and being shot, his shields are nonexistent.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says. He paws at the air as if he can chase the anger away. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t realize he’s crying until someone dabs at his eyes.

It isn’t Jaster. He’s far away, but Obi-Wan can hear his boots thud on the ground, and he can still feel his fury, even from here.

“Shh,” Mij says.

“I didn’t mean to,” Obi-Wan says, and it’s the truth. He doesn’t know why Jaster is so angry, and he definitely doesn’t want him to be. “What did I do? Why is he mad?”

“Mad?” Mij repeats. The hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder tightens for a brief moment. “You can feel that? It’s hurting you?”

Obi-Wan nods. His nose is clogged with snot, and his eyes are damp with tears, and his entire body hurts like the time he got the flu.

“Myles, get Jaster out of here,” Mij orders, his voice low. “And anyone else who can’t control themselves. The kid is an empath.”

Obi-Wan hears more footsteps and then, blessedly, the pressure in his head decreases. He whimpers again, a good whimper this time, and curls his body toward Mij.

“It’s going to be okay, kid,” Mij promises. He runs a hand through Obi-Wan’s hair.

It’s…nice. Obi-Wan likes the feel of Mij’s hand in his hair. He likes how soft Mij’s thoughts are, as if he understands how shredded Obi-Wan’s head is. Mij only thinks nice things. Peace and comfort and then low Mando’a. It has the cadence of a poem or maybe a song.

Either way, it carries Obi-Wan to sleep.

#

The Mandalorians do the post-war clean-up while Obi-Wan recovers in the hospital. Apparently, the Melida and the Daan try to argue for Jedi mediation, but Jaster hadn’t been inclined to call the Jedi even before Cerasi told him that the last Jedi that was here was held captive and tortured.

Obi-Wan’s pleasantly surprised that Jaster and his commandos stay until an even bigger transport arrives. There are even more Mandalorians, but most of them don’t wear armor. They come with food and medical supplies, and Obi-Wan knows the Young are going to be okay.

He also knows he isn’t staying.

He doesn’t belong here. And he swore a life debt to the Mand’alor. He goes where Jaster Mereel goes now.

Jaster isn’t surprised when Obi-Wan approaches The Protector on the day it’s due to depart. His eyes pinch at the corners when he sees that Obi-Wan has nothing with him, and Obi-Wan does feel a flicker of guilt for that. He already owes a life debt, and now he’s being a burden.

“I can work for my room and board,” Obi-Wan says.

If anything, Jaster looks even more pained. “You don’t need to do that. I want to offer you a place in my House.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t understand.

“I want to adopt you,” Jaster clarifies.

Oh. Obi-Wan shakes his head. At Jaster’s confusion, it’s Obi-Wan’s turn to clarify. “No.”

Jaster’s entire squad pauses what they’re doing. Obi-Wan wonders if he’s done something bad again. At least his shields are back up to their full strength. If Jaster does get angry, Obi-Wan has protection from it now.

“Obi-Wan, I know you were a general here, but you are still a child by both Republic and Mandalorian law,” Jaster says. “You are welcome with us. More than that, we want you.”

“I can’t travel with you unless I’m family,” Obi-Wan translates. He supposes that makes sense. He isn’t a Jedi ward any longer.

“Yes,” Jaster says. “And I would like to offer you a place in House Mereel.”

It’s the second time he’s offered, and Obi-Wan declines a second time. “I can’t, Mand’alor.” The formality doesn’t make Jaster’s sadness go away.

“Of course,” Jaster says. He puts a brave face on, the same one Obi-Wan used to wear at the Temple to hide how much it hurt when none of the masters approached him after classes or when Bruck was unkind.

Obi-Wan grabs Jaster’s hand on impulse. “I owe you a life debt,” Obi-Wan says softly. He knows what that means. One day, he will die for Jaster Mereel. He doesn’t want to be Jaster’s…son when that day comes.

Jaster looks like he’s going to argue the life debt again so Obi-Wan drops his hand. He looks at the other eight commandoes. “I want the best warrior to adopt me. That way, I’m ready when my debt comes due.”

“What makes someone the best?” Jaster asks. “Rav is a huntress. She is focused and dedicated, and there’s no one better against a single target. Dustin is big and strong, and he could tear the limb off a man as if he was a wookiee. Dysari is the best of my commandoes in hand-to-hand, but Laurent is the go-to if we’re talking blasters.”

Obi-Wan’s head is spinning, and Jaster hasn’t even mentioned all of his commandoes. Obi-Wan isn’t sure how he’s supposed to choose. And that’s odd in itself, that he’s supposed to choose. It’s the opposite of the Temple, and he isn’t sure if he likes it or not. What if he picks the wrong person?

“He told us what he wants,” Walon Vau says. “He wants the best trainer.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says. He studies Walon’s stern features. “Is that you?”

“It is,” Walon answers with no hubris, only certainty. “Will you accept me as your buir?”

“Buir?” Obi-Wan repeats.

“If you’re going to be Mandalorian, you’re going to learn Mando’a,” Walon says. “Buir is parent. It’s gender neutral.”

“Okay,” Obi-Wan says. “What do I have to do?”

“Accept.” Walon smiles and it softens his entire face. He feels warm in the Force, affectionate, and there’s a curl of pride that Obi-Wan’s accepted him when he rejected the Mand’alor. And then Walon steps forward and says something in Mando’a. “Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad.” He bows until his forehead touches Obi-Wan’s. “I know your name as my child. Welcome to Clan Vau, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan likes the forehead touch so he lingers for a moment before he takes a step back. “Thank you, buir.”

Pleasure, bright and happy floods the Force, all of the Mandalorians at once, and Obi-Wan looks around, alarmed.

“You can feel that too?” Mij asks, guessing the cause of Obi-Wan’s reaction.

“You’re, um, very loud,” Obi-Wan answers.

Jaster chuckles, his dark mood completely gone. “Yes, we are. And you’re one of us now, Obi-Wan Vau.”

Obi-Wan Vau. Something warm settles in Obi-Wan’s chest. He likes that. He isn’t clan-less anymore. He’s Obi-Wan, Clan Vau and everyone will know it. He presses himself up against Walon’s side, even though his armor is hard and pokes uncomfortably in some places.

“What happens now?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Right now, we are returning to Mandalore,” Jaster says. “My ade, my children are excited to meet you. And I’m sure Walon is eager to introduce you to the rest of his clan.”

“Do you fly around looking for people to help?” Obi-Wan asks. He follows Jaster to the kitchenette and sits after both Jaster and Walon sit. Soxo and Dustin continue on toward the cockpit.

“Sometimes,” Jaster answers.

“Do I go everywhere with Walon now?” Obi-Wan glances at the man and wonders if this is like being a padawan again. If it is, he vows to do better. He won’t disappoint Walon the way he disappointed Master Jinn. “Is there a guide on how to be a Mandalorian?”

Myles laughs and then waves off Obi-Wan’s hurt feelings. “I’m not laughing at you, kid. But you’re talking to the man who wrote the guide on how to be Mandalorian.”

“Really?” Obi-Wan asks. “Is there a Basic translation? Can I have a copy? What’s it called?”

“The Supercommando Codex,” Jaster answers. He’s amused as well. “And I do have it in Basic. Do you like to read, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan nods. “My—my classmates called me a nerd. Or a suck-up.”

“There’s nothing wrong with reading,” Jaster says.

“Don’t listen to him, kid,” Myles warns, but he’s laughing and doesn’t mean it.

Obi-Wan wrinkles his nose. “I’m not a kid.”

“You are,” Walon says. “There’s no shame in it.”

But Obi-Wan doesn’t like it.

“I could call you be’Walon’ad instead,” Myles says, “but it’s a mouthful.”

“What’s it mean?” Obi-Wan asks.

Myles grins. “Walon’s kid.”

He clearly expects Obi-Wan to protest this too, but Obi-Wan kind of likes it. Walon’s kid. It’s better than just being kid, adrift without anyone to claim him.

“Okay,” Obi-Wan says. The ship rumbles as the engines start up. Obi-Wan straps in in preparation for takeoff. “Buir is parent and ad is child. What other words do I need to know?”

“Aliit,” Walon answers. “That’s clan or family.”

“Aliit,” Obi-Wan repeats. He looks over at Jaster. “Do you have learning modules for Mando’a?” He thinks about his Temple classes, interrupted and never to be finished, but that doesn’t mean he can’t learn.

“I do,” Jaster answers. He holds a hand up before Obi-Wan can ask his follow-up. “But your buir is in charge of your education and training.”

Obi-Wan twists to look at Walon. “May I start Mando’a lessons?”

“You already have,” Walon says. “Buir. Ad. Aliit.”

That’s only three words, and Obi-Wan is sure there are thousands for him to learn. He wiggles impatiently.

“You will learn,” Walon promises. “You will have your modules and your texts, but you will pair knowledge with experience.” He takes one of his blasters and puts it on the table. “Tracy’uur.”

“Tracy’uur,” Obi-Wan repeats. He points to himself. “Ad.” He points to Walon. “Buir.” And then he remembers what Dustin told him on the ridge. He takes out his knife. “Kal.”

“Very good,” Walon says. He considers and then touches two fingers to Obi-Wan’s stomach. “Kotep. Brave.” And then he touches the same two fingers to Obi-Wan’s heart. “Kotyc. Strong.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. He’s a failure. He’s unwanted and a burden and—

“Repeat them for me,” Walon says. There is no emotion in his voice. He is neither angry nor happy, frustrated nor patient. He is simply there, and he expects Obi-Wan to obey.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. He can’t. He isn’t what Walon says he is. But Walon simply takes Obi-Wan’s hand and rests Obi-Wan’s palm against his own stomach. And then he waits.

The ship rises, taking off from Melida/Daan. Obi-Wan isn’t a general anymore. He doesn’t have to feel kids dying around him anymore. He doesn’t have to sleep in the sewers and skip meals because there isn’t enough. He’s a Mandalorian ad now. He has a clan and a purpose and—

“Kotep,” Obi-Wan whispers. I’m brave. He raises his and Walon’s joined hands to his heart. “Kotyc.” I am strong.”

Obi-Wan trembles. As soon as they’ve made the jump to hyperspace, he clambers out of his seat and climbs onto Walon’s lap. It’s stupid, a kid thing, but Walon doesn’t push him away or laugh. He wraps his arms loosely around Obi-Wan and continues to name things in the room for Obi-Wan to repeat.

#

“This is our room,” Walon says when the chime sounds to signify the night shift. The room is small, but it has two bunks, two armor racks, and a small storage unit.

Obi-Wan looks around the room. There isn’t much to look at. It doesn’t offer much distraction. In the Temple, he slept in the creche and then the initiates’ dorms. And then on Melida/Daan they slept in close quarters because it was never warm enough.

He hopes sleeping in the same room as someone else will be enough.

He hopes he doesn’t have any nightmares.

“Do you mind the top bunk?” Walon asks.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “How do you say bunk in Mando’a?”

“Haavlaam,” Walon answers. There are more words to learn. Bunk and blanket and pillow and then toothbrush and fresher and soon Obi-Wan’s head is spinning.

But then he’s in their room again, in his sleep clothes and staring at his bunk, wondering how he’s supposed to get up there. Walon is blocking the slats that act as a headboard for Walon’s bed and a ladder for Obi-Wan.

“Can you get up there with the Ka’ra?” Walon asks.

Obi-Wan looks at the bunk and then at Walon. “There’s a ladder.”

“That wasn’t my question. Can you get up there with the Ka’ra?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan answers. “But I’m not supposed to.”

“Says who?”

Obi-Wan starts to answer then stops.

“It’s something you need to practice,” Walon says. “Walking strengthens muscles, you don’t always have to run or climb mountains. Is it the same for the Ka’ra?”

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan answers. “My teachers, they didn’t like frivolous uses of the Force.”

“Is it like a battery? Can you use it up?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head.

“Then I want you to use it,” Walon says. “If you grow fatigued, tell me, I don’t want you to overexert yourself. But this is part of who you are, and you’ll train these muscles, even if they’re mental.”

“Okay,” Obi-Wan says.

Walon waits. When Obi-Wan doesn’t do anything, he raises his eyebrows.

Oh! Obi-Wan walks over to the edge of the beds. He reaches up until his fingers touch his bunk. And then he jumps and uses the Force to boost himself high enough to land in his bunk. Walon clears his throat. He’s holding a blanket and a pillow. Obi-Wan names each of them and then calls them to himself.

“Good,” Walon says. “Do you need anything else before I leave?”

“You’re leaving?” Obi-Wan blurts out. And then he curses himself. Of course, Walon’s leaving. It isn’t time for adults to be in bed yet. And he’s dealt with Obi-Wan clinging to him all day. He must want to spend time with the other Mandalorians. “I mean, goodnight. Jate ca.”

“Obi-Wan,” Walon says. He waits until Obi-Wan peers over his bunk to look at him. Walon is like a rock again, steadfast. “Do you need anything else before I leave?”

If Obi-Wan asked him to stay, would he? But that isn’t something Obi-Wan needs. It’s a selfish want, and Obi-Wan may not be a Jedi, but he isn’t going to abandon everything he learned at the Temple.

“No,” Obi-Wan answers, and it’s the truth so there’s no reason for Walon to stare at him as if he’s Master Windu and trying to ferret out who had put bubble bath into one of the fountains until it was frothy and the whole room smelled like jasmine.

It was Quinlan.

Obi-Wan dives under his blanket and doesn’t poke his head out again until Walon is gone. The lights are dimmed but not off, as if Walon knows Obi-Wan doesn’t like the dark.

#

In the morning, there is first meal and then Obi-Wan’s given new clothes and a new word. Kute. His clothes are stretchy, and they cling in a way Jedi tunics don’t. Obi-Wan isn’t sure he likes feeling so exposed. It makes more sense once he realizes this is meant to be worn underneath armor, but Obi-Wan doesn’t have armor.

After first meal, Walon ushers him to the cargo hold. He’s still healing so he’s only allowed to do his stretches, but there are a lot more words as Walon points to body parts and names them. Obi-Wan repeats them back to himself as he stretches. And then he watches the other Mandalorians spar.

It’s hand-to-hand, and even though it’s friendly it isn’t easy. Jaster slams Myles onto the deck of the cargo hold, and Obi-Wan’s alarmed until he feels Myles’s joy, only briefly interrupted by his grunt when the breath is knocked out of him. Myles surges up and catches Jaster off-guard and then they’re both on their feet again and circling each other.

Soxo sits down next to Obi-Wan. She touches the wrinkle in his forehead, the one he gets when he frowns.

Obi-Wan says the word for forehead and Soxo bumps her shoulder against his.

“You’re a quick study, kid,” she tells him.

“Be’Walon’ad,” Obi-Wan corrects. He’s Walon’s kid, and he owes Jaster a life debt and that’s why he’s studying. The Mand’alor leads a dangerous life, and Obi-Wan has to be ready.

“Be’Walon’ad,” she repeats. She inclines her head in a gesture of respect.

Obi-Wan watches them spar with something deeper than longing. They spar like he and Quinlan did in the salles, a training exercise but also something fun. He watches as Jaster and Myles grapple again, and he finds himself leaning against Soxo’s side. He straightens as soon as he’s done it and carefully doesn’t look at her.

She cards a hand through his hair, the way Jaster did in the hospital. Obi-Wan wants to lean into that touch too.

“Hmm,” she says as if Obi-Wan had said something. She ignores his questioning look and then points to the sparring Mandalorians with her free hand. “What do you see?”

Obi-Wan breaks down the spar and understands that this is a learning tool as well. He isn’t able to participate yet, but he can try and learn as much through watching as he can to better prepare himself when it’s his turn.

After the Mandalorians spar, Obi-Wan shows Walon one of his openhand katas. He’s allowed to do it at half-speed, and in some ways it’s more of a challenge than doing it normally. Obi-Wan has to be present and focused on each movement. It’s a relief to exercise, though, even if he’s sweating at the end of it.

It’s time for midmeal, and Obi-Wan’s given a bland serving, but it isn’t because he can’t handle Mandalorian spice, though maybe he can’t, but because he’s on a starvation diet. He hadn’t thought things were that bad on Melida/Daan, but Mij was very clear during his check-up that he has a lot of recovery ahead of him.

“How did you think of so many rules?” Obi-Wan asks Jaster. He’s been reading the Supercommando Codex, and he has questions.

“They’re commandments,” Myles says in the tone that means he’s making fun of someone, but from the way Jaster tries to kick him, Obi-Wan thinks Myles is making fun of Jaster and not Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan patiently waits for the kicking war to end, and he’s rewarded when Jaster answers him. “I drew inspiration from the old Canons of Honor, which were the basis of life and conduct for the Taung, our ancient ancestors.”

“Ancestors implies ancient,” Dysari drawls. “You’re being redundant.” She flashes her sharp feline teeth as she smiles.

“He’s repetitively repeating himself?” Soxo asks.

“Ignore them,” Jaster tells Obi-Wan. “Both the Canons of Honor and the Supercommando Codex are based on the Resol’nare, which is the basis of all Mandalorian society. There are six tenets.”

Obi-Wan found it recorded at the start of the Supercommando Codex. “Education and armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language and our leader—all help us survive.”

“Very good,” Jaster says. “Every teaching in the codex relates to one of those principles.”

“You believe in honor,” Obi-Wan says. He’ll never say it, but it reminds him a little bit of Jedi teachings. Mandalorians and Jedi have different approaches, but they both believe in bettering the galaxy and helping those who are in need.

“For a long time, Mandalorians were conquerors,” Jaster says. “They were stronger than those around them, and they thought it meant they could do whatever they wanted.”

“They were bullies,” Obi-Wan says. Like Bruck Chun.

“They were. I want our people to be better than that.”

“Do they want to be better?”

“Some of them.” Jaster remains serious. “There are some who would rather stay conquerors. They want to be feared. They call themselves Death Watch. And then there are those who want to swear off our violent past entirely. They call themselves the New Mandalorians.”

“But you’re the Mand’alor,” Obi-Wan says.

“According to Death Watch, Tor Vizsla is the Mand’alor,” Jaster says. “And according to the New Mandalorians, we don’t need a Mand’alor.”

“Is Walon going to train me to fight Death Watch, then?” Obi-Wan asks.

“He’s going to train you to fight,” Jaster answers. “We won’t know who your opponents are until you face them.”

Obi-Wan wonders what the division of the factions looks like. It’s probably rude to ask Jaster how many supporters he has and if his enemies have more, but it’s hard to strategize without all the information.

“If the New Mandalorians don’t fight, how are they supposed to win?” Obi-Wan asks.

Myles laughs again and Soxo curses under her breath. Obi-Wan doesn’t think anyone here thinks very highly of the New Mandalorians.

“Are they going to ask the Republic for help?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Mandalore isn’t part of the Republic,” Jaster says.

“Would they join if the Republic promised to help the New Mandalorian movement?”

Jaster looks at Myles and then he swears and storms out of the room. Obi-Wan looks at his empty chair and wonders if he said something wrong.

Chapter Text

Jaster wants to say his life was less complicated before he became Mand’alor, but in truth, it wasn’t. As a Journeyman Protector, he had a sense of right and wrong, of honor and how he thought he and others should live their lives. He made a choice, an unpopular one, but the correct one, and he was banished for it.

Now, as Mand’alor, he can set the standards for how Mandalorians conduct their lives. It’s more influence than he had before, but there are new challenges. Not only is he contending with his fellow Mandalorians for control, but now he has to fend off the Republic. Do the Hutts or the Zygerrians want to make a move?

Obi-Wan brought up an important point, though. Tor Vizsla has claimed the title of Mand’alor and drawn the traditionalists to him with the darksaber and the edges of Mandalorian society with his acceptance of cruelty and conquest. Jaster has gathered a large following with his plans for reform. The New Mandalorians have their own following, but they don’t have warriors in their ranks. If they want their values to be the new way, they need someone powerful to support them.

Death Watch is giving him fits and now he has to plan for a two-front attack. At least, one is martial and one is political, but he needs to begin preparing for an alliance between Clan Kryze and the Republic.

The best way to cut off a Kryze-Republic alliance would be to create one between himself and the Republic, but even the thought of it makes him want to vomit. Mandalore has remained neutral so that it can protect its own interests and so that it can decide what conflicts it joins and what sides.

There is little love for the jetiise amongst Mandalorians, but when Jaster thinks of his ancient enemy, he feels pity. He has read his history. He knows the power and the danger of the jetiise. But the Republic has effectively leashed them. The jetii temple is on Coruscant, where the Republic can watch their every move. The Republic determines their budget. The Republic even determines the missions they go on and it leaves the jetiise begging to go on the relief missions they care most about.

The jetiise are a cautionary tale. Jaster is certain the Republic would love to leash Mandalore in the same way. If they could make Mandalorians their attack dogs, they would. And, if they can’t, they will do the next best thing. Neuter them. The Republic is no doubt whispering promises in Duke Kryze’s ear. Promises for leading Mandalore, for becoming the sole ruler. And all the Republic wants in return is for Kryze to make all Mandalorians lay down their arms and melt down their beskar.

If Jaster reached out to the Republic, they would no doubt offer him a deal similar to the one the jetiise have. Mandalorian culture would be allowed to thrive, but only if they turned their might toward the Republic’s tactics. Jaster isn’t Mand’alor so that he can be controlled by someone else. He won’t unite his people and then turn them over to someone who won’t care for them or allow them to live by their own values.

Jaster will need to bring this up to his advisors when he returns to Mandalore. This is going to require all their best minds figuring out how to court the Republic away from Kryze without committing to anything. Will Trix be offended if Jaster asks her help specifically? She’s spent her entire adulthood playing this game with potential partners. This is a similar concept, just much higher stakes.

He sends a message to his advisors to have them start thinking about it. And then he messages Jango and Arla, because they worry worse than a new buir. They’ve asked for daily updates, and Jaster does his best, even though there isn’t much to tell them now that they’re in space.

He mostly talks about Obi-Wan. It’s easy to tell them about the kid who is learning Mando’a as quickly as they can find new words for him. There will be even more once he’s on the planet and there is nature and people and a full armory. He mentions Obi-Wan’s dedicated study of the Codex in case it guilts his children into reading Jaster’s lifework.

#

Obi-Wan is already looking better when they reach Mandalore. Proper sleep, full nutritious meals, and the boy no longer looks as though a stiff breeze will carry him away. There is still a long time to go before he’s completely healthy, but it’s proof that the Haat Mando’ade is the right place for Obi-Wan.

When they land in the hangar at Jaster’s compound, there is a large party waiting to greet them. Jaster’s advisors, of course, but he ignores them in favor of two more welcome faces.

“Buir!” Arla at least waits until he’s descended the landing ramp to throw herself at him. She hugs him, and Jaster isn’t sure there’s a better sound than the chime of beskar when two Mandalorians embrace.

Jango impatiently waits his turn and then he hugs Jaster as well. Jaster realizes he doesn’t have to lean down as far anymore to touch his forehead to his son’s. His children are growing up.

“You must be Obi-Wan,” Arla says.

Jaster keeps Jango in a loose embrace as he looks over at Arla. She’s in all her armor except for her helmet, and it makes her look even bigger in comparison to Obi-Wan who is slim and streamlined in his kute.

“Su’cuy,” Obi-Wan says, greeting her.

Arla smiles as if Obi-Wan is a strill pup and not a person. “Oh, you’re adorable. I can’t believe buir let someone else snatch you up.”

“I’m not adorable,” Obi-Wan says with all the bristle of a teenager. Either Obi-Wan and Jango will get along like a Mandalorian and their first blaster or they’ll have to be kept on opposite sides of the compound.

Obi-Wan’s eyes are continuously drawn to the scar on Arla’s face, and he looks away each time with a dusting of pink on his cheeks.

Arla doesn’t let him get away with it for long. “Cool, isn’t it?” Arla points to her scar. “I got it while killing a traitor. I’m proud of it. You can stare if you want. You can touch it too.”

“Does it hurt?” Obi-Wan asks. His fingers hover over Arla’s face as if he’s afraid to hurt her.

“Not anymore,” Arla says. She guides his hand the rest of the way. “I shot the dar’manda out of the sky and then fought him. His beskad sliced me something good, but he’s the one who’s dead.”

“Dar’manda?” Obi-Wan asks.

“He isn’t Mandalorian anymore,” Arla says. “He betrayed his Mand’alor. He chose an honorless path, and his soul won’t join the others. He’ll be adrift instead of marching on.”

Jaster isn’t sure how much of that Obi-Wan understood. He’ll have to include cultural lessons along with language and weapons. Or, he’ll have to recommend that Walon include them. Obi-Wan had nodded at Arla’s explanation, but his blue eyes glaze over now. His eyes are distant, as if he isn’t seeing anything.

Something is wrong.

Jaster, Mij, and Walon all step forward, but before any of them can act, Obi-Wan stumbles back. He rips his hand away from Arla’s face and covers his mouth with it. The clouds in his eyes fade, but there are tears now.

“You were so scared,” Obi-Wan whispers. He looks from Arla to Jaster and he smiles. It’s a tremulous thing, but it’s there. “She loves you very much.”

Jaster wonders if Obi-Wan felt how Arla felt when she fought Montross. He hopes Obi-Wan didn’t have to see it. He finds his voice. “She does. I’m a lucky man. I have two incredible children. This is Jango.”

Jaster nudges Jango forward, because he wants to chase the sadness from Obi-Wan face.

“You lead your own squad,” Obi-Wan says as he looks at Jango. “I led a team on Melida/Daan.”

“Jaster says you fought with honor,” Jango says. “It’s the highest compliment he can give. Welcome to Manda’yaim, Obi-Wan Vau.”

It’s more formal than Jaster expected, and it means the words are clunky in Jango’s mouth, but he’s trying. And Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to notice any of the awkwardness.

“Thank you, be’Jaster’ad.” Obi-Wan beams at his control of the language. And then he says, “What’s Manda’yaim? Is that your word for Mandalore?”

“Yes,” Jango says. “Your accent is so proper. Don’t let buir bully you into being a scholar. Do you want to see the training salles? Silas and I have been working on the training droids. You can try the new course.”

Walon clears his throat, and Jango snaps to attention as if it was Jaster. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, Jango, Obi-Wan and I have just arrived. I’d like to get him settled in our quarters. If you both are agreeable, Obi-Wan, Jango can give you the tour of the compound, but no training.” Walon looks at each boy in turn. “Obi-Wan is still healing. Mij and I will determine Obi-Wan’s training schedule.”

“Yes, buir.” Obi-Wan bows deeply and then pauses, mid-rise, as if his brain only just caught onto an ingrained gesture.

“None of that,” Walon says. “Come, I’ll show you to our rooms. And then we’ll stop by the quartermaster. It sounds like you need a comm.”

“Do you know Jango’s code?” Obi-Wan asks. He obediently trots to Walon’s side. “And Arla’s? Can I have yours too? Are there more people my age?”

“Ade?” Walon asks. His lips curl into a smile.

Obi-Wan pouts. “I’m not a baby.”

“That’s an ik’aad,” Walon says.

He ushers Obi-Wan out of the hangar, and Jaster trusts that Walon has the situation well in hand. It means Jaster’s now left with his advisors and his own children.

“Council meeting,” Jaster says.

Once they’re all in his council room, Jaster leans on his desk. He doesn’t sit, not after long space travel. He nods his thanks when Trix pushes a steaming mug and a small snack toward him.

“Kryze sent his older daughter to Melida/Daan,” Kal says, opening their meeting. “Satine. Bo-Katan refused to go because the fighting was over.”

Jaster laughs. “We have told Kryze we’d sponsor Bo-Katan if she was too mandokarla for him, yes?”

“They’ve also reached out to the Republic for a relief team and Jedi assistance.”

That wipes the smile off Jaster’s face. Isn’t this what Obi-Wan warned him of? That the New Mandalorians would be looking for allies and that the Republic would be more than happy to be called on? The fact that the New Mandalorians and the Republic are going to try and take credit for work the Young had started and Jaster finished makes him angry.

“The Young’s leadership doesn’t want Jedi help,” Trix says and that is interesting. Jaster isn’t the only one who looks over at her, hoping they have more intelligence. “Cerasi says there were Jedi on the planet already, and they didn’t help. One was captured and another came for a rescue. He only cared about his fellow Jedi and not the Young.”

“Fucking jetiise,” Myles mutters.

“Do we think that’s how Obi-Wan ended up on the planet?” Mij asks. “Jedi younglings normally have an adult with them. Was he captive? Or part of the rescue team?”

“He doesn’t have the braid,” Jaster says. “Or a lightsaber. And we can’t push on his origins without approval from his mind healer and Walon. But this is a good segue into something we need to discuss. A potential alliance between the New Mandalorians the Republic. We need to disrupt it. Ideally, without having to make an alliance ourselves with the Republic.”

#

Part of Jaster had thought Obi-Wan and Jango would be inseparable, due to the closeness in their age, but Jango isn’t Obi-Wan’s shadow. To everyone’s surprise, and some people’s displeasure, Obi-Wan is rarely seen without Lord Mirdalan, Walon’s pet strill.

The large beast has gold fur and gold eyes, and the typical sharp teeth of its kind. It also has a horrible stench that doesn’t bother Walon and doesn’t seem to bother Obi-Wan either. It’s Mird who shows Obi-Wan around the compound, Mird who acts as a backrest while Obi-Wan studies his datapads, and Mird who curls at Obi-Wan’s feet at meals.

Jaster is pretty sure that Obi-Wan is using his Ka’ra to sneak food to the beast. He’s equally sure that Walon is encouraging it. He knows Walon is encouraging Obi-Wan to use his powers in general. Walon did the courtesy of warning everyone that Obi-Wan had the Ka’ra and not to be alarmed if he used it. And then, because he’s Walon, he also threatened anyone who gave his kid a hard time over it.

Which means Jaster has grown accustomed to doors opening without anyone touching them and objects floating through the air.

Obi-Wan still hesitates when he uses the Ka’ra, but it isn’t fear. He’ll often look to Walon and hunch his shoulders as if expecting a scolding or reprimand.

“Only a foolish warrior doesn’t use every weapon at their disposal,” Jaster says, quoting the Codex after one such incident.

“Okay,” Obi-Wan says.

Jaster likes to think he’s less self-conscious about using the Force afterward.

Today, though, Obi-Wan is training in a proper, physical weapon. This is Obi-Wan’s third beskad lesson, and Jaster isn’t the only one surprised it didn’t come more naturally to him. It’s another hint that Obi-Wan never had a lightsaber, which means he was never a Temple trained jetii.

Obi-Wan has a proper beskad, a curved beskar blade and wickedly sharp. He is awkward with the blade, as if he doesn’t expect it to weigh as much as it does, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. Jaster suspects some of the disconnect is that the rest of Obi-Wan is fluid and graceful. The footwork came to him easily, but it’s the arm extensions and movements which trip him up.

Walon is a demanding teacher, and Jaster has attended these beginning lessons, curious to see how these two got on together. He still remembers the hospital and Obi-Wan’s matter of fact explanation that he should be the one to die because Jaster was more valuable. It’s clear that Obi-Wan’s self-worth is low, no doubt because his dar’buire named him Obi-Wan Kenobi, and he hasn’t had an easy life since.

Walon’s teaching style could be disastrous paired with someone already so hard on themselves, but Jaster is pleasantly surprised.

Midway through a set of exercises, Obi-Wan stops and huffs. He impatiently pushes sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead and scowls at his beskad as if it’s gained sentience and betrayed him.

“What are you doing?” Walon asks. “Did I tell you to stop?”

“I’m doing it wrong,” Obi-Wan says. “I need to start over and do it right.”

“Do you?” Walon asks. Every Mandalorian in the room recognizes that tone. Obi-Wan, still new, doesn’t. He opens his mouth, as if Walon expects an answer, but Walon speaks over him. “Are you the trainer, ad’ika?”

“No,” Obi-Wan answers mulishly.

“No,” Walon agrees. “I am the trainer. I will tell you when to stop. I will tell you when to correct your movements. Your job is to listen.”

Obi-Wan is still scowling as he picks up where he left off, but Jaster can see the subtle difference in his posture. He’s more relaxed, as if Walon has taken a heavy weight off his shoulders. Walon has taken on the responsibility of criticizing and correcting Obi-Wan. It isn’t Obi-Wan’s anymore. And as tough as Walon is, he will be far kinder to Obi-Wan than the boy was to himself.

Jaster is still annoyed that Obi-Wan isn’t part of Clan Mereel, but he can admit that Walon is a good buir to him.

#

Jaster can force himself to sleep if he needs to, years of soldiering have given him beskar-clad control over his body, but he isn’t in the midst of a mission or campaign tonight. When he wakes and sleep isn’t in easy reach, he pulls a nightrobe over his sleep clothes, slips on soft shoes, and goes for a walk.

He walks by Arla’s room and then Jango’s, and he’s glad to see their doors closed and the green light which means they haven’t left since retiring to bed. Yellow means they had left and returned. Red means they weren’t in their room. There were a lot of red lights when Jaster first adopted them.

They had both been angry and hurting after their buire died. Jango was especially ferocious and committed to becoming the best fighter so he could dedicate his life to killing Death Watch. Arla was older, and she blamed Jaster for her buire’s deaths, as much as she blamed Death Watch.

She loves him, and she avenged his near-death when she killed Montross, but Jaster knows part of her will always hurt for the Fetts. And part of her will always reserve a piece of blame for him. It is the burden of leadership, knowing that those you call on might die, and accepting that you can’t protect everyone.

He understands what Kryze and the New Mandalorians are trying to do. Jaster would also like to see his people live and thrive. But peace comes at a price. And pacifism is only successful if everyone agrees to it. Death Watch won’t care for the New Mandalorian’s pact of nonviolence.

Jaster rubs his forehead and turns toward the mess hall. He makes himself a cup of shig and then takes it into the courtyard. A hot drink and a view of the stars is exactly what he needs to cure his maudlin mood.

There is a large tree in the center of the courtyard. Everything else is small bushes and flowers, but the tree is what the compound was built around. It existed before the walls, and it will exist long after.

The trunk is thick, and it takes four grown humanoids linking arms to encompass it. There are entire forests of these towering trees on other planets. Jaster once went to a park where the trunk of one was hollowed out so speeders could pass through it.

No one here would dare to harm their tree in such a way.

There is a faint glow coming from the base of the tree. Jaster smells Mird before he sees the slobbering beast. And where Mird is, Obi-Wan is almost certain to follow. Sure enough, the faint glow is the light from Obi-Wan’s datapad. It’s dimmed to the night setting, so it doesn’t hurt his eyes.

“Good evening, Mand’alor,” Obi-Wan says softly.

So polite, this foundling of Walon’s. Jaster knows about the scars on Obi-Wan’s neck. He hasn’t pressed the issue, because he knows better, but he also knows what the scars mean. A collar. Slavery. It isn’t uncommon for Force sensitives to be picked up by slavers. It could explain Obi-Wan’s deference. It doesn’t explain how he ended up on Melida/Daan. Unless his captors wanted to use Obi-Wan and his powers for themselves. Is Obi-Wan an escaped slave? Did he get away from a life of misery to only end up on a planet in the midst of a civil war?

And now Jaster has brought him to another. Mandalore isn’t Melida/Daan, but it isn’t peaceful.

Jaster pushes his dark thoughts away and smiles at Obi-Wan. Even with the dim lighting, Jaster sees the dark circles under Obi-Wan’s eyes. He isn’t awake because he wants to be. The question then, is why he’s awake. Nightmares? Stubbornness? A good novel?

“Anything interesting?” Jaster asks.

Obi-Wan tilts his pad toward Jaster. Even if Jaster didn’t help create and then review the curriculum, he would know the standard training modules anywhere. The text is in Basic, because Obi-Wan has a separate class for learning Mando’a. As he gains mastery over the language, his courses might switch over.

“Geology?” Jaster asks. “A noble study. I didn’t realize it was quite so captivating as to steal sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” Obi-Wan says. He bites back a yawn and then turns his head away as if Jaster won’t notice or comment.

“You’re tired,” Jaster says gently. “I’ve stayed awake more than once to finish reading a high priority report or a captivating tale. What keeps you awake, Obi-Wan? Duty or pleasure?”

It’s the right question. Obi-Wan is still young enough that when given two answers, he picks one instead of choosing a third.

“Duty,” Obi-Wan answers in the small, careful voice which means he’s reporting on his perceived failures. He continues without being prompted. “I am a slow learner. I need extra time to complete my studies.”

Who told you you were slow? This, Jaster knows, is not the right question, so he keeps it to himself. An impatient slave master, perhaps? One of the older Young? Obi-Wan’s past continues to be a tangle of contradictions, but Healer Lynnda is very clear that none of them press him.

Jaster is quiet long enough for Obi-Wan to fill the silence. “I’m behind,” Obi-Wan says. He still won’t look at Jaster. “Elina has already completed the first two units.”

“Elina has been here longer than you,” Jaster says. “Many of your classmates are foundlings. Even the ones born into their clans, they take their lessons at their own pace.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t like Jaster’s answer, because he frowns. He studies his datapad now, as if it will scold him in Jaster’s stead.

“Does Walon know you’re out of bed?” Jaster asks.

“If I can get out without springing any of the traps, I’m allowed to roam,” Obi-Wan says. He’s proud of himself for tonight’s escape. “And Mird’ika comes with me. I’m safe.”

“You are safe even without Lord Mirdalan, but I understand why life has made you cautious.”

“You sound like Healer Lynnda,” Obi-Wan says. “She tells me it’s okay to draw comfort from Mird’ika, but I must be careful they don’t become a crutch.”

It’s a fine line, Jaster knows, between comfort and crutch, encouraging connection but not dependence. He’s grateful this is the mind healer’s domain and not his. “Do you plan to stay up much longer?”

“It’s my choice?” Obi-Wan asks. He’s already poised to get up, as if he thinks Jaster’s arrival means the end to his vigil.

“It is your choice,” Jaster answers. He’ll speak with Walon and Healer Lynnda about Obi-Wan’s wanderings, because he’s concerned with Obi-Wan missing important sleep as well as his self-worth issues, but it isn’t Jaster’s place to directly intervene. Not unless Obi-Wan is a clear danger to himself or others.

“Then I’ll stay a little longer.”

“Would you read to me?” Jaster asks. He smiles at Obi-Wan’s surprise. “I’m not ready to sleep yet, either.”

“Not rocks.” Obi-Wan swipes out of his current module. “I’m in a Taung poetry elective. I don’t know all the meanings yet, but my pronunciation is improving.”

“That would be nice, thank you.” Jaster closes his eyes and allows the words of his ancestors to wash over him.

Chapter Text

“Good morning, Obi-Wan,” Healer Lynnda greets.

“Good morning,” Obi-Wan returns politely. He doesn’t like his mind healing sessions. They make him tired in a way that training and even using the Force doesn’t.

“How have you been since our last appointment?”

“I’ve been well.”

Healer Lynnda smiles warmly at him. She’s good at projecting nice feelings. Obi-Wan would like it here if she didn’t ask him so many questions. She’s quiet in a way the other Mandalorians aren’t. The Temple was a place of peace, and Obi-Wan could always retreat to the gardens if his crechemates or fellow initiates were too loud. At Jaster’s compound, even the adults are loud. Mandalorians feel so much.

“How is Lord Mirdalan?”

“Good.” This is an easy question. “They took me flying yesterday. Buir was worried at first, but I showed him how I can somersault off Mird’ika’s back and float down. Buir still said he would feel better if I had a jetpack.”

“He is concerned for your safety. That’s a good thing. It’s how adults are supposed to act.”

Obi-Wan knew life at the Temple and then he adapted to life on Melida/Daan, which was nothing like it. Now, he has to adapt to Mandalore. It feels as though there’s always someone watching him. And Mandalorians are always touching each other. Obi-Wan struggles with that. It isn’t so bad when Walon shows Obi-Wan how to fight or stretch or position his body.

But the others…Obi-Wan flinched when Kal Skirata came too close yesterday. It hurt Kal’s feelings, which hurt Obi-Wan’s. It’s the kind of thing he’s supposed to tell Healer Lynnda. He does, with a hanging head, heavy with shame.

“It’s a natural reaction,” Healer Lynnda tells him. “You are used to adults causing you harm. It will take time and trust to lower your defenses.”

Obi-Wan swings his feet.

“I want to talk about touch today,” Healer Lynnda says.

Obi-Wan grows wary. “I know about bad touch. My—I was taught before. Through words, not action.”

“I’m glad someone taught you, but I want to discuss good touch today. What is the last good touch you remember?”

“Good?” Obi-Wan frowns. Here, there is training. On Melida/Daan, there was pain. Master Jinn was distant and Bandomeer was…he doesn’t want to think about Bandomeer. Before Bandomeer was his fight with Bruck and—Obi-Wan’s taken too long to answer. The silence has stretched, and Healer Lynnda must think he’s stupid.

Tears burn at Obi-Wan’s eyes. “I don’t remember.”

“Thank you for answering,” Healer Lynnda says.

It feels like the wrong answer, even though Healer Lynnda has told him there’s no such thing in this room. Obi-Wan fidgets and gathers his thoughts. “People touch me here all the time. They aren’t bad touches.”

“But they aren’t good ones?”

Obi-Wan shrugs. If he says they aren’t, will someone get in trouble? “It isn’t so bad when it’s the ade. Sparring is neutral touch, but after, Jango will give me a hand up. His palm is always warm and—he helps me up no matter who wins. And Arla likes to wipe her sweaty face on mine. It’s gross but it isn’t bad.” Obi-Wan realizes he has a lot of good touches. Kikki Vau who is part of his clan, she likes to climb on his lap whenever he’s sitting still. The Skirata twins. Elina. Obi-Wan tells Healer Lynnda about them all.

“Thank you for telling me,” Healer Lynnda says. “I noticed two things while you were sharing. All of the good touches you mentioned came from another child, and they were all initiated by the other party. I have homework for you. Every day until our next session, I want you to initiate contact with another child once a day. Can you try to do that?”

“Okay,” Obi-Wan says.

“I’d also like you to have a good touch with an adult once a day. This is a big step, so I have options. You can initiate one if you like, or you can give me the name of a trusted adult, and they can reach out to you.”

“The second one,” Obi-Wan says.

“Do you have an adult in mind?”

“Jaster,” Obi-Wan answers easily. He’s nice. And Obi-Wan owes him a life debt. He won’t hurt Obi-Wan.

“This is very important.” Healer Lynnda waits until she has Obi-Wan’s complete attention. “Your homework is to try. If you don’t want Jaster to touch you, you can tell him later or even no. And any time you want to pick a new adult, you can tell me.”

“Do or do not,” Obi-Wan recites. “There is no try.”

“Here, the rules are different,” Healer Lynnda tells him. “Trying is a perfectly acceptable outcome. At our next appointment, I want to talk about your homework and how it made you feel. If it helps you remember, you can take notes.”

“Like a diary?” Obi-Wan asks. “I’ve read a lot of diaries after they became historical documents. Is that an invasion of privacy?”

“That is a very good question,” Healer Lynnda says and then they use the rest of their session to discuss the ethics of historical archives.

#

Obi-Wan likes sparring with Jango. He likes Jango in general, which makes it easy to tug on his sleeve after their latest bout. His sleeve isn’t him, but Obi-Wan gestures him closer and then slings his arm over Jango’s shoulders the way other Mandalorians do all the time. Obi-Wan reels Jango in, and he’s braced for Jango to ask what’s wrong with Obi-Wan today, because he’s never done this before.

But Jango leans in to listen to what Obi-Wan has to say. Jango’s as sweaty as Obi-Wan is, and this close, Obi-Wan can feel the heat from his skin. Can Jango feel how warm Obi-Wan is? If Obi-Wan rests his cheek against Jango’s, which one of them is hotter?

Obi-Wan flushes, embarrassment on top of exertion, and he reminds himself he has a mission. “Do you want to get back at Arla?”

“Yes,” Jango answers, not even waiting for Obi-Wan to reference a specific incident.

“I’m counting on you,” Obi-Wan says. He grins and then slips back into the sparring rotation.

Obi-Wan and Arla aren’t paired up today, but Arla finds him after her third spar. She rubs her sweaty cheek against his like she always does. But this time, Obi-Wan is prepared.

“You seem like you need help getting clean,” Obi-Wan says. And then he tosses the contents of his water bottle at her.

Arla splutters as water drips down her face. Around them, the occupants of the room stop what they’re doing to spectate.

“You missed a spot,” Jango says and then he throws his water at Arla too.

“Jango!” she screeches and then it’s pandemonium.

Arla tackles Jango and knocks him flat on his back. She swings her fist, but Jango blocks the blow. Obi-Wan rushes in, because he and Jango are in this together. He grabs Arla’s wrist and twists her arm behind her back the way he’s been taught. Using his leverage, he flips her off Jango. She breaks his hold before he can do anything more.

Jango sweeps his legs out and brings Arla down. She calls out to her own allies as Jango and Obi-Wan pin her.

“Look out!” Jango warns.

Arla’s two friends are armed with water bottles. They toss the water at Jango and Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan raises his hands and holds the droplets suspended in the air.

“Kandosii,” Jango murmurs, impressed.

“Oh no,” Bythyr says, right before Obi-Wan turns the water back on Bythyr and Elina, splashing them both.

Arla uses Obi-Wan and Jango’s distraction to free herself and then they’re brawling again. Silas joins so it’s three on three. It’s different from sparring, because Obi-Wan hasn’t done a group spar yet. But it isn’t a fight. It’s…fun. When they wear themselves out, they’re all sprawled on the ground together. Arla’s legs are wrapped loosely around Obi-Wan’s waist, but it isn’t a true hold. It’s a nice touch. Obi-Wan has gotten a lot of them today. Healer Lynnda will be pleased.

Obi-Wan looks over at Arla. Her kute is soaked, but it’s tough now to tell what’s sweat and what’s water. Like him, her pale skin is pink with exertion. It makes her scar stand out, white against a pink background.

“Now you really need to shower.” Obi-Wan giggles. His giggles turn into proper laughter. He stretches out and enjoys it. The Force is content around him, and his companions are too worn out to emote heavily. There’s a lazy sort of pleasure in the air, and Obi-Wan intends to bask in it. He reaches toward Jango, greedy now for these nice touches.

Jango’s fingers brush Obi-Wan’s, but before Obi-Wan can search for more, he spots Walon and Jaster observing from the far side of the room. Obi-Wan scrambles to his feet. He ignores Arla’s protests and Jango’s questioning. Obi-Wan bows deeply. The emotions in the room shift toward discomfort, and Obi-Wan remembers Mandalorian’s dislike for bowing. He’s compounded one mistake with another.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says.

“For what?” Jaster asks. He frowns, confused, but it will turn into disappointment if Obi-Wan apologizes for the wrong thing. There are so many for Obi-Wan to choose from, and he hates when he has to guess and—

“Training was over,” Walon says. “The time was yours. There are no rules against playing. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Obi-Wan isn’t sure he believes it, but he nods. He leaves his friends to report to Walon’s side. He flexes his hand, because he wasn’t able to help Jango to his feet. He’d wanted to be the one to reach out today.

Of course, that reminds him of his other homework. He eyes Jaster warily. This is the first time they’ve seen each other today. Will Jaster touch him? Healer Lynnda said it would be a nice touch, but Obi-Wan is in trouble. He got water everywhere, and he distracted everyone from their duties. He knows Jaster won’t hit him, but maybe he’ll grip Obi-Wan’s shoulder and dig his fingers in until they bruise.

Master Jinn never meant to leave bruises, but he was so much bigger than Obi-Wan. He didn’t know his own strength.

Obi-Wan holds himself so tightly, he’s surprised he doesn’t shatter. Jaster looks over the room and clasps his hands behind his back. Obi-Wan breathes easier.

“Can you collect the water from the floor?” Walon asks.

He does this sometimes, asks Obi-Wan to try using the Force. He’s never mad if Obi-Wan can’t. And if he can, it becomes part of their training rotation. Obi-Wan’s never tried something new with an audience. They are distracting, projecting curiosity and anticipation and a tendril of fear.

Obi-Wan focuses on himself. He breathes in and then out until the distractions are gone. He turns his attention to the floor. Water is a liquid, it feels different from the solidity of the floor. Obi-Wan examines the edges, where water and floor meet. Once he has the sense of it, he raises the water from its resting place.

Gasps tell him he’s done it, even before he sees the globe of water suspended in the air. It isn’t much. Most of the water soaked through people’s clothes. He directs the water to the drain in the corner and then releases it.

“We’ll add it to our rotation,” Walon says. “First, like this. Then, separating liquid from cloth and then liquid from other liquid.”

“You’re a good teacher,” Obi-Wan says.

“You’re teaching yourself to use the Ka’ra. I only structure the lessons. Come, it’s time for a proper shower, second meal, and then we have plans for the afternoon.”

“Plans?” Obi-Wan asks. He follows Walon out of the room and Mird’ika falls in to join them.

#

Armor.

Obi-Wan is being fitted for his beskar’gam.

Obi-Wan shakes his head when Walon first tells him, as if he needs to clear his ears. But Obi-Wan is in the forge, and it’s obvious why. He shakes his head a second time, refusal now. He can’t accept this.

Unless… “Is this so I can honor the life debt?” Obi-Wan asks. If the armor is for Jaster, then this is okay.

“No.” Even though Walon’s voice is calm, his emotions spike. He’s normally more controlled than this, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure what he did wrong. “You are receiving armor, because you are at the right age, and as your buir, it’s my honor and privilege to present it to you. You’re getting beskar’gam, because you are my ad, and I want to see you protected by the best.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says.

The armorer opens an armor closet to reveal several different styles. She gestures Obi-Wan forward. “I’ve watched your training videos, but I would like you try on a few of these to make sure we design the right armor for your style. You’re very dynamic, and I don’t want your movement restricted.”

Obi-Wan tries the various sets, and he practices his Ataru flips to see if he can still do them. Once the armorer is satisfied, she writes down her observations on her pad.

“Can I do my coursework here?” Obi-Wan asks. “I’ll stay out of the way and won’t be a bother.”

“Do you like my forge?” The armorer sounds pleased.

“It’s quiet,” Obi-Wan says. Both adults stare at him, and he realizes how stupid he sounds. “In the Force, I mean. I think it’s all the beskar.”

The armorer’s amusement fades. “Beskar blocks the Ka’ra?”

“It muffles it,” Obi-Wan says.

Case in point, the armorer is furious, but Obi-Wan barely feels it. The armorer opens a different armor closet. She takes a helmet and hands it to Obi-Wan. “Put this on.”

Obi-Wan does. When other people wear beskar, it muffles their minds from him. But when it’s on him, it muffles his mind. It’s like he’s underwater, everything slow and muted. Obi-Wan rips the helmet off his head. It isn’t like Bandomeer, but it’s close enough that Obi-Wan drops the helmet on the table and stumbles back. He claws at his throat. He can feel it, the pressure of the collar. There’s a bomb around his neck. He’s cut off from the Force, from the Jedi. He’s alone and there’s no one here to help him. He’s going to die.

“Obi-Wan.”

Someone calls his name, but Obi-Wan doesn’t have a name. Slaves have numbers, not names. There are people here. They’re bigger than him, and he’s scared. He tries to run, but he’s caught in strong arms. Obi-Wan kicks out, but he kicks hard metal, and it hurts.

“Obi-Wan.”

The voice again. Obi-Wan twists but he can’t get free.

Cool metal rests against his forehead, and Obi-Wan stills. Everything is so loud, but the metal is quiet. It’s a point of calm. Obi-Wan wraps his arms around it, even as he wraps his mind around it, desperate for the balm against his aching psyche.

“Obi-Wan.” His name comes from the metal. The metal is a helmet. There’s a person inside of it, and they say things other than his name. “You’re safe, Obi-Wan. Breathe for me. Can you do that? Very good, Obi-Wan. Again, now.”

Obi-Wan knows this voice. It’s Walon Vau. His buir. Obi-Wan isn’t on Bandomeer, he’s on Mandalore. There is no Force collar on his neck. Obi-Wan overreacted. He embarrassed himself and shamed his buir. He tries to pull back, but his buir holds him tightly, and there’s no escape. Obi-Wan expects a flare of panic, but instead his buir’s hold brings calm and then comfort.

“I don’t like the helmet,” Obi-Wan says.

“I don’t like it either,” Walon tells him. “You won’t wear a beskar helmet, I promise. We’ll craft a different one for you, so your head is protected, but it won’t be beskar. Does it only hurt you when you wear it?”

“It doesn’t hurt me,” Obi-Wan says. “I panicked.”

“Touching you like this, it doesn’t hurt you?” Walon asks.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “Beskar doesn’t burn me. It blocks the—the Ka’ra. So when you wear it,” Obi-Wan traces the t-visor on Walon’s helmet, “it makes it harder for me to sense your emotions. But I can still see you and feel the forge’s heat and everything around me is still sharp and present. When I wear it…” Obi-Wan isn’t sure he should explain. If he tells them how beskar limits him, they’ll know how to punish him.

Walon pulls his gloves off. He gently touches Obi-Wan’s neck. Obi-Wan hisses because it stings. He must have broken skin. Obi-Wan looks at his own hands. There’s red under his fingernails.

“You have electric burns on your neck,” Walon says. He speaks in the careful voice Healer Lynnda uses sometimes.

“When I was a slave, there was a Force inhibitor in my collar,” Obi-Wan says. “I couldn’t touch it at all. There was a bomb too. I couldn’t do anything. I was helpless.”

“The beskar helmet reminded you of that time.”

Obi-Wan nods. He’s glad Walon is smart. It’s easier to nod than to have to explain it himself.

“You’re here on Mandalore,” Walon tells him. “You are Obi-Wan Vau, and you are safe here with me.”

“Be’Walon’ad,” Obi-Wan murmurs. He is Walon’s child. He isn’t a slave. He isn’t Xanatos’s victim. He isn’t an initiate or a padawan or a general. “Healer Lynnda will want to talk about this.”

“She will,” Walon says. “It can be today, if you like. Or, we can return to our quarters and drink shig in a nest of blankets.”

“Blanket nest,” Obi-Wan says.

Walon stands and since he and Obi-Wan are already twined together, he carries Obi-Wan back to their rooms. Obi-Wan thinks he should be embarrassed, but his legs feel like jelly, and he isn’t sure he’d be able to walk. Besides, they don’t see anyone in the halls and that helps.

Once they’re in their rooms, Walon sets Obi-Wan down. He gently dabs at Obi-Wan’s neck with a damp cloth and then he spreads a healing salve over the worst of the scratches. It’s Obi-Wan’s job to make their nest while Walon makes hot drinks for each of them.

#

Obi-Wan feels achy and tired the morning after the beskar incident. He has to meet with Healer Lynnda, and he doesn’t want to talk about Bandomeer again, but none of the other topics are good ones.

“I didn’t do all my homework,” Obi-Wan tells her.

“This is an unexpected visit,” Healer Lynnda says. “But we can start with your homework, if you would like. The first assignment was to try and initiate a touch with another child. Did you try?”

“I tried and I succeeded,” Obi-Wan says. “I touched Jango. We were in the training salles, but we weren’t sparring so it was a nice touch, not a neutral touch. I put my arm around his shoulders so I could talk to him. Later, I touched his fingers, but he was reaching for me too, so I’m not sure if it counts.”

“I’m glad you feel comfortable with Jango,” Healer Lynnda says.

“Jaster was there too,” Obi-Wan says. “But I thought I was in trouble, and I didn’t want him to touch me. I don’t think it would have been a bad touch, but it wouldn’t have been a good one. And then I didn’t see him again.”

“It sounds like you succeeded with both your assignments,” Healer Lynnda says. “I asked you to try and you did. You thought about if you wanted Jaster to touch you, and you didn’t. Remember, you can always say later or even no.”

“I’ll do better next time,” Obi-Wan promises. “And I did have a lot of nice touches from an adult yesterday. I—I had an episode at the armorer, but buir was very kind and understanding. He said we could have a blanket nest, and when I asked him to take off all his armor except his helmet, he did. And then he held me, and we drank shig and talked about my training schedule until I fell asleep.”

“I’m glad that you feel comfortable enough with your buir to ask for things you want. Are you ready to talk about what caused your episode?”

Obi-Wan shrugs. He doesn’t want to talk. Buir didn’t make him talk. Buir already knew everything. But Healer Lynnda makes Obi-Wan say things they both already know. Obi-Wan touches the healing scratches on his neck. “Buir says he recognized the electrical burns and what they meant.”

“I did suspect you were once enslaved,” Healer Lynnda says. “Your buir told me you had a bomb collar with a Force inhibitor built in. Will you tell me one thing from that time? It can be as big or as small as you want.”

“Anything I want?” Obi-Wan asks. He could tell her about the scent of ionite, how it stung the inside of his nostrils. He could tell her how everything was damp, because they were on one of the offshore mines. He could tell her there was never enough food, which prepared him for Melida/Daan. Or that it didn’t matter how well behaved he was, his collar still shocked him. He could tell her he was saved by a Jedi, but he doesn’t want to talk about Master Jinn.

“I had a Force inhibitor, because I was taken by a dar’jetii,” Obi-Wan finally says. “He called me little brother.”

Obi-Wan tells Healer Lynnda two things, not because he wants extra credit, but because it feels right. He had parents, but they didn’t want him. The Jedi were supposed to be his family, but they sent him away. Xanatos called him little brother and then hurt him.

“I like vod’ika better,” Obi-Wan admits, barely loud enough to be heard. “Arla calls me that. Even when she’s mean to me, she’s nice. And buir. Buir is nice. He wanted me. Parents don’t.”

Obi-Wan is glad he has more than one language to use. He learned in his Taung poetry class that not even translations are perfect and that’s the same here. Buir and parent aren’t the same. Vod’ika and little brother aren’t the same. In Mando’a, family is something good. Something nice.

Chapter Text

“This was a breakthrough,” Walon tells Jaster during their daily check-in. Jaster isn’t normally so involved with new children, but Obi-Wan is a special case. “But it was also a setback. He’s stringently followed every explicit and implicit rule, but I thought defiance was coming. He won’t push any boundaries anytime soon. The helmet incident has him spooked.”

Jaster knows all about the stages of adoption, especially when the adopted children carry with them trauma from their previous life. Jango was quiet at first, still processing his parents’ deaths. He didn’t hesitate to reach out to Jaster for comfort. He went to bed at the appointed time and stayed in his bunk even if he didn’t fall asleep right away. He cleared his plate at every meal. He was polite, if guarded, and he took to both his studies and his lessons well.

And then, about three months in, he started acting out. He would disappear from his room at night. He would eat only his vegetables and then only his proteins and then he would only eat one kind of vegetable only to arbitrarily pick a different one the next week. He trashed his room and wouldn’t clean up. He would try and hurt Jaster during their spars. He tested every line and every boundary, sometimes more than once, until he was certain he knew how Jaster would react.

It doesn’t surprise Jaster that Obi-Wan is on track for an accelerated timeline. Not all children are the same, and given Obi-Wan’s history with slavery and then war, he is no doubt wary of a good thing. As soon as he is comfortable here, he will test his boundaries to find out if it will always be safe.

Arla, of course, tested Jaster from the beginning. As he said, not all children are the same.

“He’s afraid we’ll use beskar as a punishment,” Jaster says. It goes against everything he believes in, but he understands why Obi-Wan is afraid.

“Yes.” Walon’s answer is curt, not because he’s annoyed with Jaster but because he hates the thought of beskar being twisted in that way.

“There’s a job coming up,” Jaster says. “It won’t require more than two squads. I can shift personnel around if you and Obi-Wan would like to stay here.”

“I think it would be good for him to go,” Walon says. “Replace me in your squad and have us as back-up if it would make you feel better, but it will be good for him to be active. And he’s smart enough to know that if you leave me behind, it’s because of him. That will do more harm than good. Pymlia is almost finished with his armor.”

“He’s doing better with his beskad,” Jaster says. “Once he has his armor, will you use live rounds?”

Jaster knows Obi-Wan can deflect blaster bolts with the Ka’ra, and he heard Jedi can do it with their jetii’kad, but Obi-Wan can do it with a beskad. It makes sense once he thinks about it. Beskar deflects blaster bolts, their armor does it all the time. What Obi-Wan can do is react quickly enough to use his blade. Especially because he’s beginning to aim his deflections. It’s enough to make Jaster wonder if there’s any way to get their hands on a jetii’kad for him.

“Yes.” Walon’s pride shines through, even that one word.

#

As is tradition, Walon presents Obi-Wan with his armor in a private ceremony with Clan Vau. The next time Jaster sees Obi-Wan at the training grounds, he has his vambraces, his chestplate, and his backplate on. It’s obvious from his movements and his frustration that the extra weight has thrown him off. It’s why children don’t walk around in full armor the day they receive it.

Jaster isn’t surprised to see the other children congratulate Obi-Wan on his armor or ask questions about his design. His chestplate and backplate are both different than anyone else in the compound. They are made of interlocking pieces, ones designed to give him flexibility so he can do the jumps and twists that the Ka’ra aids him with.

And vambraces are always a popular conversation starter because they’re so customizable. Obi-Wan has a whipcord on his left one, and a retractable blade on his right. Jaster suspects he’ll have more components added as he grows. Or as the other children fill his head with ideas. Flamethrowers are always popular. 

It also doesn’t surprise Jaster when Jango is the one who lingers with Obi-Wan after the others drift away. Jango and Obi-Wan are close. Partially, it’s because Walon is part of Jaster’s squad. And partially, it’s because they’re nearly the same age, and they have both known hurt already in their lives.

“You’ll adjust to it more quickly than you think,” Jango tells Obi-Wan. “Soon, you’ll be sparring in full beskar’gam.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head as if he can’t believe it. “It’s much heavier than I expected. You’ve been wearing yours for a while now, right? It’s why you’re so strong.”

“You think I’m strong?” Jango asks.

And maybe there’s another reason they gravitate toward each other, Jaster thinks as Obi-Wan traces the dips and curves of Jango’s biceps. They learn toward each other, and their voices are too quiet for Jaster to hear, but he doesn’t need to hear what they say. He recognizes the careful way Obi-Wan touches Jango and the softness in Jango’s eyes.

Jaster turns to watch Elina and Arla spar. The boys deserve their privacy.

#

The Governor of Galidraan reached out to Jaster regarding some trouble he was facing from discontented colonists. It’s a simple job, straightforward, and Jaster decides on taking three squads with him, because neither Jango nor Arla will let him hear the end of it if he leaves one of them behind.

It’s Myles who suggests the prime candidate for staying behind, but he at least has the good sense to wait until he and Jaster are dining privately to bring it up.

“I am the Mand’alor,” Jaster snaps, harsher than he intends to be. “It is my role to lead our people.”

“Not on the battlefield,” Myles says. “You’re a reformist. Lead by example. No one doubts your abilities in combat. But to have those roots and choose a life of service, that is what our people need to see.”

“Damn it,” Jaster says, because he knows he’s lost. Myles is right. Glory, honor, those have both pushed him into fights, but now it’s time for those to guide him away from them. What use is change if he doesn’t live long enough to see the change take root? “I’ll start sitting some of the side projects out. But I’m not hanging up my blaster, until I’m the undisputed Mand’alor.”

“Give command of your squad to Walon and make Obi-Wan the ninth member,” Myles suggests.

“Ha. You’re in command if I’m not here,” Jaster says.

Myles nods as if it’s what he wanted but didn’t think he could be the one to voice it first. “And when you are here, I lead either Arla or Jango’s squad, depending on which one stays back.” He holds up a hand before Jaster can speak. “It’s past time the three of you shouldn’t be on the same missions. It’s an unnecessary risk. Besides, if you tagging along means one of them sits out, they’ll be on my side keeping you in Keldabe. Or wherever we make our capital.”

“Damn it,” Jaster says again. He’s good at fighting. At killing. Leading on a battlefield isn’t easy, but his voice is respected, and his orders are followed. Leading from a seat of government…it’s what they’ve worked for this whole time. He knows it’s the endgame. And yet, now that they’re approaching it, he worries.

What if all he’s good for is war?

He laughs at himself, both for being so dramatic, and because this is the crisis he has set out to solve. Mandalorians are all good for more than just war. Yes, he will always feel most comfortable in his beskar’gam, but it isn’t a trade. He isn’t giving up who he is in order to become someone else. He can be a soldier and Mand’alor. He has to be or how else can any of his people learn to embrace their legacy and their future?

Cheered, Jaster eats some of his curry. It was Dustin’s turn to cook which means his meal is mushier than he likes, but the taste is exceptional. He points his utensil at Myles. “Are you going to bring up succession next?”

It’s a jest, but Myles takes it seriously. “Arla and Jango are both too young. And, presumably, they’d be thrust into the role after you were assassinated or killed horribly in battle. One day, maybe, but neither of them is ready yet.”

“Walon,” Jaster answers, because Myles hasn’t said anything Jaster hasn’t already turned over a hundred times in his own head. “He was raised to rule, even if he left that life behind. No one doubts his martial skills or his commitment to the Codex.”

“And his ad has been blessed by the Ka’ra,” Myles says. “Did you see the shit he was doing earlier? He can shape water with his hands.”

“He can pull sweat out of tunics now,” Jaster adds.

Myles smirks. “That’s one way to do laundry.”

Jaster shakes his head, because Myles isn’t seeing where this ends. “If he can pull water from fabric, could he pull it from a body?”

Myles’s mouth opens. Closes. He shudders, which is the reaction Jaster was hoping for. “Most humanoids are about 60% water. Is Walon teaching him that?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Jaster doesn’t even intend it to be a difficult answer. “They’re progressing through the plan Walon put together. I’m sure he’s seen where it ends. I’m not sure if Obi-Wan has. And I’m not sure whether Walon will leave the realization up to him or not. But he’s going to be a very good fighter. And he’s loyal to Walon.”

“You too,” Myles reminds him. “Maybe even more, you.” His lips twist in a frown as he realizes something. “The life debt. He may not agree to be on a squad if you’re not running it. And it wouldn’t be a bad idea for the Mand’alor to have a personal guard.”

“Something to consider. We won’t solve every problem tonight.”

“Not with that attitude,” Myles says cheerfully. He eats a good third of his curry before he speaks again. “I looked into Bandomeer. There’s no record of an Obi-Wan Kenobi. There were definitely shady practices courtesy of Offworld Mining, but they’re well-connected. They pulled out of Bandomeer after a slap on the wrist. No whispers about a dar’jetii, either.”

“We’ll have to be on our guard,” Jaster says. “Healer Lynnda said the dar’jetii felt some kind of connection to Obi-Wan. He might try and track him in order to get him back.”

“Then I guess we better wipe out Death Watch quickly,” Myles says. “The darksaber would certainly come in handy if you have to duel a dar’jetii.”

“Yes, if only Tor Vizsla would be more cooperative. That will happen the same day it snows on Tatooine.”

#

If Jaster had spoken to the Governor of Galidraan in person instead of over comms, he isn’t sure he would have taken this job. The governor is slimy, the kind of politician that makes Jaster want to wash his hands three times after being in the same room as him.

There is a holdout in one of the new fortresses, and that’s the job Jaster’s been hired for. The governor is indignant that these colonists would dare commandeer the fortress they were brought here to build. The governor wants an example made of the colonists and to that end, he hired the most efficient and effective mercenaries in the galaxy.

“He wants us to slaughter them,” Myles says, disgusted, once the three squads are on The Protector.

“They’re ewoks,” Obi-Wan says as he studies the briefing. The governor had been more than happy to provide them with detailed blueprints of the fortress as well as profiles on each of the supposed insurgents.

“They look like teddy bears, but they aren’t,” Arla says. “They’re vicious little fuckers when they want to be.”

“I didn’t think they left Endor,” Obi-Wan says.

“They wanted a chance at a better life,” Kal says. “It’s what colonists want. Either that or be conquering expansionists, but that’s never been an issue with ewoks.”

“So what’s changed?” Obi-Wan asks. “They came here for a better life and now they’re defying the governor? We’re nowhere near Endor. They don’t have friends or allies who will offer back-up.”

“You want to try and talk to them?” Dysari asks.

Obi-Wan looks around the group as if he’s realizing that’s not the normal plan. Jaster doesn’t need to be Ka’ra blessed to feel the weight of Obi-Wan’s disappointment that the usual plan is to drop in with blasters raised.

“I speak ewok,” Rav says. Heads swivel toward her. Without prompting she adds, “I passed one off as a wookie cub once.”

That only raises more questions, but Rav doesn’t seem inclined to expand on the story. It’s Jaster everyone turns to next, but he is used to the attention. He doesn’t allow it to rush him. He takes his time, considering the angles. “Mandalore has remained independent of the Republic, because we refuse to be their attack dogs. We aren’t weapons, to be aimed and pointed by others, no matter what we’re offered. We investigate first. Find out what the colonists’ grievances are, if any.”

They set up camp while Rav disappears on her solo mission. Obi-Wan and Jango immediately pair up. Obi-Wan’s now up to his vambraces, his chestplate, his backplate, and his helmet. Jaster is glad his most vital parts of covered, but he’ll be as relieved as Walon will be once Obi-Wan is in his full kit.

For now, Jango and Obi-Wan appear to be racing each other to see who can disassemble and reassemble their blasters in the shortest amount of time. Jaster glowers at the snow on the ground.

“It isn’t so bad,” Walon says. He kicks at the cold white stuff with his boot.

“I don’t like the cold,” Jaster says. It reminds him of his age and injuries which will never fully heal.

“Obi-Wan!” Walon calls. He times it for right after Obi-Wan has eked out a second victory to Jango’s one. Walon smirks slightly, as if he knows the score. “Over here.”

Jango glowers at being denied a comeback, but he follows Obi-Wan to where Walon and Jaster are standing.

“Snow is a form of water,” Walon says.

As if this means something to Obi-Wan, he sits cross-legged on the ground. Jaster looks from the boy to Walon and then back to the boy, but he doesn’t gain any insight. And then, around them, individual snowflakes are pulled up from the ground. They’re almost pretty, scattered like stars.

“What would you like me to do with it?” Obi-Wan asks.

“The Mand’alor doesn’t like snow,” Walon answers.

Jaster eyes Obi-Wan warily, as if he’s about to be hit with a visor-full of snow. But Obi-Wan just hums, considering, and then moves his hands as if he’s rolling something between them. The snow condenses into a tight ball and then drops to the ground. It rolls in a circle around their feet, gaining size until the large snowball is at a height with Jaster’s waist.

He isn’t the only one captivated as Obi-Wan creates a second snowball, slightly smaller than the first, and then levitates it to rest on the first. Obi-Wan does it one final time.

“Is that a snowman?” Arla asks.

Obi-Wan moves his hands again and bits of snow are shaved off until the top snowball looks less like a head and more like a helmet.

“It’s a snowmandalorian,” Obi-Wan answers.

“Good, he can keep watch tonight,” Myles jokes.

There are another four snowmandalorians by the time Rav returns from her mission. And then the time for fun is over, because she has grim news to share. The ewoks were brought to Galidraan, because they didn’t mind the cold temperatures, and they were promised an entire settlement of their own. They built the fortress and the surrounding villages and then one of their own went missing.

The body was found several days later, frozen in the snow. The cause of death was blasterfire. The next month, another ewok went missing. Same cause of death. Someone, or something, was luring them out and hunting them.

“They almost took me down,” Rav says. “I had to explain to them that armor paint isn’t like fur color. We choose it and it means something.”

“They’ve seen other Mandalorians,” Myles says. He pounds his fist on the table. “Death Watch is here?”

“The ewoks aren’t stupid,” Rav says. “They know the fortress inside and out. They began rallying other unhappy colonists to plan a full-scale rebellion against the governor. They won’t give us any more information unless we give them something in return.” Rav taps her fingers on the table. “They’re resourceful. And there are a lot of underpopulated planets in the Mandalore system.”

“The governor didn’t specify that you had to kill them,” Obi-Wan says. He doesn’t shy away from all the attention on him. “He was vague, maybe as an escape hatch. He said to make an example out of them. But you can fulfill the contract without killing them.”

Jaster grins, sharp and pleased behind his helmet. “We can take the governor’s money, gain new citizens for Mandalore, and get valuable intel on Death Watch all at once.” He turns to Rav. “Is their leader willing to discuss terms with me?”

#

“The threat has been dealt with,” Jaster tells the governor. “The fortress is cleared out.” He conveniently leaves out that the ewoks are all on his transports along with any supplies and materials they could fit, as payment for the work they had done.

The governor’s smile is smarmy, even through the holo. His eyes pinch at the corners when Jaster tells him they’ll remain on the comm line, and the planet, until the credits are transferred to Jaster’s account for the job.

The governor hems and haws, stalls, and then eventually gives in. It’s an annoying delay, but it isn’t one which will ultimately matter.

“We have incoming!” Myles shouts. “A Republic transport.”

“Oh, fuck no,” Dustin says as the ship comes into view. The Jedi Order symbol is painted stark and bright against the ship’s dull hull.

Jaster is glad Arla and Jango are already in orbit, their ships carrying all the ewoks. His supercommandos are good, but they’re no match for a transport full of Jedi.

“This is Jedi Master Yan Dooku, and you are ordered to stand down.” The voice is magnified from the transport’s open landing ramp so that the man can be heard over the ship’s engines as the ship continues its descent.

“Someone’s awfully full of himself,” Myles mutters.

“You are wanted for crimes against the innocent,” Dooku continues. “Submit peacefully and no harm will come to you or your mercenaries.”

“You have no business here, jetii,” Jaster says as the Jedi transport finally lands.

Yan Dooku is an older humanoid male with graying hair. He wears swirling black robes and a cape made of rich fabric. He holds his lightsaber in his hand, but it isn’t ignited yet. The threat is there, though, and Jaster prepares himself for action.

Another eight jetiise join Dooku, and Jaster feels the first twinge of worry. The odds are not in his squad’s favor.

“The governor warned us you might resist.” Dooku settles into a comfortable stance.

“The governor hired you?” Soxo demands. “He hired us.”

“To massacre peaceful protestors?” Dooku holds up a recording device and hits play. Jaster’s voice comes through clearly. The threat has been dealt with. The fortress is cleared out. Dooku’s lips thin into a frown. “You are charged with murder. Lay down your weapons or lay down your lives. It is your choice.”

“You’ve been tricked, jetii,” Jaster says.

Dooku sighs and then ignites his saber. Behind him, the other eight jetiise do as well. Jaster asks the ancestors to lend him their strength as he goes to battle against their enemy.

And then Obi-Wan shouts, “No!” and vaults over their heads to land in the snow between the jetiise and the Mandalorians. Obi-Wan holds a hand out, palm facing each side, as if he can hold them at bay. “Don’t fight each other.”

He turns his back to Jaster and the Mandalorians as if he trusts they won’t shoot him. He bows deeply to the jetiise. “There has been a misunderstanding, Master Dooku. The governor is no friend of the Haat Mando’ade. He seeks to use you as his method of destruction.”

“Do you claim this recording is fabricated?” Dooku asks.

“You charged us with murder, but the recording doesn’t prove it. You are about to attack the leader of a sovereign system based on the word of a liar. Please. At least do a proper investigation before you start swinging your sabers.”

“They’re stalling.” A young woman with short blonde hair and who wields a saber in each hand strides forward. “And they’re using a child to do it.”

“Padawan, no,” Dooku says. When the woman takes another step forward, Dooku does something with his hand and both her sabers turn off. Dooku ignores her shriek. “If you cannot control yourself, I will do it for you. Return to the ship.”

“This is a trick!”

Dooku tilts his head and stares at Obi-Wan as if he’ll be able to pluck the thoughts out of Obi-Wan’s head if he only concentrates enough.

Walon makes a show of clicking the safety off his blaster. “Harm my ad, and you will not live through the afternoon.”

Jaster can’t fault Walon’s protectiveness, even if it ratchets the tension up higher.

“We all put our weapons down,” Obi-Wan says. “And we contact a neutral negotiator.”

Dooku raises both of his eyebrows imperiously. “I’m a negotiator.”

“You threatened to kill my aliit without any concrete evidence,” Obi-Wan says. “Open a channel to a Jedi Councilor. Let us each present our side and then discuss this as adults.”

There’s a moment of tension before Dooku gives a curt nod. “I will bring the long-distance comm here. You, myself, and your leader only. My team will remain on our ship and your team will remain on yours.”

“Agreed,” Jaster says. He steps forward, even as he motions for his squad to fall back. “Jaster Mereel, Mand’alor.”

“Master!” the young woman doesn’t like this plan.

Dooku silences her with a look. He ushers his team of jetiise into the transport. When he returns, it’s with the promised comm. He nods, satisfied, when he sees only Obi-Wan and Jaster.

“There is one final introduction,” Dooku says.

“You can call me be’Walon’ad,” Obi-Wan says.

Jaster approves of the kid’s courage. He rests a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder to let him know he has Jaster’s support and approval.

Dooku sets up the call, and it doesn’t take as long as Jaster would expect for it to connect. Obi-Wan goes still under Jaster’s hand when the most recognizable jetii in the galaxy answers.

“Master Yoda,” Dooku greets. He bows. “I have a request for a neutral arbitrator. Are you available?”

“No,” Obi-Wan interrupts. Both Dooku and Yoda look at him, but Obi-Wan doesn’t shrink back. “Master Yoda is your master. He isn’t a neutral party.”

“An arbitrator, you need?” Yoda asks. The jetii hums, as if in thought. “The solution, I have.”

A moment later, Yoda flickers out of view and a new jetii takes his place. This jetii is humanoid and quite tall, especially in comparison to the previous jetii. They have stern, serious eyes and a perfectly bald head.

“Master Windu.” Dooku bows to this jetii but not nearly as low as he had bowed to Yoda.

“You have run into difficulties on Galidraan?” Windu asks.

Dooku gestures to Obi-Wan and Jaster. “We arrived at the scene of the crime, but the accused party claims their innocence.”

Windu looks like a man who doesn’t need another headache. Jaster feels a flicker of sympathy. “May I ask who I am speaking with?”

“Jaster Mereel, Mand’alor,” Jaster says. He grins behind his helmet at Windu’s quirked eyebrow. The jetii knows who he is. Jaster keeps his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder as he adds, “This is be’Walon’ad.”

Windu snorts, which is less stuffy and diplomatic than Jaster expected from a jetii leader. “And where is Walon?”

“Impatiently waiting to see how these negotiations conclude,” Jaster says. He intends it to be a threat, and he knows it lands, because Dooku’s hand flexes as if he wants to reach for his lightsaber.

“The Governor of Galidraan contacted Mand’alor Mereel,” Obi-Wan says, apparently deciding that neither Jaster nor Dooku were up to this task. “He hired us to deal with a revolt, but when we looked deeper, it was the governor at fault, not the people we were hired to deal with. The governor was imprecise in his contract. While we technically fulfilled the terms, we did not harm the colonists as we led the governor to believe. They are safe on our transports. We have offered them a new home in the Mandalore system, where they will not be hunted for sport.”

“The governor conveniently left out the part where he hired you,” Dooku says.

“He isn’t very forthcoming,” Jaster says. “He didn’t tell us he was harboring members of the terrorist group Death Watch on the planet. We intend to root them out and deal with them as soon as the colonists are safe.”

“I would like to speak to the governor with you once we’re finished here,” Dooku says. “I imagine his reaction to seeing us standing together will prove quite informational.”

“Did you comm me to listen to you do your job?” Windu asks, irritated.

“I commed you because the child, rightfully, didn’t trust me after we assumed the worst and almost attacked his people,” Dooku says. “But now that we’re communicating, we have been able to clear up the misunderstanding.”

“Communication,” Jaster muses. He doesn’t trust the jetii, and his impression of Dooku isn’t kind, but he doesn’t hate Windu. He tilts his head, considering the jetii. “The jetiise aren’t the only ones looking to help the galaxy. It would be good to have open communication so something like today doesn’t happen again.”

“You propose open communication between the Jedi Order and the Mandalorians?” Windu asks.

“You have proven yourself willing to listen,” Jaster says. “Will you accept the role of liaison?”

Dooku laughs, sharp but bright, and Windu scowls at him for a moment before looking at Jaster again. “And you would be my contact, Mand’alor?”

“Yes,” Jaster answers.

Windu is clearly considering the proposal, but he must be taking too long, because Obi-Wan surges forward. “Please, Master Windu,” he pleads with the holo.

Jaster is very aware that Dooku’s hand now rests on his lightsaber hilt. Jaster drops his own hand to his blaster in response.

"How does a Mandalorian child know Mace Windu?” Dooku asks. His voice is low, dangerous, and this, Obi-Wan recognizes and responds to.

He steps back toward Jaster, aligning himself with his Mand’alor and, Jaster thinks, making sure he’s protected if this goes south.

“You can’t take me back,” Obi-Wan says. “I owe the Mand’alor a life debt. I said the words before he could stop me. I’m Clan Vau, House Mereel.”

So, Obi-Wan was a Temple jetii. That is a headache that Jaster will have to deal with once they’re successfully out of this situation.

“Will you remove your helmet?” Windu asks.

Obi-Wan hesitates for a moment before he does.

Windu closes his eyes at the sight of Obi-Wan’s face. When he opens his eyes again, there’s grief and sadness in them. “Obi-Wan,” Windu says. “Clan Vau, House Mereel. I promise on behalf of the Jedi Order, we will not forcibly remove you from your guardian’s care.”

“Buir,” Obi-Wan says, his voice small and his interjection all the braver for it.

Windu dips his head in acknowledgement. “A great tragedy was prevented this day, because of you. You are exactly where the Force needs you to be. But how you arrived here…I apologize for how the Order failed you.”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth and then closes it again. He tucks himself closer to Jaster. Jaster, grudgingly, finds himself liking this jetii. And it will be useful to have someone they can ask questions about Obi-Wan’s training.

Speaking of… “Obi-Wan was one of yours?” Jaster asks. “Where is his jetii’kad?”

“Master Jinn kept it,” Obi-Wan answers. “Is that why none of you thought I was a Jedi? Because I didn’t have a lightsaber?”

Jaster doesn’t want to admit in front of Dooku or Windu how much he doesn’t know about Obi-Wan. He’ll wait to ask more questions until they’re back on their transport.

“You could build a new one,” Windu says, and it must be a scandalous thing to say, because Obi-Wan gasps and Dooku glares frostily at Windu. “You would need a kyber crystal, of course, but I hear Jedha is a good source.”

“Jedha?” Obi-Wan echoes. “Not Ilum?”

“Ilum is where Jedi find their crystals,” Windu says, and he doesn’t gentle his voice even though this is a difficult topic. “But there are adherents of the Force all across the galaxy. Jedha is one such sect.”

“Okay,” Obi-Wan says. Jaster thinks this is the end of it, but then Obi-Wan asks, “Is Master Tahl alright?”

“She is quite well,” Windu answers. “She has a seeing droid to assist her as she adjusts to being blind, but she is recovered otherwise from her ordeal.”

“And giving my former padawan fits,” Dooku mutters.

Obi-Wan turns to this new source of information. “She’s unhappy with Master Jinn? He saved her life.”

“At the expense of yours,” Windu says.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says as if this is known information and he doesn’t understand why it’s a big deal.

Jaster thinks about Obi-Wan telling him that of course Obi-Wan stepped in to defend the hospital, because his life wasn’t worth as much as Jaster’s. Jaster’s helmet hides his expression, but he’s entirely sure that Windu’s quiet fury recognizes Jaster’s less quiet fury.

He’ll discuss this more in depth with Windu later, once Dooku and Obi-Wan aren’t standing here as witnesses. Jaster thanks Windu for his mediation, exchanges comm information, and then ends the call.

He says a stilted farewell to Dooku and then guides Obi-Wan back to The Protector for the most difficult negotiation of the day. Explaining to his people that they now have a jetii contact.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan expects to be in trouble when Jaster and Walon sit him down on the flight back to Mandalore. He knows there are important things he hasn’t told them, some of them on purpose. It’s deception and he doesn’t know the punishment for lying to the Mand’alor, but he’s certain there is one.

Plus, Jaster is already angry, because Death Watch fled when they heard the Jedi and the Mandalorians didn’t fight each other. Obi-Wan isn’t wearing any of his armor, because it won’t protect him if Jaster and Walon are really angry. He fidgets with the sleeves of his kute.

“You aren’t in trouble,” Jaster says. “I know there are things you haven’t said, but you did it to protect yourself. Are you willing to fill in some of the gaps for us now?”

“Will you take your helmets off?” Obi-Wan asks. He wants to know they aren’t actually angry.

Walon is the first to remove his helmet and Jaster follows suit. Neither of them feel angry in the Force. Mostly, they seem tired. And Obi-Wan is making more work for both of them.

“Where would you like me to start?” Obi-Wan asks.

“You were raised in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant?” Jaster asks.

The beginning, then. Obi-Wan supposes they already know how this story begins. “I was born on Stewjon, but I have no memories of it. I was found on Search and brought to the Temple. It was the only home I ever knew. I was going to be a Jedi. But as I approached thirteen, the age my species ages out of being an initiate, no masters showed an interest in me. Technically, I had until my thirteenth birthday to convince one to take me, but I got into an unsanctioned fight with another initiate, and I was sent away early.”

“You?” Jaster asks. “An unsanctioned fight?”

“I’ve worked to control and master my temper,” Obi-Wan says. He tugs on his sleeve again. “I was assigned to the AgriCorps outpost on Bandomeer. I was going to become a farmer.”

“There’s no record of you on Bandomeer,” Jaster says. “We looked.”

Obi-Wan shrugs. “Did you check with the AgriCorps? Perhaps, because I was a minor, they didn’t put my name in the public record. Regardless, I never made it to the AgriCorps. My transport was intercepted. I was captured by a dar’jetii and sold into slavery. He planned to use me to lure his former master into a trap.”

“He used you as bait?” Jaster asks.

Obi-Wan nods. “His name is Xanatos du Crion. He was Master Jinn’s apprentice until he Fell and became a dar’jetii.” He notes the way both Jaster and Walon frown at Master Jinn’s name. “Master Jinn had been sent to Bandomeer to investigate Offworld Mining.”

“You were both there?” Jaster asks, interrupting again. “He was on a mission to Bandomeer when you were unusually expelled early and sent to the same place?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan answers. “The Force works in mysterious ways. That’s what they taught us at the Temple, at least. I was in the ionite mines for most of Master Jinn’s investigation. But then he freed me, and we rescued the rest of the slaves and confronted Xanatos, but he got away.” Obi-Wan decides not to mention how he offered to set off his bomb collar. They won’t understand. “And then Master Jinn told me I had been brave and a good example of the Jedi’s values, and he asked me to be his padawan.”

Walon barely reacts at all, as if he’s still wearing his beskar helmet, but Jaster’s anger burns in the Force.

“So, then I was a padawan,” Obi-Wan says. “It didn’t last very long. We went to Melida/Daan to rescue Master Tahl. The Young helped us find her, and they told us about the war. They needed help. And Master Jinn and I were Jedi. Helping people is what we’re supposed to do. But Master Tahl also needed help. So, Master Jinn chose to help her, and I chose to help the Young. And then you know the rest.”

Jaster studies Obi-Wan as if he can pull out all the missing pieces of the story. “Windu said Jinn left you and took your lightsaber. And you don’t have the jetii’ika braid.”

Obi-Wan looks down at his hands. “Padawans are supposed to obey their masters. Like ade and their buire. I refused to listen. Master Jinn told me to choose, and I chose the Young over the Order. He took my lightsaber and my braid, because I wasn’t a Jedi anymore.”

“Not like ade and their buire,” Walon says. His voice is firm, unshakable. “In Mandalorian culture, there is dar’buir, when a child disowns their parent. But there is no such thing as dar’ad. A child cannot be abandoned by their parent.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth opens as horror fills his mind. Walon sounds so sure, so confident, as if this is a good thing, and Obi-Wan should draw strength from it. But he can’t.

“No,” Obi-Wan says. “No! Take it back!”

Walon sits in his chair, unmovable, unshakable, and Obi-Wan leaps at him to try and shake him.

“Take it back! Make me Kenobi again!”

“You are my child,” Walon says and beneath the cool metal of his mind, his emotions roil, waiting to be unleashed.

Obi-Wan pounds his fists against Walon’s chestplate. “Reverse it! You didn’t understand when you took me. I’m not good. I didn’t mean to trap you. Please.”

Walon catches Obi-Wan’s hands before he can bruise and bloody them on Walon’s beskar. “Ad’ika, why are you upset?”

“I tricked him,” Obi-Wan says. “I was sent to Bandomeer, because I was bad, but when I offered to set off my collar to save the other slaves, Master Jinn saw something good. He felt like he owed me something, so he took me as his padawan, but he didn’t want me. I could feel it. He regretted it, but he couldn’t get rid of me. Until Melida/Daan. He told me I had to choose, and I made the right choice, but I also freed him. He would never have gotten rid of me otherwise. And now I’ve trapped you.”

Obi-Wan is crying now, because he never learns. Walon releases his wrists, and Obi-Wan falls forward and clings to Walon, even as he tells him to send him away. “I’m Kenobi, because my parents knew. They tried to warn everyone with my name. Make me dar’ad.”

“No,” Walon says.

“Yes!” Obi-Wan tries to hit him again, but Walon doesn’t let him. “I’ll kill you in your sleep! We share the same room, it wouldn’t even be hard.”

“Then, I would be dead, and you would still be Clan Vau.”

“I’ll learn everything there is about the Force and swear the Jedi vows, and then I’ll be your enemy.”

“Tarre Vizsla was a Mandalorian Jedi. There could be one again.”

“I’ll be the worst Mandalorian.”

“Then, you will be dar’manda, not dar’ad.”

“Why won’t you hate me?” Obi-Wan demands.

“You are my child,” Walon says as if it’s simple.

“It isn’t enough,” Obi-Wan tells him. “It’s never enough.” It wasn’t enough for his birth parents, and it wasn’t enough for Master Jinn. Obi-Wan wasn’t enough. Nothing has changed. He’s still the same stupid, angry boy.

“I named you as my child,” Walon says. “I knew it would not always be easy, but I made a commitment to care for you and raise you. Nothing you can say or do will make me go back on my vow to you.”

“Why?” What did he do wrong before and what is he doing right now? How does he make sure Walon does keep him forever?

“Because you are enough,” Walon answers.

Obi-Wan slumps against Walon. He tucks his face against Walon’s neck and cries, big ugly sobs.

#

When they arrive back at the compound Obi-Wan spends an entire day only in the company of Mird’ika. And then he starts the next morning with a visit to Healer Lynnda, and he returns to his previous routines.

By the time Walon tells him they’re prepared for a trip to Jedha, Obi-Wan is comfortable fighting in all his armor. Obi-Wan packs his and Mird’ika’s things and loads them onto the small ship they’ll take to Jedha. Obi-Wan had offered to pack Walon’s as well, but Walon shook his head, and Obi-Wan didn’t push.

He’s still embarrassed after his outburst, even though Walon doesn’t treat him any differently. Obi-Wan admitted some of the details to Jango, and he was surprised when Jango nodded like he understood and then told Obi-Wan about the unkind things he said to Jaster after being adopted. Apparently, Arla slipped into Jaster’s room one night with a knife.

It’s something for Obi-Wan to reflect on in his meditations. He knows he and Healer Lynnda will discuss it as well. Family. Home. Belonging.

Obi-Wan and the astromech plot their course to Jedha together. Once the R2 unit has checked Obi-Wan’s work and chirped her approval, Obi-Wan goes to check on Walon. He finds both Walon and Jaster in the cargo bay.

“We have a stowaway,” Walon tells Obi-Wan.

“I’ve never been to the Holy City,” Jaster says.

“We’ll bring you something from the gift shop,” Walon tells him, but he doesn’t tell Jaster to leave and so Jaster stays.

Walon accompanies Obi-Wan back to the cockpit, and Obi-Wan is the copilot to Walon’s pilot as they take off. Obi-Wan is excited to go to Jedha and find a kyber crystal and build a lightsaber, but he can’t help his small frown as they climb through the atmosphere and leave Mandalore behind.

Is Mandalore truly home? Can a place become home so quickly?

Once the ship is in R2’s capable processors, Walon and Obi-Wan return to the cargo hold to train. Obi-Wan practices his hand-to-hand and his beskad and then his Force skills. He’s more than ready for a shower and a large meal after that. Jaster eats with them, and after he learns Obi-Wan doesn’t know anything about Jedha, he asks about Obi-Wan’s classes instead.

“Our Mand’alor is a giant nerd,” Walon tells Obi-Wan.

“You say it as an insult, but it’s a compliment,” Jaster says. “There is nothing wrong with an interest in learning.”

“Is this because of your grudge with the jetii librarian? I thought your new friend would have been able to get you access.”

Obi-Wan smiles as Walon and Jaster tease each other. Jaster is the Mand’alor, and Obi-Wan never forgets it, but sometimes his awareness of it fades, because Jaster is different from Master Yoda or even the Chancellor. He’s…accessible. He isn’t intimidating, and he doesn’t discourage his people from talking to him. He does the opposite. He joins training sessions, and he’ll stop in on meals or even classes, and he’ll make himself part of the group.

Obi-Wan understands why so many clans have pledged their support to him, even though he doesn’t have the darksaber. He’s good.

“Have you ever been to the Temple library?” Jaster asks.

Obi-Wan realizes he’s being invited into the conversation. “Do you mean the Archives? If so, yes. As an initiate, I didn’t have access to all of it, but there was more information there than I could learn in a lifetime.”

“Is it true a terrible she-gargoyle guards the doors?” Walon asks, laughing, but his laughter is directed at Jaster.

“There are no Temple guards at the Archives,” Obi-Wan says. “But Madame Nu is very strict, and she knows everything that happens in the Archives. Quin was banned for two weeks once, because he had a candy wrapper in his pocket. He didn’t even eat it in the Archives, it was just the wrapper. I had to check out Quin’s books so he could do his coursework.”

“Did Madame Nu like you?” Jaster asks.

Obi-Wan shrugs. “I don’t think Madame Nu likes anyone. But I followed the rules, so she didn’t dislike me. She told me once that I should stop hanging out with Quin, because he was a bad influence, but Quin was one of my only friends, so I didn’t listen to her. And it turns out I was the bad influence, because I was kicked out of the Order and then I left it after being accepted.”

“I’d like to meet this Jinn fellow,” Walon says casually, but Obi-Wan isn’t fooled.

“He followed the will of the Force.”

“I can’t punch the Ka’ra,” Walon says. “Jinn will do.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Obi-Wan says.

“He has been officially censured,” Jaster says, breaking up Obi-Wan and Walon’s staring contest. “He is restricted to the Temple until the mind healers clear him for missions. And he will not be permitted to take another padawan unless three conditions are met. The mind healers assess him and find him capable, the Council assesses him and finds him capable, and he is willing.”

Obi-Wan hears what Jaster isn’t saying. “Master Jinn didn’t want me.”

“He wasn’t ready to be a teacher again,” Jaster says.

Which is a diplomat’s way of agreeing. Only, it’s more than a simple yes. Master Jinn didn’t want Obi-Wan but, if Obi-Wan understands Jaster correctly, Master Jinn didn’t want anyone. Obi-Wan considers this and then says, “It’s in the past. I am where the Force needs me to be.” Sensing a need to change the subject, Obi-Wan says, “I wonder what Jedha will be like. I hope there won’t be any ice caves like on Ilum. I almost drowned in one of the lakes.”

“What?” Jaster asks.

Hmm, maybe this wasn’t the subject change Obi-Wan was looking for.

#

Jedha doesn’t look like it’ll have any ice caves. The air is a dry heat, and it’s stale, no wind to stir the sand which coats the roads and rocks and mesas that stretch out into the distance. The city is made of beige and brown buildings, most of them patched, the outsides smooth from how long they’ve been standing.

The centerpiece of the Holy City is the temple itself. Obi-Wan feels conspicuous in his beskar’gam, and he worries the temple inhabitants might consider three armed Mandalorians a threat.

They’re greeted by a twi-lek with lavender skin and a string of kyber crystals around her neck. They’re too small for a lightsaber and Obi-Wan wonders if that’s why they’ve become jewelry. Or maybe the kyber helps non-Jedi channel the Force. He has a dozen questions, and they create a traffic jam in his mouth, and he isn’t able to say anything.

“Welcome to Jedha,” the twi-lek says. “I am Yut’soti, a guardian of this temple.” She smiles as she looks at Obi-Wan. “The Force told us you were coming, but it did not provide your name.”

“Obi-Wan Vau.” Obi-Wan bows deeply and respectfully. “I am a former Jedi on a new path, and I am in search of guidance.”

“And your companions?” Yut’soti asks.

“My guardian, Walon Vau and my Mand’alor, Jaster Mereel.”

“Well met,” Yut’soti says. “Weapons are, of course, permitted in the temple, but violence is not.”

“An exercise in self-restraint?” Jaster asks.

Yut’soti leads them up the wide stone stairs to the temple itself. She gestures for Jaster to walk beside her. “We have rules for our temple, but rules are not always followed. In the event someone brings violence to us, we must be able to defend ourselves.”

“Oh, here we go,” Walon mutters and Obi-Wan’s confused until Jaster asks a follow-up question. And then another. And another. Obi-Wan can’t help his laugh as Jaster eagerly discusses the guardians’ culture and the history of Jedha.

Supposedly, they’re here for Obi-Wan, but he’s glad there’s something here for Jaster too. He hopes Walon will find something for himself as well.

They’re shown to guest quarters, and Yut’soti waves off any attempt at payment. And then she guides them to one of the training rooms.

“We are one with the Force, and the Force is one with us,” Yut’soti says and then she opens the door.

Obi-Wan is glad for his helmet, because it covers the way his mouth drops at what he sees. There are children chasing each other up walls and across the air as if they’re running on invisible floors. There is another group playing tag, but they blink in and out of sight, disappearing only to reappear on the other side of the room.

“How?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Through the Force, all things are possible,” Yut’soti says.

Does that mean Obi-Wan could learn? If he closes his eyes, can he wish himself ten feet away? If he steps onto the air will a stair appear beneath his foot?

“There are rules,” Jaster says. “Physics.” It’s a protest, but one he is eager to have corrected.

“There are rules,” Yut’soti agrees. “But who creates them? And who follows them?”

“Philosopher shit,” Walon mutters.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says as he watches the children play. There are rules, but who creates them? Could Obi-Wan create them? He walks forward, six steps. He is six steps from where he was. But what if he doesn’t step through normal space? What if he steps through a door?

He holds his hands out in front of him. Around him, the Force shimmers, a nearly tangible thing here in this temple. He visualizes a door. He opens it, and his destination isn’t one step in front of him but the hallway. He takes the step. Jaster’s wonder and Walon’s grumpiness tell him he succeeded even before he opens his eyes and sees that he’s standing in the hallway.

“Wicked,” Obi-Wan says. Where else could he go? If all things are possible, he could go anywhere. He opens another door, this time to his quarters on their ship. He steps through it and—

That’s his bunk!

That’s his bunk, because he’s on the ship and that’s pretty far from the temple and—

Obi-Wan’s head spins. He has enough wherewithal to comm Walon and tell him where he is before he passes out.

#

Obi-Wan wakes up in Jedha’s temple with Jaster and Walon hovering over him. Obi-Wan’s entire body aches. He can’t remember the last time he gave himself Force exhaustion. It would be embarrassing, except he totally teleported himself.

“All things may be possible through the Force, but they are not all advisable,” Walon says. His voice is gruff, but his hand is gentle as he cups Obi-Wan’s face. Obi-Wan can feel the almost suffocating press of worry-relief-helplessness that comes from Walon.

“I just need to practice,” Obi-Wan says. He sits up and the world spins alarmingly again. “Train up my ability, like we have with everything else. Can you imagine how useful it would be if I could step across a battle? Or even a planet? I could pass messages if comms were down. Or be even better at infiltration work.”

“I will make a training plan,” Walon says. “And you will follow it.”

“Yes.”

“And it won’t be for a few days,” Walon continues. “Yut’soti says nothing strenuous until you rest and recover. That includes looking for your crystal.”

Oh. That was the entire reason they came here and now Obi-Wan’s delayed them by being impatient and foolish.

“There’s a very peaceful library,” Jaster says. “And it isn’t guarded by a krayt dragon. There is a lovely librarian who believes in sharing knowledge.”

#

Obi-Wan observes classes and spends hours in the library and, of course, sleeps, until the last of his Force exhaustion is gone. Yut’soti brings him to the Room of Vigil and tells him this is where he’ll find his crystal.

To her amusement, Walon searches the entire room to confirm there are no hidden lakes or frozen caves. As per tradition, Obi-Wan leaves his armor and his weapons outside the room. He is allowed a simple tunic and nothing else. He enters the room as himself and he will leave it as himself.

He sits cross-legged on the floor and Yut’soti closes the door. There are floor to ceiling windows made of colored glass, and the room is beautiful as Jedha’s sun shines through the windows. But Obi-Wan isn’t here for the view. He is here to find his kyber crystal. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply.

It doesn’t take long before he sinks into meditation.

“Little brother.”

Obi-Wan opens his eyes at the lilting voice. Xanatos is here? He can’t be. Jedha is safe. Walon wouldn’t let Xanatos in. But Obi-Wan isn’t in the room with the pretty windows. The air isn’t dry and hot. It’s damp.

“I have a present for you, little brother.”

Xanatos appears and he latches a collar around Obi-Wan’s neck before Obi-Wan can react. Obi-Wan cries out as he’s cut off from the Force. He scrabbles at the collar, but there’s no locking mechanism. There’s only the thick, bulky weight of it to remind him that he’s trapped. There’s no Force for him to call on.

Xanatos ignites his red saber, and Obi-Wan runs. He stumbles over his feet, they seem smaller or maybe it’s his whole body that’s smaller. He runs through hallways and mineshafts and Xanatos is right there, on his heels.

Finally, there’s a door, and Obi-Wan opens it and flings himself through.

“Obi-Wan!” Cerasi throws her arms around Obi-Wan’s neck, and this isn’t right. Obi-Wan’s already been on Melida/Daan. How is he back here? “Obi-Wan, we did it. We stopped the fighting.”

“We did,” Obi-Wan says. He looks around, but he doesn’t see Jaster or any of the other Mandalorians. He wants to ask where they are, but he’s pulled into a celebration instead. The war is over, and he thinks the Young managed it on their own. It’s certainly something worth raising a glass of clean water to.

And then a blaster bolt comes out of nowhere. The Force doesn’t warn him, because Obi-Wan still has a collar around his neck. The shot hits Cerasi and she crumples.

“No!” Obi-Wan shouts. He runs to her side, but the bolt hits true and she doesn’t wear any armor. All he can do is hold her as she dies in his arms.

Cerasi dies and Melida/Daan is poised to sink back into war, and Obi-Wan calls the Jedi Temple and begs for help. They send Master Jinn, and he negotiates a true peace treaty this time, and there are no assassinations when it’s done.

Obi-Wan apologizes and asks Master Jinn to take him back. He does and this is wrong, but Obi-Wan can’t remember what’s right.

“Little brother,” Xanatos calls, his voice far away but coming closer.

Obi-Wan turns and runs until he finds another door.

“Watch out!” Obi-Wan shoves Satine down and the blasterfire misses her. It’s a close call, too close, and they run through the streets as they search for somewhere safe.

They finally find a charred building that at least has four walls, and Obi-Wan slides down one of the walls and buries his head in his hands. He’s breathing hard. His body is a map of hurts; aches and bruises, strained muscles and possibly a cracked rib. His lips are chapped and his throat is sore, and his stomach is empty.

He looks over at Satine. Her coiffed hair is now a tangled mess. Her pretty silks are ripped and stained. He knows her and he doesn’t. They’re running from Death Watch, but why is it only the two of them?

“Where are the True Mandalorians?” Obi-Wan asks. Jaster doesn’t like the New Mandalorians, but he wouldn’t leave them to suffer.

“Did you hit your head?” Satine comes over and kneels next to him. Her fingers are delicate as they touch his scalp, as if searching for a wound. They aren’t the fingers he wants. They’re too small. Not enough blaster callouses. Too pale. But Obi-Wan can’t remember whose hands he’s remembering.

“Jaster Mereel?” Obi-Wan asks.

Satine stills. “Jaster Mereel died on Korda VI. And Jango Fett was killed on Galidraan. It’s only Death Watch and the New Mandalorians now.”

That isn’t right. Obi-Wan shakes his head to clear it, but Satine scolds him and holds him still.

Outside, they’re being hunted by Death Watch, but something worse is hunting them as well. There’s a polite knock on the door. “Come out, come out wherever you are,” Xanatos trills.

Obi-Wan shoves Satine aside and scrambles for the back door.

There is a zabrak with a red, double-ended lightsaber. This isn’t the dar’jetii Obi-Wan is supposed to fear. He doesn’t know him. Ray shields trap Obi-Wan where he is. He watches as the zabrak duels Master Jinn. Obi-Wan tries to help, but the collar around his neck keeps him from the Force and the shield keeps him from joining the fight.

The shields shut off and Obi-Wan rushes forward. The zabrak stabs Master Jinn through the chest. Obi-Wan screams and launches himself at the zabrak. He doesn’t have a weapon. He doesn’t have the Force, but he has himself. He knocks the zabrak off the platform and the dar’jetii falls.

Obi-Wan rushes to Master Jinn’s side. He pulls the man’s head into his lap. Obi-Wan bows over the man and tears fill his eyes. Obi-Wan’s hair is short, but a long braid falls over his shoulder and hangs in his vision.

A braid?

A padawan braid?

Master Jinn grasps Obi-Wan’s wrists. “Train the boy. Promise me. He is special.”

What boy? What is happening?

Master Jinn dies, and Obi-Wan feels it, a bond ripped from his head. Obi-Wan screams again.

“Tsk, tsk, little brother. You never were good enough.”

Obi-Wan looks up to see Xanatos approaching. Qui-Gon’s lightsaber is on the ground. Obi-Wan holds his hand out, but the lightsaber doesn’t answer his call. Xanatos laughs and kicks it over the edge to join the fallen zabrak.

Obi-Wan runs again.

He stumbles through the door and falls onto the floor. The floor is white. The walls are white. The place is eerie. Sterile. He hears footsteps, but they aren’t Xanatos’s. They’re regimented. Like marching.

A platoon of men in white armor turn the corner. They stop at the sight of him. Obi-Wan’s mouth falls open. They aren’t wearing helmets so he can see their faces. They aren’t identical, but they’re similar. And they remind him of someone.

“Jango?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Jetii.”

Obi-Wan spins and sees Jango standing behind him, but it isn’t Jango. Or, it is, but he’s older. Meaner. He spits the Mando’a word for Jedi as if it’s a curse.

“Ori’vod?” Obi-Wan asks.

“The Kaminoans may tolerate you, but I don’t,” Jango says.

“Kal?” Obi-Wan asks, because he recognizes one of the men behind Jango. And then, with them as well is Walon. “Buir?” Obi-Wan’s voice is soft and small. Something is wrong here. Jango doesn’t know him. Men with Jango’s face surround him.

Walon’s face twists into something ugly. “I’m not your buir, jetii.”

“What?” Obi-Wan asks weakly.

“I am not your buir,” Walon repeats.

This is wrong. This is wrong. Obi-Wan reaches for his neck. The collar still sits heavy around it. “This isn’t real,” Obi-Wan says. “This isn’t real!”

The collar falls off. As it clatters to the floor, the door next to Obi-Wan opens. It’s dark in the room, but he can make out the rock walls and the slow drip of water down the sides. Xanatos is at the center of the room, waiting.

“This isn’t real,” Obi-Wan repeats. He steps through the door. It swings shut behind him.

“Are you ready, little brother?” Xanatos asks. “No friends, no family, only you and me.”

Xanatos advances and Obi-Wan reaches for his weapons. His beskad is in his left hand and his saber ignites in his right.

Wait, what?

The Bandomeer mines fade away. Obi-Wan returns to himself and realizes he’s still cross-legged on the ground. Dim light shines through the stained-glass windows. The moon provides different light than the sun, but it’s equally pretty.

There is a kyber crystal in each of Obi-Wan’s hands. A blue crystal in his right. It hums, recognizing him. In his left is a much smaller crystal, too small for a saber, but it emits a steady red light. Obi-Wan remembers the tail end of his vision. Beskad and saber. A dual wielder.

He’ll have to meditate on it. But not now.

Now, he forces his muscles to unlock so he can stand. He stumbles to the door of the room he is in. So many doors, he thinks.

Little brother, Xanatos whispers, a hiss over his shoulder. Obi-Wan pounds on the door, fear taking him.

The door opens and Obi-Wan falls through it into Walon’s waiting arms.

No, not Walon.

Buir.

Obi-Wan touches his buir’s face. There are no harsh lines. His eyes are worried, but they aren’t angry. He allows Obi-Wan to stare, to touch, and Obi-Wan is overwhelmed with gratitude. “You promised me I would always be your ad. That’s how I knew it wasn’t real. You rejected me, and it couldn’t be real, because you promised.”

Buir holds Obi-Wan tightly. A growl rumbles up his chest and out of his throat. “What did you do to him?” he demands.

“Did you have a vision?” Yut’soti asks.

Obi-Wan nods. Held securely in buir’s arms, aware of where he is, it’s easier to talk about what he knows wasn’t real. “Jaster didn’t show up on Melida/Daan. Master Jinn took me back.”

Buir growls again, and Obi-Wan takes a moment to press his forehead against his buir’s. Obi-Wan is here. Buir is here. Everything is okay.

“I was on Mandalore with Satine. She told me Jaster was killed at Korda VI and Jango died on Galidraan. She didn’t say anything about Arla.” Where was Arla in his vision? “But Jango wasn’t dead. Because I saw him later. He—he cloned himself. There were tens of thousands of them. Kal was there, but he didn’t know me. And Jango was there, and he hated me. And you—” Obi-Wan looks at his buir. “I called you buir, and you told me you weren’t. I—I saw Master Jinn die. I had a padawan braid. I think I was a Jedi. It’s all jumbled. I need to meditate on it.”

“One thing changed,” Yut’soti says, “and you saw how everything else changed as well. A possible future, but you are correct. It wasn’t real.”

“I was running,” Obi-Wan says. “I was scared and I was running. When I stopped and stood my ground, that’s when the vision ended.” He shows Yut’soti his two crystals. “These were in my hands when the vision ended.”

“Hmm.” Yut’soti looks over his crystals, but she doesn’t tell him what their purpose is. “You will meditate on your vision, and when you are ready, you will construct your lightsaber. The crystals’ purpose will be revealed then.”

“Not tonight,” Walon says. “You need a big meal and rest. And medical supplies.” His big hand should feel scary as it closes around Obi-Wan’s neck, but Obi-Wan doesn’t feel threatened. He feels held. Safe. As if Walon is protecting him from any other collars.

“Xanatos was there,” Obi-Wan whispers. “He caught me and put the collar on me again. That’s why I was running.”

“There is no shame in running,” Walon says. “Sometimes, a commando is outmatched. Sometimes, they need to regroup or find allies. You ran and then, when you were ready, you faced him.”

“In my head,” Obi-Wan says. He doesn’t mention how he heard Xanatos’s voice after the vision was over. “But I think I’ll see him again. I’ll be ready when I do.”

“I will help prepare you,” Walon promises.

#

Obi-Wan’s saber comes together quickly. The guardians show him to the room where he can build it, and they tell him to let the Force guide him to what he needs. He hesitates when he’s drawn to the cortosis hilt, because he knows how rare and expensive the material is, but the Force is insistent. The hilt is cortosis and the casing is beskar, and it means his crystal is as safe as it can be.

He’s surprised that the hilt is as small as it is. His hands aren’t big, but they’ll grow bigger, and the hilt isn’t long enough for them both. And then, he ignites his saber for the first time, and the blue blade is shorter than he expected.

The short hilt, short blade, it leads to the conclusion that he won’t be a two-handed saber fighter anymore. It will be an adjustment, but it is what his kyber crystal wants. It reminds him of his vision, saber in one hand, beskad in the other. He unsheathes his beskad to look at it. His beskad hilt is white for new beginnings. He thought it was fitting. A new weapon, a new beginning.

There is a divot on end of the hilt. Obi-Wan rubs his thumb over it. It’s a small dip. Small enough for a very small kyber crystal. Obi-Wan looks from the weapon to the crystal and back. There is nothing for the crystal to power. His beskad is sharp Mandalorian steel. But, he supposes, the crystal is too small to power a blade anyway.

The Force encourages him as he fits the crystal at the end of his beskad. He locks it into place, and he’s rewarded when the crystal shines, a red glow over his white hilt. New beginnings. Honoring a parent.

Oh.

Obi-Wan presses his hilt to his forehead. “Thank you,” he tells the crystal.

And then he settles into a ready stance. He holds his beskad in his left hand and his saber in his right. He has never been a dual wielder. He will have to grow accustomed to the difference between the two weapons and learn how to wield them in harmony.

But this feels right.

He powers down his saber and clips it to his belt. He sheathes his beskad. And then he goes to tell Jaster and buir that his mission here is finished.

#

Obi-Wan has learned much from Jedha, from attending classes, from trying new things, and he knows Jaster has a whole collection of material for him to study. Obi-Wan wants to give something back. He isn’t so arrogant as to believe that he has any knowledge they don’t already have here, but before they go, he shows Yut’soti what he can do with water.

He pulls it out of the air and then splashes it on his robes and then pulls it out of them as well, until he makes a slow-moving stream around himself.

“Remarkable,” Yut’soti says. She holds her hands out and the water flows to her. Obi-Wan relinquishes control, and she creates a looping waterfall. She douses her robes and then pulls the water out. She looks at Obi-Wan with something serious in her eyes.

“I can pull water out of mud,” Obi-Wan says.

“Out of clothes, out of mud.” Yut’soti hums. “Water exists other places. Vital places.” She holds a hand out, and Obi-Wan feels a tug from within himself.

He gasps and Yut’soti lowers her hand, point made. Obi-Wan touches his chestplate. He doesn’t touch his skin, but he knows it’s there. He thinks about the progression of his skill, and he looks over at his buir. “Did you know?”

“I wanted you to come to the conclusion yourself,” Walon says. He glowers at Yut’soti, because she’s interfered with his training plan.

“The knowledge was always there,” Obi-Wan says. He takes the water he had been playing with before back. He creates a figure-eight and watches it loop. “And the decision was always mine. Through the Force, all things are possible.” Before, in the playroom, the mantra brought him potential. Now, it’s a warning.

“You have found what you came here for,” Yut’soti says. “Kyber and wisdom, we have nothing more for you here. May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan Vau.”

“And also with you, Guardian Yut’soti.” Obi-Wan bows and then allows the water to rejoin the air. He flexes his fingers afterward. He could pull the water out of another being’s body. He is certain it would kill them. But he could also stab his beskad through someone’s heart. He could use a vibroblade to slit their neck.

Though, perhaps that is the wrong analogy. The Force is many things and yes, one of them is a weapon. Obi-Wan can’t even promise himself he will never use it to kill. But he can choose how he kills. Does he stab an enemy in the gut and stand over them as they slowly, painfully die? Does he hang them from their ankles and open their throat to watch the blood trickle out? Or does he kill with honor? Only when necessary and with mercy in the final blow?

Another thing to meditate on.

“Let’s go home,” Obi-Wan tells Jaster and his buir.

Chapter Text

Jaster will admit he was slightly discomfitted by Jedha. The Jedi have been the ancient enemy of Mandalorians, and Jaster only need a few days to realize why. Walking on air as if gravity didn’t apply to them, walking through space as if physics is only for Force nulls, the careful consideration on Obi-Wan’s face as he realized what his water tricks were building toward.

Jaster has no doubt that Obi-Wan could pull every bit of water and moisture out of Jaster’s body before Jaster could react. It is only Obi-Wan’s character that keeps those around him safe. And while Jaster does trust Obi-Wan, he certainly doesn’t trust every Jedi inside the Temple on Coruscant.

He knows the same is no doubt said about Mandalorians. There is nothing stopping Jaster from massacring a group of people except for himself. There is no need for a preemptive strike against the jetiise, even if part of him itches to do it. Eliminate the potential threat before it can grow into something worse.

Call Jaster old-fashioned, but he prefers a physical fight. So many of Obi-Wan’s abilities come from the Ka’ra. It’s easy to tell when Jaster is overexerting himself. It’s less easy to tell with the Ka’ra until Obi-Wan collapses in a heap or blood trickles from his nose. He doesn’t want Obi-Wan to accidently kill himself by trying something he isn’t ready for.

And the Room of Vigil…

Yut’soti told him and Walon that Obi-Wan would meditate and seek guidance from the Force. Jaster, foolishly, assumed that meant Obi-Wan would be safe. Even after hours passed, Jaster wasn’t concerned. It was Walon who paced outside the door. Walon who compulsively cleaned his blasters. Walon who worried.

Jaster dismissed it as a buir’s nerves.

And then Obi-Wan stumbled out of the room as if someone had thrown him in with the capes and kutes in the laundry cycle. His eyes were bloodshot and there were deep dark circles beneath them. His legs barely supported him, and his arms trembled. There were red marks around his throat as if he’d clawed at his skin again.

And then he started talking.

He saw a world where Jaster had not been there to help him on Melida/Daan. A world where Jaster had died on Korda VI. Where, presumably, Jango was thrust into being Mand’alor while grieving and then blundered into Galidraan. Jango was presumed dead but instead he went to ground and went to cloners.

Obi-Wan has meditated at length about his vision, and he seems to have found some peace with it. Jaster wishes he could find the same peace. But his nightmares are now plagued by Montross killing him on Korda VI, and Jango dragging his dead body back to the others. He dreams of Galidraan, and Dooku cuts down Jaster’s commandos until only Jango is left.

At least something good came out of all the nonsense. Obi-Wan called Walon buir again. He broke out of his own nightmare, because Walon rejected him, and Obi-Wan believes now that Walon never would. The bond between buir and ad is stronger than it has ever been, and Jaster is thankful for it.

They have been back on Mandalore for two weeks, and he’s never seen Obi-Wan happier. Walon, either. Jaster thinks the man has actually smiled once or twice. Where other people can see him.

It helps, Jaster is sure, that Obi-Wan has a jetii’kad again. Even after he explained that he was used to two-handed fighting and now needs to adjust to a one-handed, smaller, weapon, it’s clear he has training and a large helping of natural talent. Jaster has watched him dance through the training grounds with an ease he still doesn’t have with his beskad. Jaster laughs, remembering when he thought Obi-Wan’s awkwardness with a beskad meant he couldn’t have ever held a jetii’kad.

Jaster isn’t the only one who watches Obi-Wan practice. There’s something captivating about the blue light as Obi-Wan goes through even simple exercises. Walon mixes wielding the jetii’kad practice with dual wielding both the jetii’kad and Obi-Wan’s beskad. Jaster suspects part of it is to keep Obi-Wan from growing too frustrated with dual wielding, because he is, essentially, a beginner again.

“You act as if they are two different blades,” Walon says as he calls this particular exercise to an end. “They are both extensions of your body. Treat them as such.”

“But they are different,” Obi-Wan says. He takes a deep breath. He must be especially frustrated, because he takes a second one as if he isn’t completely settled yet. He raises his blades in a guard position. Jetii’kad and beskad. One with a glowing blade and one with a glowing hilt.

Jaster was pleased when Obi-Wan told him there was no need to fear the red crystal. It wasn’t a sign of a dar’jetii or that the crystal was in pain. It was red for aliit, for Mandalore. And then he told Jaster that Mace Windu has a purple lightsaber and so then, of course, Jaster had something to ask Windu about in their weekly correspondence.

Obi-Wan’s next attempt at the exercise isn’t much better than the previous one, but he doesn’t look as frustrated, so that’s something at least.

Jaster wants to linger until frustration melts away and gives way to understanding, but Myles comms him to remind him about a meeting the Mand’alor is expected to be in, and Jaster, reluctantly, leaves the training grounds.

#

Jaster hears petitions as part of his duty as Mand’alor. He accepts them from citizens, from his inner circle, from neutral planets and Republic planets. He wants the galaxy to know that there is someone who will listen to them. And, if their cause is honorable, someone who will assist them.

This is the first time Obi-Wan has approached with a petition. Unlike some others who claim the title of Mand’alor, Jaster doesn’t lounge on a throne. He has a solid wooden desk that is full of drawers and yet still doesn’t have the space for everything he needs. It’s this desk he does his work at, whether it’s reviewing crop reports, planning a strike against Death Watch, or listening to his people.

Myles is at his own desk, because he is like Jaster’s shadow. Arla is at hers today. She and Jango switch off attending petitions, because Jaster wants to teach them more than weapons. He wants to teach them the responsibility of ruling so they can decide if Mand’alor is a title they want to claim or so they can support the one who does claim it.

“Mand’alor.” Obi-Wan is in his full beskar’gam. He presses his fist to his chest, his helmet, and then he extends it toward Jaster in a formal greeting.

“Obi-Wan Vau,” Jaster says, returning his formality. “What brings you before me today?”

“An offer.” Obi-Wan is a capable fighter and growing better with each day, but Jaster remembers Galidraan and how it wasn’t Obi-Wan’s skill with a blaster or a beskad that saved the ewoks and then prevented disaster when the jetiise arrived. “Tor Vizsla claims the title of Mand’alor through his possession of the darksaber. The darksaber can only be claimed through combat. Given our mission to eradicate Death Watch, it would stand to reason that one day you will fight against Tor Vizsla and his weapon.”

“That is true,” Jaster agrees.

“Then may I offer myself as a sparring opponent to you?” Obi-Wan hesitates at the whispers and muted laughter. He has come a long way since Melida/Daan, but Jaster knows he still doesn’t value himself as highly as he should. “Not as your equal but as someone who wields the kind of weapon your enemy does.”

That silences the room.

“A lightsaber is not a darksaber,” Obi-Wan says. “But if it would provide any advantage or benefit for you to train against me, I offer my services whenever you would call upon them.”

Jaster knows he’ll fight Tor Vizsla one day, both to end the coward’s miserable life and to claim the symbol of their people. Jaster has studied all the ancient texts on battling both jetiise and dar’jetiise. His armor is beskar. He has a beskad he can use against Tor’s darksaber. He has all the theoretical knowledge he has managed to find.

But Obi-Wan offers him something more than theory.

“Thank you for your offer,” Jaster says. “I accept.”

#

It seems as though every Haat Mando’ade tries to cram themselves into the training grounds to watch Obi-Wan and Jaster’s first session. He can tell Obi-Wan is nervous as he and Walon speak quietly in the far corner. In Jaster’s corner, Arla and Jango speak with him, but it’s none of the comfort Walon is no doubt giving Obi-Wan.

“He’s faster than you,” Arla says. “Because you’re old.”

“Thank you, Arla,” Jaster says with a huff. “This is a training exercise. It isn’t even a spar. We aren’t fighting, and there won’t be a winner.”

“Only because you’re afraid to be the loser.” Arla laughs and taps her helmet against Jaster’s. “I’m only being hard on you, because someone needs to balance Jango out.”

“Shut up,” Jango says, but it’s reflex, no real heart in it.

Jaster had thought his son was being too quiet. “Is something bothering you Jan’ika?”

“Don’t hurt him,” Jango says.

“Not on purpose,” Jaster promises, but he can tell it doesn’t reassure Jango.

He doesn’t have a chance to say anything else, because Walon escorts Obi-Wan to the center of the room and then gestures for Jaster to join them as well.

“Today will be basic partnered exercises,” Walon says. “Your progression will be at my discretion. You can, of course, make an appeal, but my decisions are final. Position one.”

Jaster settles into the familiar stance. He can’t help but pay attention to Obi-Wan as he ignites his jetii’kad. This is the weapon he was raised to fear, and he here he is standing so close to one and not reacting.

“Cross blades,” Walon instructs.

Obi-Wan and Jaster touch their blades against each other. Jaster’s beskad glows red like an ember, but it doesn’t buckle against the plasma blade. Jaster’s certain he isn’t the only one who feels relieved.

“Return to position one,” Walon says.

They both settle in. And then it becomes a training session like any other. Jaster listens to his instructor, and his body flows from movement to movement with years of history and experience behind it.

Jaster is frustrated when Walon calls an end to the session. That felt like a warm-up more than anything else, but he’s careful to keep his body language neutral. Obi-Wan doesn’t succeed in hiding his disappointment, but he doesn’t argue with Walon. He just stares at his jetii’kad for a long moment before he powers it down and clips it to his belt.

Jaster has seen Obi-Wan drill and train, but he bets Obi-Wan hasn’t been able to have a proper spar with his preferred weapon. It will no doubt take a long time before Walon is comfortable allowing it between Jaster and Obi-Wan. It’s more likely that Walon will spar with him first, in a careful and control environment.

It makes Jaster wish there was something he could do. But they have no one who wields a jetii’kad, and there is no one he trusts to spar with Obi-Wan yet.

But Jaster does know a jetii now.

#

“This is unexpected,” Mace Windu says when the call connects.

It’s a video call, because Jaster likes both the verbal and nonverbal communication. This isn’t their usual call time, and it means Windu isn’t in his office. He appears to be in his personal quarters, if the glimpse of the kitchen behind him is any indication.

“Unexpected but not unwelcome?” Jaster asks.

Windu’s lips quirk up for a moment. “I would not have answered if I didn’t want to. You did not indicate that it was an emergency.”

“Everything is fine,” Jaster says, because it’s always Windu’s first question, as if he expects every call to be because something happened to Obi-Wan. Given Obi-Wan’s tumultuous history, Jaster can’t blame the jetii. And then, for honesty’s sake he says, “Obi-Wan’s given himself another mild case of Force exhaustion.”

“Another?” Windu asks.

“He learned how to teleport on Jedha,” Jaster answers. It sounds ridiculous, but Windu raises his eyebrows as if this is a perfectly normal thing to say and also like he’s impressed. “His endurance isn’t building as quickly as he’d like.”

“Children,” Windu says.

“While I did comm you about Obi-Wan, it isn’t about teleportation. It’s about his jetii’kad.” Jaster remembers he’s speaking to a Republic jetii and corrects himself. “His lightsaber.”

“Is he struggling?” This seems to surprise Windu. “It was one of his best classes as an initiate.”

“Truly?” Jaster asks. “It didn’t translate into his beskad training.”

“It wouldn’t,” Windu says. “A beskad is a Mandalorian sword, yes? The weight would be completely different.”

“Completely?” Jaster’s proficient in a variety of blades from daggers to long knives to greatswords. There is a difference in them and even within a category there is a difference in balance, but Obi-Wan didn’t look like someone switching from a rapier to a longsword when he first started with his beskad.

“I suppose you wouldn’t have had an opportunity to hold a lightsaber.” Windu steeples his fingers and taps the pads of them against each other. “A lightsaber’s only weight is in its hilt. The blade itself is weightless.”

“What?” Jaster asked flatly. He rests a gloved hand against his forehead, since he doesn’t wear his helmet when he meets with Windu. This certainly explains Obi-Wan’s indignant insistence that his lightsaber and his beskad are not the same. “That clarifies several things.”

Windu laughs and then says, “It isn’t your fault,” as if that’s supposed to make up for the laughter. “You’ve never been able to study a lightsaber, and I doubt Obi-Wan would give you his to examine.”

“Oh?” So far, Obi-Wan hasn’t let anyone touch his lightsaber, but it sounds like there’s some kind of jetii significance that Jaster is missing. There is a lot of jetii context Jaster is missing, but he doesn’t blame Obi-Wan for not explaining. He probably doesn’t realize a lot of it is specialized knowledge.

“You went to Jedha so you know kyber is at the heart of a Jedi’s lightsaber.” Windu settles into the easy speech of something oft repeated. He is a teacher, and he has the ability to explain, even to Jaster, without being condescending. “There is a certain harmony between a Force user and their kyber crystal. Some say it is soul-deep, others say it’s Force-guided. Regardless of the reason, there is a bond. Jedi often refer to their lightsabers as their life. And yes, it is our main protection and our main weapon, but it goes deeper than that. There is a spiritual component.”

“Fascinating,” Jaster says.

Windu looks amused again. “I assume you did not call me to discuss Jedi philosophy and theology.”

“I will next time,” Jaster says, half warning, half threat. “Do you know any non-jetiise who might assist in Obi-Wan’s training? Or at least give him an opponent who won’t spook and accidently hurt him?”

“Ah.” Windu turns contemplative. “There are very few non-Jedi who wield a lightsaber. The most realistic trainer would be a Jedi, but I understand your hesitance in asking for a Jedi to visit. And, I will be honest, I’m not sure I would be able to find a Jedi willing to do it. The Mandalore situation is complicated.”

“And so is our history,” Jaster agrees. It had been a longshot, and it will be disappointing not to have someone help Obi-Wan, but he knows between Jaster and Walon, they’ll be able to have Obi-Wan properly sparring with his saber given enough time.

“I am the liaison between the Haat Mando’ade and the Jedi Temple,” Windu continues, as if he’s having a conversation with himself. “And it’s about time for the Council to review our code and debate any changes. I wouldn’t mind missing that.”

Jaster raises his eyebrows, because that kind of dereliction of duty doesn’t fit with his image of Windu.

“It’s a yearly occurrence,” Windu says. “My first year on the Council, I looked forward to it. And then I realized it was essentially a formality and no true change would come of it. Now, I am jaded and bitter. Would you be willing to host me?”

“Yes,” Jaster answers, perhaps too quickly.

Windu’s smile flashes, there and gone almost before Jaster can register it. “While I appreciate your prompt response, perhaps you should check with your council first. I’m sure the Mand’alor’s word is good and if you grant me permission, I will be safe, but I would rather not make your people uncomfortable.”

“My word is good,” Jaster confirms. “And I will tell them it’s for Obi-Wan, and you will be welcome.”

“I’ll have to bring a representative from the Senate.” Windu frowns as if this is enough for him to retract his offer. “Make this official.” He sighs. “I’m sure I can find one senator that I don’t want to strangle.”

Jaster laughs openly at that. “I look forward to seeing who you bring. And thank you.”

“Of course. We are meant to be building peace between our people. This is a good step in that direction.” Something offscreen takes Windu’s attention. When he turns back to Jaster, he looks apologetic. “My padawan has told me if I am not prepared for late meal in the next five minutes, she is choosing where we go, and it is not an idle threat. I will send you my itinerary once I have it.”

Jaster’s still laughing when Windu ends the call. He takes a moment to reflect that children are the same everywhere, before he goes to break the news to his council.

#

Windu didn’t tell Jaster which senator he was bringing, simply that they were humanoid, which means Jaster is caught completely unprepared to see Windu descend from his transport with Senator Bail Antilles of Alderaan. Also with them is a teenager who wears Alderaanian styled clothes and not robes like Windu.

Jaster is in full beskar’gam so no one can see the way he startles at the representatives Windu chose, but Windu catches Jaster’s gaze and smirks slightly as if he can tell.

Jaster removes his helmet to show he is willing to defer to his guests’ comfort. “Welcome to Mandalore. I am the Mand’alor, Jaster Mereel.”

“Thank you for your invitation and welcome,” Windu says formally. “I am Jedi Master and Councilor Mace Windu. Accompanying me is Senator Bail Antilles of Alderaan and his aide, Bail Organa.”

“I never thought I would step foot on Mandalore.” Senator Antilles looks around as if he will be able to see the entire planet from where he’s standing.

“Alderaan is a peaceful planet, in the core,” Jaster says.

“Peaceful doesn’t mean pacifist,” Bail Organa speaks up. He ducks his head at the look the senator gives him.

“Sometimes you must fight for peace,” Jaster says. “If you come with me, I’ll show you to your rooms.”

Obi-Wan isn’t here to greet the visitors, because Jaster isn’t broadcasting that he has a former Temple raised Force sensitive as part of his ranks. He trusts that Windu will be able to separate himself from the senator and his aide in order to meet with Obi-Wan. And all of Jaster’s people know better than to give their secrets away to Republic representatives.

Jaster shows Senator Antilles and his aide to their rooms first, and then walks down the hall with only Windu. This is the first time he has met the jetii in person. Windu is taller than he expected. His bald head and his height and the seriousness of his expression make him seem older than he is.

They stop at Windu’s quarters, but Jaster is loathe to part with the jetii yet, even though he must be tired from his travel. “I took the liberty of stocking your shelves with a few Mandalorian histories.”

“Does this mean I’ll be allowed to ask questions?” Windu asks. His little smirk is back, far more effective, and devastating in person than through a holo.

“I would like our information exchange to go both ways, yes,” Jaster says.

“A mutual interest.” Now, Windu’s eyes are in on it as well, dancing with amusement as Jaster’s expense.

“I—” Jaster thinks back on all their conversations, how he’s looked forward to each of them, and even found excuses to keep Windu on longer. He’d rescheduled more than one meeting, because he wanted to keep talking. And yes, he is hungry for knowledge, and Windu is the first to actually answer his questions about the jetiise, but it’s more than that. “I did invite you here for Obi-Wan’s sake.”

“And I will guide him while I am here. But if you want to discuss Mandalorian history tonight, I am partial to herbal teas and sour liquor. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I would like to freshen up.”

Windu enters his quarters, and the door closes behind him before Jaster can respond. He’s still somewhat stunned when he returns to his office. Myles takes one look at his face and laughs.

“You should have let me assign the jetii rooms next to yours,” Myles says.

“I wanted to assign him to Jaster’s rooms,” Trix says. “I was overruled.”

“Am I that obvious?” Jaster asks.

“He’s smart,” Myles holds up a finger. “He hasn’t cut you off despite your nerdy questions.” Two fingers. “He likes the kid.” Three fingers. “You asked him to come here and show off his saber skills.” Myles holds up a fourth finger and then cackles. “I know trainees more subtle than you are.”

“He’s here to train Obi-Wan,” Jaster says, attempting to recover some of his dignity.

“And after they’re done, you’ll offer to help polish his saber?” Myles cackles again and Jaster looks for something unimportant, and heavy, to throw at him.

#

On the second night of hosting their visitors, there is a knock at Jaster’s door. He’s surprised that Windu has sought him out and then pleased, and his smile is perhaps a bit too inviting when he opens the door and sees that it is not, in fact, Mace Windu who has come to visit him.

“Mand’alor,” Obi-Wan greets.

“Obi-Wan.” Jaster steps aside to allow Obi-Wan to enter. He’s curious what has brought Obi-Wan to him and in such an informal setting.

Obi-Wan, as is his habit, wears his full armor except for his helmet which he keeps clipped to his belt. His face has finally rounded out, putting on the weight he had lost as a slave and then as a child soldier. Soon, he will slim down again, due to growth spurts and the exit of adolescence. He’s still far too serious.

“I heard some of the others talking,” Obi-Wan starts. He stops, as if he’s worried he’ll be scolded for gossip or as if he’s steeling himself for what he’s going to say next. “I wasn’t sure how a Jedi would be received on Mandalore, so I’ve been keeping an ear out.”

Prepared to defend Windu, Jaster translates. He’s curious what Obi-Wan’s overheard and wonders if he’ll have to sit his commandos down for a tongue lashing. Windu is a guest and they’re looking to improve relations with the jetiise. Insulting them is counterproductive. And if it makes Obi-Wan wary of his own people, it’s actively harmful.

“Most of them don’t mind that Master Windu is here. They think you’re courting him in order to keep the Republic out of Mandalore’s business.”

Jaster feels a headache building. There will definitely be a tongue lashing later.

“Jedi are forbidden from attachment,” Obi-Wan says. “If that is your plan, it won’t work. He would be less inclined to help you, because it would reflect poorly on him and the Order.”

Jaster isn’t sure if Obi-Wan is advising him as a fellow Mandalorian or doing his best disappointed buir lecture. Either way, Jaster finds it charming. He also feels called out. “I’m not using Windu—Mace,” he corrects because if he can invite the man to his compound, he can call him by name, “to play Republic politics.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan says. Before Jaster can feel relief at passing Obi-Wan’s test, Obi-Wan studies him carefully. “Does that mean you like him?”

Jaster’s ancestors have paused their marching so they can all point and laugh at him, he’s sure of it. Jaster could bluster, could say something about the respect he has for Mace Windu, but it would only make it more embarrassing when Obi-Wan gave him another flat look and repeated his question. “Yes,” Jaster answers.

Obi-Wan smiles, small and pleased, and then produces a packet from one of his belt compartments. “This is Master Windu’s favorite tea.”

Jaster takes the packet from him. “Is this—do you approve?”

Obi-Wan’s smile blossoms. “Do I need to approve? You’re both adults. Healer Lynnda says as long as you both consent, it’s no one else’s business.”

Jaster makes a mental note to tease Obi-Wan mercilessly when he has his first crush. And then he pockets the tea and says, “Thank you, Obi-Wan. Is there anything else?”

Obi-Wan hesitates as if there is. “Master Windu won’t influence the Order or the Senate for you, even if you…” Obi-Wan trails off with a blush. And then he recovers by skipping over the matter entirely. “But you should spend more time with Senator Antilles and his aide. If Alderaan, who is well known for their peace, advocates for the Haat Mando’ade, then the New Mandalorians will have a more difficult time gaining a foothold.”

“Thank you,” Jaster says again.

“We’re going to teach Bail—Organa, not Antilles, how to play cu’bikad tomorrow.”

That ought to be interesting. Jaster will make sure Mij and the other medics know. Cu’bikad is a complicated game involving darts that inevitably ends in a brawl, especially if Arla and Jango are both playing.

“Good night,” Obi-Wan says. He winks and then slips out of Jaster’s room before Jaster can decide how to react.

It means Jaster has privacy as he pours himself a glass of whiskey. And then, because he has the tea packet, he comms Mace to see if he wants to enjoy a nightcap. When Mace arrives, he’s in the same robe and tunics he’s always in, as if jetiise don’t understand casual clothing. Actually, given Obi-Wan’s wonder at something so basic as silk, they may not.

Jaster holds the whiskey bottle in one hand and the tea packet in the other.

Mace steps forward, intrigued. “Is that matethea? Are you a collector?”

“Hardly,” Jaster says. And he also believes in giving credit where credit is due. “Obi-Wan gave it to me to give to you. After I passed his test, of course.”

“Oh?” Mace makes himself comfortable on the couch as Jaster prepares the water for Mace’s tea.

“There are rumors spreading around the compound that I lured you here in order to use sex to sway you toward keeping the Republic from aligning with the New Mandalorians.”

Mace doesn’t look surprised, which means he must have heard the rumors or suspected some would draw that conclusion. When he notices Jaster watching him, he curves his lips in a private smile. “You must be very good, then.”

“What?” Jaster, an experienced commando and the Mand’alor, almost knocks the tea kettle off the burner as he flails.

Mace outright laughs at him, but it fades into something heated as he stretches his arms across the back of the couch. He opens himself to study as he studies Jaster in turn. “If you’re using sex in order to make me betray my vows and get involved in political nonsense, you must be very good at it.”

Jaster considers knocking back the rest of his whiskey in one go, but it’s far too nice to be treated so abysmally. Instead, watching Mace to see if he’s reading this wrong, Jaster turns the burner off and moves the tea kettle to the back of the stove.

“No tea?” Mace asks. “How ever will we pass the time?”

“For the record, I did not ask you here to trick you into helping the Haat Mando’ade’s position in the galaxy.”

“Good to know,” Mace says.

“And yes, I am very good at it.”

Mace curls his fingers as if to say come here. “I’m afraid I’ll need evidence to support that claim.”

Jaster smiles sharply in response.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan would have been quite happy to have gone his entire life without knowing what Master Windu’s Force signature feels like after a night of enjoyable sex. He is used to sensing things that are polite to ignore, because Mandalorians are loud and their exuberance for everything often echoes in Obi-Wan’s head long after the person has been near him.

When Jaster and Master Windu enter the mess hall for first meal, Obi-Wan can’t quite keep the horrified noise from squeaking out of his throat.

“Give me your helmet,” Obi-Wan tells Jango. “I need to stop knowing this.”

“You aren’t allowed to wear beskar helmets,” Jango says, and his Force signature has spiked, embarrassment and hope and something that is too similar to want and pleasure for Obi-Wan to deal with right now.

“Your buir and Master Windu had sex last night,” Obi-Wan hisses, because if he has to suffer than everyone else does too.

“What?” Jango whips his head around so quickly, Obi-Wan’s amazed he didn’t snap his neck. “But he’s a jetii.”

Obi-Wan feels a small rock lodge itself in his stomach at that. “I’m a jetii,” Obi-Wan says.

“No, you’re one of us. You’re too good for the Order. You’re a Mandalorian with the Ka’ra.”

Maybe. But Obi-Wan was Temple raised. It makes him at least Jedi-adjacent. And the Jedi are the enemy of the Mandalorians. No, they’re the ancient enemies. “The Jedi aren’t all bad,” Obi-Wan says. For most of his life, it’s all Obi-Wan wanted to be. And if he’d succeeded in his dream, then Jango would hate him. Obi-Wan shoves his plate away and stands up. “And Jaster is trying to build an alliance. They don’t have to be the enemy anymore.”

“Obi-Wan—” Jango reaches for him, but Obi-Wan twists away from him.

He storms out of the mess hall without a smile for Bail Organa, which Obi-Wan will feel guilty about later, because Bail is nice. But Jango makes all of Obi-Wan’s emotions a jumbled mess. He and Jango have fought before, of course, but never about something this important. Jango hates who Obi-Wan is. Or who Obi-Wan wants to be. Wanted to be.

Ugh!

Obi-Wan kicks the wall. Because he’s in his armor, it doesn’t hurt his foot. He almost wishes it did.

Arla finds him in the courtyard, by the big tree. She ignores his glower and sits down next to him with a plate of fruit and breakfast meats.

“You don’t want Mij on your case for skipping meals,” Arla says.

It isn’t an idle threat so Obi-Wan takes the peeled orange and eats the first slice.

“If it makes you feel any better, you twist him up in knots as good as he does to you,” Arla says.

“He hates me,” Obi-Wan says glumly.

Arla laughs but she doesn’t share the joke. “You asked to wear his helmet.” She says it carefully, cautiously, and Obi-Wan pauses with a second orange slice at his lips.

“The beskar muffles the Force.”

Arla’s friendly look fades, and Obi-Wan’s reminded that she’s the daughter of the Mand’alor and the brother of Jango, and that she knows at least ten ways to kill him without even having to try.

“Why are you mad?” Obi-Wan asks. His heart beats faster, an old response, one he thought he’d grow out of. But while he’s learned in leaps and bound since being adopted, there are still things he doesn’t know. And he still hates having to guess why he’s in trouble.

“If you’re fucking with me, I’ll only beat your ass more,” Arla threatens. At Obi-Wan’s blank look, she narrows her eyes and then says, “You don’t just put on someone else’s armor.”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “That’s vambraces!” His voice cracks on the second word, and he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He would open a door and step to the far side of the planet if he didn’t think it would kill him. He still can’t manage crossing the compound more than twice without getting a headache.

“What?” Arla asks flatly. At least she doesn’t sound like she’d happily feed him to a rancor. “What do you mean it’s only vambraces?”

“Marriage vows, right?” Obi-Wan asks. If he guessed wrong, he really will open a door to the other side of the planet, consequences be damned. “That’s only vambraces, not helmets. There’ve been two weddings since I came here. I’ve seen it. They say their vows and then the exchange one vambrace. I wouldn’t—marriage, vows, commitment, that isn’t a joke, Arla.”

“I know,” Arla says and her voice is softer now. She won’t apologize, not for defending her brother, but she isn’t a threat anymore. “It isn’t a joke, and I know you take vows seriously. But Obi-Wan. It isn’t just vambraces. They’re simply the most popular. It’s any armor.”

“So…” A hot blush rises on Obi-Wan’s cheeks. “Jango thinks I proposed to him at first meal? Oh, gods.” Obi-Wan sketches a door, but before he can open it, Arla grabs his wrist.

“No, you don’t,” she says. “It was a mistake. I’ll explain it to him. You don’t need to run away.”

“Shouldn’t I tell him?”

Arla looks at him like he’s stupid. “Do you really want to?”

“No,” Obi-Wan says. “Thank you.”

“This is why I’m the best,” Arla tells him. She allows him a moment of peace before she asks, too casually, “Is there anyone you’re interested in?”

“What?” Obi-Wan’s voice cracks again. He hates puberty.

“You’re at that age, aren’t you?” Arla continues, merciless.

“I’m fourteen,” Obi-Wan says.

“When I was fourteen, I told Jaster in explicit detail how I planned to fuck Pre Vizsla,” Arla says. “I forgot why I was pissed at him, but I do remember I knew all the dirty shit. And you’re almost fifteen. When is your life day, by the way?”

It’s a sign of how much Obi-Wan doesn’t want to talk about his life day that he almost agrees to talk about sex. But sex is ultimately the worst of the two topics so Obi-Wan says, “I don’t want a party.”

“Life days are a celebration,” Arla says.

“Everything is a celebration when you’re Mandalorian,” Obi-Wan points out.

Arla pokes his side.

He kicks at her, but it’s gentle. Their beskar barely clangs as he makes contact. “My last two were bad. I turned thirteen with a slave collar on my neck. And I turned fourteen in the middle of a war.”

“This is only proving my point.” Arla draws Obi-Wan to her side, and she plays with his hair. “We’ll keep it small. Your buir, mine, me, and Jango. Others if you want them, but it doesn’t have to be a big affair. But it should be a celebration. If you don’t want to celebrate you, then let us. We’re happy you’re here, vod’ika.”

She doesn’t always use the diminutive, and Obi-Wan doesn’t always like it when she does. But this morning, he tips his head to rest against her cheek.

“Small,” Obi-Wan says. “No fuss.”

“A little fuss,” Arla compromises.

“Maybe a little.”

#

Obi-Wan’s excitement over sparring with Master Windu appears to be matched by everyone else’s excitement. He and Master Windu have been practicing a lot, and Obi-Wan has a dozen different katas burned into his memory and his muscles to practice once Master Windu is gone, but sparring is different.

It’s better.

But the more people talk, the more nervous he gets.

“He’s going to wipe the training mats with me,” Obi-Wan tells Jango. It isn’t anything to be ashamed of. Master Windu has years of experience on Obi-Wan, and he’s even created his own lightsaber form. That doesn’t mean Obi-Wan wants the Haat Mando’ade to see Obi-Wan’s failure.

“Does Walon wipe the training mats with you?” Jango asks. And then, before Obi-Wan can answer. “When you aren’t being punished?”

Obi-Wan snaps his mouth shut. He shakes his head. He and his buir spar a lot as part of their training. Even though Walon is better than Obi-Wan, he draws the spars out, unless he’s particularly annoyed and needs to teach Obi-Wan a lesson. That lesson is usually that Walon is the trainer for a reason and Obi-Wan should listen to him.

“Windu won’t embarrass you in front of everyone,” Jango says confidently. “He knows Jaster has a soft spot for you, and if he’s mean to you, then Jaster won’t sleep with him anymore.”

Obi-Wan makes a face. “Is sex all anyone can think about or talk about anymore? Master Windu, Jaster, you, Arla.”

“Arla?” Jango looks alarmed. “Why are you and Arla talking about sex?”

“We’re not—ugh.” Obi-Wan finishes his stretches. This is skirting too closely to territory that he’s resolved not to talk about. He’s pretty sure Arla explained the helmet incident to Jango. At least, Jango apologized for being a jerk and Obi-Wan apologized for storming off and neither of them talked about armor or wedding vows and everything’s fine.

Mostly fine.

“You don’t have to watch,” Obi-Wan says softly. He touches the hilt of his lightsaber, and he knows Jango understands.

“You don’t want me to?” Jango asks, his voice careful and controlled, as if he doesn’t want any emotions to leak out.

Obi-Wan doesn’t check his Force signature, because it would be rude. He also doesn’t look at Jango. “It’s a lightsaber battle. You don’t get more Jedi than that.”

“You aren’t a jetii,” Jango snaps, and his voice cracks with anger. Before Obi-Wan can storm off again, Jango grabs him and pulls him in, until their foreheads are almost touching. “They were too stupid to keep you. You’re Mandalorian now. They can’t have you.”

That’s what this is all about? Obi-Wan huffs in exasperation. “I’m not going anywhere,” Obi-Wan says. “Jaster and buir say I can’t swear the Resol’nare yet, because it hasn’t been long enough, but once I can, I will. I owe Jaster a life debt. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jango’s hope, which had been rising, rising, rising, plummets so sharply, Obi-Wan hisses at the residual feeling. And then Jango puts his helmet on, and Obi-Wan can barely sense anything at all.

Obi-Wan signals to Master Windu that he isn’t ready yet and then sits for a quick fifteen-minute meditation. It’s enough to clear his thoughts and resettle him, even if he’ll have to do a longer meditation later on Jango. Again.

When Obi-Wan meets Master Windu at the center of the room, Master Windu smiles at him. “You did well to recognize your inner turmoil and address it before the spar.”

“Thank you, master.”

“Are you ready?” Master Windu asks.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says eagerly.

They each walk back five paces and then bow deeply to each other. Obi-Wan draws his beskad and ignites his saber. Master Windu has taught him jar’kai, focusing primarily on Form V. Obi-Wan had been learning Form IV with Master Jinn, but the acrobatics of Ataru aren’t practical while wearing beskar’gam. Form V prioritizes speed, and it’s a fluid form, meant to shift between defense and targeted attacks as necessary. And the Djem So variant is especially useful in deflecting blasterfire which will be more common in his life as Mandalorian than single combat like Makashi or even Master Windu’s preferred Vaapad.

Master Windu ignites his signature purple blade and then settles into a defensive stance. Obi-Wan remembers everything he’s learned about Vaapad, because Master Windu talks to him about it, even if he won’t train Obi-Wan in it. Vaapad is noted for drawing on the energy of the user’s opponent.

Obi-Wan keeps his thoughts still. This is a spar for the sake of learning and bettering himself. It’s duty. Responsibility.

“Fascinating,” Master Windu says as he blocks Obi-Wan’s first attack. “How long can your mind stay this disciplined?”

“We’ll see,” Obi-Wan says. “Probably not very long.”

Obi-Wan’s prediction holds true. He attacks the way Master Windu taught him, and it doesn’t take long before the hiss of clashing lightsabers and the sweat dripping down his spine reminds him that he enjoyssaber combat.

Testing his limits, pushing himself to be better, it’s fun. It isn’t the dark intent of a dar’jetii, and it isn’t the battle lust of a typical Mandalorian, but it’s enough for Master Windu to draw on and use to boost his Vaapad.

But even once Master Windu has the obvious advantage, he doesn’t press it. It’s as Jango said, Master Windu doesn’t intend to embarrass Obi-Wan. He knows Obi-Wan has been looking forward to this, and he challenges Obi-Wan, but he doesn’t end the fight as easily as he could.

Obi-Wan slips through Master Windu’s guard. He brings his beskad down to block Master Windu’s saber and then drives forward with his own saber. Master Windu throws a hand out, and Obi-Wan goes flying backward. With a twist, Obi-Wan lands on his feet.

Master Windu holds his blade up in the signal for pause. “I apologize, Obi-Wan. We did not agree to using the Force during our spar.”

“Does that mean I was going to get a hit in?” Obi-Wan asks.

Master Windu chuckles. “Yes. You were. Would you like to resume?”

“Wicked,” Obi-Wan murmurs to himself. And then, louder, “Yes, please.”

This time, Obi-Wan waits for Master Windu to make the first move.

#

Master Windu will only be here for a few more days. Obi-Wan’s glad he came and, in a way that makes him feel guilty, he’s also glad Master Windu will be leaving. Obi-Wan has learned a lot from him, and he was glad to have someone to spar with, but Obi-Wan isn’t a Jedi anymore. Working with Master Windu hurts, because it’s what he could have had.

Today, he and Master Windu sit in the courtyard, their backs against the big tree. Obi-Wan almost asks if Master Windu thought about taking Obi-Wan as a padawan, but there’s no use in tormenting himself. Obi-Wan isn’t a Jedi anymore. He’s Obi-Wan Vau, and he’s happy where he is.

“How was your experience on Jedha?” Master Windu asks. “You obviously succeeded in obtaining a kyber crystal.”

Obi-Wan squints at Master Windu. Is this a question Master Windu already knows the answer to, and he’s testing Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan sighs. “I gained my crystal through a vision. I think Xanatos is still alive. Someone should warn Master Jinn.”

“I will make sure he’s warned.” Master Windu pauses, as if he’s searching for the words he wants to use next. “You don’t have to tell me about your vision. We don’t have to speak at all. I was simply curious. I hear they approach the Force differently than the Jedi.”

Obi-Wan considers this. Master Windu seems sincere in the Force. “Did you ask the Mand’alor? I thought he would enjoy comparing what he saw on Jedha to what you know of the Coruscant Temple.”

Master Windu’s smile is warm and teasing and only a tiny bit unkind. “Do you want to know what Jaster and I do instead of talking about Force traditions?”

“Ugh,” Obi-Wan says. “They have some of the same teachings as the Coruscant Temple does. But when they say through the Force, all things are possible, they mean it. I can show you?”

“Only if you’d like,” Master Windu says.

Obi-Wan finds that he wants to show off. He creates a door to his room and steps through it. He takes the spare toothbrush from under the counter, opens a door back to the courtyard, and rejoins Master Windu. He holds out the toothbrush. “I went to my room and back.”

Master Windu takes the toothbrush in his hands and studies it as if it has the answers to Obi-Wan’s travels. “How?”

“I walked,” Obi-Wan says. “But instead of stepping there,” Obi-Wan points so the rock next to them, “I walked into my room. I’ve been trying to work on my endurance, because I can’t do it too much or too far. I step to my room, and it feels like I went the whole way there. I—” Understanding crashes into Obi-Wan. “I’m an idiot. I don’t have to feel that way. I set the rules.”

“Obi-Wan?” Master Windu asks, but Obi-Wan waves off his question.

Obi-Wan steps through doorways, because he doesn’t follow the rules. But he’s still thinking of it like he traveled the whole way there by foot. It’s why he’s so exhausted after crossing the compound only a handful of times. Because it’s as if he sprinted from one end to the other.

“It’s only a step,” Obi-Wan says as he creates a new door. “It’s only a single step.”

He walks through the door, and he walks out into his room again. He opens another door, to his quarters on The Protector this time. He pokes around the small room and doesn’t feel tired even though the shipyard is clear on the other side of the compound.

“It’s only one step,” Obi-Wan repeats. He makes a new door. He stands at the campsite Walon took him and Jango to before Master Windu came to visit. It’s three days away from the compound on foot. Obi-Wan doesn’t feel even a flicker of fatigue. He wraps his arms around himself and laughs.

He opens another door and steps out onto the roof of the compound. He calls out to Master Windu, who is still sitting by the tree. “Hello, Master Windu!” Obi-Wan waves and then he opens a final door and emerges next to Master Windu again.

Before Obi-Wan can ask Master Windu what he thinks, Walon is descending into courtyard, his fury powering up as his jetpack powers down. No, Obi-Wan corrects as Walon rushes him, not his fury. His concern.

“What did you do?” Walon demands. He grabs Obi-Wan, his grip barely there, not enough to hurt let alone leave a bruise, so careful with Obi-Wan, even when his emotions fight him for control.

“Peace,” Master Windu says.

“Peace?” Walon has no problem snarling at Master Windu. “Ever since he started hopping around, I put a tracker on him in case he passed out and couldn’t tell us.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says. He places his hands on either side of Walon’s helmet to turn his attention back to Obi-Wan. And then Obi-Wan goes up on his toes to press their foreheads together. “I’m sorry, buir. I didn’t know you were tracking me, or I would have warned you. I had a breakthrough.”

“A breakthrough,” Walon repeats.

“I wasn’t building up my endurance, because I was approaching it wrong. I created the door, but I still thought of it as transporting myself from one place to another, so my body felt that burden. All I had to do was reframe my thinking. All it is is one step. And that isn’t fatiguing at all.”

“Ad’ika,” Walon says and his voice trembles.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says again. “But I’m not tired at all! I could do it again.”

“Not today.”

Obi-Wan nods. “Not today.”

Master Windu clears his throat to remind them he is still here. Obi-Wan stays close to his buir, but he does explain. “I stepped to a campsite that is three days from here on foot. And then I came back. I did a few tests before I pushed myself.” Obi-Wan isn’t sure which adult he’s trying to reassure. Maybe them both. “But once I realized it was only a step, it didn’t tire me out. So I picked a more distant target. Imagine what I could do in a fight once I’ve mastered this. Enemies won’t be able to predict my movement.”

“Not today,” Walon repeats.

“Shig in our quarters?” Obi-Wan asks. When he’s rattled, he likes to curl up with Walon someplace private. His favorite is a blanket nest. He isn’t sure what Walon wants when he’s upset, but Obi-Wan will do whatever it is he can to help him feel better.

“A good plan,” Walon says. He doesn’t acknowledge Master Windu again, so Obi-Wan says goodbye for both of them as Walon ushers Obi-Wan away.

#

Obi-Wan was very clear that he didn’t expect or want presents for his life day, but he isn’t surprised when he’s ignored. Arla’s compromise is that she gives him a present he doesn’t want, a collage of all the holonet articles about the secret love affair between the Mand’alor and the Head of the Jedi Order.

Jango bought and planted a few of Obi-Wan’s favorite bushes in the garden so that Obi-Wan will soon be able to dry his own tea leaves and have pinethea whenever he likes. Jaster gifts Obi-Wan a book of ancient Taung poetry, and it’s an actual paper book with beautiful calligraphy and even more beautiful illustrations. Buir gifts Obi-Wan the ongoing history of Clan Vau, a shared document that tracks Clan Vau back to its inception. He promises to help Obi-Wan write his first entry this evening.

Obi-Wan’s never had a life day like this before. The presents are all simple but thoughtful. A celebration of him, like Arla promised it would be.

There’s even cake. It’s a rich, chocolate cake with a thick layer of frosting on top and sliced strawberries. It’s a mixture of sweet and a different kind of sweet. Obi-Wan eats two pieces and laughs along with the others when Arla jokes that they’ve finally found his weakness.

Chapter Text

Compared to Obi-Wan’s life day celebration, Jango’s 16^th is extravagant. There is a communal celebration, a feast in the mess hall with dancing and sparring circles after. There is a private celebration after. Jaster, Myles, Arla, Jango, and, to no one’s surprise except for Obi-Wan’s, Obi-Wan as well.

Obi-Wan gifts Jango special lights which can be arranged like constellations and stuck to the ceiling to mimic the night sky. After the presents have been exchanged and cake has been eaten, Obi-Wan lingers to help Jango set it up.

Arla takes Jaster’s arm and tugs him out of the room with surprising thoughtfulness. He stares at the closed door and then looks at his child.

“Do I need to worry?”

“About Jango?” Arla laughs. “Always. But they’re either going to spend all night staring at the stars or they’re going to sleep.”

Jaster looks from the door to his child again, feeling as though he’s missed something.

“They’re friends,” Arla says. And then, with a wicked smile she adds, “For now.” She kisses Jaster’s cheek and then dances away, laughing to herself as she goes.

“Well,” Myles begins. Jaster holds up a hand to silence him.

“Whatever you’re about to say, I know it won’t be helpful.”

“I was only going to offer to pour us each a drink,” Myles says.

“And?” Jaster asks.

Myles grins. “And start placing bets on when you’ll be a grandfather.”

“I hate you,” Jaster says. “I’m too young to be a grandfather.”

“Obi-Wan is Stewjoni…” Myles’s laughter turns into a yelp as Jaster hits him upside the head. “We’re too old to brawl in the hallways. Come on, I’ll pour you some of the good shit, and I’ll only tease you a little bit.”

Jaster casts one look back at the closed door as they head out.

#

The next morning, Jaster shows up at Walon’s quarters with doctored shig for each of them. Walon raises his eyebrows at the offering, but he doesn’t turn it down.

“Obi-Wan spent the night with Jango,” Jaster says.

Walon ushers Jaster inside and then closes the door. He sips his shig and then sits at the small table in the entry room. He gestures for Jaster to sit across from him. Walon is taking this all extremely well. It makes Jaster look like he’s overreacting in comparison.

“Your son’s virtue is safe,” Walon says. And then, because he’s an asshole, he adds, “From Obi-Wan at least.”

“Are you saying Obi-Wan isn’t interested?” Is he saying that Jango is? Jaster misses the days when Arla told him in far too much detail the, highly improbable, things she planned to do with Pre Vizsla’s dick if she were ever close enough to him to try it. He knew it would never happen. But Jango falling in love? Jango having his heart broken? Both are very likely scenarios.

“He’s been fifteen for a few months now,” Walon says, “but no, he hasn’t shown any interest. In anyone, before you blow the other way and get offended on Jango’s behalf. People mature at different rates.”

“Are you saying once he is interested, he’ll be interested?”

Walon rolls his eyes. “Do I look like a Seer? If he is, then they both will be and what two consenting adults do is none of their parents’ or their Mand’alor’s business.”

Jaster considers this. Walon has a point. But he also just implied—“Is Jango interested?”

“Half the compound is interested,” Walon says. “Obi-Wan’s oblivious, but he won’t be for long. I would worry, but now that he can teleport wherever he feels like, he’ll vanish before he combusts from too much positive attention. He’s too modest for his own good.” Walon looks over at Jaster and apparently decides he’s been quiet for too long. “Why are you all worked up over this anyway?”

The answer isn’t particularly flattering and may end up with Walon giving Jaster a black eye. Jaster swallows a generous mouthful of shig. “Obi-Wan is an incredible child, but he has the Ka’ra. He’s dangerous. Not, like he would hurt any of us. But he’s going to get himself hurt. And Jango’s lost enough people he loves.”

Jaster knows what it’s like to lose a riduur. And Jango takes after Jaster. He loves easily and it opens him up to the kind of pain it’s nearly impossible to guard against. He wants Jango to love, of course. He wants to witness Jango saying the riduurok and pledging himself to someone. But he also wants Jango to love someone who will live long enough to love him back for a very long time.

Walon takes a deep breath and then pulls the whiskey out and adds a generous splash to each of their cups. “I knew when I met Obi-Wan that he was going to break my heart. I chose to love him anyway. You did too. It’s up to Jango if he makes the same choice, and you won’t disrespect your son or mine by interfering.”

“Of course not,” Jaster says. “How is that Arla tried to stab me in my sleep, and she’s the easier of the two?”

“She isn’t easier, she’s sneakier,” Walon says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Walon grins. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out yourself. Eventually.”

“I remember when you respected me,” Jaster grumbles.

“Sounds like a dream.” Walon pushes the rest of his drink into Jaster’s hand. “Go wallow somewhere else. I have shit to do.”

Jaster is nearly at the door when Walon’s voice makes him pause.

“Would it really be so bad if Jango and Obi-Wan were interested in each other? I’d think you’d be proud. Jango’s following your example after all.”

“You.” Jaster would point a finger at Walon, but he has a cup of shig in each hand. “Are the worst.”

Walon presses a button and the door to his room slides open. Jaster takes the hint and leaves, with less dignity than he entered with.

#

One of the many benefits to Mace Windu’s visit is that enough of the Haat Mando’ade have seen lightsaber combat for them to be comfortable with Jaster and Obi-Wan sparring. Or, rather, they’re comfortable that Obi-Wan knows his limits and abilities well enough for a spar.

Obi-Wan doesn’t use the Ka’ra as a weapon when he and Jaster spar. Jaster knows Obi-Wan can’t turn it off completely, that the Ka’ra buoys his muscles and helps him put on speed, but there are no pushes and, thank all the stars, Obi-Wan doesn’t teleport during their fights.

He is still a challenging opponent, and they both improve at a clip that impresses everyone except for Walon who has never been impressed by a thing in his life.

Today, Jaster has gotten the upper hand, and Obi-Wan is currently dangling upside down thanks to a whipcord wrapped around his ankles and tied to one of the beams on the ceiling. Obi-Wan still manages to hold his own, upside down with only his arms and his core strength, but after a minute, Jaster steps back.

“If I was Tor Vizsla, I would be dead,” Obi-Wan says cheerfully. This is another reason he limits himself in their fights. These sessions are to prepare Jaster to fight Tor for the darksaber, and Tor is not blessed by the Ka’ra.

“If you were that cowardly shit, you would have been dead ten minutes ago,” Dysari says and the rest of the spectators raise their fists and shout, “Oya!” in agreement.

“But I’m not him.” Obi-Wan closes his eyes and he goes from being strung up to standing behind Jaster with both his weapons sheathed.

There are murmurs of disquiet. Obi-Wan’s skill with a jetii’kad is appreciated and admired and while the weapon is someone unconventional, the style is not. The way he uses the Ka’ra, however, is definitively Other.

“Go again,” Walon says. “Only use your jetii’kad, Obi-Wan.”

Because Tor would rely on his new weapon at the expense of everything else? Jaster wouldn’t put it past him. Afterall, Tor thinks the darksaber is enough to make him Mand’alor, despite no other qualifications to his name and, in fact, many disqualifications. He should be dar’manda a dozen times over for his cowardly actions and his abuse of children and yet, he still has followers.

Obi-Wan unclips his beskad from his belt. After a moment of consideration, he presents the weapon to Jango for safekeeping during the spar. Weapons aren’t as weighted as armor in Mandalorian culture, but it clearly still means something that Obi-Wan gave Jango his beskad to hold and not Walon.

Maybe it’s time for Jaster and Obi-Wan to spend another evening drinking Obi-Wan’s imported teas and reading poetry. And then Jaster can subtly inquire as to whether Obi-Wan is developing feelings for anyone.

Obi-Wan lunges while Jaster is making plans for an interrogation, and Jaster curses and has to use his vambrace to block. He shoves back against the saber, even though every instinct he has tell him to get the hell away from the plasma blade. As he holds Obi-Wan off with his arm, he sweeps a leg out to knock Obi-Wan on his ass. It gives Jaster enough time to recover and draw his own beskad.

It is a longer blade than Obi-Wan favors, but it gives Jaster extra reach and, since Jaster’s an adult, he can put a considerable amount of force behind it. Armorer Pymlia has spent the past three months perfecting it until the tip of it is wickedly sharp and strong enough to punch through beskar.

Mandalorians, as a general rule, do not develop weapons that can puncture their armor and kill their kind. But Tor will have the darksaber, and Jaster knows his eventual duel with the man won’t end until Tor Vizsla is dead. For the spar with Obi-Wan, Jaster has a special cap on the blade to blunt it, because he has no interest in hurting Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan doesn’t give Jaster much time to recover, before he’s attacking again. As they settle into a brutal exchange of thrusts and blocks, Jaster can tell Obi-Wan’s attention is divided. It’s odd to see him struggle in a spar, he’s taken to fighting like he’s taken to everything else, with enthusiasm and worrisome determination.

Obi-Wan flexes his left hand, and Jaster realizes what’s wrong. Walon drills Obi-Wan relentlessly in dual wielding, but when Obi-Wan only has a single blade, whether it’s his saber or his beskad, it’s because he uses his free hand to control the Ka’ra. Obi-Wan’s distracted, because he’s fighting against his instincts to battle Jaster with all the weapons at his disposal.

“Two-handed grip,” Walon calls out, having noticed the same thing.

Obi-Wan holds his jetii’kad in both hands now. It gives him more power behind his attacks, and it puts Jaster on the back foot until Jaster is able to adjust and change his own strategy. Two-handed saber wielding is Obi-Wan’s least familiar form, which makes it his weakest. He lingers too much on the follow-through, and it means gaps for Jaster to exploit.

Obi-Wan swings down, and Jaster catches the jetii’kad with his beskad by swinging up. There is a crackle as the two blades meet. Despite Obi-Wan having the leverage, Jaster has the greater strength, and he pushes Obi-Wan’s blade up, and it exposes Obi-Wan’s entire front.

Jaster lands a heavy kick to Obi-Wan’s chest, and Obi-Wan staggers back. He doesn’t fall, because he has the Ka’ra, but Jaster gives himself the mental win against Tor, who won’t be able to stabilize himself and recover so quickly.

“Power still isn’t your strength,” Walon says, because he treats each of these spars as a training exercise for Obi-Wan. “Remember your strength.”

Obi-Wan cocks his head, and Jaster has no warning before Obi-Wan is moving. Fucking speed is his strength. And Obi-Wan is fast. With two hands guiding his blade, it snakes in and out, tapping Jaster’s pauldrons and his thigh plates, even the top of his helmet at one point.

Jaster finally blocks a swing, and he can tell Obi-Wan is prepared for another kick. But Jaster grabs Obi-Wan’s wrist and yanks him forward instead of kicking him back. Jaster brings Obi-Wan’s arm down hard over Jaster’s thigh, and then he twists Obi-Wan’s wrist until Obi-Wan yelps and loses his grip on his saber. The blade powers down as it falls, and Jaster kicks the hilt away.

Obi-Wan reaches out with his left hand, but Jaster says, “Ah, ah, no Ka’ra.”

Perhaps, he sounded too smug, because Obi-Wan responds by slamming his knee into Jaster’s chestplate. It’s Jaster’s turn to stagger, and Obi-Wan rips Jaster’s beskad out of his hands and tosses it with no care, or respect, for the weapon.

They’re grappling now, and while Obi-Wan is good, he isn’t nearly good enough to beat Jaster in this area. He’s a scrapper, though, with an unerring ability to find the gaps in Jaster’s armor and make the most of them.

By the time Jaster has Obi-Wan pinned, Jaster’s body aches. He is going to need a long, hot bath after this and then some of Mij’s bruise salve. At least this wasn’t a real fight or else Obi-Wan would’ve taken a vibroblade to the backs of Jaster’s knees instead of jabbing his pointy elbows there.

“Good match,” Jaster says. If he waits a few moments before he says it so he can catch his breath, no one else has to know. To make up for it, Jaster stands first and then holds his hand out to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan clasps Jaster’s wrist with his left hand and allows Jaster to help him to his feet. “Spar is over?” Obi-Wan confirms.

“You fought well,” Jaster says formally.

“You as well.” Obi-Wan salutes Jaster, again, with his left hand, and then calls his saber to him. He fumbles slightly clipping it back into place.

“Mij!” Jaster calls. Injuries aren’t uncommon during spars, but Jaster still feels a flicker of guilt as Mij hurries over to look at Obi-Wan’s right wrist.

“It’ll be fine for a moment,” Obi-Wan says and then he uses his Ka’ra blessed speed to slip away from both Jaster and Mij.

Obi-Wan goes straight to Jango, and they speak too quietly to be overheard. But it’s obvious that Obi-Wan isn’t up to reattaching his beskad without help. Jaster sighs as Jango carefully clips the sheathed beskad back to Obi-Wan’s hip.

“This is what you get for breaking my child’s wrist,” Walon says. He claps Jaster hard on the back. “You’re both improving, though.

“It’s broken?” Jaster looks to Mij for confirmation, but the medic only scowls, because he hasn’t actually gotten a chance to look at it yet.

“The jetii’kad is his life,” Walon reminds Jaster. “It takes a lot for him to part with it. He’ll be fine with a brace and a bit of rest. And if you pull that move on Tor, he’ll howl loud enough for everyone to know you got him.”

Jaster looks over at Obi-Wan who is still talking to Jango as if he isn’t hurting from a broken bone. And then Jaster looks at Mij who smirks a little and says, “You owe me, Mand’alor,” before he goes to haul Obi-Wan away from Jango and to the medbay.

“Do you want to go with him?” Jaster asks Walon.

“It’s a broken wrist. He isn’t a child anymore. No, I’m taking you to the soaking pools, and we’re dissecting the fight. You still give too many openings.”

“The soaking pools are supposed to be relaxing,” Jaster complains, but it’s half-hearted. He accepts the compliments from his fellow commandos and nods at the criticism and then prepares himself for what will be a more ruthless breakdown of everything he did wrong.

#

Obi-Wan still has his brace on his wrist when Walon escorts him into a strategy meeting. Jaster’s helmet rests on his chair, which means Walon can see the way Jaster lifts his eyebrows. There’s nothing wrong with the younger generation joining meetings. Arla and Jango attend as many as Jaster feels are relevant to them, but a heads up would have been appreciated.

“Mand’alor,” Obi-Wan greets with that stiff, jetii formality they still haven’t broken him of. At least his Mando’a doesn’t have the polished Coruscant accent. Obi-Wan glances at Walon, and at his buir’s nod, Obi-Wan steps up to the table. “I have been thinking.”

“The same kind of thinking that led to sparring with the Mand’alor?” Myles asks.

Dysari and Kal both lean forward, interested in what Obi-Wan has to say. Jaster is interested as well. As accomplished a fighter as Obi-Wan is, and he is very accomplished, his mind is sharper than his beskad. Jaster won’t forget that it was Obi-Wan’s request for negotiation that meant Galidraan ended in two allies gained instead of two enemies.

“Death Watch is entrenched, and we fight them without making true progress,” Obi-Wan says. His fingers hover over the map of the Mandalore system and the flags which mark known Death Watch holdouts, suspected ones, potential allies. There is never enough information and what they do get, is often too old to be useful.

“But Tor Vizsla’s allies follow the darksaber, they don’t follow him. If you issue a personal challenge, he must either answer the challenge and you will defeat him, or he will decline the challenge and lose the traditionalists amongst his followers.”  

There are a few considering hums, as if Jaster’s advisors think Obi-Wan’s logic is sound. It’s true, that until Jaster confronts Tor, it doesn’t matter how many fringe cells he breaks up or how many training camps he destroys. Death Watch is rotten at its core, and it will continue to infect others until Tor is dealt with.

“I understand the logic, but I can’t do it,” Jaster says. “If I challenge Tor for the title of Mand’alor, it implies that I myself am not the Mand’alor as I claim. I could very well lose followers.”

Obi-Wan frowns as he considers this. “I could challenge him. I would win. And then you could challenge me. I owe you a life debt. The darksaber would be yours.”

And Obi-Wan would be dead. Jaster can feel Walon and Jango both glaring at him as if he would ever consider this avenue.

“The coward would never answer the challenge,” Kal spits. “From anyone. I bet he doesn’t even carry the darksaber. He keeps it locked up and hidden so no one else can take it.”

Jaster holds up a hand for quiet. There is a thought at the back of his mind. He taps his fingers against the table as he examines it from different angles. It might work. And, even if it doesn’t, a morale boost will go far to counteract Death Watch’s terrorism.

“He won’t respond to a direct challenge, but his pride has always been his weakness,” Jaster says. “Obi-Wan had a good suggestion, but I won’t be challenging Tor. I’ll encourage others to challenge me.”

Obi-Wan’s flat look says he doesn’t appreciate being given any credit for this idea.

But it’s Myles, who knows Mandalore’s history almost as well as Jaster who says, “Oh,” in the tone that means he understands where Jaster is going and agrees. “A Proving Grounds?”

Murmurs spread through the group, because many of them have heard of the ancient tradition, even if they don’t know the details.

“It’s a large tournament,” Jaster explains for Obi-Wan and the others who haven’t heard of it. “They were common back in our conquest days, when there was peace and the Mand’alor needed to give his commandos an outlet for their energy. There are competitions for every kind of weapon and combat and there are prizes for the winner of each one. The highlight, of course, is the Mand’alor’s challenge, which allows any Mandalorian citizen to try their hand at defeating their Mand’alor in single combat.”

“It’s a loud, flashy statement that you are our Mand’alor,” Myles says. “Tor won’t be able to resist it.”

“But will he challenge, or will he set bombs around the fighting grounds?” Kal asks.

“We prepare for the tournament,” Jaster says. “We send a company or two to create the arena, and we make sure it’s well protected and well-fortified before we even make the announcement. If Death Watch attacks a Proving Grounds and they do it outside the rules of arena, they’ll lose the most traditionalist amongst them.”

“Make it a spectacle,” Obi-Wan says, catching on and now contributing his own ideas. “Invite the New Mandalorians to see a celebration of their culture. Invite representatives from the Republic as well. And we set up a challenge schedule so that someone we trust fights the Mand’alor each day. Tor will show if he thinks Jaster is weak.”

Kal nods in agreement. “I bet Mij could help us fake an injury to make you a more tempting target.”

“I would like to be part of securing the tournament grounds,” Obi-Wan says. “I cannot fight Tor or intervene in a one-on-one duel, but I owe you a life debt. Allow me to make help make sure the only danger you will face is in the challenge itself.”

“Agreed,” Jaster says.

“Here.” Jango points to Keldabe. “There is enough open space to set up the arena, and Keldabe is a fortress. All the visiting guests and dignitaries will be safe there. I would like to help Obi-Wan with the tournament grounds.”

“And I’ll oversee securing Keldabe itself,” Arla volunteers.

“And what am I supposed to do?” Jaster asks.

“Sit around and look pretty,” Myles drawls. “Or, in your case, just sit.”

The joke and subsequent laughter is enough to lighten the mood again. Jaster looks over the map as an excuse to have a few moments to think. They’re right. This is a sound strategy and the best way to put an end to Death Watch now instead of trying to ferret them out for the next three decades.

And it could, if Jaster plays it right, be a showing of Mandalorian unity and strength. If Jaster wins the darksaber in traditional combat in front of representatives of the Republic, it will be much more difficult for them to support a New Mandalorian movement.

His talks with Mace have revealed what was a clever, if annoying strategy on the New Mandalorians’ part. They were going to wait for Death Watch and the Haat Mando’ade to tear each other apart before requesting Republic aid. The Republic would be able to feel like the saviors, and they would install a pacifist regime that felt like it owed them something. And Kryze and his dar’mando’ade would rule with a Republic leash around their throats.

Krzye is a man Jaster used to have respect for. But how can the man see what the Republic has done to the jetiise and invite them to do the same to the Mandalorians? Speaking of the jetiise, Jaster will need to contact Mace and give him some warning of what Jaster is planning. He doesn’t want any jetii’ade coming to watch the tournament. Not when he knows the kind of violence he is inviting.

“We have a plan, then,” Jaster says. “Arla, you’re in command, but you report to Kal. Jango, you’re in command, but you report to Walon.”

“Respectfully, Mand’alor,” Walon says and the entire room tenses. “You should swap myself and Kal. I’m better with city defenses, and Kal is better with building.”

“You would be separated from your ad?” Jaster asks.

Walon’s smile makes Obi-Wan beam, but Jaster isn’t nearly as comforted by it. “He will always be my child, but he is also becoming an adult. I trust Kal to keep him and Jango in line.”

“Aw, fuck,” Kal says.

“Don’t worry,” Arla tells Obi-Wan. “I’ll take over giving your buir gray hairs.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan tells her solemnly. And then he turns what Jaster has taken to call his negotiating face on his buir. “Mird’ika should go with you.”

“You’ll have more open space for them to roam.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “And Mird’ika can fly over Keldabe’s walls to hunt in the forest when they need to. If I’m not with you, I want Mird’ika at your side.”

“Which one of us is the ad and which one of us is the buir?”

“I can be anywhere on the planet any time I choose,” Obi-Wan says, softly, the lead-in to an argument which will win the debate. This isn’t the first time Jaster’s seen him deploy this particular strategy. “If I am truly in trouble, I can disappear. You can’t. The extra protection goes with you.”

“A fair point,” Walon says. “Lord Mirdalan will accompany me.”

“Now that the most important decision has been made,” Myles says, “Can we get back to logistics?”

Jaster gathers around the map with his trusted friends and allies. He feels something like hope rise in his chest as he realizes they’re planning what could be the final strike against Death Watch. If they do it well enough, it’ll be the final strike against the New Mandalorians as well.

This is what he’s been building toward for years. He grins and leans in to listen to Walon describe what defenses he wants for Keldabe and what resources he’ll need to craft them.

A giant party and then after it, a united Mandalore. Jaster will make his ancestors proud.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan’s touch homework feels like forever ago. He hasn’t catalogued touches in months now. There are dozens of them a day and none of them are of particular note until, suddenly, they are.

Obi-Wan registers every touch from Jango, whether it’s a firm hand on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck as he leans in to talk to him or the brush of fingers as Jango passes spices to Obi-Wan at the table or even an almost touch, when they both lean in as if they’re about to make contact, only to pull away and leave Obi-Wan aching. It’s madness. He could recite each one of them and his feelings toward it, as if Healer Lynnda was still having him keep track.

And he does bring it up to her, not in exhaustive detail, but he mentions the touches that are and the touches that aren’t and how Obi-Wan always wants more.

“Attraction to another being doesn’t make you abnormal,” Healer Lynnda says.

“It makes me feel out of control,” Obi-Wan admits. “My face flushes without permission, and I find myself gravitating toward him, and I stumble over my words sometimes.”

“Is it bad?” Healer Lynnda says.

Obi-Wan opens his mouth to say yes, of course it’s bad, it’s a lapse in control, but then he pauses. Considers her question and his answer. Is it bad? He feels like a fool, uncertain and bumbling, but his anxiety is centered not so much on his actions but on what they signal. He must be obvious, how he feels, what he wants. If Jango doesn’t want him back…

“I like to be in control,” Obi-Wan says carefully, and this isn’t new or groundbreaking. He and Healer Lynnda have discussed this often. A chaotic childhood has led to Obi-Wan feeling safest when he is in the most control. But he trusts his buir and his Mand’alor. He’s learning to trust the other Haat Mando’ade. “But mostly I don’t want Jango to laugh at me. Or to realize my feelings and not return them.”

“Those are reasonable desires,” Healer Lynnda says, and she politely ignores Obi-Wan’s flush at the word desire. “Do you think either of those possibilities are likely?”

“We laugh at each other all the time,” Obi-Wan says. Typical teasing during spars or over meals or when they’re doing their chores. That kind of laughter is good, it’s something they share. When Jango teased Obi-Wan yesterday for getting tongue-tied, Jango didn’t know it was the sweep of his eyelashes that had caught Obi-Wan off guard and scattered his thoughts. If Jango did know, and if he did return Obi-Wan’s feelings, he would probably laugh, but it would be good teasing. He might purposefully try and trip Obi-Wan up.

Obi-Wan skin is warm to the touch. He doesn’t look at Healer Lynnda. His true fear is that Jango doesn’t find Obi-Wan attractive in return. If Obi-Wan expresses interest and Jango doesn’t return it, will it poison their friendship? Has Obi-Wan already poisoned their friendship with his feelings? Even if Jango isn’t aware of them, their relationship has shifted. The right thing, the honorable thing is to tell Jango and then accept Jango’s response.

And he should do it before they depart for Keldabe. Obi-Wan can be re-assigned to Arla’s team in the city or remain here with Jaster if Jango doesn’t want Obi-Wan with him after his confession.

“I should tell him,” Obi-Wan says. “If he doesn’t return my feelings, I will not pressure him.”

“And if he does return your feelings?” Healer Lynnda asks.

Obi-Wan hasn’t actually considered that possibility in-depth. His occasional dreams that wake him with a gasp and stiff erection don’t count. “I don’t know,” Obi-Wan admits. They’re too young to exchange armor. He knows some of the commandos bed each other, but he doesn’t know anything about what happens before vows, and he isn’t sure he wants to jump right into bed.

“Is Jango your first crush?” Healer Lynnda asks.

Obi-Wan glowers, because she knows he hates it when she asks questions they both know the answer to.

She smiles and holds up her hands. “He’s your first crush. There is nothing wrong with taking things slow. Your relationship journey is like training with a beskad. You develop at your own pace. And when you spar with another, you are expected to abide by the comfort and limits of the one with the least skill.”

“But sparring can be a way for someone with more experience to show a less experience warrior something new,” Obi-Wan says.

“Just so.”

Obi-Wan thinks about the familiar weight of his beskad in his hand and how Jango is one of his favorite sparring partners. And then he thinks about them sweaty and grinning at each other in Obi-Wan’s room instead. It would be private, but they wouldn’t be in bed, not yet. Their armor would be off. Obi-Wan could touch as much of Jango as he could reach.

They’re pleasant thoughts.

“You don’t have to act,” Healer Lynnda tells him. “Some people enjoy attraction for the sake of attraction. Some enjoy acting on it. Take the time to think about what you want.”

“I will,” Obi-Wan promises.

#

Obi-Wan does think about it. A lot. His buir eyes him curiously when he notices Obi-Wan meditating more often, but he doesn’t ask. And once Obi-Wan is certain of his mind, he asks Jango to take a walk with him.

They leave the compound and hike up to one of the ridges which gives a high view of the compound and the forest behind it and the wide river which snakes its way through this part of the planet.

“There’s something I want to tell you,” Obi-Wan says. “Could we do it without helmets?” He wants to see, and feel, Jango’s reaction so he knows the full truth. He won’t shy away if it’s a truth he doesn’t like, but he wants to feel certain. He wonders if this is cheating. He resolves to be as honest with Jango as possible, to make up for the fact that Jango can’t sense Obi-Wan’s emotions through the Force.

Jango’s brow is drawn, puzzled, as he removes his helmet. There’s no wariness there, no fear, just simple curiosity.

“I, um.” Obi-Wan fiddles with his fingerless gloves, the ones made of armorweave which help protect him while leaving him flexible enough to wield his weapons. He spent two meditation sessions and most of last night thinking about what he would say, and now all his words have abandoned him. “I like you.”

Hope rises, high and exultant, but Obi-Wan wouldn’t be able to tell from Jango’s face. His expression is calm, almost blank, as if he’s fighting giving away any kind of reaction. His hope, once it seems impossibly high, flutters and then falters.

“I like you too,” Jango says. “You’re my friend.”

Obi-Wan clasps one of Jango’s hands and fidgets with Jango’s fingers instead of his own gloves. Obi-Wan likes the contact. He likes it even more when Jango doesn’t pull away from him. Jango’s fingers have callouses from his training, and the skin is textured. Obi-Wan wonders what it would feel like on the smooth skin of Obi-Wan’s thighs.

“Um.” They’re both staring at their joined hands, so Jango can’t see how red Obi-Wan’s cheeks are. “You’re my friend too, Jango. And I don’t want to lose that. But I also want more.”

“More?” Jango echoes. He stares at their hands then seems to realize they’re holding hands, and he pulls, but not away. He pulls Obi-Wan closer, until Obi-Wan takes a stumbling step and has to brace one of his hands on Jango’s shoulder pauldron to keep them from bashing noses.

They’re inches away from each other, and Jango’s hope is back, soaring higher and higher, out of reach of anything that could bring it down, and Obi-Wan can’t help but smile. “Hi.”

Jango smiles back. “Hi.”

Obi-Wan moves the hand on Jango’s pauldron up. He hovers over Jango’s face, because he doesn’t want to touch without permission. “Okay?” he asks.

Jango nods quickly and Obi-Wan curves his hand to fit against Jango’s cheek. They both sigh at the touch. Jango traces the curve of Obi-Wan’s cheekbone and grins. “You’re pink.”

“I really like you,” Obi-Wan says, amending his previous statement.

Jango laughs, and he leans into Obi-Wan’s hand before Obi-Wan can pull away. Obi-Wan can hear Jango’s laughter, see the way his entire face lights up, and he can feel the pulse of it in the Force. Obi-Wan thinks he could spend the rest of the day with Jango as he laughed, and he wouldn’t grow tired of it.

“Where did your fancy words go?” Jango asks, and he’s teasing, just like Obi-Wan knew he would, but it’s the good kind of teasing, because Obi-Wan’s stomach flip flops. He wants less and he wants more, but most of all, he wants Jango.

“When you smile at me, I forget all the words I know,” Obi-Wan confesses.

Jango loses his smile on a gasp, but he burns even hotter in the Force. “You.” He leans in to press their foreheads together, and Obi-Wan feels a shudder go through him. “I’ll teach you new ones. Mesh’la. Cyar’ika. Copikla.”

Beautiful. Darling. Cute.

Obi-Wan blushes over the first two and then growls lowly at the third, because copikla is only for babies and animals. Rather than being deterred by Obi-Wan’s growl, Jango’s desire spikes in the Force. Even though it rushes through him, Jango’s fingers stay light on Obi-Wan’s cheek, and he doesn’t attempt to do anything more than they’re doing now.

“Look at these,” Jango whispers as he taps the freckles on Obi-Wan’s cheeks. “Copikla.”

Obi-Wan scrunches his face up in a scowl and Jango only laughs and taps the wrinkle in his forehead. “Copikla.”

“Jango,” Obi-Wan whines. Because Jango is teasing him again, but it isn’t like the teasing in the sparring circle or anywhere else at the compound. Obi-Wan doesn’t want to laugh and tease him back. He doesn’t even want to tackle Jango and wrestle until Jango takes whatever he said back. Obi-Wan wants Jango to keep teasing him. He wants Jango to stop. He wants Jango to pin Obi-Wan on the ground and say sweet things and not give Obi-Wan a choice in whether he listens or not.

“Shit,” Jango says, and he’s breathing hard as he steps away from Obi-Wan. There’s reluctance, in his gaze, in his Force presence, in the way he still keeps his fingers linked with Obi-Wan’s, even as he gives them space to breathe. “We should—take things slow.”

Obi-Wan nods. “I’ve never done any of this before.”

“Shit,” Jango says again, but this time he seems a little strangled. He steps back into Obi-Wan’s space, and it’s his turn to cup Obi-Wan’s cheek. His touch is gentle, tender, as if Obi-Wan is something that needs to be treated with care. “I won’t rush you, I promise. We’ll figure this out together.”

“Will you kiss me?” Obi-Wan asks.

Jango presses his lips to Obi-Wan’s. They’re soft and warm, and they’re gone before Obi-Wan’s had time to think about whether he likes it or not. He whines again, impatient, and Jango leans in for another too-brief kiss.

Jango grins, and his Force signature is buoyant, full of mischief, and this is how Obi-Wan knows he’s made the right choice. Jango hasn’t changed. Obi-Wan hasn’t changed. They’re still each other, and this is why Obi-Wan likes him.

After a few more kisses, some of them very hard earned, because Obi-Wan has to chase Jango and catch him and hold him still, they agree to head back.

Obi-Wan keeps his fingers linked with Jango’s for most of the walk, but he pauses when they’re in sight of the compound. “I’m still figuring things out,” Obi-Wan says. And then, before Jango can get the wrong idea. “Not you. I’m sure about you.”

Jango smiles again, bright and brilliant. “I’m sure about you too, Obi-Wan. We don’t have to broadcast how we feel. Like I said, we figure it out together.”

“Okay.” One day, Obi-Wan thinks he might want to make a bold declaration, exchanging armor or something as eye-catching, but not today. It’s still new, and Obi-Wan doesn’t want to be accidently pressured by people with opinions about how the Manda’lor’s ad should be treated or if a former Jedi padawan is good enough for Jango.

Obi-Wan reluctantly lets go of Jango’s hand. And then, to be safe, he puts his helmet back on. Mird’ika runs out to meet them and they return to the compound and tell anyone who asks that they had a nice walk and it was good for Mird’ika to stretch their legs.

#

While Obi-Wan does want to keep things quiet, there is one person he feels like they need to tell. It doesn’t occur to him until he and Jango are already outside of Keldabe with their company, seeing to the construction and defenses of the Proving Grounds.

“Whatever it is, no,” Kal Skirata says when Obi-Wan and Jango approach him together.

Obi-Wan had been delighted at the freedom he and Jango have away from the compound and their parents, but he also feels guilty. Jango had smiled at him like he was being silly, but he had agreed to talk to Kal with him anyway.

Obi-Wan ignores Kal’s abruptness. He isn’t sure how to broach this topic, but Jango solves it easily by reaching for Obi-Wan’s hand and clasping it tightly.

Kal looks down at their joined hands, and Obi-Wan swears he smiles before he scowls again. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

“If you have to report me to my buir, I understand,” Obi-Wan says.

Kal looks to Jango as if he’ll explain the way Obi-Wan’s mind works, but Jango just grins and Kal sighs as he looks back at Obi-Wan. “Kid, Walon knows. Why do you think he and I swapped?”

“What? But Jango and I weren’t—” Obi-Wan cuts himself off before he admits to what they’ve been doing.

Kal sighs again. “Walon knows and he’s fine with it, but there are some things parents don’t need to know about their kids so he’s giving you space.”

“Space?” Obi-Wan echoes. He’s still a little hung up on how his buir knew Obi-wan’s feelings for Jango before Obi-Wan did, but he can circle back on that later.

“He knows it, but he doesn’t have to know it,” Kal says.

“He could do what I do and politely not mention it,” Obi-Wan says.

“What?” Kal demands in the flat tone which means Obi-Wan better tell him everything now.

Obi-Wan furrows his brow, because this should be obvious. “Jedi are empaths. To varying degrees, but Jaster had to leave the hospital on Melida/Daan because he was projecting so loudly. And you all know I get headaches sometimes. Mandalorians are very, uh, exuberant. All the time.”

“You can tell when someone gets laid?” Kal asks.

“Emotions,” Obi-Wan reminds him. “There’s a certain smugness, usually. I was too young to be participating in any of it at the Temple, but everyone knew everyone’s business. The polite thing to do was not bring it up first. That’s how we gave each other privacy, so that’s what I’ve been doing here. Except when Master Windu and the Mand’alor…” Obi-Wan scrunches up his face. “Master Windu’s shielding should have been better. And the Mand’alor was, uh, quite pleased with himself.”

“You can pick up on strong thoughts and emotions?” Jango asks.

“I try not to,” Obi-Wan says. “Like I said, it’s rude and some beings see it as an invasion of privacy. But Mandalorians are loud. There’s a difference between eavesdropping and standing in the same room as someone who is shouting.”

Obi-Wan is hit with a wave of lust, and he can’t help his incredulous look. Jango smirks, fully aware of what he’s doing and pleased now that he knows it’s working. It raises all kinds of interesting possibilities, but for later, not for when they’re standing right in front of another person.

“Alright, you two,” Kal says gruffly. “That’s enough. And you two aren’t rooming together.”

“I’m rooming with you,” Jango reminds him.

“No sneaking out,” Kal tells Jango. And then he turns to Obi-Wan. “And no sneaking in.”

“No, sir,” Obi-Wan says.

“He’s polite. Deferential.” Kal levels a look at Jango. “You could learn a thing or two from him.”

“Maybe his good manners will rub off on me,” Jango says.

Kal points. “Go.”

Jango laughs and Obi-Wan tugs him away.

#

Obi-Wan shares a tent with three others. He doesn’t know them well, and he’s glad when he wakes up, it’s with a gasp and not a scream. He wakes with the remnants of a nightmare, the red glow of a lightsaber, and the taunting whisper of little brother echoing in his ears.

He slips out of his tent. Even though they aren’t far from Keldabe, this is a proper camp, which means a guard rotation. Obi-Wan doesn’t know any of the ones on watch well. He doesn’t know anyone here well enough to talk about this with except Jango. And if he goes to Jango, he’ll wake up Kal too, and they’ll be scolded, even though Obi-Wan isn’t looking for sex but comfort.

He’s halfway to Kal and Jango’s tent anyway, before he remembers that space isn’t a limitation for him anymore. He goes around to where no one can see him and then opens a door. He steps into the hallway of the Keldabe palace. He reacts before he realizes he’s being shot at, and the blaster bolt sizzles into the wall.

“Where did you come from?” the guard demands. “And are you stupid?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t know how to answer. Saying he came from the Proving Grounds would be met by incredulity or fear and maybe even another blaster bolt. Fortunately, the commotion was loud enough to attract more attention and three doors open.

Walon exits the far one with a blaster raised and aimed. He lowers it when he sees Obi-Wan. “Ad’ika?” he asks.

“Shit,” the guard says.

“It’s my fault,” Obi-Wan says. “I used a door and startled him.”

“A door?” the guard asks.

“It’s a Ka’ra thing,” Walon answers. He ushers Obi-Wan into his room. “What’s brought you here at three in the morning? Besides making sure our guard patrols are vigilant?”

Obi-Wan feels like a child and not a proper verd when he answers. “A bad dream.”

Walon doesn’t judge him. He brings Obi-Wan to the couch and sits them both down with Obi-Wan leaning against his side. “It must have been quite bad to bring you all the way here.”

Obi-Wan nods. The thick taste of fear fades now that he’s in his buir’s arms, but the memory of his nightmare is still sharp. “It was Xanatos. The dar’jetii.”

“The one from Bandomeer?” Walon asks.

Obi-Wan nods. “And Jedha. From my vision.”

Walon cards his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair. “Did this feel like Jedha? Like another vision. Or did it feel like a dream?”

Come out, come out, wherever you are.

Obi-Wan was hiding, but Xanatos challenged Obi-Wan to a fight in the proving grounds. When Obi-Wan stayed hidden, safe and out of sight, Xanatos fought and killed Jango. And then Arla. Walon. Finally Jaster. And Obi-Wan did nothing. He hid, even though he didn’t have a slave collar this time.

“I think it was like Jedha,” Obi-Wan whispers. “Xanatos is coming to the tournament. He’s coming for me.”

“He won’t have you,” Walon promises. “Would you like to stay at the compound?”

“No!” Obi-Wan doesn’t realize he’s pulling away until Walon guides him back to Walon’s side. “No,” he says softer. “In my dream, I hid, and he killed everyone.”

“Then, you face him,” Walon says. He rubs Obi-Wan’s back with his free hand, a smooth, soothing motion. “You aren’t twelve anymore.”

Obi-Wan has trained, yes, but Xanatos has as well. He’s still younger, and Xanatos has the darkside at his fingertips.

“And you aren’t alone,” Walon adds. “We’re preparing for a Death Watch attack. We’ll make sure to prepare for a dar’jetii as well.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “It isn’t like Jaster sparring with me. He’s better. And he uses the darkside. He doesn’t follow the rules. The darkside is pain and hurt and hatred. It’s a corruption of the Ka’ra.”

“I have fought dangerous enemies before,” Walon says. “And Jaster has Mace Windu’s comm information. Are visions common? If you tell the jetiise, will they come prepared for a threat?”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth to say yes, but then he remembers Master Jinn. He didn’t think visions were important. He thought Obi-Wan’s focus should be on the present. But Master Windu is different. He might listen. Obi-Wan will try, especially if it means his buir and his friends won’t try and take on a dar’jetii themselves.

Obi-Wan burrows closer to Walon. “I should tell them. Whether they believe me or not is outside of my control.”

“Try and sleep,” Walon says. “We will comm Jaster once it’s properly morning and then we’ll comm the jetiise.”

“Jango and Kal too,” Obi-Wan says. “Nobody from my camp knows I left.”

“I’ll handle it. You rest.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep again, but with his buir here to guard his dreams, he slips back into sleep easily.

#

“Councilor Windu.” Obi-Wan bows deeply to the holo projection. He’s glad there isn’t anyone else in view. He felt confident in the early hours of the morning, with his buir holding him, but Obi-Wan’s courage falters now.

“The Mand’alor tells me you had a vision,” Master Windu says.

“It may have been a nightmare,” Obi-Wan says. “But it felt similar to my time in the Room of Vigil on Jedha.”

“What did you see?” Master Windu prompts.

“Who.” Obi-Wan toys with the edge of his gloves. “I saw Xanatos. He was looking for me. And when I hid from him, he killed the people I care about.” Obi-Wan isn’t sure if it’s relevant, but he adds, “He was looking for me in my vision on Jedha, too.”

Come out, come out wherever you are.

Obi-Wan shudders.

“Xanatos du Crion has been difficult to find since Bandomeer,” Master Windu says. “But he showed an unsettling interest in you there, and I doubt he was pleased with your and Qui-Gon’s escape. If you saw him in a vision on Jedha, I believe the Force was warning you. And to see him again now, it would imply he is near.”

“He may seek to use the cover of the Proving Grounds to launch an attack,” Obi-Wan says. “I don’t know who the Jedi Order is sending to witness the event, but I wanted you to be aware of any potential danger.”

“Thank you,” Master Windu says. “We will keep the danger in mind when selecting who will attend.”

Obi-Wan tugs at his sleeves. “Councilor Windu, there’s something else.” Obi-Wan stares at the floor, because it’s better than seeing the disappointment or judgement in Master Windu’s face. “On Jedha, I ran from him, but he followed me. He chased me through possible futures until I realized it was a vision and stood my ground. Last night, he was in the challenger’s circle at the Proving Ground.”

“You believe you will have to face him,” Master Windu says.

“I know it’s arrogant—”

“Obi-Wan,” Master Windu interrupts gently. “Xanatos committed an act of cruelty against you when you were a child. If the Force, or your subconscious, thinks you need to confront him, that it not arrogance. That is healing. I experience Shatterpoints. It isn’t the same as visions, but it’s similar. The future is always in motion. It is not,” Master Windu offers a tight smile, “a dismissal of visions. It is a reminder that we are not trapped or bound by what we see. The two visions you have described have had Xanatos in common. As I said, I do believe it is a warning from the Force. But how exactly Xanatos’s arrival will end is still in motion. Perhaps, you will face Xanatos in combat. Perhaps, you will do it with allies at your side. Perhaps, another will face him instead. We will be prepared for all possibilities.”

Obi-Wan’s embarrassed to feel tears sting at the corners of his eyes. This acceptance is more than he thought he would receive. He bows again. “Thank you, Councilor.”

“Be on your guard, Obi-Wan. And may the Force be with you.”

Chapter Text

Jaster struggles being confined to his compound as Arla prepares Keldabe for a terrorist attack and a Republic invasion and Jango builds the Proving Grounds which will host an ancient cultural event. He sits at his desk and meets with his advisors and thinks about how this is what he has to look forward to.

Politics

Inaction.

“Stop being so dramatic,” Myles tells him when he catches Jaster brooding. “This is what you want, remember? Mandalore, united behind you, and then an age of peace and prosperity.”

“I’m worried,” Jaster admits. This was a lesson that was difficult for him to learn. As a Journeyman Protector, he thought he could rely on his fellow protectors. When it turned out he couldn’t, he stopped trusting anyone.

But living a life alone, that isn’t the life of a true Mandalorian. Whether it’s squads or clans, Mandalorians aren’t meant to be alone. And they certainly aren’t meant to live without support. Jaster’s life is easier when he trusts others to help him shoulder the responsibility of leadership.

“Because of the dar’jetii?” Myles asks.

Jaster rubs his forehead in attempt to stave off his impending headache. “The dar’jetii. Inviting Death Watch to attack us while the New Mandalorians and the Republic are watching.”

“At least your lover is coming.”

Jaster rolls his eyes. “This is hardly a social visit.”

“Jaster.” Myles uses his most patient voice, the one reserved for children and Jaster when Myles thinks he’s being unreasonable. “You’re hosting a Proving Grounds. If everything goes well, you will end two weeks of fights and spars by claiming the darksaber from Tor Vizsla. Do you know how many of our commandos expect you to propose at your victory feast?”

Perhaps, in Mandalorian culture, asking Mace to witness Jaster showing off could be seen as courting behavior. But that isn’t actually why Jaster invited him. It’s important to have jetii here, and there are few that Jaster trust. And with Obi-Wan concerned about a dar’jetii, it makes sense to have not only trustworthy jetii but powerful ones as well.

The fact that Jaster enjoys a good philosophical debate and a roll in the sheets with Mace is a bonus.

“Obi-Wan isn’t a slouch in the fighting department,” Myles says. “If the dar’jetii comes for him, it’ll be a bad day for the dar’jetii.”

“Last time the dar’jetii came for him, Obi-Wan was sold into slavery.”

“He can do the Ka’ra teleporting thing. He might be the safest of us all. The jetiise are sending four of their own. The Republic is sending four senators and one aide.”

“The Organa kid?” Jaster asks.

“The Organa kid. And yes, we’ve made it clear that this will be a big target for unfriendlies, and they’re sending him anyway. Senator Antilles says Alderaan accepts that we are not to be held liable for anything that happens to him. Aide Organa sent a copy of his blaster permit and asked if it meant he was allowed to open carry in the Mandalore system.” Myles snorts at the look on Jaster’s face. “His family adores him, he’s apparently being courted by Princess Breha, so no, you can’t adopt him.”

“Damn.”

Myles laughs, clearly enjoying himself. “Besides, even if he was available, Walon has first dibs over the Mand’alor.”

Jaster scowls. Even though he can admit that Walon has been a good buir for Obi-Wan, it still stings that Obi-Wan rejected him. Which is a reminder that he needs to find a way to release Obi-Wan from the life debt without making Obi-Wan dig his heels in even deeper.

“Don’t worry, Jango will make sure Obi-Wan still ends up part of your aliit.”

Jaster throws a rock at Myles’s head. He has an entire drawer full of them now, for this purpose.

#

The jetiise and the senators arrive together on a transport that wasn’t big enough, if the strained look in Mace’s eyes is anything to go by. Of course, that may just be Mace’s politicians face. Jaster flatters himself thinking that Mace softens minutely when he sees Jaster. It isn’t the reunion he was hoping for, too formal and with too many witnesses, but Jaster is certain he will find a way to get Mace alone once or twice during his visit.

Mace bows, the respect of one leader to another. “Mand’alor Mereel. May I introduce my companions? Battlemaster Cin Drallig, Master Tholme, and his senior padawan, Quinlan Vos.”

The jetiise bow as they’re introduced. Battlemaster is a rank that is quite self-explanatory, and he hopes the jetii enjoys the tournament. The jetii Tholme is an older human with a long scar through his left eye. The injury was severe enough to leave him with an artificial eye. No doubt, Arla will want to trade stories with him.

Both adult men seem like they can hold their own. Jaster is concerned about the senior padawan. As far as he understands, padawan is a jetii term for jetii in training. The kiffar slouches and raises his eyebrows as if he can tell Jaster finds him lacking, and he’s reflecting that disdain back on Jaster.

“You, of course, remember Senator Antilles and his aide, Bail Organa of Alderaan,” Mace continues.

Senator Antilles takes over introductions from there. “With me is Senator Rhyikk of Kashyyyk, Senator Lott Dod of the Trade Federation, and Senator Sheev Palpatine of Naboo.”

Jaster is glad for his helmet, because it hides the way his eyebrows rise at the collection of senators. He isn’t part of the Republic, but even he knows that the Trade Federation are constantly encroaching on Kashyyyk and being tossed back out in pieces. Maybe that explains some of Mace’s headache. That did not sound like a fun flight.

“Welcome to Mandalore,” Jaster says. “I am the Mand’alor, Jaster Mereel. With me are my children, Arla and Jango Fett, as well as my top advisor Myles Itera. I’m sure you will meet other Haat Mando’ade during your stay.”

Arla looks over the group and, unimpressed, says, “What, there are no women in the Republic?”

“None so fierce as you, be’alor’ad,” Vos says. He bows over Arla’s hand and then flashes a cheeky grin.

“Your accent is atrocious,” Arla tells him. “I’ll help you practice.”

Mace looks as though he’s trying to hold back a smile, but Tholme looks as though he has the same headache Jaster does.

“What?” Vos asks, looking over his shoulder at Tholme. “Master, you told me to be polite and diplomatic. I offered a compliment to the daughter of the system’s leader, and I spoke in the system’s native language.”

Now, Tholme raises his eyes toward the sky as if he’s praying to the Ka’ra for patience.

“Quinlan?”

Jaster isn’t the only one to turn at the exclamation. He isn’t sure who amongst his people recognize the jetii youngling, but it’s obvious who it would have to be as Obi-Wan removes his helmet.

“Quinlan Vos?” Obi-Wan asks, and then he’s rushing forward.

Quinlan rushes him as well, and they meet in a hug that must be painful for Vos, given that Obi-Wan’s in his beskar’gam. But Vos doesn’t shout or grunt or even flinch. He lifts Obi-Wan off the ground as if he doesn’t weigh anything and spins him in a circle.

When Quinlan puts Obi-Wan back on his feet, they don’t step back. They stay close, talking in low, excited whispers.

Tholme looks over at Mace. “Did you know about this?”

Mace can’t quite hold back his smile. “Mand’alor Mereel, if you could have a packet of hair dye delivered to Master Tholme’s rooms, I believe he will need it before we depart.”

Jaster laughs, now that it’s clear Mace is inviting him to. “Is that so? Does trouble often find Padawan Vos?”

“No, he finds trouble,” Tholme grumbles with the resigned tone of a buir used to an ad who constantly worries them. Jaster glances back at Obi-Wan and Vos and wonders if he will also need this hair dye at the end of the two weeks.

“Maybe they’ll cancel each other out?” Myles offers.

“Oh shoot,” Obi-Wan says. “Just a minute, Quin.” He slips away from his friend and approaches the group of visitors. He bows to the jetiise. “Councilor Windu, it is good to see you again. Master Tholme, I hope you and Padawan Vos enjoy your time here on Mandalore. And Battlemaster Drallig, I dual wield now. Perhaps I could show you what my buir has taught me.”

“I would be very interested,” Drallig says. “I’m glad to see you well.”

Obi-Wan smiles and then turns to the politicians. He greets them in the Mandalorian style, which Jaster finds interesting. He addresses each of them by name and offers Bail Organa an especially bright smile.

“Senator Antilles, may Aide Organa join our table for late meal tonight?”

“I’ve already accepted an invitation on my own behalf,” Vos tells Tholme. And then, to Organa, he adds, “Sit with us. It’s the cool kids table.”

“Very well,” Senator Antilles says, “but you keep your comm on you at all times, and you will be on your best behavior.”

Organa nods solemnly but as soon as his back is to his senator, he grins at Obi-Wan, Vos, and Jaster’s ade.

“Wait,” Palpatine says before the ade can disappear to cause whatever chaos they plan to cause. “I didn’t catch your name, little one.”

Obi-Wan bristles at the diminutive, but Jaster only notices because he knows Obi-Wan as well as he does. To anyone else, Obi-Wan simply looks as though he’s smiling. “I apologize for the oversight, Senator Palpatine. My name is Obi-Wan Vau.”

“Obi-Wan Vau?” Palpatine asks, with something too interested in his tone. Jaster makes a mental note to keep the man away from all the ade.

“Formerly Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Obi-Wan explains evenly. “But, after meeting the Haat Mando’ade, Kenobi was no longer applicable. I am Clan Vau, House Mereel. All I am for Mandalore and my Mand’alor.” He gives Jaster a proper salute.

“How interesting,” Palpatine says.

“Not especially,” Myles drawls, his voice easy, but Jaster can recognize the tightness in his posture. Myles doesn’t like Palpatine’s attention either. “Mandalorians are known for adopting those in need of a home. I’ll have one of our cultural historians sit at your table this evening to answer any other questions you may have about Mandalore.”

“Have fun,” Jaster tells the ade, giving them permission to leave. Arla’s already grabbing Obi-Wan and Jango to haul them away. “Aide Organa is in charge.”

“What?” Arla splutters.

Vos laughs. “You have them all fooled, don’t you, future consort?”

Organa manages to both glare at Vos and blush at the same time, but they head off to cause mischief somewhere that is, hopefully, far away from Sheev Palpatine.

“It’s good to see them getting along,” Senator Rhyikk says. Or, rather, as his protocol droid translates for him. “Children show us how to find common ground.”

“Children are the future,” Jaster says. “This is the way.”

Around him, as one, the Mandalorians echo him. “This is the way.”

#

The Proving Grounds are a short speeder ride away from Keldabe, which makes it easy for everyone except the permanent security detail to stay in Keldabe and travel to and from the Proving Grounds for various events.

Jaster is kept busy checking in with his teams to make sure there are no signs of trouble, entertaining their guests, and then sitting with the guests to observe various events.

“You don’t participate?” Dod asks as they watch the knife throwing contest.

“My event isn’t until later,” Jaster says.

“It’s true, then?” Palpatine asks. “You allow anyone to challenge your right to rule?”

“Generally, only citizens of Mandalore bother to challenge, but I suppose anyone is allowed.” Jaster looks over at Palpatine. He isn’t wearing his helmet, but he does have it with him in case of a Death Watch attack. “Why, do you plan to issue a challenge, senator?”

“I am quite content being a senator,” Palpatine says and Jaster doesn’t have to be a jetii to sense the lie. Palpatine oozes ambition.

“And Naboo is a peaceful planet,” Rhyikk says with the puzzled tone of someone who doesn’t understand not teaching your people even basic self-defense.

“So is Alderaan,” Senator Antilles says. “I would have said we teach our people the foundation of defense and protection but…” he gestures to the display around them.

“Speaking of Alderaan,” Jaster says. “You may want to examine Aide Organa’s blaster before you leave. I think Jango made a few modifications to it which are illegal in the Republic.”

“Your aide carries a blaster with him?” Palpatine asks, feigning offense. “Doesn’t that have the potential to cause an incident?”

Jaster, because he has some political sense, doesn’t point out that if a Republic child could get the drop on any Haat Mando’ade, then they deserved to heal from the wound without bacta. Instead, as blandly as he can, he says, “He has a permit.”

“And Quinlan has his lightsaber,” Tholme points out. “Weapons are allowed on Mandalore. I believe that they’re even encouraged. Incidents will be prevented with manners and self-restraint, not confiscating weapons.”

“Did Qui-Gon ever tell you of the time he nearly started a planetary war by using the wrong fork at a state dinner?” Mace asks Tholme. It’s clearly a leading question, but it diverts the conversation away from the children and to what sounds like an amusing story.

Jaster is looking forward to this evening and his first challenger. He’d much rather fight than make nice with a bunch of politicians.

#

One week into the tournament, and there have been no attacks. While it’s good that Death Watch hasn’t made a move, it means tensions are high. With each day that passes without an attack, it increases the chances that the next day will have one.

Jaster makes it through his days by a liberal amount of shig and more than one pain relief hypo. On the sixth day of the tournament, his challenger is Bo-Katan Kryze, who is still an ad, but feral like a dire cat. She fights him as if she has something to prove, but Jaster doesn’t think it’s him she’s proving it to.

After Jaster wins, there’s almost an incident between the Krzye family as Bo-Katan’s sister Satine, one of the more outspoken New Mandalorians, tries to scold her sister for acting so uncivilized. Jaster doesn’t envy Adonai Kryze having to play mediator there.

On day eight of the tournament, Jaster limps slightly out of the Challenger’s Circle and then makes a show of being short with Mij, his medic. On day nine of the tournament, there are whispers that he’s injured. Someone even starts a rumor that the reason he’s in his beskar’gam all the time is because he needs it to hold him up.

They play into the rumors by having both Arla and Jango challenge him to a friendly spar, thus claiming the slots from any true challenger. Arla goes easy on him and Jango does the same, and it’s enough to convince Death Watch that Jaster is too hurt to fight off a true challenger.

Jaster knows, because on day ten, Tor Vizsla walks into the Challenger’s Circle and ignites the darksaber. There are murmurs through the crowd, and Jaster notes how Senator Antilles pulls Aide Organa close to his side and the way the jetiise spread out to best defend those who might need it.

“You should say your goodbyes to your family,” Tor says.

Jaster draws Jango in and presses his forehead to Jango’s. “I love you, Jan’ika.”

“Ib’tuur jatne tuur ash’ad kyr’amur,” Jango murmurs. Today is a good day for someone else to die.

“Especially if that someone is Tor fucking Vizsla,” Arla mutters. She steps up for a Keldabe of her own. “Kick his ass and embarrass him so badly our ancestors don’t want him.”

“He’s done it himself,” Jango says. “Dar’manda, coward.”

Jaster turns to Obi-Wan next. “You cannot interfere.”

“I know, Mand’alor,” Obi-Wan says. “Fight well.”

Jaster can’t speak personally to each of his people. He nods at Myles and then walks down to join Tor in the Challenger’s Circle. The Proving Grounds, which have been loud and boisterous from the start, are nearly silent now. It means everyone can hear Obi-Wan as he speaks.

“And who has come this evening to challenge Mand’alor Mereel’s claim to the title of Mand’alor?” Obi-Wan asks.

If anything, the arena grows even quieter.

“He is not the Mand’alor!” Tor spits. He points to Jaster using the darksaber as if to remind everyone that he has Tarre Vizsla’s weapon.

“You yourself acknowledge his claim by stepping into the Challenger’s Circle,” Obi-Wan says. “For the true Mand’alor would not need to challenge a pretender.”

“After I kill your pretender, I will come for you head,” Tor promises.

“Enough,” Jaster says. He draws his beskad. “Your fight is with me Tor, not anyone else.”

“You cannot hope to win,” Tor says. “I’ve been training.”

“So have I.”

Jaster charges, and it catches Tor off-guard. The dar’manda is on the back foot, and only his darksaber’s unique properties keep Jaster from ending the fight on the first pass. Tor hisses, clearly not expecting Jaster to fight so well, either because of his supposed injury or because Tor honestly believes Jaster has sat and grown lazy since Korda VI.

It only takes a few exchanges for Tor to realize that not only will this not be a simple victory, but it’s doubtful it will be a victory for him at all. Jaster takes one of his throwing stars and chucks it at Tor’s head. He deflects it, the way Walon had predicted he would. When the cortosis throwing star connects with the darskaber blade, the plasma blade flickers and dies.

“What?” Tor demands. He shakes the hilt as if the darksaber’s blade will appear again.

“You are nothing without your symbol,” Jaster says, and he takes a vicious satisfaction in the fear evident in Tor’s posture.

“I am the Mand’alor!” Tor shouts. “Fight for your leader!”

Around Jaster, chaos breaks out as there are small explosions and the sounds of blasterfire. Jaster cannot allow it to distract him. Tor may only have a symbol to hide behind, but it’s an important symbol. Jaster needs to finally kill the coward and then he can look to helping his people.

Tor scrambles backward, but he doesn’t make it far. As soon as he reaches the outer boundary of the Challenger’s Circle, he’s met by a line of Mandalorians. Dysari, who doesn’t wear gloves for expressly this purpose, flexes her claws at him.

Tor stumbles in a different direction, as if sensing weakness. He stops in front of Adonai Krzye, who wears armorweave silks and a set of mismatched vambraces. Kryze doesn’t have a weapon, but he doesn’t allow Tor to pass, either.

“Finish your challenge,” Kryze says.

Jaster picks the forgotten darksaber up off the ground. He clips it to his belt so no one else can take it. He stalks Tor around the circle as Tor searches for an exit. The coward finally remembers he has a jetpack, but the moment he ignites it, Jaster shoots his whipcord and tangles it around Tor’s ankle. He activates the electric shock, and electricity dances down the wire and spreads through Tor’s armor. It’s enough for the coward to lose focus. Jaster pulls hard on the whipcord and Tor comes crashing down.

Jaster’s on him before Tor can recover. He knocks the jetpack off Tor’s back and then drives the hilt of his beskad right at the intersection of the t-visor. Tor stumbles. Jaster sweeps a leg out, and Tor falls hard on his back. Jaster stands over him, lifts his beskad, and then drives the point of it through Tor’s chestplate and into the coward’s heart.

He watches Tor’s vitals cut out through his HUD before he pulls his blade free.

Around him, Mandalorians fight Death Watch as Tor’s followers carry out the last orders of a failed leader. There is no reasoning with Death Watch, so Jaster doesn’t bother. He ignites his own jetpack and flies to where he’s needed most.

He lands next to Aide Organa in time to take a blaster bolt meant for Organa off his shoulder pauldron. Organa flashes him a grateful smile and then steps around Jaster to fire back at his attacker.

On the far side of the arena, Jaster spots the purple blade which belongs to Mace. He recognizes Tholme and Drallig, fighting back-to-back and fending off a whole squad of Death Watch on their own. He doesn’t see Obi-Wan’s blue blade.

He comms Walon. “Where is your ad?”

“Gone to fight his own battle,” Walon answers. “I need your help. Death Watch are dropping explosives and running. We need to evacuate those who can’t fight.”

“I’ll start with the senators,” Jaster says.

Rhyikk tells him to take Senators Antilles and Dod first, that Rhyikk will stay to keep watch over Aide Organa. Since Jaster can only carry two at a time, he doesn’t argue. Though he does wonder where Palpatine went.

Chapter Text

Tor Vizsla threatens to kill Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan isn’t afraid. Jaster will win the challenge, and a dead man can’t kill Obi-Wan. He watches with rapt attention as Jaster makes the opening move. He hopes his practice with Jaster has been enough. He touches his saber and beskad hilts to make sure his weapons are still there. He has the feeling he’ll need them before the day is over.

Someone brushes Obi-Wan, and a shiver works its way down his spine.

“I apologize, my boy,” Senator Palpatine says. He’s holding Obi-Wan’s hand. Palpatine’s fingers are thin like a skeleton’s and as cold as ice. They hurt too, as Palpatine squeezes Obi-Wan’s hand.

Obi-Wan looks around for help, but everyone is staring at the challenge. Obi-Wan tries to pull away, but Palpatine doesn’t let him.

“There’s one visitor you forgot to greet,” Palpatine says, his voice a low hiss. “Xanatos is looking for you. It would be rude not to see him after he traveled such a long way.”

“Wh-what?” Obi-Wan asks. Palpatine knows Xanatos?

“Will you say hello?” Palpatine asks. “Or will you run?”

Obi-Wan’s feet are moving and he’s out of the Proving Grounds before he even realizes he’s run. He doesn’t know why he’s running, he told his buir he was going to stand and fight, but it’s like a compulsion, like he doesn’t have control of his body. He tries to stop, and he stumbles, instead.

“Oh, Oafy-Wan,” a familiar voice scolds. “So clumsy.”

Obi-Wan looks up to see Xanatos standing only a few feet away from him. The boy is older than the last time Obi-Wan saw him, but he hasn’t changed much. The same black robes. The same long, black hair. The same cruel smile.

“Yes, I know about that name,” Xanatos says. “Bruck was never very nice to you, was he? Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you again.”

Obi-Wan hasn’t thought about Bruck Chun in a long time, but he finds himself worried about his former bully. “What did you do to him?”

“He is with the Force now,” Xanatos says. “No one is allowed to hurt my little brother, except for me.”

Obi-Wan can’t hide his shudder. Xanatos is…unhinged. Is this why the Temple discourages attachment to family? If Obi-Wan hadn’t been a Kenobi, if his parents had loved him and he had to choose between his family and the Order, would he be like Xanatos? If he’d had a memory of a loving father, would Master Jinn’s care make him bitter and angry instead of desperate for any scrap of affection?

How is it that Xanatos, the one who had everything, gave it up to Fall when Obi-Wan had nothing to lose and still held onto himself?

“He’s my vod’ika, not yours.” Arla’s words announce her presence, and she punctuates them with three quick blaster bolts.

Xanatos throws his hand out, and he flings Arla through the air. She rights herself with her jetpack, and Obi-Wan charges Xanatos, hoping to distract him enough that he can’t toss Arla around like a ragdoll.

Obi-Wan has his saber in one hand and his beskad in the other, and this is like his vision on Jedha, except Xanatos doesn’t fade once Obi-Wan decides to fight. Xanatos fights back. He snarls and ignites his red saber and then slashes at Obi-Wan with the strength and fury of the darkside behind him.

Obi-Wan holds Xanatos’s blade at bay with both of his and then kicks the older boy in the knee. Obi-Wan’s boots are beskar, and he puts a lot behind the kick. Enough that Xanatos howls and then hobbles back.

“You—you cheater!” Xanatos accuses, as if the only weapons allowed are bleeding kyber crystals and dark powers.

Xanatos presses a hand to his knee and then screams. He shakes his leg out after, and Obi-Wan realizes he healed himself. It took a lot out of him, if the pinched corners of his eyes are anything to go by, but his dark powers allow him to heal himself.

“I am going to kill Qui-Gon,” Xanatos promises. He throws a hand out and Obi-Wan is thrown to the ground and held there by an invisible force. “Tor Vizsla is going to kill your precious Mand’alor. I’m going to put you back in a collar, and you can watch while I kill your buir. And then, once you have no attachments, I am going to make you my apprentice.”

“No,” Obi-Wan rasps. He can’t breathe. It’s like there’s a hand around his throat, and soon there will be a collar, big and bulky, and he’ll be cut off from the Force.

No! Not again.

Xanatos advances on him, coiled fury and dark intentions, and Obi-Wan is helpless. He’s pinned here, trapped and—

Wait.

Obi-Wan isn’t trapped. He can go anywhere.

He closes his eyes.

“Giving up already?” Xanatos taunts. “Don’t worry, pain makes you stronger. And you are going to know a lot of pain.”

Obi-Wan falls through the door. He steps out, standing on his feet, behind Xanatos.

“What?” Xanatos whirls around, no doubt wondering where Obi-Wan went.

“I’ve learned some tricks of my own,” Obi-Wan says. And then he drives his blades forward, lightsaber and beskad, and they both pierce Xanatos’s chest. The older boy stumbles back. The blades pull out of his chest, and he stares at the wounds, one already cauterized, one bleeding sluggishly.

“No,” Xanatos says. He drops his saber and presses his palms to his chest as if he can heal his wounds. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. I saw it! My master showed me a vision of the future.”

“The future is always in motion,” Obi-Wan says.

Xanatos screams again, but it’s cut off abruptly. Obi-Wan feels a sharp sting as Xanatos’s soul is plucked from his body. A moment later, something like a concussive wave ripples through the air, and it knocks Obi-Wan to his knees.

“The fuck was that?” Arla demands. She staggers over to Obi-Wan. She offers him a hand up.

“Something happened,” Obi-Wan says. His gaze is drawn to the Proving Grounds. “Something big. The Force just—exhaled. Relief.”

“Because of him?” Arla nudges Xanatos with her foot.

“Something bigger than him,” Obi-Wan answers. “Something worse. I need to go. Thank you for the back-up.”

“You had it well in hand,” Arla says.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “You reminded me. I’m not alone. It gave me strength.” He presses his forehead to hers and then he walks through a door and to the Proving Grounds.

#

Obi-Wan isn’t sure what he’s looking for. Another dar’jetii? How do you even spot one? But when he steps into the Proving Grounds, he forgets about his mission. There are bodies on the ground. Some in black beskar’gam with the fucking Death Watch sigil painted on their chests. Some in Haat Mando’ade beskar’gam. Some without armor at all.

His heart aches, and he knows it will be worse later, once he has time to process all of this. But he also knows that later he’ll be able to meditate, he’ll have his family around him to talk through what happened and that will help.

The fighting is done now. People are clearing rubble and helping the injured. The mood is light, and Obi-Wan overhears enough conversations to know that Jaster killed Tor Vizsla and now has the darksaber. Obi-Wan waves absently to Kal and later to Quinlan, and he helps Bail lift a chunk of building off a New Mandalorian whose legs are trapped.

And then Obi-Wan sees him.

Master Windu.

On the ground, not moving.

Obi-Wan runs and there are people in his way, so he throws his hands out and they part for him with exclamations of surprise. Obi-Wan drops to his knees next to Master Windu and pulls his helmet off.

“No,” Obi-Wan murmurs. “No, you can’t be dead.”

He touches two fingers to Master Windu’s neck. If there’s a pulse, it’s too sluggish for Obi-Wan to fee. He curls his hands around Master Windu’s neck to feel the heat of his skin, as if that means he’s still alive. He moves his hands to Master Windu’s head next.

“Through the Force, all things are possible,” Obi-Wan reminds himself.

He checks Master Windu’s body, but he doesn’t see any sign of injury. There are some tears in his robes and the hem is dirty, but there are no holes like he was hit with a blaster bolt and there’s no bleeding like a blade or a building got him.

He just…isn’t responding.

Obi-Wan bends over Master Windu’s body. He rests his forehead against Master Windu’s chest. “Through the Force, all things are possible,” Obi-Wan repeats. Obi-Wan battled a dar’jetii and won. He can walk through space at any given moment. He can heal Master Windu. He just needs to figure out what’s wrong and then change the rules.

“He’s here!” someone calls, but it barely registers.

And then someone says his name, they put a hand on his shoulder, and Obi-Wan snarls and knocks them away.

“Obi-Wan!” It’s Master Drallig and the part of Obi-Wan that remembers the Temple comes to attention at that tone. “Obi-Wan, he’s okay.”

“He isn’t,” Obi-Wan says. “He isn’t waking up. I can fix him.”

“You don’t need to. He’ll wake up on his own.”

Obi-Wan spares a look at Master Drallig. He doesn’t think the battlemaster is lying, but Obi-Wan’s focus is also on the fritz right now. Maybe it was Xanatos. Maybe it was the other dar’jetii dying. Maybe it’s seeing Master Windu unmoving.

Obi-Wan blinks slowly. “How do you know?”

“Obi-Wan.” It’s buir who’s talking now. He’s here with Jaster and Jango and Arla. Jaster has the darksaber clipped to his belt, and it hangs there as if it’s always been there. He has an arm around Jango and an arm around Arla, and he holds them close, as if he never intends to let them out of arm’s reach again. Jaster doesn’t seem worried but—

“Obi-Wan,” buir says again. He holds a hand out to Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan takes it. Buir pulls Obi-Wan into a hug, and their armor is unyielding, but buir rests their forehead against Obi-Wan’s and Obi-Wan is able to breathe for the first time since Palpatine touched his arm.

Obi-Wan jerks back, but he doesn’t go far, because buir is holding him. “Where’s Palpatine?”

“He’s…” Myles trails off as he looks around.

“He wasn’t with us when we fought,” Bail says. Bail has a cut across his forehead, already healing, with dried blood to mark the spot. He has blaster streaks on his clothes from the firefight, and even though he stands close enough to his senator to touch, he remains apart and alert, as if he’s still expecting danger.

“He wasn’t with us when we evacuated,” Senator Antilles adds.

Lott Dod looks around as if Palpatine will appear out of nowhere, alive and unharmed.

“Why?” Buir asks. He turns Obi-Wan’s face to look at him. “Why are you looking for him specifically?”

“He…” Obi-Wan’s gaze flicks toward Master Windu, still unmoving, and then to Master Tholme who watches Obi-Wan with a heavy gaze. “He knew about Xanatos. He told me to go see him. And then.” Obi-Wan twists his lips. “He made me.”

“He made you?” Buir echoes, something dark in his voice, as if he’s ready to hunt Palpatine down wherever he is and then kill him.

“May I?” Master Tholme asks. He doesn’t move from where he is, and Obi-Wan has a vague memory of Master Tholme touching him earlier and Obi-Wan sending him back. Obi-Wan gives a curt nod and Master Tholme approaches.

His hands touch Obi-Wan’s temples, and buir growls, but Master Tholme doesn’t back off. He closes his eyes and so Obi-Wan closes his as well. A moment later, Master Tholme steps back. His face is troubled.

“Force compulsion,” he confirms.

Master Drallig palms his lightsaber, but he doesn’t ignite it yet. “I’ll help you do a sweep.”

“Padawan, with me,” Master Tholme says. “We’ll need your investigative skills.”

“What is happening?” Jaster—no, Mand’alor Mereel—demands.

“Senator Palpatine used a dark, and illegal, Force trick on Obi-Wan,” Master Tholme answers. “We are going to find him.”

“That’s preposterous!” Lott Dod splutters. “Sheev is a senator, not a Jedi!”

“Was,” Quinlan corrects quietly. He looks down at where Master Windu still hasn’t moved. “If he used a Force compulsion on Obi, then he was dark. And if he was that dark, he’s dead. We all felt it.”

“What are you saying?” Jaster asks.

Before anyone can answer, Mij bursts through. He looks at their semi-circle and then looks at Master Windu, and he curses loud enough for them all to wince. Mij drops down next to Master Windu’s side. “One of you better have your comm open, because you were about to call me,” Mij says.

“He needs quiet and time,” Master Tholme says.

“Are you a medic?” Mij snaps. “I didn’t think so.” He runs his scanner over Master Windu’s body.

“His condition will mimic a deep coma,” Master Tholme says. “His vitals will appear nonexistent, but he is alive. The Force challenges its children, but it cares for them as well.”

Mij looks one step away from punching Master Tholme in the face.

“Master Windu experiences shatterpoints.” It’s Quinlan who kneels down next to Mij and explains to the medic what has happened. “He can see where dozens or hundreds or even thousands of futures converge. It’s often one moment or one choice which creates the most potential. When a shatterpoint; well, shatters, it can have a strong aftershock. Normally, it’s headaches, the occasional migraine.”

“I’ve only seen him like this once before,” Master Tholme says. “He was unresponsive for nearly two weeks as the Force repaired the damage it did.”

“When?” Jaster demands.

Master Thome answers, and Obi-Wan’s knees buckle. He doesn’t fall, because buir is there, and buir holds him up. But Obi-Wan knows that date. He will never forget it.

“That’s my adoption day,” Obi-Wan says. He thinks about Jedha and running across the Mandalore system with Satine Kryze, because the True Mandalorians were all dead. He remembers holding Master Jinn as he died. He’ll never forget the eerie white walls or the steady thump of marching feet.

A possible future.

One that didn’t happen, because Master Jinn didn’t take Obi-Wan back on Melida/Daan. Because it was Jaster and his Mandalorians who appeared instead. Because Walon Vau offered Obi-Wan a name and a home and a place to belong.  

“This isn’t your fault,” Buir says, as if he knows what Obi-Wan’s reaction will be.

And maybe, before, it would have been. But Obi-Wan nods because he knows it isn’t his fault. “I don’t see shatterpoints, but I have visions sometimes. Jedha showed me one of the possible futures. If there was even a hundred of them and they all ended the day I was adopted…I understand why Master Windu has headaches.”

“Does he need the medbay or just rest?” Jaster asks.

“Any bed will do,” Master Tholme says.

“He can have mine,” Jaster says, and he holds up a hand before Mij, Myles, or any of the Jedi can argue. “I have a family suite, which means there are two bedrooms attached to mine, and the entry room is quite large and has several couches. There will be enough space for those who want to keep vigil.”

“I’ll take the senators to their suite and set up a guard rotation,” Myles says. “I’m sure you and the jetiise can handle Master Windu.”

Myles herds the senators away, despite Lott Dod’s protests and Senator Antilles’s curiosity. Once they’re gone, Jaster says, “They aren’t going to be happy. Dod will submit a complaint that we accused Palpatine of being a dar’jetii.”

“It’s only going to get worse,” Master Tholme says. He exchanges a look with Master Drallig, who nods. “He was more than a darksider.”

“More than a darksider?” Jaster asks.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. He knows what comes after darksiders.

“Where is Xanatos?” Master Tholme asks gently.

“Dead,” Arla answers, her voice thick with satisfaction.

“And did you feel it when he died?” Master Tholme asks, his question still directed at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan nods slowly. “But like Melida/Daan. I knew he died, but it was there and gone.”

“The entire planet felt Palpatine die,” Master Tholme says.

“Oh, fuck,” Quinlan says.

It’s a sign of how serious things are that Master Tholme doesn’t scold Quinlan for his language.

“You think Palpatine was a S—” Master Tholme moves lightning quick and claps a hand over Quinlan’s mouth before he can finish.

“This is a conversation for a private room,” Master Tholme says. “Master Windu should be moved to his resting room. The rest of us need to do a sweep for Palpatine. If the Force is with us, he’s truly dead. But if he isn’t, we need to be prepared for a fight the likes of which you can’t even imagine.”

Arla puts a hand on Jaster’s arm before he can do more than draw breath to protest. “I saw the dar’jetii’ika. If this Palpatine is worse, then the jetii’alor is right.”

Obi-Wan touches his throat and hopes Palpatine is dead.

#

Master Windu is as comfortable as he can be in the Mand’alor’s room, but Obi-Wan can’t help but think that all the big bed does is make Master Windu look small. Obi-Wan has memories of the man from when Obi-Wan was in the Temple. He was always looking up to see Master Windu. He was a councilor, and he created his own saber form, and he was something of a mythic figure in the eyes of all the initiates.

And how he’s in a simple pair of drawstring pants and a loose shirt, and there is a blanket tucked carefully around him, but he looks as though the bed will swallow him whole.

It’s been an entire week and his condition hasn’t changed. Master Drallig took the Republic representatives back to Coruscant, but Master Tholme and Quinlan remained here, until Quinlan took Palpatine’s body, kept in a stasis pod, to the Jedi Temple.

Master Tholme hasn’t left the Mand’alor’s suite since he first stepped into it. He takes his meals here, he sleeps fitfully on the couch or meditates next to Master Windu’s bed and claims it’s good enough. There is a small office where he comms the Council when he needs to, but the entire suite is secure, and he invites Jaster into the office more often than not.

The entry room to Jaster’s suite serves as a place for everyone to bunk down, it serves as a place to eat meals, and it becomes an unofficial war room as Jaster collects information about what exactly had happened.

Jaster himself is here the least of them all, because he has duties as Mand’alor. But as part of his consolidation and clean-up, they learn that Xanatos presented himself at the Death Watch camp and offered to train Tor Vizsla in saber combat. All he wanted in exchange was Obi-Wan, and that was a trade Vizsla was more than happy to make.

With Death Watch effectively disbanded, the darksaber in Jaster’s possession, and the very real possibility that the Sith have returned, Adonai Kryze folds his New Mandalorians into Jaster’s rule. It helps that Jaster doesn’t force every Mandalorian to be a martial expert. Those who want peace will have it. Their choices will be respected, just as they will respect those who choose to fight.

Day and night cycles don’t have much meaning, even with the windows to help pass time. Obi-Wan eats when he’s hungry, or when buir tells him it’s time to eat. He sleeps when he’s tired, or when someone wrestles him onto a bed, usually Arla or Jango.

Right now, Obi-Wan sits at Master Windu’s side. He’s the only one, everyone else sleeping or busy with their duties elsewhere. Because no one is here to see, Obi-Wan holds Master Windu’s hand. His skin is cool, not cold like death but not warm like life either.

“The future is always in motion,” Obi-Wan says. “But only if you shape it in the present. You need to wake up, Master Windu.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t expect anything to happen. He talks to Master Windu whenever he sits at his side. He uses his voice, not the Force, because Master Windu’s condition is Force-related, and Obi-Wan doesn’t want to make it worse.

Master Windu stirs.

Hope beats in Obi-Wan chest.

“Master Windu?” he asks.

Master Windu groans, and soon Obi-Wan isn’t the only one in the room. Master Tholme rushes in, Jaster on his heels as if he knows something is happening. Master Windu’s eyes flutter, as if they’re fighting and then they open.

Master Windu groans again. “My head feels like it’s about to split in two.”

“That would be the Sith dying,” Master Tholme says.

“What?” Master Windu demands.

But no one is able to answer, because Mji bursts in, and he scolds them all for not comming him right away and then for distressing his patient and when Master Windu starts to sit up, Mij brandishes a hypo and threatens to sedate him, Master Jedi or not.

Chapter Text

Jaster knew the Proving Grounds would have far reaching consequences. His goal, after all, was to lure Tor Vizsla out of hiding, claim the darksaber, and unite Mandalore behind his rule. There is a certain amount of chaos and clean-up involved in a move like that.

He didn’t expect dar’jetii and Sith, the resurgence of an ancient ally and sometimes enemy of Mandalore.

He definitely didn’t expect for Mace to be felled, not by an enemy combatant but by the Ka’ra. Mace is recovering well since he woke up, but it’s a slow recovery, and Jaster makes sure Mij sends curt updates to the Jedi Order and the Senate daily so they can’t demand Mace back before Jaster is convinced he’s well enough.

Also, the jetiise on Coruscant are apparently hunting for the second Sith, they always come in two and Xanatos wasn’t one, and Jaster would rather eat the darksaber than let Mace join the hunt. He’s seen firsthand what happened to Mace when he’s near a Sith when they die. He wants to keep it from happening a second time.

Jaster feels completely justified when, a few weeks after the Proving Grounds, Mace is hit with a dizzy spell that has him slumping against Jaster as if he can’t hold himself up.

“It’s done,” Mace intones, his voice deep, almost Other, as if it isn’t truly Mace speaking. “The line of Bane is ended.”

And then Mace slips into unconsciousness again. This time, it’s only for a day. That’s something at least.

“What now?” Jaster asks when Mace wakes up again.

Mace looks at his comm and then decides Mij’s recovery sludge is better and eats a spoonful. Mace grimaces and looks at his comm again. Jaster pockets it.

“With the Sith gone, their influence has been lifted from Coruscant, which Master Yoda says was more pervasive than we ever realized.” Mace eats another spoonful and then floats his bowl out of reach. “But Sith, unfortunately, are not the only source of corruption. The Senate and the Republic still have their problems. And there’s a very loud group of senators, growing larger and louder by the day, who think the Jedi are at fault for not seeing the Sith threat in their own backyard.”

Jaster snorts. “Typical Republic. They train you to follow only their commands and then they slap your nose when you don’t take initiative.”

“We’re not dogs,” Mace says.

“I’m something of an amateur historian,” Jaster says, and he thumbs the corner of Mace’s smile, because he wants to kiss it, but he has to settle only for a touch right now. “The jetiise used to exist in far larger numbers. And what you now call your Corps, they were part of the Order proper. You were self-sufficient.”

“And then we nearly brought about the end of the galaxy,” Mace says. “Something I don’t need to tell a Mandalorian.”

“The galaxy fears you, so they learned to control you. They limited your numbers. They made you dependent. Now, the Republic decides your missions and your mandates. They make you live like paupers, and they scorn you even as they demand your services.”

Mace looks at Jaster as if he’s truly seeing him for the first time. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“Jetiise were our ancient enemy, so the information was good to know,” Jaster admits. “But I also like learning. And your people became a cautionary tale for mine. I know the Republic has been looking for a foothold in the Mandalore system for centuries. The New Mandalorians almost handed them our independence on a platter. They would have shaped us like they shaped you, until we were attack dogs, who looked to their masters for orders.”

Mace winces. “An accurate assessment, if unflattering.”

“They did it gradually,” Jaster says as if it’s any consolation. “And if the Sith were in the Senate influencing things the whole time…” He shakes his head. “The Sith are gone. It’s time for a new era.”

“The Senate—”

“Fuck the Senate,” Jaster interrupts. “Fuck the Republic. Or, at the very least, stop letting them be the only game in town. There’s a temple on Jedha, isn’t there? Build temples on the outer rim so you can help non-Republic systems. Build one on Mandalore.”

Jaster tacks that last bit on at the end, casual, but Mace’s gaze finds him, and Jaster knows he wasn’t as casual as he intended.

“Are you offering space for a Jedi Temple on Mandalore?” Mace asks, as if he needs clarification.

“A Ka’ra Academy,” Jaster says. “Mandalorians aren’t monks. A lot of your vows are in direct contradiction to our way of life. But yes. I am offering a place on Mandalore for our ancient enemies to become our present allies. Possibly even aliit.”

Mace breathes in deeply, the way Obi-Wan does when he’s overwhelmed and trying to regain control. “That is a very generous offer, Mand’alor.”

Jaster is a warrior, but he is also a man, and he’s weak for the way Mace says his title, his tongue curling around the Mando’a with a foreign accent. Jaster blames that weakness for why he leans in, until he’s crouched over Mace and can rest his forehead against the other man’s. “It’s also selfish.”

“Sentients are complex enough to have multiple motivations,” Mace says, his voice a whisper in deference to how close they are together.

“Is that a yes?”

“You’re going to give me another headache,” Mace says.

Jaster recognizes a deflection when he hears one. And as much as he wants Mace to pledge himself to Mandalore, to Jaster, he knows he may never receive that pledge. Mace is a councilor, a jetii’alor, and he can’t make decisions based on selfish wants. Just as Jaster can’t. But Jaster’s offer is in good faith, and he hopes the jetiise will agree to send teachers here, even if Mace isn’t among them.

Jaster shifts so he’s sitting back against the headboard. He strokes a hand over Mace’s bald head. “Tell me about shatterpoints.”

“It’s a convergence of possibility,” Mace says. “It’s a million possibilities condensed into a single moment or single decision. It’s why they’re so powerful. People make decisions every day, and those have ripples, some small, some big. But shatterpoints are magnified to a degree that’s difficult to comprehend. I often have a low-grade headache from all the changes in the galaxy. And I am sometimes indisposed with smaller shatterpoints. The Sith was quite large.”

“So was Obi-Wan,” Jaster says.

“Yes.” Mace is quiet, considering his next words. “When a point shatters, an infinite number of futures flare out and die. That is what knocks me flat. But then, what keeps me under, is an infinite number of new futures being born. Sometimes, it’s only a flash here and there. Others, my nights are gripped by visions. But with Obi-Wan, with the Sith, I saw snippets of futures the entire time I was under. It’s disorienting and confusing and quite unpleasant.”

“Quite unpleasant.” Jaster laughs and smooths his hand over Mace’s head, careful because he knows the strain Mace is already under. “That’s an understatement.”

“Did Obi-Wan tell you about Jedha?” Mace asks.

“Some of it. I was dead in his vision. Jango was angry and bitter and made an army of clones. Walon didn’t know who Obi-Wan was.”

“Yes,” Mace says. “There is a Jedi of our order named Sifo-Dyas. He is constantly plagued by visions. He saw this army too. He saw another, one made of droids. He saw the galaxy on the verge of collapse. As you know, I was indisposed after Obi-Wan’s adoption. But when I woke, Sifo-Dyas was my first visitor. He sat at my bed and sobbed, because his sleep was undisturbed and his visions weren’t all of the Jedi Order’s destruction anymore. He brought me something. Plans. Scribbles of a brain burning with visions of the future. He didn’t remember writing it. He was researching Kamino.”

“Kamino?” Jaster asks.

“It’s on the edges,” Mace answers. “It isn’t Republic, because their major export is illegal in Republic space. Kamino is a planet of scientists who specialize in cloning.”

“Shit,” Jaster breathes.

“Indeed. Sifo-Dyas had been siphoning funds from the Order. He had a plan to commission an army, because he thought it was the only way to save the galaxy.”

“Where is he now?” Jaster asks.

“On a lengthy sabbatical. His mind is troubled. If it’s possible, the Force will help him heal. And if it isn’t, the Force will welcome him back into its fold and soothe his hurts in that way instead.”

Which is jetii speak for therapy and possibly death.

“That was one possible future,” Mace says, and his voice is weary. Jaster can’t believe he’s awake, let alone explaining the intricacies of the Ka’ra. “It haunted Sifo-Dyas. It was persistent, yes, but it was only one. I’m barraged with tens or hundreds or thousands on a constant basis.”

“Kotyc,” Jaster breathes. Strong. Basic isn’t enough for the feelings he has.

“I’m trying to warn you,” Mace says, but he sounds amused, fond even, rather than annoyed.

“You have survived the effects of two Sith dying,” Jaster says. “Maybe the Ka’ra will finally allow you peace as well.”

Mace snorts. “The Force isn’t kind or cruel, good or evil. It simply is. It…communicates. It’s why some Jedi can sense thoughts, or they get feelings, or they can tell what cards you’re holding in your hand. But the Force is everything, and we’re simple, sentient beings. Sometimes, when it tries to communicate, it hurts us. But that isn’t because the Force is inherently cruel. It’s a translation issue.”

“A translation issue,” Jaster repeats. “You were near death, because the Ka’ra shouted too loudly in your head?”

Mace’s smile makes Jaster want to tear his heart out and present it to the man. It’s the kind of smile that softens Mace’s entire face, and it crinkles the corners of his eyes. “A rather simplistic explanation, but yes, that is the essence of it.”

Jaster can’t help himself. He leans down to kiss the dome of Mace’s head. Mace responds by tipping his head up, an invitation that Jaster takes him up on. He kisses Mace’s forehead first, lips against skin, not quite a Keldabe but a gesture with meaning for both of them. Mace closes his eyes and so Jaster kisses one eyelid and then the other.

He moves to Mace’s mouth next, and Jaster means to be gentle, but Mace gasps like a man denied, and Jaster responds. He kisses Mace fiercely, and he would do more, except there is a polite throat clearing at the door.

Mace chuckles at Jaster’s groan, and Jaster turns to see Obi-Wan in the doorway. He’s helmet-less and looks unimpressed with both of them.

“Master Windu is supposed to be recovering,” Obi-Wan says. “And Mij will have sharp words for both of you if he comes in, and you’re feeding Master Windu your tongue instead of actual food.”

Jaster is too old to blush like a child, but he does feel a twinge of embarrassment.

“Thank you, Obi-Wan,” Jaster says.

“Also, Jango is courting me, and I accepted.” Obi-Wan tips his chin up in challenge.

Jaster, who willingly and eagerly met Tor Vizsla in challenge, has no intention of meeting Obi-Wan’s.

Mace laughs and pushes himself up until he can slouch against the headboard. “If the medic will provide me with actual food, then I will eat it.”

Obi-Wan glances at the bowl of sludge. He winces in sympathy. “I’ll see what I can find.”

He takes a step and disappears. Jaster isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to it. It takes him a moment to register that Obi-Wan is gone, because his mind expects to see him still in the room, just a single step closer. He rubs his forehead.

“Good luck keeping him and Jango apart with that trick at Obi-Wan’s disposal,” Mace says.

And that…that introduces a whole new headache. When Jaster was interested in someone as a teenager, he had to sneak time like all other Mandalorians did, with stealth training or distraction. Obi-Wan isn’t stopped by things like doors or locks or even distance.

“I suppose it’s a good thing that I don’t want to keep them apart,” Jaster says. “I’ll have Mij give them each a sex talk. That should keep them from having sex for at least a week.”

“You were a teenager once too,” Mace says.

“And I know what I got up to, which is why I’m worried. I want them to be happy, and if they make each other happy, then I fully support them. But I also want them to be safe.”

“Hmm, speaking of safe.” Mace’s smile is nothing but trouble. It’s like Myles’s before he purposefully ruins Jaster’s day, and Jaster isn’t allowed to throw rocks at Mace’s head. “Obi-Wan is Stewjoni. Your medic should include birth control in his talk. Actually.” Mace’s smile slips. “Obi-Wan was taken as a padawan and after being enslaved. He most likely already has an implant. Your medic should check on that. They need to be switched out every few years, depending on the brand.”

Jaster sends a quick message off to Mij and then turns back to Mace. “Your Temple provides birth control?”

Mace’s lazy smile is back. “Even Jedi have hormones and urges. There are some who practice celibacy, but it’s a personal decision they choose and often as part of their knight’s vows, not as children. And while sex and satisfying physical needs is accepted within the Order, having children is a more complicated issue. Most Jedi, whether they can carry young or not, take some form of birth control to prevent conception.”  

“You?” Jaster asks. It’s a personal question, and he wouldn’t be surprised or offended if Mace didn’t answer.

“There are no mini-Maces running around the galaxy,” Mace answers. “And no, I am not a carrier so if you want children, we’ll have to do it the Mandalorian way.”

Jaster goes still. Mace has considered raising children with him? He knows they enjoy a good academic discussion, and they definitely enjoy what time alone they can get for sex or even kissing on the couch, but children? That is part of the riduurok, a commitment to raise warriors together. It means Mace has considered Mandalorian marriage vows. That is more than a passing friendship or an occasional hook-up.

“Perhaps I have misread the situation,” Mace says, uncharacteristically hesitant, after Jaster has spent too long being dumbstruck by the thought of raising children with Mace. “But you did offer space for a temple on Mandalore.”

“Academy,” Jaster corrects. “How much do you know about Mandalorian culture?”

Mace’s expression softens into something so fond it tugs at Jaster’s heart. “I know that discussing children isn’t done lightly. I’ve studied your vows. One together, one apart, it implies and accommodates separation. They are not a vow, not an attachment.”

Jaster knows that attachment is weighted word for the jetiise. Which means that Mace is trying to tell Jaster something. That Mace took the time to research the riduurok and examine it and determined it didn’t conflict with the vows he had already made as a jetii.

“Mandalorian vows don’t prioritize the riduur over any and all else,” Jaster agrees. He’s seen vows which are promises and declarations to commit one’s life to one’s spouse. Or spouses. There are ones with promises of obedience which make him shudder. “It doesn’t make sense. Children come first, then the clan, and, when times are good, the Mand’alor, not me specifically but the concept. We have always been and will always be community based.”

“Community before self,” Mace says. “Yes, I do have some experience with that.” He gets that look on his face, the one means he’s about to cause mischief. “Which means that not only are Mandalorian and Jedi values not in conflict, they are in harmony. I should bring that up at the next Council meeting.”

“You are, as the children would say, a troll.”

“No, that is Master Yoda.” Mace laughs and then pulls Jaster in for a kiss.

“Are you kidding?” Obi-Wan asks. “I leave to get you real soup and I come back, and you’re back to kissing. Did you even stop?”

“Thank you for the soup,” Mace says, which is more polite than anything Jaster has to say, because he was enjoying that kiss. “Medic Mij is going to set up an appointment with you, and you will attend.”

“You aren’t permitted any sexual activity until you discuss your biology and safe sex practices,” Mace adds.

Obi-Wan considers this. “What’s classified as a sexual activity?”

“We’ll cover that in our talk,” Mij says, entering the room. He looks at Obi-Wan and then Obi-Wan’s soup and then Jaster, sitting far too close to Mace, and then he finally looks at his patient. His eyes narrow as if he isn’t sure who he wants to yell at first. “What are you holding?”

“Soup for Master Windu.” Obi-Wan doesn’t balk under Mij’s look. And he doesn’t back down, even when Mij points to the abandoned sludge. “Master Windu is a Jedi, and he requires certain things for his recovery.” Obi-Wan sets the bowl down near Mace and then does his step-teleport thing and vanishes.

“Magic Ka’ra soup?” Mij asks. “Really?”

“You could have called him out on the lie,” Jaster says.

“Ha.” Mij comes over and has no issue hauling Jaster off the bed and away from his patient. “Then, he might actually learn how to lie well and then where would any of us be? You have two children, you should already know this. Do you know what else you should already know?” Mij’s voice dips, sickly sweet and Jaster takes a step back. “Exactly. Leave my patient to heal. Once he’s recovered from the Ka’ra fucking him, it will be your turn.”

Mij looks Mace over, and Mace keeps an impressively brave face on, given that he’s bedridden and has no escape.

“If you’re involved with my Mand’alor, your business becomes my business,” Mij says, a combined warning and approval.

“I submit myself to your mercy, Medic Mij,” Mace says.

“Hmm.” Mij studies Mace for any sign of deception and then he hands him the bowl of soup Obi-Wan had brought. “Start by eating this. All of it. I think Obi-Wan went all the way to Sundari for it.”

“All the way implies it was a long trip,” Mace says. “For him, it was a single step.” He smiles at Mij’s glower and then takes a careful spoonful of his soup. He hums thoughtfully and then takes another. “This is good. Have you ever considered that your patients might be more cooperative if you offered them better options?”

“Have you considered that I am a fully trained medic and carry a full set of sedatives at all times?” Mij retorts.

Mace decides eating is a better idea than speaking, and Jaster turns to hide his smile, lest his jetii thinks Jaster is laughing at him.

#

There was an official ceremony where the clans and houses came and swore their allegiance to their Mand’alor. Jaster now spends even more time in meetings, coordinating the various governments of the various planets within his system in order to make sure all his people are taken care of. It helps that Jango and Arla both have shown interest in helping him manage their vast territory.

There was some grumbling when Jaster announced that he gave his permission for the jetii to build an academy in Keldabe which will serve as the first school for those blessed by the Ka’ra. He doesn’t call it a temple, but it doesn’t stop the resistance. What helps is that Mace brings with him only a small number of jetii to serve as teachers. He also, interestingly enough, brings a few students he believes will be better suited to Mandalore than the Jedi Order.

And, of course, he brings the AgriCorps. Thirty beings blessed by the Ka’ra arrive in brown jumpsuits with the AgriCorps symbol on their left shoulder, and they set up a research facility and promise they can help Mandalore heal from the Dral’Han.

Today, Jaster doesn’t host an official ceremony. This is a private gathering, his closest commandos and, of course, Mace. Jaster had told Walon what he intended to do in advance in order to make sure Obi-Wan wouldn’t do someone foolish like refuse.

Which means Jaster stands in front of Obi-Wan and finally does what he’s been trying to do since the hospital on Melida/Daan. “Obi-Wan Vau, you fought bravely for the Young on Melida/Daan, and I knew you had mandokar. You offered your life for those who needed it, and when I saved your life, you offered it to me instead. You trained with me in preparation of my duel with Tor Vizsla. On the day I faced my challenge, you defended our people from a dar’jetii. For your actions on behalf of my clan and my people, I hereby declare your life debt fulfilled. You owe me nothing further.”

There is a hush in the room, and though Obi-Wan’s head is bowed, he thinks he sees the quirk of the boy’s lips that means he’s smiling.

“My debt is cleared but my obligation is not,” Obi-Wan says. He straightens and meets Jaster’s gaze. “I was adopted into Clan Vau when I was fourteen. My trials were considered sufficient for my verd’goten, and my buir has raised me as Mandalorian, but I am not truly Mandalorian. I won’t be until I swear the Resol’nare. Will you permit me to swear to you today, in front of these gathered witnesses?”

“Yes,” Jaster says. This isn’t a life debt, something owed and given out of obligation. This is a willing vow. “I would be honored, Obi-Wan Vau.”

“Ba’jur bal beskar’gam,” Obi-Wan begins, the Mando’a flowing smoothly off his tongue. “Ara’nov, aliit, Mando’a bal Mand’alor—an vencuyan mhi.”

“Obi-Wan, Clan Vau, House Mereel, child of Mandalore,” Jaster says. “We will drink to you tonight.”

#

Obi-Wan finds Jaster at the celebration that night. He’s clearly had more than one glass of tihaar, and his eyes are bright, but they aren’t glassy. He’s alert, simply enjoying himself. As he should.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says, his sincerity sweet and unnecessary. Jaster is the Mand’alor, it is his responsibility to look out for his people. Helping the Young was the honorable action when his squad stumbled upon Melida/Daan’s war. And bringing Obi-Wan here, Jaster should be the one thanking him.

“I didn’t understand when you found me, but I understand more now. You offered to adopt me, and I said no, and even though I didn’t understand, you did, and it must have caused you pain.” Obi-Wan doesn’t look away from Jaster, even though it’s an uncomfortable conversation. “You aren’t my buir, but you gave me my family, and I wanted you to know that.”

Jaster finds his throat tight all of a sudden. He tries to clear it.

“And.” Obi-Wan fidgets with the cup in his hands. “If we are Mando’ade, the children of Mandalore, then you are Mando’buir, our parent. And this afternoon, I chose you.”

When Jaster landed on Melida/Daan, he knew that Obi-Wan would be a powerful warrior. He knew Obi-Wan would make a good Mandalorian, putting children before all. But he didn’t realize, then, that Obi-Wan’s ability to fight was only matched by his ability to care.

Jaster pulls Obi-Wan in close, and he allows Obi-Wan to see the tears gathered in Jaster’s eyes before he presses their foreheads together. “Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad, Mando’ad,” Jaster whispers. I know your name as my child, child of Mandalore.

“Mando’buir,” Obi-Wan repeats. He shifts and presses a kiss to Jaster’s cheek. He steps back, and his cheeks are pink. He stares at his drink, shy now.

Jango wanders over once he determines the moment to be over, and he teases Obi-Wan for his flushed cheeks and calls him a lightweight. Obi-Wan teases him back, and they head off together, no doubt to drink irresponsibly and then exchange drunken kisses in Jango’s room.

Jaster isn’t surprised when Mace fills the empty space at Jaster’s side.

“I believe the Mandalorians have a saying for that,” Mace says quietly, in deference to the moment. “Aliit ori’shya tal’din.” Family is more than blood. He offers Jaster a handkerchief to wipe his face with.

“They also have one for you’re being a smartass,” Jaster grumbles.

“Is it come to bed with me?” Mace asks.

Jaster laughs and leans against Mace’s side. “Might as well be. They’re already calling me Mand’alor the Reformer. It’ll be a good legacy.”

“Legacies are for when you are dead,” Mace says. “First, you must live. Peace, prosperity, you fought for them, and you must continue to fight for them each day.”

“And at night?” Jaster asks.

Mace smiles. “At night, you celebrate everything you have accomplished that day. Duty, pleasure, everything in balance.”

“Show me,” Jaster says.

Mace takes his hand. “Gladly.”