Chapter Text
The sun shining in through the window wakes Jango.
No explosions.
No one banging on the door because the hastily assembled skeleton government of the Republic is trying to declare war (again).
No brawls in the streets.
Cal isn't crying.
Obi-Wan is sleeping peacefully beside him.
Everything is calm.
He checks the chrono, and blinks at the time. Half past seven.
It's unheard of for the planet to go so long into the day without a disaster occuring that means someone simply must wake up the Mand'alor and the Rid'alor.
Yawning a little, he gently disentangles himself from Obi-Wan, trying not to wake her.
He pulls the covers back over her, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he goes to put his beskar'gam on and wash his face in preperation for the day.
Having performed his morning ablutions, he returns to the bedroom to find Cal waking up grumpily. The nearly six month old blinks his blue eyes and Jango can just tell from his expression that he's about to start wailing.
"Cal'ika. Kuur, kuur, sa'ad." Hurriedly gathering the infant into his arms, he hushes him before he can wake up Obi-Wan.
"Are you hungry? Are you hungry Cal?" A burble and a grumpy whimper answers him well enough.
Snorting softly at his son's attitude, he reaches for the blue milk stored in a little cooling cabinet on the windowsill, sitting down on the window seat as he coaxes the teat of the milk bottle into Cal's mouth.
Cal is a food snob, even before he is weaned. If his mother isn't feeding him, he doesn't like it. Even Tahl and Ani, who cared for him for the first few months of his life are now regarded with suspicion when it comes to food.
Master Healer Vokara Che says that Cal suffered from a wrenched Force bond when Obi-Wan was snatched from the Temple, and now that he has the opportunity to truly have a bond with his mother, there are slight side effects as there always are with such young children.
Jango understood about every second word in her explanation, which is fine. At least Obi-Wan understood.
A gurgle from Cal distracts him from his thoughts, and a sappy smile crosses his face as he sees the baby giggling up at him, gently taking the now empty bottle from the clutching baby hands.
Cal was underweight when he was brought to Mandalore, although nowhere near as much as any of the elder Jedi. After nearly four months on Mandalore though, he's finally at a normal healthy weight, and the roses in his cheeks and the ever more frequent giggles are a constant source of joy for Obi-Wan. For Jango as well, but the Jedi are so unused to their infants being, well, healthy and happy, that it is a constant amazement for them.
Holding his son in the morning sunshine, Jango silently promises that Cal will never know the hardships, the torture and the heartache that his mother endured. Cal will grow strong and tall and protected under the sun of Mandalore if he has to give his life to ensure it.
Cal gurgles again, tiny hand slapping against his beskar kar'ta. "Yes, I love you too Cal'ika."
A soft laugh from the direction of the bed causes Jango to look over. Obi-Wan is sitting up, smiling at them. Her hair is full of static from the pillow, floating around her hair in a halo of auburn gossamer threads. "Morning Jango."
He smiles back at her, and stands, walking over to settle Cal in her arms. The sheer delight that covers her face whenever she holds her son is something he doesn't think he'll ever tire of seeing. "We didn't wake you did we?"
Obi-Wan shakes her head. "Oh no. I woke up quite on my own to two of my favourite people having a cuddle without me."
They laugh, and she leans over to kiss him lightly and then press an equally light kiss to Cal's forehead. "You're burping him though."
Jango huffs and laughs again, and she cuddles Cal and whispers silly nothings, sitting in the large bed with a bright smile on her face. In that one, bright, beautiful moment, looking at her shining, laughing face, he could imagine that she had never been anywhere near Coruscant.
A bang on the door startles them, and Cal starts to cry. The soft, infinitely perfect moment is ruined, and Jango sighs as he stands to go and open it.
Time for the next disaster in the story of Mandalore.
**********
Having been summoned from their lazy morning to inform Tor Viszla for the umpteenth time that no, he could not forbid his son's relationship with Ayomyi, and no, they would not tolerate his attitude towards it any longer, Jango and Obi-Wan were decidedly put out.
Because seriously, it was just ridiculous. Every few days, or so it seemed, Tor Viszla decided that he had reached his limit with Pre's 'silly infatuation with a Jedi', and made a fuss about it. And this had been going on for months.
Pre and Ayomyi had instantly befriended each other after the Excision of Coruscant, and become progressively closer and closer for a month and a half, before one day deciding that their feelings were more than platonic. And like that, Pre Viszla, Alor'ad Viszla, and Ayomyi Che, Knight Crechemaster, were together.
Tor Viszla had, being himself, taken offence to Ayomyi's status as a Jedi, and her refusal to become Mandalorian. He had been possibly more offended that Pre accepted it, and was happy to work out the pitfalls of a relationship between a Jedi and a Mandalorian.
Honestly though, why he thought appealing to Jango and Obi-Wan would help was beyond them.
Ayomyi and Pre were like them, a Jedi and a Mandalorian, both navigating a relationship while staying true to their own culture. To be fair, Ayomyi and Pre were possibly in a better position than they were initially, not being under the pressure of Jango and Obi-Wan's arranged marriage.
Seemingly picking up on the rampant emotions in the room, Cal begins to cry again, hands waving jerkily in Tor's direction from Obi-Wan's arms. The meaning is clear.
"My apologies, Alor Viszla.'' But really, Jango doesn't feel the slightest regret. "But it appears that our son is disturbed by your bigoted and predjudiced emotions and so we must ask you to leave."
A couple of people stifle sniggers, most unsuccessfully. Viszla glares, but salutes and stalks out, stiff-legged and angry.
"We shouldn't antagonise him so much, Jango." Obi-Wan whispers chidingly, though understandingly, in his ear. "He is very powerful and influential, and alienating him is not a good idea."
Jango shrugs. "His Heir is Pre," he whispers back," and Pre is firmly in our camp now that he and Ayomyi are together."
Since their agenda for the day has been utterly thrown off by Viszla's weekly rant (they did schedule for it, but it was a few days early this time), they have to rush through breakfast before they can take a speeder out to Anohrah for the fortnightly meeting the the Jedi Council.
Cal always enjoys the speeder rides, giggling as the wind rushes through his auburn hair, and it is endlessly endearing to see his blue eyes light up when they bump over a rock or other obstacle.
Jare'la child.
Jango is absolutely certain that the infant takes after his mother.
Being herself, Obi-Wan only smiles and sits Cal on her lap as the speeder takes off.
Over the last few months, the Jedi Archivists (and many more Jedi) have been digging through the holocrons and data pads recovered from the Senate, and putting the lost pieces of their culture back into place.
She’s wearing the traditional Jedi robes now, the kind from the Mandalorians oldest histories of battles and disputes between two proud and powerful warrior peoples with a predilection for collecting children.
Rather than the dull, monotone beige of the robes forced on them by the Senate, or the bright, bold colours used by Mandalorians, the Jedi robes are gentle, defined colours. Too sharp for pastels, but far too soft for jewel tones.
They are something in the middle.
The cut of the robes too has changed, becoming sleeker and more tailored.
Obi-Wan's current robes are fitted, though open until the waist, and then they billow loosely around her. The sleeves are cut to drape gently from her arm, and the robe is a lovely sky-blue that picks out the lighter flecks in her eyes and makes them shine. Her tunic is blue-tinged white and reaching to her knees, then cutting off abruptly in a band of darker blue. The tabards progress from the same blue-white as the tunic at her shoulders to nearly black at her knees.
They are impressive, and Jango is secretly quite envious.
Certainly, the Jedi have been working hard to re-establish the stolen part of their culture, and he and Obi-Wan have heard through the grapevine of her rahkadai that holocrons on crafting using the Force have been discovered and activated.
"You look like you are thinking deep thoughts, ankai'a."
He will deny to his dying day that he jumps at Obi-Wan's sudden amused murmur.
"I'm just wondering how Anohrah will have changed since the last time we visited."
Which, admittedly, was two days ago to see her family, but the Jedi worked fast.
The driver's voice breaks in. "Approaching Anohrah now, Mand'alor, Rid'alor."
Nodding their thanks, they gather the few things (mostly Cal's) that have been scattered over the seat during the journey.
The sound of jetpacks roaring overhead makes Cal squeal and bounce, despite the fact that their escort regularly sweeps the sky.
Well, at least he is easily satisfied.
Jango just hopes that he won't grow up and ask for a jetpack, but Obi-Wan laughs and says he won't need one.
Whatever that means, Jango isn't sure he wants to know.
"Oh look!"
Work on the city was begun three weeks before the Excision of Coruscant, and the quick work of the Jedi has completed the basics only two and a half months after the Excision.
After that, the decorating and customising began.
Each lineage has decorated their houses a slightly different way, with different patterns, colours, even mediums.
The main building itself is totally unreminiscent of the temple on Coruscant.
It has a long roof that curls at the edges, painted in the defined yet muted colours that are fast becoming the trademark of the Jedi. There are pillars and statues, just like in the other, but these pillars are carved and decorated, and the statues are sculpted in md-motion, with open faces and clear body language. There are no stairs leading up to it, for it sits on a level with the rest of the city.
In the city itself, there are always lights glowing, whether the bright overhead ones or merely the inbedded phosphorescent crystals embedded in the walls, and there are resturants and food markets almost everywhere you turn.
Everything about the city is designed to beat away memories.
Jango can understand that.
How can he not, after nearly six months sleeping by Obi-Wan's side?
Children run through the streets in bright robes, laughing and carefree, cheeks plump and rosy, with their stomachs full, completely free of fear.
Teenagers walk and talk and laugh in groups, occasionally still glancing wonderingly at the beautiful city they now live in, their too-short, too-thin forms filling out slower than their smaller counterparts.
But the adults are the most striking. Eyes still hollow and haunted, many bearing horrific scars, lightsaber constantly near to hand, the fullly fledged Jedi are only just beginning to heal. Their robes are new, all the colours fresh and crisp, without hanging threads or patches. Their houses are new, the paint not yet chipping, the walls still mostly unaffected by the depredations of children. But their minds are still those of people trapped in haran.
The adults are still processing.
Today however, even they seem to have shed their unconscious fear and wariness for unadulterated joy and excitement.
Obi-Wan is smiling rapturously as she sees the city shining in the sun, crowds congregating in its streets, the crystals glowing.
"Knight Consular Kenobi."
Knight. Not Rid'alor.
Knight. A Jedi title, not a Mandalorian one.
And it is the one Jango knows she prefers.
Obi-Wan grins down at the face of a Kiffar with a thick gold stripe across the bridge of his nose and frankly ridiculous dreadlocks. He wears no robes, only boots, leggings, and tabards the same shade as his tattoo.
"Knight Sentinel Vos. What's up, Quin?"
The Kiffar ignores her for a moment in favour of cooing at Cal. "Your baby is so kriffing cute."
Obi-Wan snaps her fingers before his eyes, which he rolls. "Fine, fine. It's the celebration for the first lot of promotions under our own jurisdiction. Which you would know if you'd stayed longer than your own ceremony."
She only laughs and hops out of the speeder. "Coming Jango?"
As he always does, Jango climbs out after her, and they follow Vos through the open gates and into the city of the freed Jedi.