Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Clarity is a complex thing, Obi-Wan discovered. It wasn’t so much a singular moment in which one has an epiphany, a clearing away of the clouds of bias or ignorance that makes way for luminous understanding. Yoda had always spoken of clarity like something to be achieved. It was the end goal of meditation and communing with the force. He learned that that view was not quite the whole truth.

Clarity, instead, was a process of seeing the galaxy and the events therein from new angles continuously until you realize that you have never and will never understand every facet of what you’re aiming to comprehend. It’s like holding an ever shifting kaleidoscope, layers upon layers of choices and influences and accidents that spin a web that sentients call life. When he was alive, he’d had many perceptions about the events of his life. To him, there were several key, fundamental facts that could not be denied. Facts such as: the Jedi were pillars of good in the galaxy, revenge was never the right answer, and that he had made a series of terrible decisions in his life that had led him to an existence epitomized by infinite sorrow. He had been an unwanted padawan, rejected over and over again for being too angry, too impulsive, too emotional, and too disobedient for anyone to take on or keep. He’d failed his Master, he’d failed Ahsoka, he’d failed the clones, he’d failed the Jedi Order. If there was one thing he’d done right, it was in his final act of sacrificing himself for the twins. He’d been at peace with the prospect of dying. He’d fallen with grace, and an apology on his lips towards the one he’d failed most.

The Force, it seemed, was not as sanguine about his death. He’d known the lightness of the Force in his youth, had felt it wrap itself around him in welcome and promise him great things to come. It had not promised good things, he reflected later, but great things. Momentous events of which he would be part. It had grown dimmer as he aged, so slowly at first that he hardly noticed the difference. It spoke to him less, guided him with less insistence. He’d attributed the change to maturity, and trauma, and had dismissed any niggling concern he had for the quieting of the companion he’d had since birth. Now, with his spirit detached from his mortal body, the Force felt far stronger than he’d ever known in life. Yet, still, there was a veil between himself and the true well of power that he knew the Force to be.

There are so many things to show you , the Force whispered to him. The words rang with something like regret, if the Force could feel such things, and pain. So many things to teach you, so many warnings unheard .

The Force had been shrouded, he realized. It had not distanced itself from him, or from the Jedi as a whole, but rather it had been subdued by some outside influence. His heart ached with the knowledge, but the Force soothed him with reassurances that surrounded him, overlapping like waves.

Change, it said, is inevitable. Yet not all change is welcome, even by an entity as neutral and removed as the Force. Balance , it emphasized, is its domain and balance has been lost. Some might say the fall of the Jedi and rise of the Sith was inevitable, as there is always a rise and fall throughout history in a never ending spiral. Fate, they would call it. Yet Fate as sentients perceive it is merely momentum, and the direction of momentum can always be altered. If the Force wished to spin a few gears of the great machine of entropy in a different direction for the sake of that balance, then that was its right. So, the Force wrapped Obi-Wan in its threads of gold and shadow and held him close as it gave him the gift of clarity.

At first, Obi-Wan was confused. Visions passed by him, filled with color and sound and emotion. The Force was showing him his own life, moment by moment. He’d already lived through all of this. Was this punishment for his inability to save anyone he’d meant to save? Except, these memories weren’t just his own. Each moment was broken down and dissected, the fragment of time expanded to show the decisions and events that lead to every occurrence in Obi-Wan’s life. Seconds expanded into years which folded down into days which scattered into shards of memory like mosaic tiles. Time did not exist in the Force the same way it did for living, sentient beings, so he could not say how long he lay cradled in memory. Long enough to understand several things, and to unravel his understanding of many others. Long enough to be guided through the path of grief into a realm that was not quite acceptance, but something with a sharper edge that reminded him of determination.

Good , whispered the Force. Remember.

Then, he knew nothing for a long time.

Chapter Text

When Obi-Wan came to awareness, it was with a sharp gasp of surprise and pain. Instead of the weightless, expansive existence he’d grown used to, he felt like he’d been folded up and stuffed into a body that was far too small for him. His bones ached, his skin felt stretched and thin, yet it was an entirely different set of agonies than he remembered from his time on Tatooine. Truthfully, he’d been so long without any physical sensation at all he’d almost forgotten what it was like to feel pain, or hunger, or fatigue. He’d forgotten what it was like when his stomach was so empty it stopped hurting, or the lightheadedness that came with prolonged starvation, or the way every inch of skin felt battered and bruised as though he were just a walking wound. His eyes snapped open. Above him was a filthy, rust-flaked metal ceiling, curved and dripping. He was lying on a pile of rags that were possibly even dirtier, judging by the smell and the gritty feeling against his skin. The air smelled of mildew, festering wounds, body odor, and the metallic tang of blood. It was a place he knew well, a place he’d known in his dreams nearly every night since he was thirteen years old.

Melida/Daan.

“Obi?”

He blinked and turned his head slowly to look at the girl next to him. She was young, still a child by most species’ standards, with dirty, matted hair that he only knew was red from memory. Her pale green eyes were looking at him with concern, her brow furrowed. There was a bruise on her cheek and a bandage wrapped around her forearm that could only be called ‘clean’ by comparison to the rest of their surroundings.

“Cerasi,” he breathed. In his mind, he saw her bleeding out in his arms, their triumph turning swiftly to grief and loss. He saw, also, the threads of time that had woven together to make that moment a reality. He took a deep breath and let it out shakily.

This was not like the other memories shown to him by the Force. Those had been lessons and there had always been a sense of detachment from the events within. He could stand knee deep in lava and feel no heat, he could speed over the ice of Hoth and feel no cold. Here, sensations were sharp and immediate in a way that demands attention in the most primal of ways. No, this was no memory. 

Thank you , he said silently, knowing that the Force was listening. For this second chance.

Remember, the Force answered. Understand.

I do.

“Are you alright?”

He didn’t bother trying to smile for her. They didn’t smile much these days and he knew that his attempt would be weak enough to heighten her concern rather than alleviate it. Instead he sat up, biting back small noises of pain and discomfort as the motion pulled at weak limbs and partially healing injuries. He’d forgotten, over the course of long years, that he hadn’t quite been healed from his time on Bandomeer by the time he and Qui-Gon had landed on a war torn planet to rescue a fellow Jedi. He felt the badly healed scars on his back pull with the motion, along with a small, recent burn on his side and a jagged wound on his calf that he thought might have been from a stray piece of shrapnel.

He spent the next two days in a strange state between hazy disbelief and sharp, vivid reality. Despite all that he’d learned during his time after death, and all of his efforts to accept and be at peace with what was happening, everything about this situation seemed unreal. His rational, mortal mind could not accept that he was not simply dead and gone, but rather, incredibly, thirteen years old and helping to lead an army of children. He’d been shoved back into a body that he’d long since outgrown, at a moment before any of the true horrors he knew so well had begun. So many terrible things had already happened. So, terribly many more had not. It felt like a dangerous dream, an impossibility born of a deep rooted desire to make things better than they were. Perhaps, he thought, the Force wanted that too.

He found himself staring at times, his gaze caught on the fraying edge of a blanket that was more dirt and lice than fabric or on the stump of an arm of a seven year old sawed off by a boy who was only four years older than her. He’d managed to block many of the details of his months on Melida/Daan, he realized. He’d forgotten the exact stench of the tunnels, how the air reeked of unwashed bodies and horrors beyond the imaging of most adults in the galaxy. He’d seen children die far too often in his life, but there was a particular kind of abomination associated with children seeking peace murdered by their own, zealous parents. He’d forgotten the taste of old, stale ration bars. Somehow, they were worse than the ones he’d eaten during the Clone Wars. The water was stale as well, metallic tasting and bitter. He sipped when the canteen was passed to him and then gave it to the Young next to him.

The third day he awoke with determination in his heart. The Jedi wouldn’t help them in this. Master Jinn had already proven that he didn’t consider this planet worthy and even though there were Jedi on the Council who would certainly step in to help the Young if they were made aware of the situation, it wasn’t their decision alone. Already the Jedi belonged to the Senate, trained hounds taught to heel even with the Force begged them to act. (Obi-Wan carefully didn’t let his thoughts linger on the fact that this was exactly Master Dooku’s reason for leaving the Order. He didn’t consider the fact that he had no intention of going back to the Temple, the place that smelled of smoke and blood in his memories. He was very good at avoiding barbed thoughts when he wanted to.)

“I have an idea,” he announced. He and Cerasi had just finished inspecting their supply levels and outlining rations for the week. It had been a grim conversation. “I’m not sure you’ll like it, and I know Nield won’t, but it will work.”

“What am I not going to like?” Nield asked, sauntering into the curtained-off space. It could generously be called a room, but truthfully it didn’t deserve the name. Nield leaned against the wall opposite the pallet where Obi-Wan had slept and raised an eyebrow in expectation.

When Obi-Wan had been actually thirteen, Nield had seemed like everything Obi-Wan wasn’t. He was older than Obi-Wan had been. He was composed and driven, almost ruthless in his ability to see his goal and carry it through. That ruthlessness had caused strife between them often, but he admitted it was also an ability he envied, though he wished it were tempered with greater compassion. Nield was stern and self-disciplined, a leader who stepped up when one was needed. Now, with the benefit of decades, Obi-Wan saw that he was just a sixteen year old kid terrified out of his mind and holding onto control with a white-knuckled grip. He reminded him of Anakin, in that way.

“We’re outnumbered,” Obi-Wan said bluntly. Both Cerasi and Nield flinched at his words, but didn’t bother to contradict the obvious. “We’re tired, wounded, and many of us are sick.”

“Are you saying you don’t think we can win this?” Nield asked, eyes narrowed in challenge. He was still leaning against the wall, but his arms were crossed now and his fingers twitched. 

“I know we can,” Obi-Wan countered calmly. “But I’m worried about the cost of doing so. And I’m worried about what comes after. I think we need help.”

“From who? The Jedi ?” Neild spat. There was a fire burning in him that was horribly familiar, yet Obi-Wan couldn’t blame him. In Nield’s eyes, Qui-Gon had done something unforgivable by leaving all of them behind. Just in the two months since he’d left, nearly a dozen Young had died and fifteen more were currently in their improvised ‘medbay’ being treated with folk medicine and prayers. Obi-Wan had to admit that he wasn’t happy with the man either. At thirteen, he’d been too caught up in his own feelings of guilt and abandonment to ever truly question his Master’s decision, but now, seeing the suffering of these children through the eyes of one who had lived several long decades, he couldn’t imagine leaving them. What kind of person, what kind of Jedi ignored an entire planet in need, especially when the ones most affected were children? It would have been difficult, and perhaps would have taken more resources than they freely had, but Jedi did not turn their backs on those who needed them. He’d always respected Qui-Gon, and he always would, but he understood now that his former Master had not always been right .

“That self-righteous bastard that left you here and took your weapon and basically wrote us all off as a lost cause?” Nield continued, practically spitting. Obi-Wan knew he needed to cut him off before he lost himself to the rage. “You can’t possibly –”

“No. Not the Jedi.”

“Then who?” Cerasi asked, her voice gentler than Nield’s but still forged in beskar. Her eyes were blazing with a fire that burned deeper, steadier. Her hand was thin and strong where it gripped his shoulder.

He took another deep breath. The Force had shown him many things that happened while he was on Melida/Daan. So many important moments – shatterpoints, as Mace would say – occurred during those early years of Obi-Wan’s life. Korda VI. The beginnings of the plot to create the clones. The death of Padawan Nim Pianna and the council’s subsequent actions. So many threads weaving together while Obi-Wan had been fighting for his life and those of the children of Melida/Daan.

The one that had most poignantly caught his attention was Galidraan and all the banthashit involved in those events. So many terrible things had come from that one moment: the radicalization of Jango, the destruction of Mandalorian culture, Satine’s death. He was hesitant to call the creation of the clones a terrible consequence, despite everything that had happened (how could the existence of Cody or Rex or any of the clones he’d known and loved be terrible?), but truthfully he knew that everything surrounding their creation was insidious. The clones were raised to be part of a machine, each moving part in perfect working order with no individuality or true sentience. They’d been treated terribly by everyone involved from the Kaminoans to the Senate and Obi-Wan deeply regretted that he’d never done more for them. The ‘what if’s had plagued many hours of his self-imposed exile. The Force had shown him how events, and the Sith, had conspired to make it impossible for him to have done more, but he still ached to change things for them. He didn’t know if this time he would prevent their creation entirely (did they not deserve to live?), but if he did not he knew that they would never be raised in the same conditions as his previous life.

If he could get close to the Mandalorians, close enough to warn them, then perhaps a great many tragedies could be prevented. He wasn’t so arrogant as to think that he could fix everything; he was but one man – one thirteen year old boy – and there was a limit to what he would be able to accomplish. Still, the Force had shown him those things for a reason and with even a rough idea of key moments, he could change so much. Already he was losing the sharp, vivid understanding he’d had in death. Life naturally muddied the waters and details were starting to become blurred. He resolved to spend some time later meditating and writing down everything he could remember 

Obi-Wan pressed his nails into the skin of his palms, grounding himself. While one with the Force, his thoughts had been scattered and non-linear, because there was no reason for them not to be. He hoped that he would break himself of that habit soon. It had barely been a half a minute since he’d traversed that rabbit hole in his mind, luckily, so he continued as though he hadn’t been distracted with memories of a future-that-was-not.

“The Mandalorians.” His voice was firm and did not quaver, despite the momentousness of his announcement. He’d been thinking about this for a while, he realized, though it wasn’t until he said it out loud that he knew how right it was.

To his surprise, Nield’s response was wry amusement. “We know the Jedi won’t help us, so you want to call the opposite of the Jedi?”

“I wouldn’t call them ‘opposites’, per se,” Obi-Wan argued instinctively. “But essentially, yes. The Mandalorians are known for valuing children very highly. They will not take kindly to the fact that adults are targeting their own young. They will bring weapons, capable fighters, and, most importantly, food and medical supplies. The only thing we’d have to fear from them is the fact that they will most likely want to adopt all of us on sight.”

“Adopt us?” Cerasi asked, nose wrinkled.

Obi-Wan smiled a little to himself. His interactions with Mandalorians in his previous life had been rather limited, and he wouldn’t exactly call his time with Satine a pleasant experience overall, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was right about this. Echos of Mandalorian culture lived strong in the clones and he remembered vividly when Waxer and Boil had found that lost Twi’lek girl in the middle of battle and had nearly tried to adopt her on the spot. They’d been heartbroken at having to leave her behind, despite the fact that she still had family to take care of her.

“How do you know they’ll even agree to help us? I know you said they value children,” Nield said, his tone conveying his skepticism at the thought of any Elder valuing a child’s life, “but is that enough to warrant sending the amount of resources you’re talking about? We have nothing to offer them and it’ll be a huge risk for them.”

“Unless the adoption is the payment,” Cerasi added thoughtfully.

“No,” Obi-Wan said quickly, before Nield could respond to that. “It definitely would not be payment for their help. It’s a very sacred thing to them and they would never adopt an unwilling child. I can’t really explain why I know they would help, but trust me, they will.”

Nield mumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like “fucking Force bullshit magic crap,” which Obi-Wan had to fight down his amusement towards.

“How would we even contact them?” Cerasi asked practically. “We don’t have any way to communicate with anyone, let alone the leader of a people on another planet.”

Obi-Wan was dismayed to realize he hadn’t actually made a plan for that. I was just unceremoniously tossed backwards in time, he reasoned to himself. I can be forgiven for not accounting for everything the second I come back from the dead.

The Force hummed in approval and he tried to ignore the realization that he’d never been so kind to himself even within his own thoughts. Death had taught him many things.

Nield studied him, eyes searching for something. Obi-Wan looked back at him steadily. Eventually, Nield nodded. “If you’re right, this could mean the end of the war. It could mean saving the lives of dozens of Young.” He took a deep breath. “The Daan have a communications tower under their control. It’s a miracle it hasn’t been destroyed yet, but as far as I know it’s still standing. We can sneak in, use the comms, and get out.”

Obi-Wan grinned. “Let’s do it.”

Planning took the better part of the day. They were constantly interrupted by the needs of the Young under their command, which slowed their progress even if none of them would have ignored the children in their care for the world. Obi-Wan in particular was called away periodically to help with the sick and wounded. Healing was far from being his specialty, but any assistance at all could mean the difference between life and death for the Young who had no medical training, no way to sterilize wounds or equipment, and a very limited supply of bacta. Obi-Wan now had a greater knowledge of field medicine, including a few informal lessons from Bant which had expanded his Force healing abilities, which allowed him to be more effective than he had been at thirteen. It wasn’t enough to actually expel the rot in Miara’s left leg or the cough from Syawal’s lungs, but it was enough to hold back the worst of it and let them rest.

Despite their distractions, the three of them managed to come up with a cohesive plan by the end of the day. Nield voiced further misgivings, including the fear that the Mandalorians would simply take over and Melida/Daan would never truly have independence, but Obi-Wan soothed him each time and by dusk the three of them were in accord. They didn’t normally plan their attacks for nighttime, but they’d all agreed that it would be best for this plan to be carried out under the cover of darkness. The Melida and the Daan also tended to avoid nighttime fighting, meaning that most of them would likely be sleeping. 

In the end, Obi-Wan would be the one to actually go into the communications room and make the call while Nield led a small group to take out any guards and cause a distraction if necessary. Cerasi would stay behind and look after the Young left in the tunnels. They’d established weeks ago that one of the three of them would always stay behind, just in case. They didn’t know what would happen to the Young if all three leaders were taken out at the same time. Cerasi did not look happy about being the one to remain behind this time, but she didn’t voice her complaints; she understood the reasoning as well as they did.

Precisely at midnight, Obi-Wan, Nield, and five other Young that Nield had handpicked climbed out of the sewer three blocks from the communications tower. They moved silently and swiftly, using hand signals to guide each other in the moonlight. They crept through the empty streets, senses on high alert. Through the Force, Obi-Wan could tell that they had been correct about most of the Daan being asleep at this time. Only a handful of guards were still awake. He signed quickly to Nield, telling him what he sensed and where the guards were located. He was pleased to note that the signs came back to him as naturally as breathing; he’d feared for a moment that he would instinctively use the hand signs from the Clone Wars and confuse the Young. He needn’t have worried. Nield nodded back his understanding and the seven of them weaved through the streets, avoiding the guards. 

The tower itself was far less guarded than they’d planned for, which was an unexpected stroke of luck. One guard was patrolling along the edge of the roof, but it was easy to move in once he turned the corner. Obi-Wan guessed that after the failure of peace talks with the Jedi, neither the Melida nor the Daan had any true interest in communicating off planet. They had no money to trade for supplies, no allies, and no desire to contact either the Senate or the Jedi for assistance. At best, the tower was a point of pride for the Daan, since they had something the Melida didn’t, but it wasn’t strategic enough to warrant an attack, meaning it wasn’t important enough to merit extensive security measures.

That meant that the Young were practically free to do as they wished. The back door they were planning to sneak through was locked, but there were no alarms or cameras to alert anyone of their presence as one of their soldiers, Tamet, sliced the lock using a tool he’d made himself out of scraps. It opened after only a minute of tense waiting and Obi-Wan slipped inside.

The building was empty, its long hallways almost eerie in the darkness as Obi-Wan sprinted toward the communications room with only the soft sound of his boots against the tile floors. He skidded to stop in front of the controls, scanning the terribly outdated system with a critical eye. The fact that the entire tower was even necessary had informed him of how ancient the communications system was, but he was still slowed by his unfamiliarity with the controls. He puzzled it out methodically, then punched in the commline he’d learned from the Force’s memories and waited.

The man who answered was not one that Obi-Wan had known in his previous life. He recognized him from holovids and historical records, but Jaster Mereel was someone with whom Obi-Wan was unfamiliar. It was impossible to see the colors painted on his armor, nor the color of his cloak whose edges Obi-Wan could barely see, but he knew them to be mostly red. The mythosaur skull, however, was immediately recognizable, especially combined with paint patterns that he’d seen many times before in history books he’d stolen rescued during his time on Mandalore. Obi-Wan couldn’t stop himself from staring for several heartbeats too long. Mand’alor Jaster Mereel, at this point in time during his last life, was already dead. It was disorienting, to say the least, to be speaking to someone who was a ghost twice over in his mind.

“ Su cuy'gar ,” Jaster greeted, his voice gentle and the tense line of his shoulders softening as soon as he saw who had commed him. “This is the Mand’alor of the Haat’ad’e. Why have you reached out to me, ad’ika ?”

“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. We need your help.”

Chapter Text

To say that Jaster was surprised to answer an unknown number and find a dirty, gaunt, exhausted ad on the other end was an understatement. He’d been staring at a pile of requisition forms, fighting back an approaching migraine, and had answered the call almost absently. The silence on the other end had him raising his eyes to look at the holoimage, eyebrows furrowed, and had to hold back a gasp at the state of the ad floating in blue light before him. The child was practically swaying where they stood, but a fiery determined glint in their eyes was visible even over the holo.

“What sort of help?” he asked. In his mind, he’d already resolved to help this child in any way he could, but he needed to know more about their situation first.

The ad , Obi-Wan, took a deep breath, visibly steeling themselves before they began to explain. Jaster listened with growing concern and rage as Obi-Wan laid out the details of exactly what sort of horrors were occurring on this planet that Jaster had barely been aware of before this phone call. Buire killing ade ? Hut’uun’la demagolka’se . A never ending war, children living in sewers, children dying. These Young, as they called themselves, were so strong to have survived as long as they had and to keep fighting. He knew that the Haat’ade were going to help, but there was one thing he didn’t understand.

“Peace keeping is the responsibility of the jettiise . Why were they not contacted to help you end this war?” He didn’t like it, but the truth was that most people called on the jettii’se first. The ad had expressed a desire for peace, which Mandalorians were emphatically not known for. The jettii’se would be the children’s best bet if they wished for this war to end with minimum further bloodshed (not that those dar’buire deserved to continue breathing oxygen). If the Haat’ade stepped on the Republic’s toes by doing what was perceived as ‘their job’ and wiped out an unknown number of monsters in the process, that could cause a backlash that they simply weren’t capable of withstanding at the moment.

Obi-Wan flinched slightly, though the reaction was controlled and quickly covered up. Jaster’s eyes narrowed.

“The Jedi were called upon to help facilitate a peace agreement between the Melida and the Daan,” the ad said, confirming the vague suspicion that had taken root in Jaster’s gut. “A representative was sent. Unfortunately, Master Tahl was taken hostage when tensions between the two factions escalated and she was gravely injured. Another Jedi was sent to retrieve her. He took her back to the Temple. No further Jedi have been dispatched to help, nor will they be.”

Jaster frowned. He would be the first to say that he did not like the Jedi. They had been at odds for centuries, though there had been no open conflict in living memory. The two peoples were simply too diametrically opposed – or perhaps too similar – to ever get along. He respected their battle prowess, but everything else about the jettiise set his teeth on edge. They were arrogant and cold, a mystic cult that thought themselves superior to everyone else in the galaxy. Yet, still, they were somehow blind to what Jaster could see clearly whenever he bothered to pay attention to the Republic: the Jedi were chained to the Senate on an ever tightening leash. He almost pitied them for their blindness, while his fervor to keep Mandalore out of Republic politics crescendoed.

Despite his general dislike, however, he acknowledged that it was incredibly out of character for a Jedi to abandon an entire planet to ruin, especially if the Jedi in question knew about the suffering children. Jedi were self-purported to be all about helping people in need, sowing peace throughout the galaxy. They took it upon themselves to be the moral compass of the universe as much as they were effectively the executive branch of the Republic government. As arrogant as he found that endeavor, and their methods, it struck him as strange that the Jedi would not have attempted to do more for the Young. 

“What aren’t you telling me?” he demanded. It was perhaps a cruel question, given how uncomfortable young Obi-Wan already was, but he was not going to involve himself in this until he knew all the relevant information. The ad ’s answering grimace told him that his instincts had been correct.

He watched as Obi-Wan swallowed heavily before straightening his spine and answering. “The second Jedi to arrive came with a padawan. When that padawan tried to convince his Master to stay and aid the Young, his Master refused and gave him an ultimatum: stay with the Young and be cast out of the Order, or return and leave the planet of Melida/Daan to its fate. I chose to stay.”

A jettii’ad . That explained the poise and eloquence which had seemed so incongruous in a child raised in the midst of war. Obi-Wan was standing with military precision, all signs of weariness now hidden as he waited for Jaster’s judgment. He sighed. He had no love for jettii’se , and now even less respect, but he would never hold those prejudices against an ad who didn’t even look old enough for his verd'goten. 

“No buir should ever put their ad in such a position,” Jaster said, his voice coming out harsher than he intended. “In our culture it is impossible for a buir to repudiate their ade . It’s inconceivable. For him to have left you there –” He cut himself off, rage choking the words from his throat. Obi-Wan was so small. Even if he was ka’ra blessed, he was too young to be fully trained and therefore his abilities had the potential to be more of a hazard than a help. The dar’buir leaving him alone in the middle of an active warzone where children specifically were being targeted was unforgivable.  

Obi-Wan smiled slightly, but it was a bitter thing. “I’m afraid I agree with you,” he said ruefully. “But I did not go through all the effort of contacting you to talk about me. There are children here in dire need of medical assistance and food. This war needs to end and I believe the cost of us achieving that on our own would be too high. Will you help us?”

“We will be there.”

Obi-Wan nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly in relief. “ Vor’entye .”

Jaster shook his head. “ N’entye . This is the Way.”

 The ad lowered his head in a short nod of respect, then cut off the call. Jaster leaned back in his chair, frowning at the wall. He had a lot of work ahead of him.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan ended the comm call and sagged like a puppet with its strings cut. He was so tired. He remembered being tired for the entirety of his twelfth and thirteenth years, but experiencing it again was a type of acute ache that he hadn’t felt even as a General of the GAR. His body was young and far more fragile than it would be in the future and he had been pushing it far past its limits for a long time now. With a sigh, he straightened again and sprinted back to the back door where the Young were still waiting. 

His entire visit had lasted less than thirty minutes, but it had been a long thirty minutes of tense shoulders, darting eyes, and fingers twitching toward blaster triggers. They were all relieved to be heading back to base.

The way back went as smoothly as their journey into Daan territory and Obi-Wan let out a slow breath once they were safely back in the sewers. The chilly, damp tunnels weren’t exactly homey, but they were home , at least for now, at this time, and the band around his chest loosened the moment the grate slid into place above them.

He’d been terrified that this deviation, this mission he’d devised, was going to end horribly. A thousand scenarios had run through his mind, ranging from probable to extremely unlikely, most of them resulting in the deaths of any number of the Young. Truthfully, he hadn’t even dreamed of the possibility of the mission going without a hitch. The relief was heady.

“So?” Cerasi pounced on them the second he and Nield entered the blocked off space they somewhat jokingly called the ‘war room’. “Are they coming?”

Obi-Wan smiled at her. “They are.”

She whooped, grinning widely. Nield even smiled a little, though worry still pinched the skin between his eyes. Obi-Wan understood. This was good news, but it also carried with it plenty of uncertainty. They didn’t know the Mandalorians, didn’t trust them, and yet they had decided to request their aid because of their trust in Obi-Wan. He would do everything in his power to make sure that trust was well placed.

The next four days were tense. They’d known, of course, that the Mandalorians physically could not arrive immediately to help them. Besides simply needing to organize, it was also a three day trip through hyperspace from Mandalore to Melida/Daan. Outer Rim planets were spread out, making travel times longer. Still, despite this understanding, impatience made the time pass by sharp and slow. Tensions rose, tempers sparked, hunger gnawed. Arguments were common, especially in regards to their lack of action. They’d decided to hold off on all missions for now, allowing only small local scouting forays that were not allowed to leave the base for more than two hours at a time. The inactivity chafed just as much as the waiting.

Obi-Wan kept himself busy by meditating often and continuing to treat those in their ‘medbay’ as well as possible. Syawal in particular seemed to be doing better. His fever was gone and he was breathing easier, though he still coughed hard enough sometimes to nearly make him vomit. Obi-Wan did what he could to soothe him, but he was severely limited until the Mandalorians arrived with their baar’ure . 

On the fourth morning, the Young were awoken by the ground shaking around them and the sound of explosions above. Obi-Wan, Cerasi, and Nield all jumped up at the same time and leaped into action. They herded all of the children into the most fortified portion of their base, the medbay, and gathered their best soldiers. That included the five that had joined him and Nield on their communications mission, as well as a few others.

This time, Nield stayed behind, blaster in hand as he stood between the gathered Young and the tunnel entrance. He gave them a hard nod, his eyes flinty, which Obi-Wan and Cerasi returned. The two of them climbed the ladder to the surface, followed by their soldiers. Obi-Wan went first and lifted the grate just enough to see out. He couldn’t see any immediate danger and the Force was giving him no warnings. He could sense Elders dying a safe distance away, but he knew from experience that if any Mandalorians were nearby wearing beskar he wouldn’t be able to feel them. Cautiously, he slid back the grate and climbed out.

The street was empty. He turned around and helped the rest climb up, then pulled out his blaster. The Young spread out, searching for Elders but hoping to spot armored aid. The explosions kept coming, vibrating through the ground beneath their feet. One of the Young yelped and nearly fired his blaster before subsiding with trembling limbs as the rest of them rushed to his side.

In front of Tamet stood a Mandalorian in full beskar, proving himself to be a capable and affluent warrior by sight alone. He was a little shorter than Obi-Wan was expecting, his armor painted with red, gold, and hints of black and gray. 

He’s just lost someone recently , Obi-Wan thought to himself. The wound is still fresh.

“Woah, hey,” the Mandalorian said, his hands coming up to show that he held no weapons. “I’m not here to hurt you guys, alright? I’m looking for the one named Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan stepped forward. “That’s me.”

“ Su cuy'gar . My name is Jango Fett.”

Obi-Wan blinked and the image of the young man in front of him was overlaid with that of an older, angrier Jango Fett surrounded by sterile white walls. That Jango Fett was broader in the shoulders, more muscular, and overflowing with the kind of bitter hatred that can only come from pain. The beskar’gam of the man in front of him prevented him from sensing more than the basics of Jango Fett’s Force signature, but in it he felt no seething anger, no deep seated wound that could not be healed. 

He took a deep breath to steady himself, but the after-image of the Jango Fett from the future-that-was faded only to be replaced by a million more faces like it. Cody, the steadfast pillar who’d been at his side for years. Rex, who followed along with Anakin’s crazy plans and did his best to ensure that Obi-Wan’s former padawan survived each battle. Waxer and Boil, Barlex, Gearshift, Longshot, Crys, Wooley, Trapper, Charger… The names kept coming like a tidal wave of love which had turned to grief. 

The Force had shown him the threads of possibility that had woven together to make that future, the one with a broken version of Jango Fett and an army of clones, a reality. He knew that it had started a long time ago with the great flood on Kamino which so drastically changed their biology and culture, turning their attention entirely to science and genetic engineering for survival. It started with the death of Jaster Mereel, the only truly charismatic, moderate leader who had enough support and drive to unite Mandalore. It started with Galidraan and the betrayal which occurred there. It started when one broken man said ‘yes’ to another.

Obi-Wan let out his breath slowly. The immediacy of life didn’t leave room for clarity in the way that death did. When he’d called for Mandalorian aid, he’d only been thinking of the Young and how to stop the suffering and death that surrounded him. Jedi hadn’t helped him here last time and, perhaps more importantly, a wounded part of him did not want to risk their rejection again. It might have been unfair – perhaps they would have come if he called – but he’d made his decision and there was no use regretting it.

He hadn’t considered that he might see Jango Fett. Not this early into his new life. He’d called the Mandalorians because they were what the Young needed. They needed their particular brand of warrior-caretakers who would come in, end the war, and look after them like the children they were. As noble as the idea of a peace treaty was, the truth of it was that neither the Melida nor the Daan were of rational mind to come to an agreement. Not long term. And definitely not fast enough to save even the majority of the Young. Not fast enough to save Cerasi.

“My buir sent me to find you guys,” Jango continued, and Obi-Wan did his best to focus. Jango still held his hands in the air, his tone as reassuring and soft as it could be through the vocoder. “We can take you to our ships, get you medical care and food. Is this all of you?”

Obi-Wan exchanged a glance with Cerasi. A slight tilt of her head and even more minute lifting of her shoulders indicated that she wanted him to take the lead on this. She trusted his judgment. He turned back to Jango and shook his head.

“There are about one hundred and fifty more of us in the tunnels. We came out to see what was happening.”

“A hundred…” Jango repeated faintly.

Obi-Wan nodded grimly. “There are more in a second base on the outskirts of town.” Two hundred and eighty-some children seemed like a lot when they had to be provided for with next to no supplies and zero guidance, but in terms of an army they were a pitiful lot. The ones in the secondary base were either ones who could not fight, yet didn’t require immediate medical attention, or were training to join them on the front lines. Obi-Wan tried not to think about the fact that the oldest among that group was only eleven, or the fact that ten of their number had recently died of dysentery before they realized what was wrong and changed their water supply.

“You can call the others,” he said, gesturing to where a few other Mandalorians were waiting out of sight, likely to avoid startling the Young unduly. “It will take some effort to get everyone out.”

Jango nodded and, after a few hand signals, was joined by six other Mandalorians. Fear rose in the force from the Young around him, but Obi-Wan was proud of the way they pushed through and followed his lead. 

As they descended into the tunnels, Obi-Wan braced himself for the reactions of the Mandalorians around him, yet he was still nearly overwhelmed by the tidal wave of shock, dismay, and anger that poured from them even with beskar muffling their Force signatures. He choked on it for a moment, caught off guard, before he tightened his shields and blocked them out. The situation was bad, he knew, but it was far more of a shock for these warriors who so valued children than for him, even with the added complication of time travel. This level of suffering was not unfamiliar to him. He was saddened by the actions of the Elders on this planet, but he’d never expected any different from them. 

The Young led their new guests through rows of makeshift beds, meager supply caches, and past the infirmary to the tiny space that they used for planning. It contained a scavenged piece of wood which may have once been part of a wall which was placed precariously on top of four small crates which were too damaged to be of any use elsewhere. There were no chairs or seating of any kind, which forced them to stand as they poured over gathered intel and plotted their raids and attacks. It looked even sadder to Obi-Wan’s experienced eyes than it had when he’d been thirteen.

The Mandalorians were doing their best to rein in their reactions, which was helped by their helmets hiding their facial expressions. Still, it was obvious even without the Force that they were appalled by the conditions of the Young. Cerasi and Nield noticed, of course. Nield responded by stiffening his spine, a spark in his eyes daring any one of them to comment or judge them. Cerasi’s cheeks flushed red, but her spine was also straight and her chin held high as they crammed into the small space to discuss next steps.

“The priority right now will be to evacuate the sick and injured,” Cerasi began without preamble. One of the Mandalorians with their armor painted blue with teal accents looked over at the area blocked off with tattered, clumsily patched curtains. “We have seventeen who have relatively minor injuries, twelve who are sick, and nineteen with more severe injuries. Most of them can move on their own, though slowly, but I’d say about twenty of them will need to be carried out.”

“Njais, Lanni, you two start coordinating that. Comm Baar’ur Kuun and let them know what to expect.” At Jango’s order, the Mandalorian in blue and teal, plus another wearing two shades of green with blue accents turned and headed straight for the infirmary.

“Tell us about the attacks on the Elders,” Nield demanded. He’d clearly been wanting to ask this entire time but had shown remarkable restraint thus far. “We heard explosions and blasters. Are they all dead? Have any surrendered?”

Jango nodded to him sharply. “Both factions have been subdued. We sent an advance team to do reconnaissance as soon as we got the message from Obi-Wan, and prepared to strike as soon as we came into orbit. Two strongholds, one from either side of the war, were targeted from a distance while drop teams were deployed. All military bases were hit simultaneously, while other strategic locations were targeted second. Very few surrendered, but my buir told me they have secured a little over a hundred prisoners so far from both sides.”

“Do you know,” Cerasi asked hesitantly, “was there a man named Wahutti captured? From the Melida?”

There was a pause as Jango used the comms inside his helmet to ask his buir about Cerasi’s father. The silence was tense. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if it would be better for Wahutti to be dead or if it would just cause Cerasi pain. It was not a very Jedi-like thought, but he’d had to adopt a more pragmatic view as an adult and war general, one that didn’t suit a peaceful life within the Jedi Temple. 

Jango shook his head. “So far, we’ve come across no prisoners by the name of Wahutti,” he confirmed. Cerasi just nodded. It was still possible that he was alive, but given his personality – at least what Obi-Wan remembered – Wahutti would not have remained silent while in custody. Cerasi’s father was either dead or hiding, and she clearly understood that she would get no answers any time soon. Her spine straightened again and they went back to business.

It took a startling ten hours for the Mandalorians to completely subdue the Elders, set up camps, provide initial medical services to the sick and injured, and take control of the planet. Even for Obi-Wan, who’d seen more than his fair share governmental turnovers and battlefield triage, it was impressive. Under Jaster’s leadership, the Mandalorians were efficient, knowledgeable, and only exactly as violent as they needed to be. 

It helped that Melida/Daan was a small planet that had never had a large population. Now, after generations of civil war, said population had dwindled to near extinction. There were less than three hundred Young, but the Mandalorians managed to subdue five hundred more of various ages from the factories, plus the grand total of one hundred and seventy-four prisoners from the fighting factions. All in all, it was a rather small start to a society, but it was what they had to work with and he knew that Cerasi and Nield would not only overcome the myriad obstacles still in their path, but that they would thrive here.

He assisted the Mandalorians the best he could by providing them with as much intel as he could, consoling terrified Young who didn’t quite understand what was happening, and generally being around to lend a helping hand. Several of Jaster’s verde attempted to get him to rest, eat, and be looked over by a medic, but he refused. He knew this body and its limits. He would not rest until the Young were taken care of.

Finally, the last of the injured had received medical attention and there was no one who needed his immediate assistance. Obi-Wan moved to the edge of camp and leaned against a partially crumbling wall with a sigh. He was so tired. What was he supposed to do now? The thought of everything to come was overwhelming, nearly paralyzing. He’d been given this chance, this amazing, awe-inspiring, humbling chance. What if he failed? What if he ruined the singular opportunity he had to fix everything? So many things could go wrong. As he’d been shown, there were countless moving parts that turned the wheels of time and any one of them could lead to disaster. He couldn’t let that happen. 

A sob broke through his restraint and his knees began to crumble. Strong hands caught his shoulders, however, and guided him gently to the ground. He hiccuped and turned to look at his helper through eyes glazed with tears. A familiar helmet gazed back at him, somehow conveying patience and understanding. Obi-Wan let himself lean against the Mand’alor for a moment, tears falling unheeded, before he pushed himself away with a sigh.

“You have been so strong,” Jaster praised. “You can rest now, ner kotep ad . I have the watch.”

That familiar phrase, the promise of someone else taking care of things for a moment, was enough to have Obi-Wan slumping back into Jaster’s side. Exhaustion crashed over him instantly, and he was asleep before he knew it.

Chapter Text

Jango couldn’t get the image of the tunnels out of his mind. He was standing with his squad, ostensibly listening intently as they debriefed him on the camp’s condition and the placement of all the children. Ade. Karking ad’ike in the middle of war, fighting against grown adults with better equipment and better supplies. They weren’t much better, truth be told, but they weren’t living in karking sewers eating expired ration bars . 

Jango tried to leash his temper. It had been useful during the initial fighting, but once he’d been sent to look after the Young and organize their care, it was no longer useful. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

The smell of those tunnels. Somehow that impacted him even more than the sight of the rusted, dripping walls and the broken look in so many children’s eyes. Their helmets had helped, of course. They filtered out the worst of the smells and ensured that the air that reached their lungs was as close to fresh oxygen as possible. Still, he’d been overwhelmed with the cloying, rotting smell that pervaded the space. The Young had obviously done their best to partition everything, with latrines located a fair ways down the tunnel from where everyone slept and the space they’d marked as a ‘medbay’ sectioned off with curtains. It wasn’t their fault that the air down here was close and inescapable. Smells lingered. He clenched his fist and tried to focus on what Njais was saying.

“In summary, all of the Young have been taken care of. We tried to provide enough cots for everyone, but they prefer to sleep in piles. We consolidated the bedding and moved them all into two tents, minus the ones that are still under medical care, of course.”

Jango nodded. That was good news. Forty-eight of the Young had needed immediate medical care. Every single one of the others had needed basic care as well, including bacta for minor injuries, an electrolyte solution for their dehydration and malnutrition, and rest. They’d brought along a team of eight baar’ure , plus four ven’baar’ure , and they’d all been extremely busy the past few hours. 

What had shaken all of them, even more than the child soldiers in the tunnels, was the group they’d retrieved from the Young’s secondary base outside of town. It had been a well-chosen location, the verde who’d gone reported. It had once been a farm. The base included a large homestead, which easily housed the nearly one hundred children. A river ran nearby which provided fresh water. Apparently, that was where the Young kept their youngest, their disabled, and a few capable soldiers to defend them.

The youngest among them was two years old. Jango’s hands hadn’t quite stopped shaking since he’d seen the little one, their eyes wide and brimming with tears, yet silent. This ik’aad had been taught not to cry, for fear of death. Jango wished they’d killed more of those demagolka’se .

As it was, they currently had one hundred and seventy-four active combatant prisoners, plus another four hundred and eighty-seven who were fairly innocent, as far as Jango could tell. They were teenagers and young adults who’d been forced to work in factories making the weapons and supplies that the Melida and the Daan needed to continue their pointless war. 

Mando’ade might be known for violence, but violence for violence’s sake was not their way. One should fight for honor, for defense of one’s self and family, for a cause. Revenge is honorable, but avenging your fallen during a war whose impetus no one remembers, only to have your enemy avenge their own dead created an unbreakable cycle that would lead nowhere. Val mirsh solus .

“Tell me about the prisoners,” he demanded. He was pretty sure that he’d cut off Lanni mid-sentence, but he just couldn’t get himself to focus. Anger kept washing over him in waves every time he thought about those damn tunnels, or the dirt-streaked, proud faces of the Young’s leaders who led them there.

“Of course,” Lanni said smoothly. His squad had noticed his distraction, naturally, but they seemed to have collectively decided not to call him out on it. At least, not yet.

“All of the factory workers have been moved to a separate camp on the other side of the Jate’kara. They’ve been cared for as well. Many of them had untreated wounds from the machines and several of them are ill. They’re not as malnourished as the Young, but they have also not exactly been eating well.”

Jango nodded. He knew that Jaster had set up a camp on the other side of the ship. It was a good place for the factory workers: far enough away from the Young that they wouldn’t interact, but close enough to keep an eye on and set up an easy guard rotation. It would also allow the medics to go back and forth easily.

“As for the monsters,” Cuvros continued, “we have them contained in one of the intact buildings in the city. They don’t appreciate being in the same space as each other, but so far they’ve been non-violent, just vocal.”

Jango nodded again. The prisoners weren’t his responsibility, so he had nothing to really add to the conversation. That had been a calculated move on Jaster’s part, he knew, since Jango would not have had the restraint or patience necessary to deal with them according to the rules of battle conduct. At least if his attention was focused on the Young, his emotions could be channeled into ensuring their wellbeing rather than avenging the wrongs done to them.

Jango managed the focus necessary to finish the debrief, even the more boring administrative tasks like reports on supply levels and reviewing the medics’ meal plans for the Young. A copy of those plans had been sent to the cooks immediately, who were already stirring huge pots of spiceless, nutritional soup for the children. He’d glanced in one of the pots on the way to the debrief and had grimaced at the thought of eating something so bland. He knew it was necessary, but still it seemed to be almost an insult on top of injury.

“Lanni has been keeping a record of all the names of the Young as they’ve passed through medical,” Cuvros added when they were nearly done. Lanni handed him a datapad. “Obi-Wan is the only one that hasn’t been to the medtents, but Jaster is taking care of him.”

“Inform one of the medics. They can see him tomorrow. Did any others give any trouble over receiving medical attention?”

“No, sir. They’ve all been very cooperative. It helps that their other leaders, Cerasi and Nield, have been acting as models for them. They received care first, so that the others knew it was safe. All of the little warriors have been seen to and fed with no major issues.”

“Good. Wait, ‘major issues’?”

Lanni grimaced a little. “The Young are excited to no longer be fighting the war, but they are still skittish around adults. We have to be careful to not move too quickly or unexpectedly near them. There have been some instances of them getting startled or spooked, but so far they’ve calmed down quickly every time. I believe they have already made a mental delineation between us and the Elders. Our armor likely helps as a visual reference.”

Jango sometimes forgot that Lanni’s buir was a mir’baar’ur . Their knowledge was incredibly helpful at times like this, however, so he should do better than to forget an asset of one of his ramikade .

“In lighter news,” Njais said with a grin, “I believe there have already been four adoptions.”

“Not surprising,” Cuvros said. “These children haven’t been shown adequate care or affection their entire lives. It’s no wonder some of them would leap at a chance for an actual, loving family.”

There were grim nods at that. Jango literally couldn’t imagine how the Young must be feeling right now. Jango’s parents had loved him and his sister unconditionally. When they’d been killed, his rage had been all-consuming, causing him to lash out even at Jaster who’d done nothing but be there for him and help him. He’d never had to survive the drudgery of endless battles whose odds were stacked against him. His childhood had been peaceful, spent farming and learning from his buire . He hadn’t known true violence until he was sixteen years old, and it had been life changing, but it hadn’t made him cautious or wary. It had simply made him violent in return.

Some of the Young still had their fire, of course. Cerasi and Nield, to be sure. Obi-Wan. Several of their closest warriors had a spark in their eyes that kept them fighting. Still, it was the careful, paced fire that was meant to last, not a raging bonfire that lashed and writhed with a need for vengeance. Jango hadn’t had a chance to truly interact with many of the Young, but he’d been overseeing their care for the entire day and he’d looked each of them in the eyes. Partially, it was for reassurance, though it was also to gauge their shereshoy . Those that had lost it he recommended immediately for services from mir’baar’ure , as soon as they could be sent to Melida/Daan. He was relieved that there were so few on his list.

The only one he’d seen that burned with the kind of rage that Jango found familiar was the one named Mawat. The verd’ika reminded him of himself, just three years ago and grieving. Kyr’tsad claimed that they wanted what was best for Mandalore, that they wanted to restore the system to its former glory, and yet they went against everything Mandalore stood for. They killed buire , tortured and brainwashed ade , and spat in the face of honor. His parents had been quiet at first, when the three factions began fighting for control of the sector, but they soon became more vocal as time went on. They knew the destruction that Kyr’tsad would bring, which would be rivaled only by that which the New Mandalorians would cause. They allied themselves with Jaster, swore to the Resol’nare , and never regretted their choice.

Jango’s father had gone to fight at Jaster’s side, along with his older sister Arla. Arla was twenty by then, and already a fierce fighter with a fiercer intelligence. She had been the one to discover that Montross, Jaster’s former second, was planning to betray him. She told Jango she’d gotten ‘bad vibes’ from him which caused her to watch him more closely. For Arla, that meant that she dug into his life with greater fervor than a determined striil digging for a bone. Her relentlessness revealed years of communication between Montross and Kyr’tsad . 

They’d both been home for a break when Kyr’tsad had attacked. Jaster was there, invited by Jango’s buir to share a meal with them. He still remembered that swooping feeling in his stomach when Arla suddenly looked up, her laughter ending abruptly as she gazed out toward the fields. Jaster and Jango’s buire had immediately been on alert.

They fought well. Thanks to Arla, they’d had enough warning to arm themselves before Kyr’tsad arrived, but it wasn’t enough. He’d watched as his mother shot down yet another Kyr’tsad soldier, only to be shot from behind before he could scream. Engaged with his own opponent, Jango had been helpless to do anything for her. 

His father had met a similar end, overwhelmed by soldiers. Jango had tried viciously to fight to his side, but he’d taken a blaster shot to the shoulder and moved too slowly. Arla got there only a few seconds too late, their father already on the ground, his chest still.

Jango didn’t remember much about what happened after that. He’d heard Arla snarl, the sound distorted by her vocoder, and he saw her hands shake. Then, he woke up on the ground. All of the Kyr’tsad soldiers were strewn about the field, their heavy armor crushing the stalks of wheat. Arla and Jaster were lying not far from him, their bodies distressingly still. He’d crawled over to Arla’s body, desperate to make sure that his ori’vod was still alive. His vision had been swimming, his limbs sluggish to respond, but he made it to her and pressed shaking fingers against her neck. She was alive. He’d slumped against her, weak and exhausted. He’d done nothing when Vizsla had staggered to his feet, looking at them blankly before limping away, leaving the rest of his soldiers behind.

Jaster had woken up shortly after that. He’d called for reinforcements, who arrested the remaining Kyr’tsade upon arrival. Jaster had taken both him and Arla back to Mandalore with him, where Arla had immediately been taken by the best medics of the Haat Mando’ade . It had been three years and, despite the best efforts of the baar’ure , she still hadn’t woken up.

He still didn’t quite know what happened to her. None of the medics had any idea why she was still in a coma, though they’d run every test in their repertoire. He’d heard stories of other Mando’ade succumbing to a sleep like that and it was usually because they were touched by the Ka’ra . Stories of warriors who tried to use a power beyond their ability, or ade who got lost in their dreams and never found their way out. He’d never really thought that Arla was Manda -touched, but in retrospect he supposed it made sense. Still, that knowledge didn’t help her wake up.

He’d thrown himself into the fight against Kyr’tsad after that day. Jaster had appreciated his zeal, but he’d also acted as the anchor keeping him from losing himself completely. Jango knew that he still had anger issues and that he was inclined to rash, impulsive action, but he’d gotten better over the past couple of years. So much so that he knew that while he would want revenge for the wrongs done to the Young, they might not feel the same way. The thought chafed at him, demanding that he take retribution on their behalf, but he consoled himself with the knowledge of how many they’d killed during their initial assault. Thermal readings had shown where the Young were hiding and proved that there were no children left living with either faction. It had been unbelievable, at first, and caused a tidal wave of shared anger to wash through the Haat Mando’ade . As a result, their attack was more violent than they’d planned, but he didn’t think anyone regretted it. 

He took a deep breath and pulled his thoughts away from tragedy. The Young were fed, their wounds cared for, and they were all sleeping warm and safe for the first time in their lives. That was cause for celebration. He followed his squad back to the ship and accepted the drink they handed him. Guards were patrolling the camp, Jaster was overseeing the big picture, and Jango had no other immediate responsibilities ‘til morning.

“K'oyacyi!”

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan woke to the sounds of a camp bustling with activity. Verde called to each other, sometimes simply in greeting, usually with directions or requests for aid with a task. He could also hear the Young. A few, it sounded like, were in conversation with various Mandalorians, but even more were…laughing. They were playing . Obi-Wan nearly sobbed again at the sound. He’d never gotten a chance to see the Young freely playing in his previous life but in this one – in this one they no longer had to fear the consequences of having fun. He took a deep breath and climbed out of the nest of blankets and pillows that he’d somehow ended up in last night. 

The tent he was in had clearly been set up for several of the Young to sleep. There were no cots, but the entire floor was covered wall to wall in a thick layer of blankets. Some spots still had the sleep-warm indents of the children who had lain there recently. Judging by the size of the tent, it would have comfortably slept ten if it had been filled with cots. As it was, there had most likely been upwards of twenty in here last night, knowing how the Young liked to pile together. He’d woken up alone, though, which meant that he’d slept for much longer than he’d intended.

Outside, there was just as much bustle and chaos as he’d expected. Children, the youngest of the Young, ran around chasing each other in some kind of game that involved a lot of screaming and evasion. A good portion of them were wearing clothes that were obviously new, given that they weren’t threadbare or covered in dirt and blood. They wore a riot of colors, adding to the visual noise. Mandalorians carried crates from one end of camp to another, or were speaking in serious, gentle tones to members of the Young. He saw baar’ure moving through the medical tents, checking on their patients. He knew that the worst off were on the ship, a couple of them even in the two (two!) bacta tanks that were onboard. 

One group of Young, a member of which he saw was Nield, was receiving a blaster lesson on an impromptu range that had been set up off to the west side of camp. Another group was being led in some sort of katas, which he vaguely recognized as reminiscent of some he’d seen the clones do during the war. He couldn’t see Cerasi, but he was sure that she was helping organize somewhere. 

Everything seemed well in hand. No one was attacking them, the Young were well fed and their wounds tended to. For the first time in a long time, there was nothing that immediately demanded Obi-Wan’s attention. He took advantage of this opportunity and found an out-of-the-way corner to set up in. He wasn’t hiding, per se, but he did hope to not be interrupted for a while. On his way, he swiped a datapad lying on a table that he was pretty sure belonged to one of the commanders, based on its location and the mound of other ‘pads waiting for attention. He remembered that all too well from the wars.

The corner he settled in was in the southeast of camp. He was mostly out of sight of everyone else, but he could still look up and monitor everything going on. He sat down on the dirt with his back pressed against a pile of rubble and powered on the ‘pad. The only thing on it was a list of supplies that would need to be restocked on Mandalore. He knew from experience that there would be multiple copies of this list, so he didn’t feel bad erasing it and resetting the entire device so that he could manipulate the settings as he liked.

With a brand new password and updated encryption, the datapad was now effectively his. He stared down at the empty document and suddenly froze. Its blankness mocked him, reminding him that he did not even know where to begin when the task before him was the salvation of the entire galaxy . He felt his breath hitch, his skin suddenly clammy and cold. How was he supposed to change everything by himself? The size of the galaxy had never felt quite so daunting before. The Force crooned to him, soothing him, and he allowed it to wrap around him like a hug. It’s song was as familiar as his own heartbeat, yet foreign for the fact that he’d never heard it quite like this before his death. It swelled and gentled, ebbed and flowed, gently teasing his worries out of their anxious knots and sending him an impression of ‘ peace, peace, be at peace .’ 

He took a deep breath and refocused. Perhaps he didn’t have to change everything , but this was a unique opportunity to nudge events in a different direction and focus his attention on things that he’d simply never felt he had the time or resources for. He chose to be excited about it, rather than petrified. If he kept reminding himself of that choice, perhaps eventually it would become true.

He began with the irreverent yet entirely accurate title Step by Step Guide to Inconveniencing the Sith . He would have to be doubly sure to encrypt this file in particular and keep it away from prying eyes, but writing it out was somehow liberating. He was armed with foreknowledge of the Sith’s plans and he knew how best to undermine their efforts. He could do this.

Essentially, the Sith sought to sow discord, despair, and distrust throughout the galaxy. If no one trusted the Jedi, they could not be turned to for help. If the galaxy was mired in its own struggles for freedom, independence, and survival, then greater evils would not be noticed creeping in. It was a simple plan, yet insidious and inherently difficult to combat. It would require stronger foundations across the board and those would be hard won and easier lost. The first step, in his mind, was to reform the Jedi, particularly their reputation. They needed to be approachable and better understood by the greater population. The Jedi themselves needed to have a better understanding of their own Order, an understanding he hadn’t reached even while on the Council, but rather something that became clear during his time in the Force.

He’d known, of course, that the Jedi in general were not taught enough about the Sith. They were referenced, whispered about, and used as the villains in every scary story initiates and padawans told each other in the dark, but the actual history of the Sith was saved for advanced classes that very few padawans took. He doubted that the Order could be convinced of the possibility that the Sith were still active, given that they hadn’t believed even when faced with an actual Sith apprentice, but knowledge would give them an edge when the Sith finally did make themselves known and would keep the Jedi from being caught flat footed in the face of such a revelation. 

He wrote for hours, expanding upon his thoughts for better Jedi education and other policy reforms for the Order as a whole. It started out as quick bullet point notes, but quickly evolved into something that was more like a proposal. He’d written enough of them in his life, after all, to understand how they should be structured and worded to receive the best response. He brought up issues such as the fear instilled in initiates regarding not being chosen for Knighthood and his ideas for how to rectify the reputation of the Corps among the young of the Jedi Temple. He explained how the Service Corp, specifically, could help restore the Jedi’s reputation in the galaxy at large. Every section offered multiple, feasible solutions with a detailed plan to implement them. He’d left notes for himself along the way to remind himself to return when he gained access to the holonet and provide evidence for his arguments. 

Some issues, he realized, he’d been thinking about for a long time. He’d always wondered why the Order had a rule that prevented masters from taking on multiple padawans, especially since he knew several masters who would have leapt at the chance to take on two or even three padawans at a time. He had never told anyone, but when Ahsoka had first arrived in the middle of a warzone, saying that she’d been sent to Anakin to be trained, he’d gone into his room that night and dug into old law. At the time, he’d been searching for a way to prevent her from having to serve her padawanship on the front lines. She was so small, so young, so painfully innocent. He hadn’t found anything helpful in that regard, but he had learned of the Order’s original reasoning for having the one master, one padawan rule and how it was no longer relevant to today’s galaxy. Like most rules that the Order still lived by, it had come into being after the Ruusan Reformation. There were a lot more Jedi then, and several million more initiates and padawans than currently existed. The Jedi Masters of the time were plagued by battle fatigue and were adjusting to civil life outside of war. Many of them were unable to take on a padawan at all and those that were did not have the capacity to care for more than one youngling at a time. There was also a pervasive fear at the time that Force users would Fall, leading to greater scrutiny of initiates and padawans, as well as the rule that all Jedi must be taught from a very young age. It turned out that the system worked well and no one had seen a need to change it since then.

Obi-Wan thought that perhaps the issue was that the system worked most of the time. Those whom it did not serve were considered outliers. He expressed in the proposal that completely changing the rule might not be the correct answer, but he thought a discussion should be had that addressed the flaws inherent in giving the complete care and teaching of a padawan to a singular master. He added that, perhaps, a model of rotations wherein padawans spent time with different masters in different fields would go a long way toward addressing those issues without causing too much change and upset within the Order. Padawans should have a chance to explore the breadth of what the Order had to offer, especially before choosing their own future within it. A rotation would also create a system that supported padawans more fully, offering them access to adults they were familiar with and could trust.

In the end, the bare-bones proposal was nearly a hundred pages long. It was a rambling thing, one that was more notes and unorganized thoughts than anything official. He hadn’t been planning to write it, but it was necessary, he thought, and he felt better for having written it. The proposal itself, when it had started to become such, had been moved to a new document. He saved it and filed it away to review later. He didn’t want to show it to anyone until he’d gone through it with a fine toothed comb and fixed the stream of consciousness idea bank he’d created into something at least moderately coherent. He also had no idea yet who he would show it to.

He went back to the original document. Step one: Reform the Jedi. It wasn’t nearly enough. He made a second bullet point. With unsure fingers, he typed, “Save and unite Mandalore.” He wasn’t foolish enough to believe he could do this on his own, of course, and the first major step had already been taken by someone else. Jaster Mereel was still alive and that was the biggest step toward ensuring a moderate, sensible Mandalore that would grow strong instead of stagnating or destroying itself as it would under either the New Mandalorians or Death Watch. He was still baffled by that mystery. Perhaps the Force was using more than just him to attain its goals. That seemed highly likely. He wondered who else the Force had spoken to, or if it had merely pushed the right person at the right moment to do the right thing. Jango, perhaps? He tapped his stylus against the side of the datapad, thinking.

“Hey, your name’s Obi-Wan, right?”

He looked up, locking the datapad by instinct. A Mandalorian wearing armor painted teal, green, and blue was kneeling in front of him, thankfully angled in such a way that it would have been impossible for them to see the words he’d written. He cursed himself for not noticing their approach and wondered how long they’d been there.

“Yes,” he said, though his voice was weak and hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes. How can I help you?”

He couldn’t see their face through their helmet, but he got the impression that they were frowning. “I noticed that you’re the only one of the Young to not yet visit the healing tents. I came to check on you, especially since you’ve been so absorbed in your project there that I don’t believe you ate breakfast.”

Ah. He hadn’t even noticed his hunger, but now that they mentioned it, food was probably a wise decision. He tucked the datapad into one of his pockets and stood up.

Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember eating dinner with others last night either. He’d been too concerned with assisting the Mandalorians. He’d briefed the team going to the farmstead about what to expect and what to say to settle the doubts that the Young there would have. He’d helped herd the little ones into the medtents and provided a list of consequential names to a verd in charge of the prisoners. He vaguely remembered being offered food at some point, but he’d turned that offer down in exchange to finally seeking out a moment to himself.

“I have no need for medical attention, but if there is any food still available I would be appreciative.”

“Of course. I would feel much better though if you would at least let myself or another baar’ur look you over. You’ve been fighting a war, verd’ika , and war is never kind. A soldier must always take advantage of rest and a good medic whenever they can. It is only sensible.”

The corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth quirked up. If they had insisted he go out of general worry for a child, he would have avoided the healing tents like the plague. Instead, the medic had correctly assumed that a logical argument would win him over far easier than sentiment. It was sensible to have a medic look at him and make sure his body would not give out on him at an inopportune time. He acquiesced graciously and followed the Mandalorian towards the teal tents.

“I am Thati Latt, they/them,” the Mandalorian said casually as they walked. “It is good to meet you. I apologize for not introducing myself sooner.”

“That’s alright. It is good to meet you too, Thati.”

“You speak so properly for such a small thing,” they teased. He resisted the urge to scowl.

“I was raised on Coruscant.” 

Jaster already knew his past, but he wasn’t sure how much of that information had been shared with the rest of his verde . In either case, it wasn’t wise to hide the truth of his upbringing. Jaster hadn’t reacted negatively to the fact that he had been a Jedi, so Obi-Wan hoped that the general attitude among the True Mandalorians was at least neutral. The genocide on Galidraan hadn’t yet happened, so perhaps there wasn’t so much anger towards the Jedi at this time. 

“Ah, yes. I believe Nield mentioned something about you not being from Melida/Daan. He said the Young were lucky to have you here to fight with them.”

Obi-Wan swallowed heavily. There weren’t words to express how much Neild’s approval meant to him. He still remembered the feeling of Cerasi dying in his arms, only to have Nield blame him for her death and curse him for ever coming to Melida/Daan. He wasn’t sure his heart had ever recovered from that moment. 

“I am glad he thinks so,” he managed after a moment. Thati, thankfully, didn’t comment. They lead him to the tents in silence. He was sat on one of the beds and Thati immediately began running a series of tests. They ran a bioscanner over him, looking for injuries, while someone he assumed was a nurse came over and took a vial of his blood. The nurse wasn’t wearing their helmet, allowing him to see their reassuring smile as they slid the needle in. The fact that they were a Togruta with teeth as sharp as a striil’s should have made the smile less than comforting, but it reminded him so powerfully of Ahsoka that he smiled back reflexively.

Thati and the nurse were quick and efficient, meaning that within twenty minutes they had diagnosed him with malnutrition and minor dehydration and had put a layer of bacta on every single one of his injuries. Even the old wounds from Bandomeer were treated, though he thought it was too late for such attention. When he voiced this protest, wanting them to save their bacta for those who needed it more, Thati shook their head.

“Scar tissue can be reduced to make the area more flexible and give you greater sensation. You will always have those scars, of course, as you said, but they can be made less of a nuisance during a fight.”

Obi-Wan quieted after that, letting them do their job. He truly did feel better when they were done, especially since they then made him sit with an IV in his arm for over an hour while he slowly made his way through a ration bar, one which thankfully tasted much better than the ones the Young had had access to. He was fairly certain it was the same type that the medics at the Temple had given him after Bandomeer. When he stood up, his headache was gone and his energy levels vastly improved. 

There were many other Young sharing the tent with him, which prompted him to greater obedience than he would normally show a medic. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect them or think that they were wrong – quite the opposite. It was just that he had such an issue with being still without being useful. He smiled back at Miara, though, and didn’t grimace at the stump which had been her left leg. He chatted with Timat, who’d apparently been hiding a wound where a blaster bolt had grazed her side. He was the perfect patient and, when Br. Latt finally let him go, he did not run out of the tent, as doing so would be incredibly unbefitting of a fifty-eight year old Master Jedi.

In the back of his mind, he heard the Force laugh like windchimes in sunlight.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan stepped out of the tent into the same level of organized chaos as before. Nield’s group was no longer practicing their marksmanship, instead replaced with a new group of eager children armed with blasters, being patiently guided by a trio of Mandalorians. There were fewer Young running around, likely because of the two large tents full of tables crowded with silent children stuffing their faces. Mandalorians in teal armor hovered around them, clearly trying to make sure that none of the Young ate too quickly and made themselves sick. Obi-Wan wished them luck. 

So far, he still hadn’t seen Cerasi and it was starting to make him nervous. He didn’t think that anything had happened to her, but his nerves, and his memories, wouldn’t let him accept that she was out of his sight right now. He scanned the crowd more intently. Several other children had red hair, or were her height, but none were Cerasi. Just as he opened himself up to the Force to try to find her signature, he spotted her across the camp, talking to the Mand’alor.

Obi-Wan smiled to himself and walked over to join them. Cerasi looked well. Her injuries had been treated and she was far cleaner than he last saw her. He wondered if the Mandalorians had set up a rotation to allow the Young access to a sonic. He wondered if he could be added to that rotation.

“Obi!” Cerasi greeted, spotting him before he came within five feet of the tent. She grinned at him, wide and happy, and he couldn’t help but grin back. “I was just speaking with Mand’alor Mereel about what happens now.”

“Oh?” He closed the distance and leaned in to hug her, which she returned eagerly despite how filthy he still was. He released her and turned to face Jaster. “And what was the Mand’alor’s answer?”  

The Mand’alor was smiling down at him sans helmet. Jaster looked relaxed, even happy, though his Force signature spoke of banked anger and fatigue. It had been no easy feat to do all that he and his fellow Haat Mando’ade had done, despite the speed with which they had accomplished it. Obi-Wan knew that especially now, with so many starving, injured children to care for, the Mandalorians were experiencing a broad range of turbulent emotions. Shock and horror that such things were occurring, of course, but also grief for lost childhood and for all the Young who hadn’t made it, as well as relief that they’d been able to save as many as they had. 

“As I told your fellow leader, it is not entirely my decision to make. We are here to lend aid, and advice if it is wanted, but not to make the ultimate decisions unless we must. I wished to speak with the two of you and the other, Nield, to discuss your vision for the future of this planet.”

Cerasi looked both pleased and daunted by this response, but Obi-Wan shook his head. “I am glad that this is your view. The Young have had so few choices in their lives that they deserve to be given that freedom now. I should not be part of these decisions, however, as I am not from Melida/Daan and have no say in their future.”

Jaster and Cerasi both frowned at him.

“Bullshit,” said a voice from behind him. Obi-Wan whirled around to see Nield, who’d been fetched by one of Jaster’s verde . “You’re one of us now. You don’t get to back out for the hard part.”

“Of course not” Obi-Wan laughed, then added more seriously, “You know I will continue to help you no matter what, but as I said, this is not my home. I’m not staying, Nield.”

Nield, his friend who’d fought by his side for months, who’d slept beside him, ate beside him, bled beside him, looked at him with sorrowful eyes. “Why? Why can this not be your home?”

Obi-Wan didn’t know how to explain to him that there were things he needed to do. He hadn’t even finished writing out the list of the things he wanted to accomplish in this second life, yet already the tasks before him were like an endless desert, each grain of sand another burden to be carried. He didn’t yet know if he planned to go back to the Jedi. He knew they would take him back, eventually, but it would be a hard journey full of groveling and apologizing for doing what he thought was right. At fourteen, that had been almost easy in his desperation to return to his family and the only home he’d ever known. Now, at fifty-eight and so many ghost years, he wasn’t sure he had that kind of false humility in him. The Jedi would see that he did not truly repent leaving the Order for the sake of the Young and they would push harder for him to either fall in line or leave. The entire experience would break his heart and his will.

Besides that, he wasn’t sure he truly wanted to go back to the Temple. Part of it was the pain of memory, of seeing in his mind’s eye the carnage wrought by his own padawan down every hallway in the only home he’d ever known. He couldn’t step foot in the archives and the very thought of going into the creches made his heart pound and his stomach twist in a vicious knot. So many terrible things had happened there, not just Vader’s assault. Years of mistakes, decades of inaction and complacency, the growing cloud of darkness and conceit. No, he couldn’t face that.

Specifically, he didn’t think he was ready to face Qui-Gon. Not as he was now, a younger, far more arrogant Jedi Master who’d just chosen his lover the mission over an entire planet. He knew now that so much of his suffering had been because of Yoda’s manipulations, that without his interference he would never have become Qui-Gon’s padawan at all, but there was still a wound in him left over from being twelve and unwanted, sent off alone to a foreign planet. From being young and terrified, a bomb around his throat, willing to die to save someone who had publicly and humiliatingly rejected him because it was the right thing to do. From being abandoned only months later for trying to do the right thing once again despite the terrible cost.

Qui-Gon was a good person. He’d never thought differently, even after the Force visions had shown him his former Master’s flaws. In his previous life he’d never felt even a flicker of resentment towards him, but that was mostly because any negative emotion he’d felt had been reflected inwards. He’d been the one who was too emotional, too wild, too prone to attachment. He’d been the one who made the choice to leave the order. Arrogance, he supposed, to make it all about himself, though that acknowledgement didn’t make any of it easier to bear.

In summary, he didn’t know exactly where he would go after this. He would need resources, allies, and time to plan his next steps. He supposed that here was as good a place as any to start.

“It can’t be forever,” Obi-Wan told his friend gently, “but it can be home for now.”

Nield still didn’t look happy, but accepted this. Cerasi caught his gaze with sad, understanding eyes and nodded once. Obi-Wan nodded back with a lump in his throat and collectively they turned their attention back to the Mand’alor, who’d been politely turned away, typing on a datapad to give them a semblance of privacy.

“You said you would give us advice, Mand’alor Mereel?” Cerasi said. “Where do we begin?”

He put the datapad down. “We begin with what you want to see for your people. What did you fight for?”

“Peace,” Cerasi answered immediately. “Freedom. We want to actually live our lives, not just fight for them. I want to see us prosper. I want to be able to grow our own food without crops being razed and I want children to be able to go to school and play, rather than learn how to shoot rifles and walk silently in the dark. I want to live above ground.”

Jaster nodded. “You can do those things. We will help you. It is your right to enjoy that which you have fought for.”

“If I may,” Obi-Wan said, “I have a suggestion.”

The others looked at him and Nield made a ‘well go on’ gesture’. To Jaster, Obi-Wan explained, “I think perhaps the solution might reside in the faction of your people who call themselves the New Mandalorians.”

Jaster raised his eyebrows, but only made an interested noise without interrupting, so Obi-Wan continued. “They are pacifists, are they not? Their goals include economic independence and a focus on non-combat industries, such as farming and textile production. This is something they have in common with the Young, who are tired of violence and wish to grow up in peace. They want to create a society that is no longer at war, which is something the New Mandalorians are uniquely suited for.

“Honestly, I’m not sure how well the Young would do trying to create a society completely on their own.” He sent an apologetic look toward Nield and Cerasi. “The Young are not farmers or trained healers or prison guards. They could find their way, surely, but only through trial and error, which could take many unnecessary years. What they need is teachers, people to guide them as they rebuild their society from the ground.”

“What’s the difference between these…New Mandalorians and Mand’alor Mereel’s people?” Cerasi asked.

“Well, as I mentioned, the New Mandalorians are pacifists. Unfortunately, they can also be nearly as extreme in their views as the Kyr’tsad – a terrorist group which means Death Watch – just on the opposite end of the spectrum. Some of them wish to abandon the Mandalorian way entirely, including the language, and incorporate themselves into the Republic. The Young feel quite the opposite about this. To forget the past is to allow it to happen again,” he said, with a nod toward Cerasi whose eyes blazed with support of this statement. Nield’s mouth twisted a little, but he didn’t argue. “More importantly, it is disrespectful of those who came before, and those who died in the effort to gain this peace that they now have. Perhaps a partnership will be good for both groups, in that way.”

“The New Mandalorians will teach the Young how to create an economically independent society and the Young will teach them to respect the past?” Jaster summarized, his eyes distant and thoughtful. “You have a good grasp of Mandalorian politics.”

Obi-Wan blushed. “Yes, well, it’s always been an interest of mine.”

“Mandalore?” Obi-Wan nodded. “I didn’t think the jetii’se would even have material on us for their ade . You learned this in your archives?”

Obi-Wan didn’t want to lie, but he couldn’t exactly say that he had first hand experience with Mandalorian politics. “It is not information that is readily available to all initiates and padawans,” he hedged, “but knowledge can always be found for those that seek it.”

Jaster smiled at him, clearly pleased by this answer. “Indeed, little one. Though I’ve never known another jetii who had any interest in seeking knowledge of us.”

“I am not a Jedi,” Obi-Wan corrected gently, trying to suppress a wince. He ignored the spike of protective anger and sorrow in the Force that came from both Jaster and Nield. “Not now. To answer your implied question, though, I believe that is wrong of us. The Mandalorians and Jedi have historically been enemies, that’s true, but we are also far more similar than either side acknowledges. Fear is born of ignorance and fearing each other is what leads to anger and hatred. If we ever want to mend the divide between our peoples, we must understand each other.”

“Well spoken,” Jaster praised, “but the Jedi generally do not want outsiders to understand them. They are a mystery to most of the galaxy.”

Obi-Wan found himself unconsciously folding one arm across his chest while his other hand stroked his bare chin. “As far as I am aware, that is not by design. I do not believe that the Jedi are keeping their ways a secret on purpose, though I do admit that we have become more and more reclusive in the past few centuries, and more the past few decades. Part of it is just that we are not as many as we once were.”

He made a mental note to expand his section of the proposal on increasing Jedi numbers. He’d written out some plans to reopen old temples in the Mid- and Outer-Rims, but hadn’t really elucidated why he’d thought it was necessary to do so. 

“Tell me about the jetii who left you here,” Jaster demanded. His tone was gentle, but left no room for Obi-Wan to avoid answering. He sighed.

“It is a long story. I do not want you to think badly of him, nor do I want you to believe his actions were representative of the Order as a whole.”

“You defend him still?”

“He shouldn’t,” Nield muttered, but Obi-Wan ignored him.

“He is a good man,” Obi-Wan replied firmly. “A good Jedi. His former padawan Fell and it left in him a deep wound that is still unhealed. The head of the Order believed that I would be best suited to help him heal and move on from the loss. Master Jinn was not prepared for and did not want a new padawan, yet he took me on anyway after Master Yoda, as well as other unfortunate circumstances, forced his hand. When I expressed a desire to stay behind against Order directives to help the Young, Master Jinn saw that as attachment and feared that I would Fall as Xanatos had Fallen. In an effort to save himself the pain of going through that again, he gave me a choice. In his eyes, I am the one who chose wrongly.”

“He’s a piece of shit who wrote of a bunch of children as beyond saving, then fucked off with his girlfriend and left Obi-Wan here, weaponless, to fend for himself. I don’t care if he was sad that doesn’t make his decisions the right ones.”

“Nield,” Obi-Wan started to argue, but Cerasi cut him off.

“Obi-Wan,” she said gently, “Nield is right. He was…a little harsh in how he said it, but the truth is that he’s never really looked out for you the way he should, has he? I know you don’t really like to talk about the scar on your neck on the ones on your back, but I think I can infer that it wasn’t because your guardian was keeping you safe, am I right?”

“That’s not fair –”

“Fuck fair,” Nield spat. “When has life ever been fair for any of us? Would you abandon people in need just because you have trauma? No. Obviously not, since you’re still here, with us.”

Obi-Wan ran a hand over his mouth, working through his emotions. It didn’t help that the Force was supporting Nield, trying to sing to him the truth of his words. Obi-Wan thought he’d come to terms with everything about Qui-Gon and his apprenticeship, but apparently understanding the reasons behind someone’s actions is not the same thing as forgiveness or healing from hurt. 

Jaster was working his jaw, clearly trying to avoid saying what was truly on his mind. Finally, he said in a falsely calm voice, “I understand that this is hard for you to hear, verd’ika , but sometimes harsh truths come from a place of love. Your friend is right when he said that the decisions of your cabur were not honorable, regardless of the reasons. It is not the responsibility of our children to heal us. We, as adults, are responsible for ourselves. This is even more true for buire and cabure , who are meant to protect and care for their ade . For your cabur to have put you in that position…”

Obi-Wan waited patiently for Jaster to get his emotions under control again. The Force had shown him the same thing, and he understood now that the things that happened to him during the past year were not his fault, but he would always harbor a small conviction that he could have made different choices even at twelve and thirteen years old. It was nice though, in a way, to have someone care so deeply about him and his well being. Someone who didn’t blame him for his trials or punish him for the choices he’d made under terrible circumstances.

“You did as any honorable person would do,” Jaster continued once his anger dimmed from a bonfire to a simmering bed of coals. “I am proud of you. You made the right decision despite your guardian telling you otherwise and you accomplished much here. You are as mandokarla as they come, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and any Mando’ad worth the name would be proud to call you their child.”

Obi-Wan stood, stunned, for a long moment until Cerasi leaned over and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He held onto her for a moment, feeling her heartbeat, the warmth of her skin, and breathed. Then he stepped back and cleared his throat, determined to steer the conversation away from himself and toward the situation at hand.

Chapter Text

Jaster leaned back in his seat and sipped at the caf that one of his ori’ramikade had thoughtfully brought for the table. It was mid-afternoon, but he and the alor’ike had been talking for hours now and he anticipated a late night even once the Young were asleep. Cerasi had caught his attention while he was standing in one of the command tents, but they’d since moved to a table that he didn’t remember being set up thirty minutes ago. Silas and Khin had herded them to it with the kind of gentle bullying they were known for and made them all sit down with a pitcher of water and a plate of medic-approved snacks.

“ All good leaders are built the same, it seems, ” Silas groused. “ Good thing you have us to take care of you, eh? ”

Jaster had rolled his eyes at their good-natured teasing and allowed their caretaking with minimal grumbling. He truly was grateful for his squad. They were loyal, good fighters, and good people. He couldn’t ask for better.

Cerasi and Nield were mostly leading the discussion. Jaster guided them at times, asking questions to make them think more broadly about the needs of their burgeoning society or else to make them more critically assess a proposed plan, but he was content to listen to them break down exactly what they thought the Young and other surviving citizens would need going forward. They accomplished this in greater detail than most their age would be capable of and he was impressed by their understanding of how to provide for a large population. Granted, a surprising number of solutions could be achieved through logic and common sense, but these alor’ike had experience with feeding, housing, and taking care of hundreds of children. They knew the cost of poor sanitation and poor healthcare. They knew what it meant if water sources were unclean or if supply lines were unstable. They were more ready for this than they thought.

Obi-Wan mostly remained silent except to add in a few suggestions here and there, but became more engaged once Jaster asked exactly what he’d envisioned when he proposed bringing the New Mandalorians in to assist. As during their earlier conversation, Jaster wondered at how well informed Obi-Wan was about Mandalorian culture and politics. Mando’ade weren’t quite as insular and unknown as Jedi, but they were still seen as inscrutable mysteries by a good portion of the galaxy. Obi-Wan was the first aruetii he’d met who had any idea of the differing factions within Mandalore. More than that, the verd’ika had a solid grasp of the importance of the various ideologies and what they meant for the Mando’ade as a whole. He wondered why Obi-Wan had taken such an interest.

“Specifically,” Obi-Wan explained eagerly, “I’d like to ask Duke Kryze to send a number of medics, farmers, architects, builders, and politicians to begin. They should be made to understand that they are here to consult only, unless they’re told otherwise. Cerasi and Nield are to be ultimately in charge of every decision, but the specialists brought in can help with knowledge and design. Personally, I think the first step would be to create a council or decide on some other system of government so that leadership is clear and everyone knows who to go to with questions or concerns. I know that Egan has been largely in charge of the second base, so he might be a good choice for continued leadership.”

A good grasp of politics, indeed. It could be attributed to paranoia and distrust of adults, but Obi-Wan automatically assumed (correctly) that the Evaar’ade would attempt to take complete control once they were given an ounce of authority. By curtailing this at the beginning, Obi-Wan and his fellow leaders would ensure that they retained full autonomy. He had an uncanny ability to see the reality of the situation and not shy away from what was needed. In the Republic, he would make a good diplomat. He would have made a good Jedi, in fact. Jaster shut down that line of thinking before his rage could spike.

“I agree,” Nield said. “Egan has been essential to the campaign and I trust him. I would also recommend Mawat for leadership, as well as Obi-Wan, Rabat, Tamet, and Berati.”

Jaster was not surprised that Nield had recommended Obi-Wan despite his insistence that he would not be staying. Jaster feared that perhaps Obi-Wan intended to go back to his people on Coruscant. He had said ‘I am not a Jedi’ with a kind of detached candor that belied just how much the words had hurt him. It was rare that a child truly wished to be separated from their family, even from a family that hurt them. That dar’cabur had really done a number on him to make him believe that he truly would never again be a Jedi. 

Jaster had heard most of the story from Nield last night, after Obi-Wan had fallen asleep in his arms. Nield had come to him and begged him not to make Obi-Wan go back to the Jedi. He’d told him about the cold, aloof Jedi Master who’d arrived with Obi-Wan, about the rescue mission and Master Jinn’s insistence that the Jedi leave immediately. He’d described Obi-Wan’s argument with Master Jinn and how he’d pulled his lightsaber on the man in a desperate move to convince him to stay. 

The part that had gotten to Jaster more than anything was the fact that Jinn had taken Obi-Wan’s lightsaber with him when he’d left. He’d told the child under his care that he was no longer jetii and that no help would be coming for him, then left him weaponless in the middle of a warzone. If he understood anything about the jettii'se, their kad'au'se were akin to beskar'gam to a Mando'ad. To strip someone of their soul and only means of defense was honorless, cruel, and unforgiveable. He had to agree with Nield: no amount of trauma or other reasoning could excuse such actions. 

So Jaster had promised to do his best to persuade Obi-Wan not to go back to the Temple. It would ultimately be Obi-Wan’s decision, as he’d warned Nield, but if it was within Jaster’s power to prevent Obi-Wan from returning to the people who so mistreated him, he would do it. Perhaps leading a planet was exactly what Obi-Wan needed to feel fulfilled apart from his old life.

“Should we be making this decision?” Cerasi argued. “Shouldn’t we try to establish a democracy and have the people choose who leads them?”

“Did they choose when we lead the Young into battle? No, they followed us because we stepped up when it was needed and did what needed to be done,” Nield argued back. “We need leadership now and we don’t have the luxury of waiting for hundreds of people to come to an agreement.”

“We need to start this society the right way, Nield. We need to build a foundation strong enough to support the future we dreamed about. It’s about intentionality, right, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan winced, clearly not happy about being drawn into this disagreement, but nodded anyway. “I agree that it’s important to start how you wish to proceed, but I do agree with Nield that there just isn’t enough time to leave a vacancy right now with so much that needs to be done for your survival. Perhaps a compromise? A temporary government to establish stability, after which an election can be held.”

Yes, Obi-Wan certainly could become a diplomat. He’d perfectly managed to answer their question honestly without invalidating either side. The fact that he’d immediately opted to propose a compromise spoke to his potential skill as a peacemaker.

Thankfully, this suggestion was taken well and they were able to move on with their planning. Jaster typed up notes for himself of various people to consult and resources he could afford to give to the Young. They’d already vowed to swear allegiance to Mandalore, which would make it easier to justify the kind of spending that Jaster planned to do. The offer was unprompted, which took him a bit by surprise, but Cerasi and Nield were firm.

“Mandalore has done more for us in two days than the Republic has done for us in decades. You have our loyalty, Mand’alor.” Cerasi’s tone brooked no discussion, so Jaster had nodded instead, accepting her words and her people’s allegiance.

They didn’t stop until they were forcibly dragged from the table by well meaning verde and baar’ure who guided them over to the tent where everyone else was eating dinner. 

Unlike previous meals, where the Young were sequestered under as few tents as possible and watched by hawk-like baar’ure as they ate, this time the children were interspersed with partially armored Mando’ade . Conversation was flowing in fits and starts, some of the children finding themselves too shy or too intimidated to completely relax.  They’d gotten along well with the Mandalorians so far, buoyed by the elation of achieving peace and gratitude for the supplies and care they provided, but now it was starting to dawn on them that the Young didn’t actually know the Mandalorians. They were strangers, adult ones, and, though they’d been kind and had proved themselves trustworthy, there was a level of awkwardness and separation to be overcome.

Jaster accepted the food that was put in front of him. Out of solidarity, they were all eating the spiceless, watery soup that had been made for the sake of the Young’s delicate stomachs which hadn’t seen real food in years, if ever, in some cases. He didn’t grimace, even after that first tasteless bite, and he was glad to see that other verde in sight were similarly controlling their reactions. 

They ate it in silence, though the quiet slowly became more tense as plates emptied. He saw several children open their mouths as though to say something, then shut them quickly and look back down at their empty plate. He frowned. He didn’t know how to put such a large, traumatized group at ease.

“My mother, before she died,” Cerasi volunteered suddenly, “used to make a kind of dessert bread made from wheat flour, honey, and the wild blueberries that started growing around the rubble of the old schoolhouse. She called it magic bread, since we could only ever have it when there was enough of those ingredients, which was rare.”

There was some surprise at her statement, as well as some confusion, but many of the Young were already nodding. Jaster could feel the importance of what she was sharing. A happy memory from before the formation of the Young, a cherished moment of peace.

“My dad used to do something like that,” another boy, Bekal, said. His plate had already been licked clean. “He would take jogan fruit which was almost too rotten to eat and he would mash it up with flour and wild lingonberries and sometimes other things and bake it. It was always really good, but he only made it twice that I know of.”

Others around the table began sharing their own recipes, some from their time with their parents before the formation of the Young, some during their time below ground and the creativity that became essential for survival. A few of the recipes sounded surprisingly delicious, while others sounded terrible and possibly not quite safe for consumption.

Mando’ade reciprocated by telling them about their cultural foods. Khin described tiingilar and how it differed from the version they were eating tonight, telling them about how her buir used to make it. From there, verde explained the various soups and stews in Mandalorian cuisine (bilerat stew, gi dumpling soup, red gourd soup, tiingilar ), before moving on to roba pie and uj’alayi and varos scones.

In the end, both the Mando’ade and the Young were talking with abandon, the sounds of conversation and laughter rising and falling around the tables freely. Jaster looked back at Cerasi and nodded to himself. Yes, they were more than ready for the challenges ahead.

The next few days passed in a blur that was both similar to Obi-Wan’s first days since waking up, and nothing like them at all. He was caught in a whirlwind of activity with no down time to himself for planning or meditating. Within the first two days, most of the rubble had been cleared from downtown, made possible by the amount of manpower Jaster had under his command, as well as convenient access to repulsorlifts and jetpacks. There were few buildings that retained all four walls and a roof, but the ones that did exist had immediately been commandeered for housing and official government space. One building had been marked for a future clinic, but needed to be cleared and made safe for treating patients before any could be brought in.

Both the Melida and the Daan camps had been raided for supplies, an endeavor which felt almost comically easy without soldiers trying to stop them. They still weren’t well stocked by any means, but they had blankets, extra clothing, several crates of ration bars, and a smattering of medical supplies which made them feel as rich as kings compared to their previous situation.

The New Mandalorians arrived on the seventh day. They came with even more supplies, including farming equipment, basic looms and spindles, and datapads, as well as the expected food, medical, and textile supplies. They all wore determined expressions and were dressed in sturdy, comfortable clothing, but no armor. They reported directly to Cerasi and Nield, with only a cursory greeting to the Mand’alor. Obi-Wan frowned at the obvious slight, but Jaster merely accepted their greeting and left them to focus on their mission. Cerasi put them to work right away, sending them with different groups to learn the lay of the land before they would meet back this evening to start making plans. 

By the end of the ten-day, more had been accomplished than Obi-Wan had ever dreamed possible for Melida/Daan, now renamed Melidaan. It was heartening to see, yet bittersweet for knowledge of the still ravaged planet left behind and largely forgotten by the Jedi of his time. They’d eventually returned for his sake, but by then the damage had been done and no support had been left behind for the survivors. Throughout the day, he’d mentally cataloged all of the children who died before peace could be firmly established on Melidaan. It was a depressing number. If he’d known then what he knew now…

But he did know now, he reminded himself. That was the point of the Force sending him back here. Those children were alive and they’d been saved because of his knowledge of Mandalorian culture and his own willingness to ask for their help. Seeing them gave him hope that there were other things he could change and that this wasn’t going to be a fruitless exercise in fighting blindly against fate. Those children were alive, and perhaps the rest of the galaxy could be saved too.

Three days later, morning dawned in much the same way as it had since the takeover, except he knew that today the Haat Mando’ade would be leaving. All of the Young had been offered the option of leaving with them and being adopted into a clan on Mandalore. Many had accepted, more than Obi-Wan would have anticipated, in fact. He knew of at least a dozen who had been adopted by Mandalorians already and they followed their buire around like little shadows. 

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He’d already mostly made peace with his decision not to return to the temple, but regret and indecision kept circling his mind like hungry wooriids. In quiet moments – rare as they were – when his attention was not needed, Obi-Wan meditated. When his mind refused to settle for meditation, he turned back to his list, adding and refining with an almost obsessive focus. Those stolen moments were interspersed with the intense work needed to get the society of Melidaan on its feet. He felt a growing sense of urgency, as though the Force was telling him his time here was limited. Its song was full of driving drums that pushed him to spend every waking minute consulting with Cerasi, Nield, and the New Mandalorians or lifting rubble with the Force or otherwise helping in any way he could.

He was not in charge the way he had been during his time as a general, or even as he had been during the civil war, but people still valued his insight and gave weight to his opinions. When he suggested involving the prisoners, especially those from the factories, in the rebuilding efforts, they’d taken the time to consider his words despite their instinctual reluctance. He realized it had been a long time since he felt like his thoughts on anything had value. 

He sighed and pushed away those thoughts. They were the thoughts of a bitter, lonely old man and they did not serve him. It was difficult, though, getting used to this new reality. He still felt like an ill-fitting gear in an otherwise fully functioning machine. He was constantly fighting against his childish instincts and emotions, or reaching for something his arms weren’t long enough to grasp, and he wondered if he would ever begin to feel settled in this body and this time. He knew he needed to let go of old habits, but saying was far easier than doing. He indulged in another short sigh before standing and leaving the breakfast table. He handed off the rest of his breakfast to his neighbor and left in search of the Mand’alor.

He hadn’t gotten a lot of time to speak with the man in the past few days. Jaster was busy with his own tasks of organizing his verde , preparing for departure, and figuring out the logistics for nearly a hundred prisoners. Many of the previously arrested had already been absorbed into the rebuilding effort, but many more were Elders who held onto their belief that their cause had been righteous. They did not listen to reason, and it had somehow fallen on Jaster to decide their future. Obi-Wan knew that several Mandalorians, including Jango, had advocated for execution. Nield had agreed with this sentiment, but Cerasi was ambivalent, as she did not want to continue the violence if it could be avoided, yet also understood the necessity. It did not help that Wahutti had indeed been found hiding a day after the initial Mandalorian attack, meaning that his life was one of the ones at stake. Jaster’s decision was something like diplomacy, though to Obi-Wan it seemed more like an effort to prove that he’d done all he could to be reasonable in unreasonable circumstances. He would provide them a choice: come to Mandalore with them and receive intensive therapy or be executed.

Wahutti had chosen execution. Only twenty-three of the original number of prisoners had elected to receive treatment on Mandalore. It was disheartening, but not entirely unexpected and Obi-Wan rejoiced in the twenty-three lives that were going to be saved. It would be a long journey for them, but he had faith that they would heal in time.

Obi-Wan deeply admired Jaster’s commitment to making sure that they left Melidaan stable and with every possible resource and support they could offer. The divisions among the Mandalorians meant that although Jaster held the title of Mand’alor , he was not truly considered the sole ruler by all factions and thus did not have the kinds of resources on hand to build an entire society from the ground up. He’d caught Jaster pouring over datapads with one hand threaded through his hair several times. Obi-Wan remembered that feeling and he did not envy him.

“Mand’alor Mereel,” Obi-Wan greeted politely. He’d found Jaster in the room they’d designated as an office of sorts. It didn’t belong to anyone in particular, but he’d noticed that Jaster used it quite often.

Obi-Wan didn’t bow, since he knew Mandalorians did not appreciate such a gesture, but he did incline his head respectfully. “I cannot thank you enough for all that you have done. I am impressed with your speed and efficiency.”

Jaster was already shaking his head before Obi-Wan finished speaking. “As I told you before, verd’ika , you have no need to thank me or any of my verde . To aid you and the children of this planet is only expected once we knew of the situation. To do less would make us dar’manda , or worse, demagolka’se like the, what do you call them? The Elders here.”

Obi-Wan’s returning smile was a little bitter. “Perhaps I have simply grown too used to those with less honor than you.”

“Perhaps,” Jaster said, with a small frown. He looked out the small window, where a group of Young and New Mandalorians were tearing out the remains of a destroyed building to make way for new development. Jaster’s eyes were pensive. Obi-Wan looked with him, and couldn’t help but wince slightly at the obvious difference between the two groups. In the tunnels, the Young had seemed strong and hopeful, despite their hardships. They endured, and that made them a threat to the Elders. Here, however, in the sunlight and with no imminent threat of death, the Young appeared just as they were: malnourished, wounded children. They would need a lot of time and care to heal. Both of which, he was relieved to say, they would now have.

“I noticed that you have not said what you will do next,” Jaster commented, not looking at him. “You told your fellow alor that Melidaan is not your home. Your words implied that you intend to leave. Where will you go?”

“I…don’t know,” Obi-Wan responded. He realized that he’d automatically fallen into the familiar posture he’d adopted in the GAR: straight spine, stiff shoulders, hands clasped behind his back. He continued, “There are things I need to do. I suppose I’ll travel, and accomplish what I can.”

“Yes, I can tell you were raised by the jetii’se ,” Jaster said with a laugh. “You have mastered the vague non-answer they love to confuse people with.”

“I had not intended to be confusing, nor purposefully vague. I suppose it’s just that I don’t quite know what my next steps are myself.”

“You are only thirteen,” Jaster said with a raised eyebrow. “You do not have to know yet.”

“Fourteen,” he corrected lightly. “My name day was five days ago.”

Jaster finally turned to him, a frown tugging at his lips. “I was not aware. I am saddened that we missed your name day. Such an occasion deserves to be celebrated.”

“We were all rather busy with other things.”

“We will always be busy with other things. That is life. But shereshoy means to embrace life as it is, right where you are, no matter the circumstances. Even in the midst of all this activity, there is room to celebrate surviving another year. Do not let yourself have regrets for the things you did not do.”

Shereshoy . It was one of things – one of many – that Obi-Wan had always admired about Mandalorian culture. In Basic, it could loosely be translated as ‘lust for life’, but he’d always seen it as something more than that. It meant acceptance, in a way. Acceptance of life and death and everything that came with it. It meant constantly endeavoring to make the most of every situation and enjoying oneself without fear of the future. For him, it was having shereshoy explained to him that finally made all of Qui-Gon’s lessons on the Living Force make sense. It was like something clicked in his mind and suddenly his master’s insufferably inscrutable lectures were translated from gibberish to Basic. 

“I understand. It is good to be reminded of such things. I have been…overwhelmed and honestly I forgot my name day until I saw the date yesterday and realized I had missed it.”

Jaster nodded in understanding. They spent a moment in quiet companionship, neither speaking as they both got lost in their thoughts.

“I noticed you have turned down several offers of adoption,” Jaster said. “Is there a reason why?”

“I…” Obi-Wan trailed off, not sure how to put his thoughts into words. It felt strange to have people offer to adopt him. He was fifty-eight years old. A Jedi Master, a General, a desert hermit, a brother. He’d lived his life and died, he’d known what it was to release his soul into the Force and have it cradle him like a child. 

And yet, to be wanted. It felt dangerously egotistical to feel pleased when he saw beskar-clad verde seek him out to ask him permission to adopt him, but he could not help the swell of emotion when such a thing occurred. Three verde had offered so far. One, a Nautolan named Wekon with armor painted magenta, pine, and navy, had already adopted another Young. He liked Timat, the seven year old that clung to Wekon’s leg as though terrified he would disappear if he let go. He liked Wekon as well. He had a very calm, steady Force presence that immediately spoke of a deep seated need to protect. He was just and compassionate, a man of balance. Still, Obi-Wan had said no.

The following two offers were similar in that Obi-Wan liked them well enough, but he simply could not accept. When he examined his motives, it wasn’t the age difference that was preventing him from saying yes. He was, for all intents and purposes, fourteen at the moment, a fact that would make many of his goals far more difficult to achieve until he gained the look of someone more experienced and trustworthy. He would need support going forward and he was not naive enough to think otherwise. Yet, something about those offers hadn’t felt right. The Force hummed to him the song for patience and he listened, turning down each one gently.

“The Mandalorian lifestyle is not for everyone,” Jaster said with a slight movement of his shoulders which could almost be a shrug. “But if you are worried, I assure you that you are as mandokarla as they come. You will do well among us, and you would be most welcome.”

“I appreciate the compliment,” Obi-Wan said sincerely. “And it’s not that I don’t want to be a Mandalorian. I just…”

“The Ka’ra speaks to you.” Jaster said it so confidently, so casually, that Obi-Wan nearly missed his meaning at first. “It is telling you that there are things you must do, and you fear being tied down to one place, one people, and thus unable to do as the Ka’ra asks, yes?”

That about summed it up nicely. Obi-Wan nodded mutely.

“Yes, I thought so. If one were to offer you the gai bal manda , with the promise of freedom to do as the Ka’ra has asked of you, what would you say?”

“I…I would accept.”

“Then Obi-Wan Kenobi, would you allow me the honor of being your buir ? Would you allow me to support you, care for you, train you, and raise you in the ways of the Haat Mando’ade ?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied, a little breathlessly. 

Jaster smiled at him. “ Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad , Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan was a little surprised to find his vision blurry with tears as Jaster knelt down to gently pull him into a hug. He leaned fully into it, letting Jaster support him as promised, and allowed the tears to fall.

Chapter Text

Mandalore was nothing like it had been when Obi-Wan had visited in his youth.

Visited . He suppressed a smile. Even in his own thoughts he euphemized everything until surviving his second civil war sounded like a pleasant vacation. He shook the thought off and stared out the viewport at the Mandalore of this time. It was still mostly a desert, as a consequence of the Dral’han which occurred too long ago for even Obi-Wan’s time traveling experience to allow him to prevent. Domes covered the major cities, as he remembered. Truthfully, he and Satine hadn’t spent much time on Mandalore proper, instead hiding on planets like Draboon. He’d never seen the planet like this, as a future inhabitant.

The ship docked smoothly and Obi-Wan stepped off the ramp after Jaster – his new buir – and Jango. It felt strange that Jango was now his brother, yet at the same time incredibly right. His clones had been Obi-Wan’s brothers during the war, after all, and they all shared a piece of the man who made them. 

This Jango was nothing like the one he’d met on Kamino, in the same way the Mandalore was not the same as it was in his memory. Obi-Wan had only seen him without his helmet a handful of times so far, but he’d been surprised by Jango’s youth. He looked like a fresh-faced shiny. This Jango was not callous, nor was he vindictive and jaded, yet he still bore the trials of a violent youth. The hate in his heart, however, belonged to Death Watch and it did not spread beyond the target of his rage. Jaster seemed to be the cornerstone which kept Jango grounded and Obi-Wan could easily see how losing him was the start of Jango’s downfall.

Most of Jaster’s verde departed immediately from the port as soon as the ship was docked. Those who had adopted children were eager to introduce them to their new home and those who did not were keen to sleep in their own beds after an exhausting mission. Only Jaster’s ori’ramikade remained, which consisted of Myles, Silas, Seke, and several others whose names Obi-Wan hadn’t yet learned. Jango remained as well, though he stepped away briefly to say goodbye to his own smaller squad of ramikade .

Jango had just stepped back to his side when the medics descended the ramp and Baar’ur Latt caught his eye. He gulped at the expressionless T-visor, a stern warning in their helmeted gaze for him to rest and eat properly lest he face their wrath. He gave them an innocent smile in return, which caused their head to tilt meaningfully. They turned their intense gaze on Jaster, who visibly swallowed. He nodded to show he understood the implied message and Obi-Wan resisted the urge to sigh. Jaster was already going to hover around him, but now he would no doubt be insufferable in order to avoid attracting the protective rage of the baar’ur .

Obi-Wan stood aside with Jango while Jaster organized the disembarkment. There weren’t many supplies left, of course, but what little there was needed to be unloaded and sent to their proper places. It didn’t help that he was immediately swarmed with people demanding his attention. Orders for debriefs had to be given, reports from Mandalore had to be received, supplies had to be allocated for the new additions to the various clans – everyone needed a moment of the Mand’alor’s time.

“Don’t worry,” Jango whispered to him conspiratorially. “ Buir hates this part and he gets it over with as soon as possible. We’ll be out of here before you know it.”

Obi-Wan smiled at him a little and shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“You’ll like Keldabe,” Jango said after a moment. It looked like Jaster was basically juggling datapads at this point. He would accept one, look it over, sign it, and hand it off before promptly being handed another. Obi-Wan was fascinated. He wondered if he and Cody had ever looked like that during the war.

“I’m sure I will,” he assured his new vod absently.

“Are you nervous? I mean, I can’t imagine leaving my culture behind and starting a new one. I know people do it all the time, especially here, but even when buir adopted me…well, I wasn’t completely starting over, you know?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and looked over at him. Jango’s youth had never been more apparent. He was battle hardened and confident in a fire fight, but he was still awkward in ways that spoke of a boy growing into himself. He was earnest in a way that the Jango Fett he’d met on Kamino could never imagine being. 

“How old are you?” Obi-Wan blurted, then instantly regretted his words. He usually had much better control over his tongue. He could feel his face heating up and he looked away, hoping to hide the intense flush on his cheeks.

“I’m nineteen,” Jango answered easily. He nudged Obi-Wan’s shoulder with his own. “I know I’m a bit older than you, but you don’t have to worry. I’ll take it easy on you when we spar.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes instinctively, even as his mind spun with the information. He was fairly certain that in his other life Jango Fett had been nine years older than him. What had caused him to be born four years later? Perhaps that was the nudge the Force had given to the timeline to make sure Jaster lived. What other things had the Force altered? Would he constantly be running into little differences? How was he supposed to account for everything if everything he understood about the galaxy was wrong?

He took a deep breath and released his anxieties to the Force. As he did so, he heard its song again, this time sounding amused and only slightly apologetic. Obi-Wan bit his lip. It was strange, hearing the Force again like this after so long, but he was starting to get used to it.

“Hurry,” a familiar voice whispered beside him, “before they try to trap me again.”

Obi-Wan stifled a laugh as he followed his buir and vod out of the small office in the spaceport out onto the street. Jaster was walking at a speed that was just shy of a run. A speeder was waiting for them, along with Myles, whose posture indicated that he had a shit-eating grin on his face underneath his helmet.

“Escaping already, alor ?” he teased.

“Rat me out and I’ll feed you to them,” Jaster warned.

Myles just laughed and climbed into the driver’s seat. He indicated for the rest of them to hop in and they did, Jaster sitting in the passenger seat with a huff that held more begrudging affection than annoyance while Jango and Obi-Wan sat in the back.

Keldabe was bustling, even this early in the morning. It was a riot of color in every direction from painted beskar to brightly dyed tents to food from every corner of the galaxy as the market opened up for business. Obi-Wan felt his mouth begin to water at the scents surrounding him, especially the unmistakable smell of traditional tiingilar which was so much more potent than what he and the other Young had been given on Melidaan.

Unfortunately, it would be a while before he was allowed to have it. Baar’ur Latt had been very strict about the diet he would have to adhere to in order to avoid refeeding syndrome or other complications. The rest of the Young were given similar diets, as well as a veritable mountain of oral vitamins and rules. The buire of those who had been adopted had listened intently to the medic’s instructions, Jaster among them.

As they sped through the city, Obi-Wan craned his head this way and that to take in every detail. Keldabe was built to be defensible, as one would expect for a culture that valued self-dense so highly, but it was also beautiful, in its own way. It sat atop a large, flat hill which allowed the guards, the arane, to see for miles in any direction. The Kelita River wrapped around nearly the entire city like a protective arm while the northern forests guarded its back. Keldabe itself was just as diverse and eclectic as its population. The buildings came in every size, shape, and material from the hundred-meter tall tower boasting a MandalMotors logo to smaller, more modest wooden shops dotted between durasteel constructions. It was clearly a market day from the milling crowds and merchants hawking their wares, adding to the homey, ecumenical atmosphere.

He saw beings of every species in the galaxy, most with armor though some braved the throng dressed in ordinary clothes. He wondered if those people were New Mandalorians, though if so he was surprised they were here mingling with Haat Mando’ade rather than staying on Kalevala with other like-minded individuals. 

“I would offer you a more in depth tour,” Jaster said, his tone slightly apologetic, “but I thought after space travel and all that came before it, we could all do with some rest. We’re headed straight home. We’ll have dinner and then we can get some sleep before the excitement that tomorrow will no doubt hold.”

Obi-Wan slumped a little in his seat, relieved. He was excited to see Keldabe, of course, since it was a city he’d always dreamed of visiting but had never had a chance before it was destroyed. He would have greatly enjoyed receiving a tour today, but the Mand’alor was right. He was exhausted. Fatigue seemed to have climbed into his bones and made a home there. He would give just about anything right now for a water shower, a proper bed with adequate blankets, and about ten to twelve unconscious hours.

The Mand’alor and his family lived in a stronghold near the center of the city. It was a fortress really, with fortified outer walls surrounding the anterior courtyard and posterior training grounds, as well as the main building, two small barracks, and a weapons storage facility. It was one of three locations in the city that could be used as a last line of defense; the first, of course, being the main Keldabe forge and the second being the children’s school.

Obi-Wan followed Myles and his new family through the massive gates of the outer wall. His eyes darted from one spot to the next, marking the visible doors, armed guards, and defenses. He concluded that only an aerial assault would have any chance of success against the Mand’alor’s stronghold, and even that was slim given the sightlines and the vigilance of the arane . He nodded slightly in approval. The gesture was to himself, but Jaster looked pleased at his endorsement. 

Jango gave him a short tour of the main building while Myles dragged Jaster off to hear yet more reports before dinner. Obi-Wan watched him go with a wince of sympathy, though Jango was very nearly laughing at his buir’s dismayed expression.

“Right, so,” Jango said. He marched through the hallways as though leading a battalion rather than a casual tour of his home. “You probably already noticed the general layout. The main building, the alor’yaim , houses the Mand’alor’s aliit , as well as their closest ori’ramikade , if they so choose. The barracks outside hold up to fifty and are reserved for a portion of the arane as well as the cabure be Mand’alor .”

It sounded like something Jango had memorized. He wondered if many people received tours of the stronghold. Maybe all newcomers got to see it? He nodded along to show he was listening, though he was a little puzzled over Jango’s use of ‘cabur’. He thought it meant something like ‘guardian’, so he didn’t quite know who the Mand’alor’s guardians might be, especially when ‘arane’ already meant guards.

Jango must have seen the confusion on his face, because he explained, “ Arane are the ones you saw outside, mostly walking the wall. Their armor always has a lot of dark green, so you should pick up pretty fast how to identify them. Cabure are the protection force assigned to the Mand’alor and their family. Their job is to prevent assassinations or other dishonorable deaths. They’re not really like…what’s the word? Bodyguards. In the Republic, bodyguards basically do all the fighting for their charge, yes?” Obi-Wan nodded. “Yeah, cabure don’t do that.”

“I understand.”

“ Jate . Okay so, the main building is built like a cunak …a square, yes? There is a basement, which serves as a kind of bunker during attacks, as well as tunnels that lead outside the city. The first floor is the kitchen, dining room, meeting hall, all that kind of stuff.”

Jango walked as he talked, setting a brisk pace that Obi-Wan’s short legs struggled to keep up with. They walked past said kitchen and dining room so fast that Obi-Wan caught only a glimpse of gleaming countertops, a bubbling pot of stew, and a long wooden table surrounded by chairs before he had to trot to keep up with Jango’s larger stride.

“There is also an office down here, but buir doesn’t like to use that one. He uses the one upstairs, near our rooms.”

Obi-Wan got to see only the closed wooden door that led to the disliked office in question. He was already overwhelmed with how quickly everything was flying by as he tried to take in every detail. He desperately wanted more time to study the tapestries that covered the stone walls as they passed, but he supposed he would have time for that soon enough, seeing as he was going to be living here now.

“There is a total of twenty five bedrooms, but if we are under attack, we can fit several hundred people in here.”

“That’s impressive. Can you feed all those people while they’re locked in here?”

That always seemed to be the issue with sieges. People needed to eat and if they had no access to farms or other means of getting food, they would starve sometimes before any actual fighting had taken place.

“Of course,” Jango replied, sounding nearly insulted by the insinuation that they could not provide for the people under their protection. “We have two storerooms that are always kept stocked, as well as a greenhouse that provides most of the fresh vegetables and herbs for the compound.”

Obi-Wan nodded. He should have known that they would have a plan in place, but paranoia and experience had taught him that it was best to ask anyway. He did feel slightly guilty for the offense he’d caused, but he didn’t apologize.

“There are ten bedrooms on the second floor,” Jango continued. They were walking up the stairs now, and Obi-Wan was dismayed at how quickly he became winded trying to follow Jango. “Plus three refreshers, a small armory, and the personal library of the Mand’alor.”

Now that was something Obi-Wan wanted to see. He marked the door that Jango pointed to and resolved to come back later and explore the texts that were deemed valuable enough to belong to the Mand’alor personally. Perhaps there would be more detailed accounts of Tarre Vizsla or perhaps even records from the original Sith Wars.

“The top floor,” Jango continued, as he led them to another staircase, “has fifteen bedrooms. Right now, only seven of them are occupied. Well, eight, once you move in. Buir and I each have one, of course, then there’s Myles, Dakii, Zomar, Hivra, and Drond, who all live here. Silas, Khin, and Seke are all married though, and live in their own homes with their riduure and ade. ”

Obi-Wan did his best to file those names away for later, but Jango said them so quickly and casually that he knew it was likely a lost cause until he met the rest of Jaster’s ori’ramikade in person.

“You’ll meet Dakii and Zomar tonight,” Jango continued as though reading Obi-Wan’s mind, “but Hivra and Drond are on a separate mission and won’t be back until next week at the earliest.”

They were on the top floor now. It was much the same as the other floors with dark, durasteel flooring, gray stone walls, and dark wooden doors. Brightness was added by the colorful woven rug that ran from one end of the hall to the other, as well as the tapestries that mirrored those of the rest of the stronghold. He caught a glimpse of a rearing mythosaur, a black lightsaber, and a few other disjointed images as they hurried down the hall.

“This will be your room,” Jango announced, swinging open a door. It was more spacious than Obi-Wan anticipated, and certainly larger than anything he’d had in his previous life. In the creches, they shared rooms smaller than this, grouped in increasingly smaller numbers until they eventually became padawans or joined the Service Corps. Then there’d been his various lodgings on ships which were more often than not a simple berth that belonged to him during sleeping hours. Even aboard the Negotiator his room was hardly spacious, though it was larger than anything the clones had received. 

Focus on the here and now, padawan . His former Master’s admonishment was only imagined, but it worked nonetheless. Obi-Wan let go of his memories and the associated tangled emotions to focus on the room that was being given to him.

It contained an attached ‘fresher, a large bed, an armor rack, a dresser, and a rather large closet. A wide window faced the training yards which also gave a lovely view of the northern forests. A desk was placed in front of the window made of plain, dark wood that matched the bed frame. It was a bit stark, in a way that was both expected and comforting for its familiarity, yet still homey with the added details of the woven rug beneath the bed and the care with which it had been designed.

“There are three major exit points,” Jango told him suddenly, after they’d stood awkwardly in the doorway for several moments. “The front door, which you saw obviously, the back door, which is in the meeting hall, and the tunnels. Access to the tunnels are located in both the kitchen and the first floor office. There’s also a door from the kitchen to the greenhouse, which lets out into the yard. All the windows can be shuttered with durasteel plating in an emergency, but they also open really easily from the inside if you have to.”

He walked over to a window and demonstrated. The sharp clang of the durasteel plating dropping onto the stone windowsill caused Obi-Wan to jump slightly. Luckily Jango had his back turned and didn’t see. He pointed out a pair of security latches on the inside which could be pressed to push both the glass and the durasteel outwards, allowing someone to jump to the ground. Obi-Wan nodded to show he understood when Jango looked at him.

“Guards are posted at all times and the striile will also let us know if anyone unfamiliar tries to approach. We all keep our armor in our rooms, obviously, but buir will talk to you about that tomorrow, probably. I know you don’t have a weapon right now, so we can stop by the armory after dinner and get you one.”

Obi-Wan blinked. He was somehow both comforted and unnerved by the security that Jango showed him. It was good to know where everything was in the case of an emergency, and he certainly appreciated knowing where all the escape routes were, but he’d never been explicitly shown such things in someone’s home before. Usually, he’d have to find these security measures in the heat of the moment. So often, in fact, that he’d begun a habit of inspecting every place he visited. Visually, if he could not get a moment alone, and more thoroughly if he could. 

“That would be great.”

Jango smiled at him, but it was different from how Cody, or Boil, or Rex would smile at him. It was entirely unique to him, as he was in this moment, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile back.

They ended their tour in the dining room just as Myles was sitting down, followed by an exhausted looking Jaster. Still, Jaster mustered up a smile for his sons and asked Obi-Wan what he thought of the tour.

“I am very well versed in how to escape the building,” he joked. It was an attempt to lighten the mood, which seemed dour for reasons Obi-Wan couldn’t discern, and he knew succeeded by the laughter which erupted at his words.

Chapter Text

Jango flushed at his father’s laughter, especially when Myles joined in. He could tell that the kid was teasing, but Jango had thought he’d done a better job of giving a tour than that. He was trying to be reassuring, but he clearly wasn’t very good at it.

“ Ad ,” Jaster said between laughter, “when I said give him a tour, I meant show him his new room and where to find the ‘fresher. Not encourage him to flee.”

“That’s not what I was doing!”

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan assured him. The glint of humor in his eyes faded into something more serious and genuinely grateful. “I did appreciate the introduction to the stronghold’s security.”

Jango gestured to him as though to say, ‘See?’

Jaster and Myles’ laughter quieted and they both nodded in understanding, though Myles kept sending teasing looks to Jango who studiously ignored him. Before the conversation topic could change, however, Silas and Dakii entered the room holding a pot of food and a stack of bowls, respectively. Zomar swaggered in after them, carrying nothing, as usual. He grabbed the seat next to Jango and across from Dakii, a dangerous move.

“Ah, Silas,” Jaster greeted, grinning widely, “I do love when it’s your turn to cook.”

“ That’s because you cannot cook for shit ,” Silas returned in Mando’a. Jango and Myles both laughed as Jaster flushed, spluttering. Jango recalled vividly the burnt remains of many attempted dinners which had been appreciated only by the hunting striile to which they’d been fed.

“ I can cook! My uj’alayi is fantastic. ”

“ That’s baking not cooking ,” Myles argued. “ And that does not excuse the fact that you set fire to the kitchen twice in recent memory. ”

The continued bickering as Silas’ gi dumpling soup was ladled into bowls and handed out. Jango loved dinners at home. Outsiders often thought they were too loud or too harsh with one another, but playful teasing was the highest form of affection and he couldn’t imagine a dinner where Silas didn’t poke fun at Jaster’s cooking or Dakii didn’t end up throwing food at Zomar’s face for an ill-advised comment. He glanced over at Obi-Wan as the topic moved on to various training mishaps, the most amusing of which involved Silas, a jet pack, and a tree.

He was glad to see Obi-Wan already engaged in conversation with Dakii as they ate. Obi-Wan was quiet and thoughtful, which made him worried that he wouldn’t fit in well with their boisterous, rowdy family. Still, despite his difference in demeanor, Obi-Wan was mandokarla . That much had been obvious at the start. Jango had started dropping hints to Jaster even during the trip to Melida/Daan that he wouldn’t mind a vod’ika to have around. His hints had only gotten stronger the longer they were on that accursed planet and each time Jaster had only smiled and cautioned patience.

It had gone on for so long that Jango had feared that they would be returning to Mandalore without Obi-Wan, or at least without him as aliit . Several others brazenly made adoption offers to him when the Mand’alor , who’d shown obvious interest, made no move to do so. Yet they were rejected every time. What made Obi-Wan choose Jaster? Not that Jango thought he’d made a bad choice, but the other offers were good ones. Good verde , all of them. So why wait for Jaster?

Jango knew that he’d been a jettii’ad , so perhaps that had something to do with it. The Ka’ra spoke to him. Perhaps it told him that he needed to be with the Mand’alor for some reason. Jango could understand that. Obi-Wan seemed like the type around whom things just happened. Big things, galaxy changing things. Jango could feel it and he was as deaf to the Ka’ra as a river rock.

He was glad to have a little sibling. He was even more glad it was Obi-Wan, who’d proven himself to be both a good fighter and a compassionate person. He would make an excellent Mando’ad and Jango was sure that he could learn as much from Obi-Wan as Jango could teach him. Plus, it would be nice to be the ori’vod for once. He shoved down the pang of loss and anger that tried to rear its head at the thought of Arla. She would wake up. She would.

The rest of the dinner passed smoothly, with only one piece of bread being thrown at Zomar when he’d joked that Dakii’s aim was so bad she couldn’t hit the broad side of a barracks. The crust of bread hit him straight between the eyes, as he deserved, and Dakii challenged him to a target contest tomorrow, which was gladly accepted. Jaster just shook his head at Zomar’s sharp-toothed grin and wished them well. 

Obi-Wan and Dakii seemed to get along well, Jango was glad to see. His new vod’ika didn’t participate much in the overall conversation, but he seemed to be talking quite a bit to the Selonian, who was engaging just as eagerly. Jango gave her a grateful smile as they cleared the table. She smiled back and gave a short nod of understanding before leading Obi-Wan up the stairs to his room.

Obi-Wan relaxed as the act of teasing Jango eased the tenseness in Jaster’s shoulders and the haggard look in Myles’ eyes. He accepted his bowl of gi dumpling soup gratefully, though his was mostly broth with only a few dumplings for the sake of his weakened stomach. Conversation began to flow easily in Mando’a as they all dug into the food.

Even here, among this small group of Mandalorians, the diversity for which their culture was famous was evident. Zomar, the verd sitting next to Jango, was a Zabrak with bright orange skin and dark, swirling tattoos that were nothing like Obi-Wan remembered Maul having. The other verd , whose name Obi-Wan hadn’t yet heard, was a Selonian. Tonight was the first time that Obi-Wan had seen Myles without his helmet as well, which confirmed that Jaster and Jango were the only two humans of the group. Myles was much younger than Obi-Wan had thought originally. He was Falleen, with green skin and a ridged skull and warm orange-green eyes. His thick black hair was braided back, rather than held in the usual ponytail, to better fit under his helmet. It was clear that he was probably only a year or two older than Jango, despite the confidence he showed and his familiarity with the Mand’alor.

“Don’t worry,” the Selonian ori’ramikad seated next to him whispered, “this teasing is how we show affection.”

“I understand,” Obi-Wan whispered back. “All siblings are like this. I’m Obi-Wan, by the way. I don’t believe we’ve met yet.”

“No, we have not. I have heard much about you, but I did not go on the mission to Melida/Daan. I was part of the group chosen to stay here and defend Keldabe. My name is Dakii Sivu, she/her.”

It was strange to meet a Selonian among the Mandalorians. As far as he knew, they were a very insular culture that highly valued family ties and the protection of their people. He could see how their cultural upbringing would make them ideal Mandalorians, but he hadn’t expected one to leave their homeworld and join a new society. When he said as much to Dakii, she smiled.

“You are better informed than I expected, little one. Yes, you are right that is rare, but my den was slaughtered when I was a youngling and I was saved by a group of Mando’ade . As you said, there are many similarities between the two cultures and I felt comfortable with my saviors almost immediately. I had no desire to join another den, though I would have been welcome, and I chose instead to become Mando’ad .”

Obi-Wan nodded. In a way, it felt very similar to many of his own thoughts surrounding his situation. In his old life, he’d gone back to his people and had never considered another option. In this one, he’d decided that the emotional cost of rejoining the Jedi was too high. He’d often felt that the Mandalorians and the Jedi were not as different as they appeared. Except, of course, that the Jedi were primarily peacekeepers who avoided violence while Mandalorians did not shy away from violence, but rather saw it as a source of pride to be a capable fighter. Obi-Wan was intimately familiar with violence, had been since he was a child, and at times it caused him to wonder if he was truly suited to being a Jedi. The violence he had known had nearly cost him the chance to be knighted, yet it had also been the only reason he’d been placed on the Council during the war. His knowledge of violence was necessary, yet it was seen as a necessary evil. It was something to be curbed, tolerated only under the most dire of circumstances.

He had fit in well with the Vode, once they got to know each other better and dropped most of the formality inherent between a general and his soldiers. Obi-Wan fought too hard, loved too fiercely, and angered too easily to ever be the ideal Jedi. Perhaps he would do better in this life as a Mandalorian.

“I understand,” he said simply and Dakii nodded solemnly.

Gossip, teasing, and light-hearted conversation flowed easily after that and the soup pot emptied rapidly. Obi-Wan only managed one small bowl, but he felt overly stuffed and content afterward. The others spoke in a mix of Mando’a and Basic, though they naturally tended toward Mando’a more often than not. Every once in a while, they would notice and switch back, trying to draw Obi-Wan into the conversation. He was appreciative and more than a little amused, but he couldn’t reveal how much Mando’a he actually knew. Besides, his knowledge was piecemeal at best and incorrect at worst, having learned it primarily on the run or from the Vode. Still, he followed the conversation more or less and only truly lost the thread when one of them spoke too quickly or used more slang than Obi-Wan understood.

After dinner, it was Jaster and Jango’s turn to wash the dishes so Dakii showed him to his new room. The top floor was clearly meant for the Mand’alor’s immediate family, since each room was luxurious compared to those on the second floor. “It’s lovely, thank you.”

“No debt,” Dakii returned immediately. “You are the Mand’alor’s aliit now. This is no gift, it is your home.”

Obi-Wan inclined his head in acceptance of this, though he felt overwhelmed. If he thought about the future any farther than a day cycle he felt the first tendrils of panic begin to creep in. He needed to meditate, badly. He took a deep breath and let it out.

He would also have to remember to be mindful of his habit of saying ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ so casually. To him, they were polite expressions to be used liberally. Thank you for the food. I’m sorry for bumping into you . Mandalorians, however, took those words very seriously. Those words had weight here and if he wasn’t careful he would be accepting debt at every turn or else offending those around him. 

“There are some clothes in the dresser,” Dakii continued. “Not much, but alor said he would go shopping with you tomorrow for more. There are toiletries in the ‘fresher as well. If you need anything, just ask. Jate ca, Obi-Wan.”

“ Jate ca .”

After she left, Obi-Wan headed straight for the ‘fresher. He’d had a few sonic showers in the past week, so he wasn’t nearly as filthy as he had been when the Mandalorians first landed on Melidaan, but he didn’t necessarily feel clean either. Plus, he’d been able to see even from the brief glimpse that it was a water shower, not a sonic, and he was elated. He stripped quickly and climbed in.

A water shower after so long without one was absolute bliss. He wanted to stay and savor it for as long as possible, but old habits were deeply ingrained and he turned off the water after an indulgent seven minutes. He was capable of showering in three and was used to an allotment of five, which was still more than the clones received during the worst restrictions during the war. Seven minutes were glorious.

Obi-Wan spent the next hour in meditation. The clothes he’d been provided were soft and warm, and the stone floor was covered in a brightly patterned rug that staved off the cold as he sat in the lotus position, searching for peace. He sank into the Force with a sigh of relief and was buoyed by the way the Force sang around him, pleased and hopeful in the rise and fall of notes. He had chosen correctly, he thought, and he had time. There was some urgency, yes, but it was alright, the Force assured, and he emerged from meditation feeling far calmer, if not completely serene.

He stood up and stretched out his sore, aching muscles. His thin limbs trembled even through those simple exercises and he grimaced. Even at nearly sixty he’d been able to do these things without struggling, though that was in large part due to the ghost of his former Master coming back to frown him into shape. Now, at thirteen, he could barely balance on one foot as he stretched his quadriceps. He sighed and fetched the pilfered datapad from his robes, which he’d left folded on the ‘fresher sink.

He sat at the desk that had been provided to him and stared out at the view. In the training yard, there were a few small groups of dark green armored arane getting in some last minute practice before dark. More arane lined the walls, patrolling. The sun was just beginning to set, setting the emerald forest ablaze with gold, pink, and violet. It was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen and he felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. In the immediate sense, he was grateful for the solitude and the quiet of having his own room with four solid walls for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. On a grander scale, he was thankful for the Mand’alor and his steadfast presence during Obi-Wan’s second trial of the Melida/Daan conflict. He was grateful to have been adopted by him, to be wanted, and he was grateful that he would now be able to begin his plans to save the galaxy.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He unlocked his ‘pad and opened the documents he’d started. The first, the list he’d begun over a week ago, had expanded to include five major tasks now. He’d titled these tasks: Reform the Jedi, Save and Unite Mandalore, End Slavery, Prevent War, and Rescue Party. He had to stifle the urge to manically giggle every time he saw those formidable, presumptuous titles, appalled and amused in equal measure by his own arrogance. He wondered at times if he hadn’t gone a little mad in that desert.

Task one had only one note, which was to reference the file containing his proposal to the Jedi. The second was a growing list of smaller steps that would, hopefully, lead to the completion of the greater task. The last three had been added during small breaks over the last week and were mainly unfinished thoughts that had stemmed from his newest project, which was a timeline of every event he could remember both from his own former life and the Force’s memories.

He was both terrified and dismayed at how quickly he was losing details from the visions the Force had shown him. He was forgetting the intricacy of the spider web that linked decisions and events to larger galactic implications. A pattern remained however, anchored by knowledge he'd already had in his past life which he'd never assembled into the greater truth shown to him by the Force. It seemed obvious now that continuous reliance upon the Senate for financial backing, missions, and intelligence had led to such disasters as the genocide of Galidraan and the Stark Hyperspace War, both of which he’d learned had been orchestrated by Darth Sidious. 

The result of his efforts was something that looked like the inside of a madman’s mind. It wasn’t written linearly, but rather was a collection of facts that were linked to each other with colored lines and covered with scribbled notes about relevance, key participants, and how to prevent certain events. He leaned back in his chair and eyed the document critically. It might be a mess, but he was rather proud of it. 

He yawned. His jaw cracked with the movement and a glance at the chrono showed that he really should get some sleep if he wanted to be of any use tomorrow. Now that he was clean and safe, sleep was looking more and more like a good idea. He locked the ‘pad and slid it into the bottom drawer of the desk. It wasn’t hidden by any means, but he doubted that anyone here would look through his things. Especially not if they didn’t catch a glimpse of a datapad he wasn’t supposed to have.

He climbed into bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan held himself still as the goran looked him over with critical eyes. He couldn’t see their eyes through their helmet, but their gaze was intense enough that he didn’t need to. He stood as tall as he could, spine straight and shoulders back. He wasn’t sure what they were looking for. Likely, they were evaluating him to see if he was ready for armor, which was their purpose of being here.

“You will need to start small,” they said eventually. “ Kom’rke, tadun’bure, ghet’bur, bal bes’marbure, ni mirdi. ”

“ Elek, ni koori. ”

Obi-Wan held still as he was measured for vambraces, shin guards, and pauldrons. They wouldn’t be made out of beskar, which made him feel moderately better about receiving armor without having earned it or paid for the materials. 

When Jaster had first told him where they were heading this afternoon, he’d been excited at first. He’d always wanted to meet a goran , but he was an outsider and therefore not permitted such an honor. Now, however, he was on the path to being Mando’ad and he was going to be able to have a conversation with an actual Mandalorian blacksmith.

Then, Jaster had clarified that they weren’t going just to meet the goran , nor for any repairs on his or Jango’s armor. They were going because Obi-Wan was going to be getting armor.

“I don’t understand,” he’d said. “I thought armor had to be earned. And that the armor itself was either passed down or bought by the verd it’s made for.”

“Yes, generally you are correct,” Jaster agreed easily. “It is common for armor to be passed down through generations, and it is also expected that adult verde pay for any upgrades or additions to their armor. However, every ad who passes their verd’goten is given their first pieces by their buire .”

“But…” It pained him to argue with Jaster about this, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “I haven’t passed my verd’goten .”

“ Verd’ika ,” Jaster had said, bewildered, “you’ve already led an army to war. You’ve more than earned your armor.”

Obi-Wan had been too stunned to say another word the rest of the trip. Now, he was standing in a sweltering forge while a tall, intimidating blacksmith hand measured him with tape rather than a scanner. Every once in a while the goran would click their tongue and shake their head, muttering under their breath about how skinny and small he was.

Obi-Wan held himself back from frowning at the comments by sheer willpower. It wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t had consistent meals in over four months, or that before that he hadn’t had a chance to finish the last meal plan he’d been placed on. He could only hope that this time he would actually get a chance to finish the program and regulate his eating habits. Force knows that he’d never quite gotten over those issues, much to Cody’s eternal dismay.

“You are done, vaar’ika ,” the goran announced eventually. He scrunched up his nose at the insult disguised as an endearment, causing them to laugh.

“ Vor’e , goran, ” he said sincerely, despite his offense.

“ N’entye ,” they replied. “Your buir should have explained to you that it is my highest honor to provide the beskar’gam of my clan.”

Obi-Wan swallowed the desire to persist in thanking them anyway, instead nodding his head in respect. They told him to come back in three days to try on the pieces. He agreed easily. Before they left, however, Obi-Wan turned back around.

“I never got your name,” he blurted. They’d walked into the forge and Jaster had immediately launched into a rapid-fire conversation in Mando’a that ended with the goran’s intense scrutiny of his person. He’d been too intimidated to initiate an introduction.

“ Ner gai Kheri. She/her.”

Obi-Wan smiled at her. “Nice to meet you.”

“ Ret'urcye mhi , verd’ika .”

They returned home after that, laden with the purchases Jaster had insisted upon during their tour of the city. Obi-Wan had tried to tell him that he didn’t need more than the bare minimum, but Jaster had simply shook his head and dragged him to what felt like every clothing store in Keldabe. Obi-Wan now owned five sets of sleepwear, two kute , three formal outfits, and a range of tunics and leggings. He’d also received two pairs of boots, both of which would fit well underneath tadun’bure and cetar’bure . 

He’d expected the shopping spree to end there, but to his dismay, any time Jaster noticed his attention lingering on something, Jaster bought it immediately. In addition to clothes, their bags also contained several boxes of tea, a rather ingeniously crafted knife, an indulgently soft blanket, and several other small gifts that Obi-Wan had admired before he learned to stop showing his interest where Jaster could see.

It was nice, though, to know how excited Jaster was to have a new child to spoil. Jango was equally excited, given how he acted as Jaster’s accomplice in pointing out things Obi-Wan seemed interested in. It was Jango’s fault that Obi-Wan now had a proper tea set, three additional knives, and a book entitled A History of Mandalorian Leadership: from Mand’alor the First to Mand’alor the Uniter.

He’d also learned a lot during the tour. Jaster was a very comprehensive and informative guide. He spoke with a kind of passion for his people that indicated great knowledge and greater love. Obi-Wan learned more about Mandalorian history within the first hour than he had in all his years of trying to study it from a distance. Jaster pointed out statues as they went, explaining their significance and history at length until Jango eventually walked away and came back thirty minutes later to find them in front of the same statue, Jaster still speaking and Obi-Wan still enraptured. He told Obi-Wan about the oldest cantina on the planet, Oyu’baat , though they didn’t go inside today. Jaster promised they would later, especially since it served as an unofficial center for the loose government formed by the chieftains of the various clans.

Obi-Wan’s first ‘official’ day on Mandalore ended with another family dinner, this time with Jango as the chef. Obi-Wan was not surprised that it was another soup, this time red gourd instead of dumpling. Jango separated a bowl for him that did not contain spices, which was very thoughtful, and it was delicious despite the lack of seasoning. 

Before bed that night, Obi-Wan sat up and worked on his proposal for the Jedi. He was more certain than ever that the flaws he was calling attention to in the document needed to be addressed. He expanded several sections, using his new connection to the holonet to aid him in providing evidence for his claims, and fixed the verbiage to make it more coherent and comprehensible. He paused at times to ‘consult’ with the Force, which really just meant closing his eyes and listening for its song in regards to specific passages. When he finished, he looked up and was shocked to find the sun already rising. He glanced down at the proposal, lips pursed. He wasn’t completely satisfied, but it was a start. If he could get it into the right hands, he had faith that it would be properly examined and amended by people with greater knowledge of the specifics to back up his ideas.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he skimmed back through what he’d written. It was now nearly one hundred and sixty pages long, but it didn’t feel anywhere near finished. However, he could deliberate over it, agonize for weeks or months over the details and the wording, or he could set it free where it could potentially start doing some good.

Before he could second guess himself, he typed in the comm codes of every Jedi he thought would benefit from the proposal, or at least those that might actually take the words within it to heart. Mace Windu, of course, who’d just been elected as Speaker of the Council, if he remembered correctly. Jocasta Nu, Master Tholme, Master Tyvokka (who Obi-Wan was quite pleased to remember was still alive at this time, and perhaps could remain that way), Master T’un, and a few other relevant individuals. At the last moment, after long deliberation, he added Yoda and Yan Dooku. Master Dooku had not yet fallen and would likely be the most amenable to change within the Jedi Order. Perhaps this level of policy shift would encourage Dooku to stay with the Order, especially if he had a hand in the transformation.

His finger shook as it hovered over the ‘send’ button. He pushed past his nerves and clicked it, watching the notification appear that confirmed that his message had been sent. He’d encrypted the file as thoroughly as he knew how and did not sign the document in any way. The Shadows would eventually discover the document’s origins, of course, but it would take them time. Meanwhile, Jocasta Nu and scholar T’un would thoroughly investigate his claims and the evidence he’d cited. The Council would be in an uproar as they discussed each section of the proposal. Dooku and Tyvokka would be in favor of the changes, at least, particularly about separation from the Senate and protection of padawans respectively. There was nothing more that Obi-Wan could do about it for now. He sent a mental apology for the headache that Mace would no doubt have from this, then laid down to try to get some rest before someone came to fetch him for the day.

Chapter Text

Mace Windu pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. It had been a long day already, despite the fact that it was not quite midmorning. Unnecessary bureaucracy and petty squabbling had characterized the early morning Council meeting and dragged the normal hour-long session into three grueling hours of mostly meaningless argument. They’d received reports of a Mandalorian takeover on a backwater planet in the Outer Rim which had everyone in a tizzy, despite the fact that it seemed mostly harmless. Several Council members were worried about this setting a precedent while others, such as himself, didn’t think a planet no one had ever heard of was worth worrying about. It wasn’t necessarily a sign that the Mandalorian Empire was making a comeback.

It was Master Plo Koon who had brought to their attention that the Council did, in fact, know of the planet Melida/Daan. Until that moment Mace had not remembered the name of the planet where Master Jinn had lost yet another padawan, but Master Koon’s words instantly sparked recognition. 

“Do we believe that a Jedi representative should be sent?” asked Master Koth. “Obi-Wan Kenobi may have left the Order voluntarily, but that does not mean we cannot care about his safety.”

“True, that is. A representative, we will send.” Yoda declared. “Report back to us, they will, about the nature of this takeover and the intent of the Mandalorians.”

Two birds with one stone, Mace thought. Though privately, he believed that Yoda and several others were far more concerned with the possibility of spying on the Mandalorians than with the safety of a former padawan.

Padawan Kenobi’s departure from the Order was something of a mystery, in Mace’s mind. He remembered Kenobi. He’d been desperate to be chosen as a padawan. He’d asked every eligible master in the temple, plus several who were not. Watching Master Jinn publicly refuse to take him on as a padawan learner had been a terrible experience – more so, he was sure, for Kenobi himself. Yet he’d apparently persisted to the point that Master Jinn came back from a seemingly simple mission with a new padawan in tow.

Padawan Kenobi had seemed different after that: more fragile, less volatile. The desperation hadn’t disappeared from his eyes, but it had changed. He’d been accepted as a padawan learner, but it was clear that he was determined to keep what he had gained. He was quiet, obedient, and one of the most diligent padawans Mace had ever seen. He’d overheard Master Nu saying that Obi-Wan stayed in the library at all hours working on his assignments and the extra projects he’d taken on. He was always polite and respectful of the datapads, she’d said, and he never turned in anything late.

The only mark on his record, aside from Master Jinn’s rejection and Master Yoda’s interest, occurred shortly after he’d been made a padawan. Initiate Bruck Chun had died after falling from the top of a waterfall in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. An investigation revealed that none of it was Padawan Kenobi’s fault. Rather, Kenobi had apparently tried very hard to save Chun, who had sided with Fallen former-Padawan du Crion. According to the report that Mace had read, Kenobi had done everything within his power to not only save Chun’s life, but to try to convince him to come back to the Light. No master could have done better, in his opinion, and despite Kenobi’s subsequent feelings of guilt and inadequacy – both of which had been marked in the report – Mace rather thought that his conduct proved him to be an exemplary Jedi.

It was strange, then, to think that a boy like that would have thrown everything away for a girl as Qui-Gon had reported. People did unimaginable things for love, Mace knew, but something about the whole situation didn’t sit right with him. He sighed again and opened his backed up communications log. He resigned himself to letting the Kenobi mystery fade into the background. There simply wasn’t enough time or resources to explore every little perplexity in the temple, and he had no official grounds to open an investigation.

He sorted through his communications for a while as he sipped his tea. A good portion went straight into the trash, as he had no need for things like coupons for sports equipment or a vacation home. How spam still ended up on his official Council line, he had no idea. He was pretty sure the ads for wigs and toupees had been set up by his padawan though, as a joke, but no matter how many times he unsubscribed, they always showed up in his inbox anyway.

Once he’d reasonably sorted everything into urgent, time sensitive, normal, and trash, he dug in. A couple hours later, he emerged, having tackled the urgent and time sensitive messages, and got himself another cup of tea. He sat back down and started flicking through the casual messages, responding to those that needed or deserved a response, and savored the tea that Depa had recently brought him from Chandrila.

“Reformation of the Jedi People: a Proposal”

Mace raised an eyebrow and clicked on the message. It was an intriguing title, to be sure, but rather arrogant. The Jedi were in no need of a reformation, especially not since the end of the Sith Wars and the reformations overseen by Chancellor Tarsus Valorum. He opened the attachment and skimmed through the first few pages. Then he went back and read it through carefully, word by word.

It was well past sundown when Mace finished reading, leaning back in his seat with a migraine and a healthy dose of respect for whoever had compiled this earth-shattering bit of writing. The proposal itself was one hundred and fifty-seven pages long, not including the list of sources. He’d seen bills brought before the Senate that were less well thought out and articulated. 

The most disturbing aspect, however, was how earnestly truthful it was. His first instinct was to scoff and deny that the Jedi Order had deep enough flaws to destabilize the entire organization. Reading this proposal, however, made that denial impossible. The author had specific examples, going back centuries, that clearly laid out the progression of the Order and its decisions. They’d been walking a slow, ambling spiral toward their own destruction and no one had seen it.

He called the only person he trusted to have a truly level head when confronted with something like this.

“Hello.” Plo Koon sounded exhausted, but he was still making an effort to give Mace his full attention. Mace smiled at him grimly.

“I apologize for the early hour,” he said. It was later than he’d thought, or earlier depending on one’s definition. “I received a rather disturbing message that I’ve just finished reading.”

“Was it perhaps a proposal designed to save the Jedi from destruction?”

“You received a copy as well?” Mace was surprised, but then again, it made sense that whoever went to all the trouble of writing a document like this would send it to more than one person. It wouldn’t do to have all their hard work be ignored in someone’s inbox for an indeterminate amount of time.

“Yes, I did. I finished reading an hour ago and have been meditating since.”

“And?” Mace asked impatiently.

Plo took a deep breath. “And I believe the author brings up some excellent points, several of which I have thought myself in the past. Why are padawans the sole responsibility of one master? Why do we not raise them as a community? I had not known of the reasons for this rule, though I can certainly see the progression of events as they are laid out in the proposal.”

Mace sighed. “Yes. And the part about verifying all information received from the Senate? I assumed that was something we already did, but I sent a message to Master Tholme and he confirmed that the Shadows’ intel is being ignored more and more in favor of immediate action after a Senate request.”

“This is all very troubling.” Mace refrained from making a remark about the obviousness of the statement. “Who else has received a copy of this?”

“I have no idea. I would assume that the entire Council received it, though I haven’t called anyone else to be sure.”

Before he finished his sentence, his comm beeped, letting him know that a message had come through. A Council meeting was being called, effective immediately.

“I guess that answers that question.”

“Indeed,” Plo replied dryly. “I’ll see you in a moment.”

Mace set down his comm and shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was going to be another long day.

Jocasta was furious. No, she was livid. She was dumbfounded, enraged, and downright disturbed. She was the head of the most well curated, expansive knowledge centers on Coruscant, second in the galaxy only to the temple on Jedha. She was surrounded every day by countless books and datapads containing the entire history of the Jedi Order and much of the surrounding galaxy. She worked every day with knights and masters on their research into everything from obscure tax law to Nabooian fashion culture. She should not have been caught so off guard by facts presented as basic information regarding her own people.

With every fact verified, Jocasta became even more agitated. Of course she’d known that after the Ruusan Reformation the training of Jedi became centralized on Coruscant and that they’d begun to be trained earlier. She’d written several papers on the topic of the reformation, after all, so she knew all that it entailed. She had not, however, made the connection between that and the declining numbers of Jedi in the galaxy. It seemed sensible to train only younglings in the way of the Jedi and leave those that they found who’d survived to ages older than five to their own devices. Older students were harder to train and had attachments that were nearly impossible to break. Yet, in strictly adhering to this ancient rule, had they missed out so drastically on maintaining a healthy, populated society?

She angrily added the newest datapads her aides had located to the pile in front of her.
This new batch of research contained everything that the archives had on Mandalore from history to language to the Mandalorian Excision of 738 BBY. According to the mysterious proposal (it wasn’t an adequate term for what that document actually was, in her mind, but that was what they were calling it), Mandalorians and Jedi were not that dissimilar and relations between the two peoples could be reestablished for the good of the galaxy if one side or the other were willing to reach out and take the first step. Jocasta intended to find out exactly how realistic that statement was.

She ignored the world around her as she researched, only sparing time occasionally to send the results of her efforts to various masters whom it would benefit or to gulp tea brought to her by library aides. The damning document had arrived only last night, but she would get to the bottom of all of this without delay. 

Master Tholme stared down at the datapad in front of him while ignoring the waves of anger being sent to him from his padawan. Quinlan was not a bad child by any means, though he was prone to pulling pranks and seemed to prefer facetiousness over deference in any given situation. His padawan did feel things very deeply, however; a fact which was typically hidden beneath a layer of sarcasm and wit but made his gift of psychometry so much harder to bear. Empathy was something all Jedi shared, though some were burdened with an even greater emotional gift than others. Quinlan never hid his emotions from Tholme. When he was happy, his joy bounded across their bond like a loth hound. When he was sad, their bond flooded with an emotion that was more akin to grief or despair than any trifling sorrow. When he was angry, even if the huffing, grumbling, and slammed doors did not alert Tholme to his padawan’s distress, the boiling rage that flowed down their bond like simmering lava would do the trick.

Ever since Quinlan learned that Master Jinn had left his new padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, behind on a mission, he’d been far more volatile than usual. Tholme understood, to a point. Kenobi had been one of Quinlan’s crechemates, a friend. They’d bonded in their youth and their friendship had survived even after Quinlan had been made a padawan. It only stood to reason that Quinlan would feel betrayed by Kenobi leaving the Order. Tholme could understand feeling hurt and grieving that old friendship. It wasn’t grief, however, that Quinlan felt. Nor did he feel betrayed. He was angry. He seethed with a type of rage that worried Tholme in a way that he did not dare articulate even within his own mind. He had tried to calm him down using every method he knew, but still Quinlan insisted that Kenobi did not abandon his oaths as a Jedi and that it was Master Jinn who had abandoned his padawan. Tholme explained that Kenobi had left the Order willingly, that he was old enough to make such decisions and would be fine. He’d tried arguing, bribing, reasoning, and blatantly ignoring. Nothing had worked.

He’d planned on moving on to distraction next, but now, reading the reports in front of him, he wasn’t so sure that Quinlan didn’t have a point. Two nights ago, several high-ranking members of the Order had received an unsettling message containing one of the most well thought out, well researched proposals Tholme had ever seen. It carefully guided the reader on a historical journey through the Order’s own past and how its own decisions as well as outside influences had led to its present. Each conclusion was the type of thing that was obvious when pointed out, yet too mundane to be noticed by those in the Temple who’d never felt the tide of change creeping slowly upon it.

He’d done his own research into the topics the proposal brought up, supported by Madame Nu who began frantically searching through her archives, nearly tearing out her hair in the effort to discover why no one had noticed any of the issues the anonymous author had identified. It was true that by the Ruusan Reformation, the Jedi were over five million strong, yet now numbered only around five hundred thousand. It was common knowledge that many of their temples had closed, yet that simply seemed like the natural course of change rather than an indication of a larger concern.

As Master of Shadows, Tholme had greater access to the type of supporting evidence of these issues to which most Jedi were not privy. He’d already known, for example, that intelligence which had been gathered by his own Shadows was being ignored with greater frequency as the urgency of Senate requests, and trust that those requests contained valid information, increased. He had submitted a number of formal complaints to the Council, yet had gained no traction in rectifying this issue. The anonymous document calling for Order-wide reform, however, was just the catalyst he needed to begin the work of redressing the problem of mission intelligence.

In the meantime, he set his younger Shadows to work within the Temple walls. The knights and padawans in training were the perfect beings to evaluate the general tenor of the modern Jedi mindset. He was dismayed by some of the reports. Several knights and padawans cited conversations between initiates whispering to each other their fear of not being chosen by a master for training. More openly, they teased each other about being sent to the corps and competed with a near ferocious tenacity for placement with a master. Teasing and competition are both fairly normal childhood behaviors, but they are not usually incited by genuine terror and hopelessness. He had not been aware that ignorance surrounding those vital sects had grown so pervasive. He remembered during his youth that some initiates were rather desperate to be chosen. The competition had been fierce and teasing was common, yet he himself did not feel terror at the prospect of joining either the Explora- or Educorps. He had not thought himself a good fit for the Agri- or Medicorps, but in general the idea of joining one of the service branches had not filled him with dread. Yet another point for the validity of the strange proposal.

He sighed and set down the datapad. The revelations of the past two days had led him to question many of the things he’d held as immutable facts about the Jedi Order and, in that state of mind, he’d been inclined to look further into Master Jinn’s claims that his padawan left the Order of his own volition. What he’d found was…disturbing, to say the least.

Truthfully, he should take this information to the Council first. His anguished padawan, however, would always be his first priority.

“Quinlan.”

The boy quickly looked up from his comm, on which he’d been furiously typing. Tholme ignored the animosity swirling in his dark, accusing eyes.

“I apologize,” was the first thing Tholme said, causing Quinlan’s eyebrows to shoot up in surprise. “You were worried about your friend and I dismissed your fears as a natural reaction to the absence of someone you cared for.”

Quinlan leapt to his feet. “You’ve found something then? Have you found Obi-Wan? Is he alright?”

Tholme shook his head. “I do not know where young Kenobi is, though I do have more information about the planet he was left on. This information needs to be heard by the Council first, but I wanted to let you know that I am looking into this and I do not doubt that once the Council is made aware of the situation, they will send someone out looking for your friend.”

“Can we be sent? Please, Master. I swear I’m not overreacting. The Force has been telling me for weeks that something is going on and it’s been driving me mad. Please, we have to find him.”

“Alright, padawan. Calm yourself. I’ll see if I can get us assigned to search for Kenobi. While I’m gone, I expect you to practice your katas and finish that assignment for Galactic History.”

Normally, Quinlan would complain about being forced to do homework. This time, the relief and hope visible in his eyes was enough to override any complaints. He quickly nodded, throwing in a swift bow for good measure, and fled to his room, presumably to tackle the history assignment first. Seeing his reaction, Tholme felt guilty for not taking his padawan’s concerns more seriously before. He released the emotion into the Force. He had a meeting to attend and, possibly, a padawan to save.

Chapter Text

Jaster watched with satisfaction as his two boys sparred. It had been almost a month that Obi-Wan had been with them and he was doing exceedingly well. The meal plan Baar’ur Latt had devised had worked wonders. Obi-Wan still wasn’t quite up to healthy weight, but he was leagues better than he had been upon his arrival and was steadily putting on muscle. He’d been cleared for full physical activity as of three days ago and Obi-Wan had been using every minute of his newfound freedom to train. 

Jango had also been relieved when Obi-Wan had been given license to spar. Shortly after Obi-Wan’s arrival, the two of them had been caught countermanding Baar’ur Latt’s orders, and thus Jango had found himself on the receiving end of a medic’s protective ire. It was not a pleasant position to be in, Jaster knew, and he had not envied his son. Jaster himself had received quite the tongue-lashing, which he supposed he deserved for not stressing more clearly that Obi-Wan was not in any shape for full contact sparring two days after leaving a desperate guerilla war.

In his defense, he thought that would have been common sense. Obi-Wan was malnourished, exhausted, and still covered in injuries of varying states of healing. He’d had no major wounds, thankfully – at least, no recent ones. His collarbone and a couple of his ribs had shown signs of previous, barely treated breaks, though those were long healed. He had a burn on his side from being grazed by a blaster bolt and a jagged wound on his calf from stray shrapnel, but they were also minor injuries. The lack of broken bones or obvious bleeding, however, seemed to be a sign to the two boys that Obi-Wan was in perfect fighting shape. Di’kute, Jaster bemoaned privately. If Jango was to lead a squad (or, perhaps, Mando’ade as a whole one day), then he needed to have a better head for what his commandos were capable of.

He’d told his ad such, and Jango had nearly overcorrected in his attempt to prove that he would not make such a mistake again. Obi-Wan had tolerated this for approximately forty-eight hours before he’d snapped at Jango for trying to help Obi-Wan up the stairs. Jaster had walked in on them arguing in the hallway, which was a far more amusing sight than he’d expected. Obi-Wan was cool and collected, never raising his voice even as Jango became progressively louder as he tried to explain that he was just trying to help. Jaster hadn’t intervened, though he’d listened discretely as Obi-Wan systematically dismantled Jango’s argument and convinced him to let Obi-Wan continue unheeded and unhelped.

Unfortunately for his youngest ad , not all of Jaster’s verde could be so maneuvered. After the ‘incident,’ Obi-Wan had been placed on restriction, which was rigorously enforced by everyone in the stronghold. If anyone so much as saw Obi-Wan lift something that weighed more than a few pounds, they would rush over immediately to take it from him and scold him. This grated on the headstrong ad , naturally, especially since he seemed to have no concept of self-care whatsoever. Jaster had learned through trial and error that Obi-Wan would not sleep, eat, or take breaks if he was not reminded and even then he often argued that he was ‘perfectly fine’ and ‘didn’t need as much sleep as other people since he had the Force.’ Jaster had found that keeping Obi-Wan busy and constantly around people who would enforce self-care behavior was the best way to handle this. Aside from his daily meetings with his mir’baar’ur, Obi-Wan’s days were filled from morning ‘til dusk and he was constantly accompanied by himself, Jango, or another verd . Obi-Wan, despite his continued annoyance at the ‘babying’, was doing exceedingly well. He was moving along quickly with the training modules on Mando’a and Mandalorian history he’d been given and often came to him with questions, which pleased Jaster greatly. Meetings with the goran to have his armor fitted also supplemented his education. More than once the short meeting which had been scheduled turned into a several hour affair during which Obi-Wan wheedled story after story out of the soft hearted blacksmith. It had been greatly amusing to walk into the forge to fetch his ad only to find Kheri seated on the floor, buy’ce off, telling a story about the dramatic death of Mandalore the Indomitable at the Battle of Onderon. 

Even with all of that, Obi-Wan still found time for target practice with Jango, cooking lessons with Silas, slicing lessons with Myles, and somehow planning a prank on Dakii with Zomar. Jaster was also not unaware of some project that Obi-Wan had begun on his own which took up a large portion of his time and required regular library access, which Jaster was more than willing to provide. Jaster’s own schedule was just as hectic, so he was confined to an hour or two a day with his ade , plus late meal which was always eaten together. He had to rely on others to make sure Obi-Wan was taken care of, which was frustrating. Fortunately, he trusted his verde and he saw evidence every day of Obi-Wan’s improvement.

Evidence such as how well Obi-Wan was faring against Jango. Jaster winced as he heard the dull sound of Jango’s body hitting the ground. Obi-Wan hadn’t even put in that much effort – he’d simply watched, waited, and stepped to the side when Jango attacked, using his opponent’s momentum to flip him to the ground. Jaster couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at Obi-Wan’s skill. He still didn’t fight quite in the typical style of Mando’ade , but Jaster couldn’t deny that his methods were effective. He could be aggressive and brutal if he needed to, but Obi-Wan’s style was geared towards endurance and defense. If he really put his mind to it, he could outlast his opponents easily without ever letting a hit land. Of course, in doing so he never landed a hit himself, but it was truly impressive to watch nonetheless.

Obi-Wan had taken to wearing beskar’gam like a natural and accommodated it into his fighting style with minimal frustration. The pieces he wore were heavier than his actual beskar’gam would be, partially since it was made out of durasteel and partially to help build the muscle he would need to wear armor full time. The weight combined with the gentle exercises that Baar’ur Latt had prescribed had done wonders to build the skinny, undergrown boy into a lean teenager with a mean right hook.

Now that he had armor, Obi-Wan needed a weapon. He was a decent shot with a blaster and had done well in training with them, but it was clear that he did not like them. Jaster knew that it was likely trauma that caused him to have such a negative opinion of blasters, but that was something for his mir’baar’ur to work on with him. He wished he knew how to get Obi-Wan’s true weapon back. He didn’t know much about kad’au’se , unfortunately, and he had even less faith in his ability to get Obi-Wan’s own saber back from that shabuir Jinn without inciting a galactic incident. He could ask Obi-Wan directly for ideas, but he wanted to run the idea by his mind healer first, just to make sure. Until then, hand to hand training was more than enough to keep the ad occupied.

Jaster’s comm pinged and he sighed before taking his eyes away from the spar to look at the incoming message. It was Myles, informing him yet again that the jettii’se were attempting to get in contact. He restrained another sigh and sent back that he would accept their call this time. They’d tried contacting Melidaan directly just three days ago, which had enraged Nield – now Chief Minister Nield – who’d called Obi-Wan immediately to complain about the Jedi’s audacity.

Obi-Wan had been serene in his response to his friend, yet Jaster could tell he was off-put by the Jedi’s action. He clearly hadn’t been expecting the Jedi to reach out to Melidaan of their own volition, which was not a surprise given all that Obi-Wan and Nield had told him about the situation.

With one final glance at his ade , who were locked in a fierce grapple in the dirt, he turned away and walked back to his office to call the jettii’se . He’d been mentally working through what he would say to the Jedi if given a chance for weeks now. Did they know the extent of Obi-Wan’s situation? If they did, that was worse than negligence, it was outright harm committed against a child and thus unforgivable. If they did not, then the entire Order needed to have a close look at their policies and procedures to make sure that this never happened to another child in their care.

He walked in to find both Myles and Zomar arguing. Zomar’s expression was grim, which was unusual for him, and his teeth were bared in a blatant sign of aggression. Myles’ expression was similarly serious, though less antagonistic. 

“Me'bana?”

Both verde looked over at him before looking back at each other. Zomar scowled and gestured angrily for Myles to be the one to explain.

Myles cleared his throat. “Apparently,” he said, “the Jedi would like to send a ‘representative’ to speak with us regarding what happened on Melidaan. They would also like to know the status of ‘former padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi’, if that is information we possess.”

Jaster grimaced. No wonder Zomar was so upset. He’d grown rather fond of Obi-Wan these past few weeks, as they all had, and was as protective of him as a mother striil . There had never been a lot of love amongst the Mando’ade for the jettii’se , but absolutely no one wanted them around Obi-Wan after what they’d done to the boy. Technically, of course, Obi-Wan was an adult who could make that decision for himself, but the fact that he’d chosen to come with them instead of returning to his people spoke volumes, despite his continued defense of them to anyone who spoke badly of the Jedi. Besides, the desire to protect the ade of one’s family never truly went away, no matter how old they got. Jaster still got nervous whenever Jango went on a solo hunt and Jango was many years past his verd’goten.

“Alright,” he sighed, “I see the issue. Though I do believe it would be worse in the long run to avoid speaking with them.”

Zomar hissed, but Myles cut him off with a meaningful look. “Not to mention that Ob’ika foresaw this. They have the Ka’ra,” he reminded them, “and they told us that it would be necessary to become temporary allies with the Jedi. Perhaps even formal allies in the future. We cannot ignore a Seer.”

Jaster shivered a little, remembering this fact. The first night that they’d brought Obi-Wan home had been unfortunately filled with the grueling task of sifting through a nasty backlog of job requests and administrative duties inherent with leadership. Kyr’tsad had been relatively quiet, which was a blessing, but many other things had required his attention. One request in particular appeared urgent and had arrived on their third day on Melidaan. The governor of Galidraan had sounded desperate in his plea for them to help put down a violent insurrection.

When Jaster had informed his sons of this new job, however, Obi-Wan had paled so fast that Jaster had feared he would pass out.

“So soon,” he’d whispered, his eyes haunted. “I thought there was more time.”

“What are you talking about?” Jaster had asked, gently, yet the hairs on the back of his neck had risen at the words.

“You can’t go to Galidraan,” the ad had begged, the faraway look in his eyes replaced by a fierce sort of desperation. “Please. You will be betrayed. It’s a trap. Death Watch is there, they pressured the governor to hire both you and the Jedi. He’s trying to pit you against each other and all of you will die.”

“All of us?” Jango had asked hoarsely. His eyes had been wide, yet not disbelieving. Obi-Wan’s words had the weight of truth to them that was impossible to ignore.

Obi-Wan had only nodded, looking miserable and a little hopeless.

“We won’t go,” Jaster had assured him. He was shocked by the wave of relief that passed over Obi-Wan, his shoulders slumping and the fear fading from his eyes as he swayed in place. “We won’t go. I promise, ner ad’ika. It’s alright.”

Jaster had investigated Obi-Wan’s claims and his prudii’verde quickly confirmed that Kyr’tsad was indeed on Galidraan and that the governor was being paid by an unknown source. It had been sobering to know how close they had come to falling into such a deadly trap. Obi-Wan had saved them through his connection with the Ka’ra , which Jaster had known would be important. He just hadn’t known that it would be so vital so soon.

Obi-Wan’s ability had obviously been a point that Myles had brought up before because Zomar huffed and shook his head irritably. “Yes,” he said impatiently, “but that does not mean they must be informed of Obi-Wan’s location or condition. They did not care before, why do they care now? No. I say we speak with them civilly, tell them about the situation on Melidaan and our part in it, and leave Obi-Wan out of it. If they must come here, then Obi-Wan leaves. It is time for them to go on their first hunt anyway, yes? Let them go with Jango. Do not let the Jedi get their claws in them.”

Jaster nodded. It was a fair compromise. Though, with one exception. “I agree that if the Jedi are to come here, Obi-Wan should leave. You are right that it is time for them to go on their first hunt. They are more than ready. However, I do want to address their situation with the Jedi. Not,” he added quickly, one hand raised to forestall Zomar’s objection, “for the sake of the Jedi, but for the sake of other Jedi children. Are any others in danger as Obi-Wan was? They must be made aware of the severity of the situation if they are to change.”

“And if they know already? ” Zomar challenged.

“Then they are not worthy protectors of those children,” he said gravely. He knew what that would mean, though it might just destroy the Haat Mando’ade if so. If the jetti’se were dar’cabure , then the Haat Mando’ade would have no choice but to launch an attack to rescue the children in their care. It would be brutal and ill-advised, but they would not in good conscience be able to do otherwise.

Jaster pulled his helmet on and situated himself in front of the holo. Zomar and Myles both stood behind it, out of frame. He nodded to Myles, who initiated the call with a push of a button, having been waiting for the signal. The comm connected almost immediately and Jaster straightened his spine before addressing the small, hunched figure on the other end.

“Su cuy’gar,” he greeted formally. “I am Mand’alor Jaster Mereel.”

“Su cuy’gar,” the Jedi replied politely. “Master Yoda of the Jedi Order, I am. Good to speak with you finally, it is.”

“Likewise, Ba’ji Yoda.” He would not use the word ‘Master’, no matter what the jettii’se claimed the word meant among themselves, but he would acquiesce enough to use the equivalent that Tarre Vizsla had used in his time. “We have much to discuss, I believe.”

“Yes,” Ba’ji Yoda agreed gravely. “To our attention recently, many things have come. Among them, your actions on Melida/Daan, hmm? Questions, we have about that. About former padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi we wish to know also. Knowledge of him, you have?”

“I do,” Jaster agreed vaguely. “I have been informed that the jettii’se would like to send a representative to speak with me personally, is this correct?”

Yoda hummed again. “Yes. Better relations, we would like to have, between our peoples, yes? Good, it would be, to speak face to face. Avoid any…misunderstandings,  hmm?”

“You have someone in mind already, I assume?”

Yoda nodded, his large ears flopping with the motion. “Indeed. Master Tholme and his young padawan Vos, close by, they are. Fortunate, this is, yes?”

Jaster grimaced under his bucket. Fortunate, his shebs. Planned, more like. Still, a master/padawan pair was the best case scenario he could have envisioned. No Mando’ad would begrudge an ad and their buir staying in Keldabe, even if they were jettii’se . It would also give him a chance to observe the interaction between another jettii’ad and their cabur to see for himself if all pairings were as ill-fated as Obi-Wan’s with his former Ba’ji.

“Ba’ji Tholme and his jetti’ad are welcome on Mandalore,” he told them. “If you give me their comm, I can coordinate with them directly.”

“Of course. Sent to you, the details will be. Look forward to continued communication with the Mando’ade, I do. Ret'urcye mhi, Mand’alor.”

Jaster bowed his head slightly in return. “Ret'urcye mhi, Ba’ji Yoda.”

The call disconnected and Jaster gave into the impulse to sigh again as he removed his buy’ce. Overall, it went better than expected, but that wasn’t saying much.

“They suspect that we forcefully took over Melidaan and they are sniffing around to find out why,” Zomar said, nearly spitting with rage. “They do not give a shit about Obi-Wan. They are just concerned that we took something that used to belong to them.”

“I know,” Jaster sighed. “I know what they think about Melidaan. But maybe the fact that they are actually asking questions instead of assuming is a good sign. I think the presence of Tholme and their child could be a good thing. It is my hope that what happened with Obi-Wan was an exception rather than the rule. We can observe the Jedi, maybe even get a chance to talk to the child alone and make sure they are doing well. I will tell Tholme that they are allowed to come in one month. Tonight, I will tell Obi-Wan to prepare for their first hunt.”

Zomar blew out a breath, but nodded. “ I hope you are right, Mand’alor, because I am not so confident. ”

Jaster hoped so too. He locked eyes with Myles, who nodded in typical stalwart fashion. The preparations for the arrival of the jettii’se would take time. Relations with the Evaar’ade had been going well, but they needed to be solidified as much as possible before the upheaval of having Jedi guests at the stronghold. Myles would also look into Ba’ji Tholme specifically, looking into their past missions and specialties. Finding information on jettii’se was not easy, but Myles had put together a team of slicers last month as part of the anti-Kyr’tsad initiative that were more than up to the task.

The main reason he planned on making Tholme and their ad wait a month before their arrival was Obi-Wan. He’d only just been cleared for physical activity. He had taken to his learning modules like a fish to water, meaning that his Mando’a was more than proficient after only a few weeks and his knowledge of Mandalorian history and politics rivaled his own, but book knowledge was not enough to aid a verd on a hunt. Obi-Wan needed more time to heal and grow, more sessions with his mir’baar’ur, and more time in the training yard with Jango and other verde. Obi-Wan, of course, would argue that he was more than ready now, if he knew of Jaster’s thoughts, but Jaster didn’t plan on giving him the opportunity to make that argument. He knew that Obi-Wan had been speeding his recovery along with his meditations and help from the Ka’ra, but that didn’t mean that the verd’ika was anywhere close to fighting weight. No, four weeks was the soonest Jaster would consider sending him on a hunt.

Jaster went back out to the training yard to find that Obi-Wan was sitting grumpily on a bench, sipping water while Jango sparred with Njais. From his expression, Jaster assumed that it was not Ob’ika’s choice to be resting. The covert glances he received from Dakii, who was stretching nearby, proved that he’d been forced to take a break. Dakii looked up at his arrival and he nodded to her in gratitude. She nodded back and resumed stretching her quads.

“Ade! ” he called. “Kolar! ”

Chapter Text

“Ob’ika is a little shit,” Jango answered immediately and Obi-Wan had to fight the urge to laugh. Jango jostled his shoulder and Obi-Wan rocked with the motion, rolling his eyes.

Jaster was clearly fighting off a smile. “Come on, Jango. More than that, please.”

Jango huffed, but obliged. He broke down their spar, citing both of their weaknesses as well as their strengths, and gave suggestions for how they could both improve. It was standard for Mandalorians to debrief this way after training, especially younglings. Strictly speaking, Jango was a bit old to be reporting to his buir for this; verde in training typically gave their reports to their direct superior, but since Jaster was also the Mand’alor and the one primarily responsible for Jango’s training, his circumstances were different.

Obi-Wan had only had to give one of these reports so far. Given that he hadn’t been allowed to spar until three days ago, his opportunity to practice was limited to blaster training and, within the past two weeks, his katas. Jaster had frowned at him and told him that he was too harsh on himself, but Obi-Wan didn’t quite understand why. The entire purpose of the exercise was to highlight flaws and formulate a plan to ameliorate them. Jango had just done the same thing. He’d pointed out how Obi-Wan favored his right side and typically stayed on the defensive even when he had opening for an offensive attack. He hadn’t shied away from pointing out everything Obi-Wan had done wrong. Then again, he’d also praised Obi-Wan’s endurance and observation skills, as well as a few other things he’d gotten right. Balance was probably what Obi-Wan was missing.

Mir’baar’ur Linnej had gently broached the topic of Obi-Wan’s tendency to self-criticize. By gently, he meant that she’d bluntly asked him whether he truly thought he was as incapable as he claimed and if he would ever speak to another the way he spoke to himself. That had been a particularly rough session. The truth was that Obi-Wan had made innumerable mistakes in his life. Starting from childhood. There were so many things he could have done differently, so many small moments that would have made a world of difference. Instead he’d been arrogant and headstrong, and had made poor decision after poor decision.

Linnej asked him about some of those mistakes and bad decisions. He’d limited himself to those within his childhood, but even then the list seemed endless. He’d always been weak with shielding and thus had continuously awoken his crechemates with his visions until he’d been separated at the age of six. He’d allowed Bruck Chun to rile him up and had often responded to the boy’s bullying with tears, yelling, or sometimes violence, which had earned him a reputation as an overly emotional child who had issues holding his temper. He’d been too desperate for acceptance, too prone to attachment, and had ruined any chance he had of being willingly chosen by a master for training. 

He’d explained all of that even as the Force wailed discordant notes in his ears about the untruth in his words. He’d learned in death of Yoda’s manipulations in his desire to help his former padawan. It shed glaring light on the rejections of various masters throughout the Temple, making sense of their regret and chagrin which had seemed like pity and disgust at the time. He knew logically that he had not been any more emotional than other children his age, though he was perhaps slightly more prone to attachment. He knew these things, yet it was difficult to reconcile the truths he now knew with the facts he’d known his whole life. 

Those truths also did not take away from the mistakes he’d made on Melidaan. He’d been accepted as a leader almost immediately, despite being an outsider. The others had looked to him for guidance as a result of his experience as a Jedi padawan and his connection with the Force, yet they did not seem to understand that those things did not translate well to leading a guerilla army of half-starved children. He’d made battlefield decisions that had gotten his soldiers killed. He’d moved too slowly on more than one occasion and his inaction had resulted in serious injuries that could have been avoided. He spent most of his time during that war second-guessing himself and agonizing over every plan, every tactic, every potential outcome. He could still recount the names of every child that had died while he was on Melidaan. He’d said their names during his Remembrances all the way until the day of his death, and he said them still. There were fewer names now, thanks to the Haat Mando’ade, but still far too many.

Linnej encouraged him to meditate on their discussions. He hadn’t had a chance to do so since they’d talked about his childhood shortcomings, but he resolved that he would carve out time to do so today. He would seek balance, as Jango had demonstrated.

“Very good, Jan’ika,” Jaster praised. Jaster was not liberal with his praise, but nor was he frugal with it. If they earned it, he was quick to tell them how proud he was of them. He was far easier to satisfy than Master Jinn had ever been.

Jango suppressed a smile, yet he still glowed with pleasure at the approval. 

“Now,” Jaster continued, “Jan’ika, you have bajur duty. Go get cleaned up and don’t be late. Ob’ika, there’s still a few hours until late meal. Use them wisely.”

The way he raised his eyebrow indicated that by ‘wisely’ he meant that Obi-Wan was not to continue working out in the training yard. It didn’t matter that Obi-Wan had been cleared for full physical activity; Jaster still wanted him to rest as much as possible and not ‘overdo it.’ It was irksome to be treated as something so fragile, yet also a little touching that Jaster cared so much. The last time someone had tried so hard to impose self-care on him had been when Cody –

He cut that thought off quickly. He’d been deliberately avoiding thinking about the clones any more than necessary. It hurt too much to remember them now. He’d decided that it was unlikely they would ever exist in this new timeline and it would be unwise to try to manipulate events to assure their creation. Jaster was alive, Jango was happy and healthy, and there appeared to be no imminent threat to the existence of the Haat Mando’ade other than Kyr’tsad , who were actively being hunted by the True Mandalorians. Of course, the Sith could always find a new template for their cloning project. He would have to keep an eye on Kamino. He made a mental note to himself to add that to his to-do list.

The list had grown rather out of control. There were so many things he needed to accomplish, so many people and planets to watch out for, so many dominoes to keep from falling. He struggled to not allow it to overwhelm him every single moment of the day.

Jango sketched a half-assed, facetious salute toward his buir before turning on his heel and trotting toward the house. Jaster shook his head fondly and ruffled Obi-Wan’s hair before heading in the opposite direction. He was aimed toward the front gates, likely because he had some business in Keldabe proper. Obi-Wan quickly followed after Jango in the interest of showering before he headed to his favorite garden to meditate.

Keldabe had a wonderful system of gardens which were open to the public and maintained by the whole community. Since the inhabitants of the city weren’t farmers, but rather primarily beroya’se or verde by trade, most weren’t able to tend gardens full time. Of course, there was also a large portion of the population of Keldabe who had jobs within the city – there were always artists, writers, medical professionals, chefs, and any number of other more stationary professions – but they too were busy with other things. Thus, the gardens were cared for by anyone, whenever someone had a spare moment, and free for anyone to harvest from.

Obi-Wan adored the gardens and the entire concept behind them. It reminded him of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, which was maintained in much the same way or the Temple agroponics which were similarly available for anyone to take from. Plus, they were peaceful. The gardens were quieter than the bustling streets that surrounded them, usually surrounded by high walls and insulated by trees and shrubs. They were the perfect place to meditate.

Obi-Wan headed straight for his favorite garden. It wasn’t quite as popular as the one which grew a variety of spices and herbs, nor the one which grew varo trees and flowers, yet it held a beauty that never failed to take Obi-Wan’s breath away. It was located only a few blocks away from the stronghold and was enclosed within high stone walls over which ivy crawled thick and deep green. An archway served as the entrance, which was similarly enveloped in thick greenery. Once he walked inside, the sounds of people, striile , jetpacks, and speeders faded to almost nothing. He walked down the pathway, his hands outstretched so that his fingertips brushed the vegetation on either side.

He made his way to a small alcove that he had gotten the chance to visit a couple of times during the last month. It was set in the corner, cozily tucked away against the wall with a tall tree dripping with vines providing a sense of seclusion. The tree smelled earthy and floral, but also a little sweet. Under its branches was a little stone bench, carved from native stone in a simple semi-circle. He sat down on it, his feet tucked up onto his knees in a cross-legged position, and took a deep breath.

He was thankful for this opportunity to meditate. Mir’baar’ur Linnej had come to understand how important it was to him and had insisted that he communicate his needs to Jaster so that more time could be made for it in his schedule. Obi-Wan had decided not to bother Jaster with it, especially since the man didn’t actually have anything to do with Obi-Wan’s schedule. He assigned learning modules, witnessed some of his training sessions, and always made sure to carve out time to answer the million questions that Obi-Wan had about Mandalore, but he mostly trusted Obi-Wan to govern his own time. Obi-Wan didn’t quite know how to classify how he was being treated. He wasn’t given all the trust and responsibility of an adult, but he also wasn’t so heavily monitored and sheltered like a child. It was a bit like being a Jedi knight, yet with a greater amount of guidance and care than Obi-Wan remembered from his own knighthood.

He sighed, closing his eyes. He focused on his breathing, the way it entered his nose, earthy and vibrant, how it traveled down into his lungs before pushing back out. He repeated this over and over, sinking deeper into the Force with each breath. 

The Force sang. It sounded pleased, a soothing harmony of joy and satisfaction. He smiled. It wrapped around him with light, warmth, and safety. He missed being one with the Force, sometimes. His errant wish sent a discordant note through the Force’s song as it admonished him for the thought. He sent back a sheepish apology.

Hello , he said, I have missed you.

The Force trilled.

I know you are always with me, but it is not quite the same. The Force hummed. Speaking of change, you still have not answered me about the differences in this timeline. Are there others…like me? Others who know what could have been?

The Force did not answer in words, though it crooned a reassurance that reminded him of the creche. Of course the Force would not tell him. He struggled for a moment, irritation and fear warring with his trust in the Force before he let go of his frustration, letting the Force take it. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Am I…unbalanced in my opinion of myself? He asked tentatively, changing the subject. The sound the Force made in response was of amused exasperation, as though the answer should have been obvious. Obi-Wan grimaced. We are taught to be self-critical, to think about our actions and motivations…

He trailed off as the Force seemed to sigh. Memories rushed past, distant in a way that they hadn’t been after his death. They were like vibrant holovids, a scene to be witnessed from the outside. Several memories were of masters he did not know or did not know well, but they highlighted errors in judgment that proved that Jedi were not immune to mistakes. The memories shifted to more recent history, focusing on masters he did know. He watched as Master Yoda discovered him in the creche and the contemplative, calculating look in his eyes as he observed young Obi-Wan play push-pull with young Bant. He saw the moment that Yoda made his decision, after a difficult conversation with his grandpadawan made him worried for Master Jinn’s wellbeing and dedication to the Light. He watched as Master Jinn reported to the Council that Obi-Wan Kenobi had left the Order of his own volition, saw the confusion and doubt in the eyes of several Council members. No one spoke up, no one contradicted him, no one acted on their unease in any way.

Obi-Wan felt tears fall down his cheeks.

Yes, I know, he said, Jedi are not perfect. We’re still just beings like anyone else. But should we not strive to do better? Just because one Jedi, or several Jedi, lose perspective, that doesn’t mean we all should.

The Force hummed, then showed him another memory. It took him a moment to figure out who it belonged to, but it was Nield’s. He was watching as Obi-Wan led a group of Young on a recon mission, his face streaked with dirt, his eyes alert for any sign of danger. When the Daan came, the Young were underprepared. This was strictly a mission to find out where the Daan had moved their supplies; they had no reason to expect a confrontation. The Young were armed, of course, but their second-rate blasters and small size meant that they never openly battled the Elders. They relied on stealth, surprise, and strategy. It was an ambush, somehow, and Obi-Wan had picked up on their arrival about a minute sooner than the Daan had wanted them to. That minute gave them the slim, knife’s edge advantage that meant that they were able to escape. Most of them, anyway. Little Khatta was unlucky enough to be hit just before the group rounded a corner and spread into the shadows to escape. She was killed instantly.

Obi-Wan wanted to look away. This memory was one of many terrible, shameful moments that he avoided thinking about. Khatta had been seven years old. He hadn’t been able to save her. He’d walked them straight into a trap and a young girl had died because of it.

How is he? Cerasi asked quietly in the memory. Her face was pinched with worry.

He heard Nield sigh. Not great. He’s upset because of Khatta.

Cerasi nodded. We all are. But it could have been so much worse.

We would have all been slaughtered if it weren’t for Obi-Wan, Nield agreed bluntly. His magic shit saved us. Again.

Cerasi’s mouth twitched into a smile. Maybe you should stop calling it ‘magic shit’ then, huh?

Nield harrumphed, but Obi-Wan could hear the smile in it.

He hadn’t thought of it that way. What Nield said had been obvious at the time. There were too many Daan soldiers with too many guns for the handful of Young to have ever made it out of that ambush alive. It was only Obi-Wan’s reliance on the Force and that one minute window which had saved them – almost all of them. Six Young were saved by that one minute.

He breathed out shakily and felt the stream of tears increase. Alright, he said, I understand . The Force hummed in satisfaction.

Obi-Wan spent a little longer sitting there, basking in the Force. He didn’t ask any more questions and it didn’t offer any answers. Thoughts and emotions floated by, but he did no more than acknowledge them and let them pass. Eventually, he roused himself, opening his eyes and blinking in the fading afternoon light. He stood and stretched.

It was nearly time for late meal. Obi-Wan made his way leisurely home, feeling more relaxed than he had been in a few days. He really ought to schedule more time for meditation in his day, like Linnej said. He strolled along the wide streets and nodded back to those who offered him a greeting. He liked it here, more than he thought he would. He was comfortable in Keldabe. He felt like he was learning so much, in multiple areas. He was, of course, receiving an education in weapons and fighting, but there was so much more that being on Mandalore had to offer. The catalog he’d been given that showed all the classes offered in Keldabe was massive. Every spoken language in the galaxy, it seemed, were offered here, as well as courses on history, tactics, engineering, piloting, medicine, psychology…the list went on and on. Jaster had to stop him from taking on too much all at once the second he was allowed to take classes.

He felt good too, better than he had in a long time. He felt strong, healthy, and not quite so permanently exhausted. The anxiety was still there, of course. He had a galaxy to save, after all, and he still woke up some nights in a cold sweat thinking about the consequences of failure. It was easier now to relax, however, and he found himself spending multiple hours a day just…enjoying life. It was a novelty, but one he was immensely grateful for.

“ Su’cuy , vod’ika !” Jango greeted, grinning. Obi-Wan returned the hello with a smile and politely didn’t comment on the bit of glitter that he could still see in Jango’s hair. Clearly, it was arts and crafts day at the daycare center.

Dinner went exactly the same as it had for the past month, which meant that Myles and Jaster told stories (mostly at Jango’s expense), Zomar told jokes, Dakii pretended to be uninterested in any of the goings on, and Obi-Wan mainly listened with minimal engagement. It was nice hearing them all talk and laugh with each other like this. Obi-Wan wanted to participate sometimes, but any story that came to mind that related to one of theirs took place in the-future-that-was or was far more depressing than a casual late meal conversation warranted. Mostly both.

As the meal drew to a close, Jaster cleared his throat. Zomar and Dakii stopped sniping at each other mid-sentence, their attention turning to the Mand’alor.

“Ob’ika,” he said, “ I am very proud of your progress so far. You have been healing far quicker than the medics predicted and you have been doing well with your classes. ” He smiled. “ It is nice to have another academic in the family. ”

“ Nerd ,” Jango corrected under his breath. Jaster just shook his head, his smile growing a bit fonder before he continued.

“ Now that you’ve been cleared for full physical activity, I believe it is time for you to go on your first hunt. Not alone, of course, ” he cautioned, “but in a month, I think you will be ready to choose your first mission and go with a small group. ”

Obi-Wan perked up, excited. This would be the perfect opportunity to start working on some of those other bullet points on his list. He knew just where he wanted to start.

Jaster saw his expression and he pointed a stern finger at Obi-Wan. “ Nothing too crazy, ” he said firmly. “ A small hunt. Minimal danger.”

Obi-Wan quickly accepted the terms even as he started thinking about how far away Dathomir was. He would start by rescuing Maul from Mustafar, but he’d decided on collecting Feral and Savage first. They were Maul’s brothers and would be able to help Maul settle and adapt after spending years under the control and tutelage of Darth Sidious. It made sense to have them already safe before embarking on the much more difficult and dangerous task of freeing a Sith apprentice. 

Going to Dathomir would also help with the last category of tasks that he’d come up with, which was to establish allies. In some cases, it would be more like reestablishing those connections, such as with Dex or Bail Organa, but he also had a list in mind of people who would be uniquely suited to help him in the future. Mother Talzin was powerful and would be a great asset to have on his side if he could convince her of the importance of going against the Sith. 

Jaster likely wouldn’t be too pleased about the location of the mission, but he would be far less pleased if Obi-Wan suggested Mustafar as his first hunt. He had a month to figure out just how to propose his idea without immediately being shut down.

Jaster’s sigh brought Obi-Wan out of his thoughts. “ I can see you thinking, ” he said tiredly, “ and I have a feeling that I will not like whatever you are planning. ”

Obi-Wan gave him an innocent smile and a shrug. “ I have no idea what you mean, buir .”

The others laughed at the exasperation on Jaster’s face. Jango shot him a look that was part conspiratorial, part warning. Obi-Wan nodded back. The pieces were falling into place. In his mind, he heard the Force hum and tried not to feel trepidation at the fact that he couldn’t tell if the tune was cheerful or cautionary.

Chapter Text

Quinlan tapped his fingers impatiently against his knee. A month! The Mandalorians had made them wait a whole month before they were allowed to visit Mandalore and hopefully find out where Obi-Wan was. They hadn’t been able to go to Melidaan at all. They’d been turned away immediately and rather forcefully. The new local government was apparently very anti-Jedi, which was not a very promising sign. Master Tholme said that it was a good thing that the Mand’alor agreed to let them come at all, but Quinlan was impatient and not inclined to show gratitude for something he felt shouldn’t have been a privilege. Obi-Wan was his creche mate and best friend. He deserved to see him and make sure he was alright.

The creche bond that Quinlan had with Obi-Wan had faded during his time on Bandomeer. Quinlan had been too far away, busy with his padawan training and trying to get a handle on his psychometry, and he hadn’t noticed just how thin and frayed the bond had become until he returned to the Temple. He should have been able to feel Obi-Wan the second he stepped foot within its walls, yet he’d felt nothing except the vaguest sense of distress. Quinlan had panicked. He’d sprinted away from Master Tholme’s side and headed straight for where he could sense Obi-Wan’s Force signature. 

Obi-Wan had been a mess. Too thin, too pale, he’d jumped like a startled tooka when Quinlan slammed open the door. He’d tried to offer him a shaky smile, but all Quinlan could see were the red, angry wounds around his friend’s throat and the faint tremors in his small hands. 

Their bond had never fully regained its former strength after that. Quinlan had wanted to, but he was simply too busy and was away from the Temple too often for that to happen. Obi-Wan wasn’t often in the Temple any more either. His missions with Jinn kept him away for weeks at a time. Then, not even a year into his padawanship, Jinn returned to the Temple alone, saying that Obi-Wan had decided to leave the Order of his own volition.

Quinlan had never heard such banthashit in his life. Obi-Wan leave the Order? Obi-Wan, the boy who lived and breathed the Jedi code? Who yearned to be a Knight so badly that he was willing to kill himself for it? Obi-Wan believed in everything that Jedi were supposed to be and he wanted nothing more than to be a compassionate source of light for the entire galaxy. He would never leave the Order by choice, especially not for some girl like the rumors said. It was pure banthashit. The fact that the Council had believed Jinn just made everything worse.

“Breathe, padawan,” Master Tholme reminded him. He took a deep breath as demonstration. “In for four. Hold for five. Good. Now breathe out slowly. Five, six, seven. Good.”

Quinlan followed him through the breathing exercise for several breaths. He hadn’t realized how agitated he had become. He wanted to get down to the planet already and see Obi-Wan. He wasn’t sure why he was so certain that Obi-Wan was here, but he knew that he wanted to leap down to the surface right now and hug the life out of him. 

Finally, finally , they received the all-clear to land. Quinlan felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin. As they neared the surface, though, he had the terrible feeling that Obi-Wan was getting farther away somehow. No! The whole point of this was to find Obi-Wan and tackle-hug him and make him promise to never leave Quinlan ever again. Were they removing him from the planet just because he and Master Tholme were arriving? Why? He knew that the Mandalorians likely didn’t trust two strange Jedi, but Obi-Wan was a Jedi too! Or he was. Is. Quinlan resisted the urge to groan in frustration.

The ramp lowered slowly and only Master Tholme’s hand on his shoulder kept Quinlan from darting forward. He bounced on his toes until Master Tholme began to descend the ramp, his hand still on Quinlan’s shoulder. A small group of Mandalorians were standing a few feet away from the ship. It was impossible to tell their mood under their helmets and their Force presences felt muffled and blurry, like trying to see through frosted glass. They seemed tense, though, as far as Quinlan could tell. Obi-Wan wasn’t there.

The Mandalorian in the center was very obviously the Mand’alor. Even if his position in the group, combined with the flowing red cape and metallic gray armor with red accents, didn’t give it away, his entire demeanor announced that he was in charge. He stepped forward first to greet them with one fist over his heart and a short, shallow nod. Quinlan had done some research in the past month, wanting to know everything he could about Mandalorian culture, so he knew that they didn’t bow and that the nod was actually a pretty significant sign of respect. He had debated with Master Tholme about whether or not they should bow, given that it didn’t mean the same thing on Mandalore, but they’d eventually decided that, at least for the initial greeting, they would. It was understood that their two cultures were different and it was common knowledge throughout the galaxy that Jedi bow to show respect. The deeper the bow, the deeper the respect. Therefore, once they reached the end of the ramp, both he and Master Tholme bowed as low as possible. 

“We thank you, Mand’alor Mereel, for allowing us this opportunity to visit your planet and open dialogue between our peoples. It is an honor to be here.”

“ Olarum be Mandalore, jettii’se. This is a historic moment and we invite you to our home in peace. May we both learn from this experience.”

Quinlan personally thought that that last sentence was a little ominous, but he was too busy looking this way and that for any sign of bright red hair to really analyze why. Everywhere he looked, though, people were wearing armor and he couldn’t see anyone’s hair color, let alone Obi-Wan’s distinctive shade. If Obi-Wan had been living here, did that mean he wore armor too? That would explain why Quinlan couldn’t feel him nearby. He was pretty sure armor was sacred to Mandalorians though, like kyber crystals to Jedi, so Obi-Wan would have to officially be Mandalorian to have it. Could he be both Mandalorian and Jedi at the same time? Quinlan bit his lip, barely paying attention as the adults kept talking. He knew he should be listening and he knew that Master Tholme would be disappointed with his lack of attention, but he needed to know. He needed to see Obi-Wan with his own eyes and know that he was okay.

“Are you alright, jetti’ika ?” a soft voice asked, snapping Quinlan’s gaze back to the Mand’alor. He blushed and stammered out an apology, which was gently waved away.

“You seem distracted. Upset.”

Quinlan frowned. Of course he was distracted and upset. “Where’s Obi-Wan?” he blurted. The Mand’alor jolted minutely, clearly surprised by the question. “Is he okay? Is he here? I can’t feel him through our bond but I could have sworn I felt him earlier and now I can’t anymore and I don’t know if that’s because he’s wearing armor or –” 

A large hand landing carefully on his shoulder halted his rambling. He looked up and saw a warning in Master Tholme’s eyes, cautioning him to have greater restraint. Quinlan huffed and looked at the ground. They had a careful plan in place in which they would ask about Obi-Wan’s wellbeing after they got settled and the talks began. Quinlan had jumped the gun and could have jeopardized their primary mission.

“You are friends with Obi-Wan?” the Mand’alor asked. The familiar way he said Obi-Wan’s name made Quinlan think he knew him as more than just some stray Jedi child.

Quinlan nodded. “He’s my best friend. We grew up together.”

The Mand’alor nodded back, just as solemn. “I give you my word that your vod is safe.”

Quinlan knew what vod meant. He didn’t know a lot of Mando’a, but he’d studied the basics and the guide he’d found emphasized family terms along with basic phrases and armor pieces. Vod technically meant sibling, but the guide had explained that the literal translation didn’t give the full picture of what the word meant to Mandalorians. It meant ‘sibling,’ ‘friend,’ ‘squadmate,’ ‘brother in arms.’ It was someone incredibly close to you, most often chosen rather than blood family. He could easily see how that word would apply to Obi-Wan. His vod .

Quinlan narrowed his eyes. “I know your word means a lot here,” he said, “so I’ll trust you for now. But I want to see Obi-Wan myself.”

He felt a warning pulse from Master Tholme over their bond. It wasn’t wise to insult the Mand’alor within the first five minutes of their arrival, but Quinlan didn’t much care. He said he’d trust him for now, didn’t he? That was as much of a concession as he was willing to make. Plus, for some reason, he was pretty sure that the Mand’alor was smiling beneath his helmet.

“Understood, jetti’ika . Until then, let us get you settled as guests in my home.”

Yan Dooku took a sip of his tea and set the earthenware cup back on its saucer with long, elegant fingers. He didn’t purse his lips or sigh, though he deeply wished to, but rather took a measured breath and let it out slowly.

It had been a little less than a month since the infamous ‘proposal’ had arrived at the Temple and caused a tidal wave of upset, frantic inquiry, and vehement debate. No official action had been taken, other than a team assigned to locate the author of the document as soon as possible. So far, the only thing they had discovered was that the document originated from the Outer Rim.

“I agree with the suggestion to decentralize the Jedi,” Yan said calmly. “Particularly about moving the Order out of the direct influence of the Senate.” His thoughts on this matter were not unknown, of course. He’d brought up this exact point multiple times in the past and had been shut down every time. This proposal, however, gave him new ammunition for his appeal.

His former master sighed. His ears were drooping, his brow more wrinkled than usual with worry and stress.

“Yes,” Yoda said wearily. “I fear that correct, you may be. Blind to many things, I have been. Meditated on such matters, I have, and clarity I have not yet found. Murky, the Force seems. A trip outside Coruscant, I have planned. Good for me, it might be. Help me see beyond this obscurity, I hope it does.”

“You are going to Ledeve, to reopen the temple there,” Yan surmised. Yoda sent him a stern look for piercing the veil of mystery that he liked to shroud himself with, but Yan ignored it. It was an easy enough logical deduction, especially given his conversation with Jocasta earlier.

The stern archivist had been frazzled in a way that he’d never seen her, even when they were padawans. She had stacks of datapads around her, piles of research that she was conducting in response to the curious ‘proposal’ they had received. Her aides were just as frantic as they helped her compile data and comb through the archives for information. Already her research had revealed that the proposal was likely kinder and less alarmist than it could have been. She’d already sent out a list of abandoned Jedi temples, many of which Yan had never heard of, as well as supporting evidence for their unknown author’s recommendation for renewing Jedi presence in the galaxy.

Yoda hummed. “Yes, to Ledeve I will go. After that, perhaps more temples, rediscovered and populated, will be, yes?”

“That is the hope,” Yan agreed. His tea was nearly finished, so he drank the final sips and stood. He bowed politely to his former master. “I am glad that the urgency of our situation is finally coming to light. I wish you well on your journey, Master Yoda. Thank you for the tea.”

“My pleasure, it was, my padawan. Always happy to see you, I am.”

With a final bow, Yan took his leave. He’d checked with Master Tholme and confirmed what he had feared for a long time: the Senate’s power over the Jedi had grown exponentially in recent decades. It had been a slow change, glacial even, but it resulted in the kind of subservience that grated on Yan’s nerves and, yes, ego. The Senate controlled their finances, which meant that they controlled their ships, which meant that they controlled their missions. There had been fewer and fewer Searchers sent out as the Jedi had been stretched thin across the galaxy on missions with an increasing casualty rate. As the proposal had stated, most children brought to the Temple these days were found by accident and those accidents were few and far between. Jedi were dwindling and those that were left were beholden to a corrupt government body. It was enough to make Yan question what it was they thought they were doing as ‘peacekeepers’ and ‘light bringers’ of the galaxy. Did they truly deserve those titles when they were aiding an agenda put forth by greedy, power-hungry politicians? Were they truly any better than the Sith of antiquity? Yan thought they might be worse, since at least the Sith chose to embrace the greed and depravity rather than turn a blind eye to their presence.

He swept down the hall, irritation buzzing under his skin like a livewire. He headed straight for Syfo-Dyas’ quarters. He didn’t knock upon arrival, instead flinging open the door and striding through like an angry storm cloud.

“Good morning, Yan,” Sy greeted calmly. “How did tea go with your master?”

Yan took a moment to rein in his frustration. He turned and closed the door with a gentle click before joining Sy at the low table. It was set with tea for two. Blessedly, the pot contained a light, citrus tea that was nothing at all like the swampy, thick swill that Master Yoda served in his quarters. He took a sip and let the mellow flavor wash out the taste of algae and mud.

“Truly, my friend,” Sy said after a moment, “I rarely see you this agitated. Talk to me.”

“Yoda does not disagree with the proposal.”

Sy raised his eyebrows. “That is a good thing, isn’t it?”

Yan took another sip of tea, then set the cup down delicately. “It is. He plans to travel to abandoned temples himself to see if they can be reopened. He plans to start with Ledeve.”

There was a pause. “Not to repeat myself, but that is good news, Yan.”

“Yes, it is.” Yan sighed. “Change is being made across the board. You’ve heard that Master Vana has taken control of the project to update the students’ curriculum? Plus Master Koon has been fighting for greater oversight of padawanships and the rotation idea posed by that report. Jocasta is on the warpath. Master Che is ecstatic about the new evidence supporting increased soul healing for everyone in the temple, for which I believe she has been trying to advocate for some time. Even Yoda is making changes and has verbally supported several initiatives in Council sessions.”

“At the risk of sounding like a broken protocol droid, isn’t this exactly what we were hoping for? Aren’t these things you’ve been complaining about to me for years?”

“Yes!” Yan didn’t mean to snap. He didn’t mean to raise his voice or jostle the table with the violent jerk of his body as his frustration once again made its way to the forefront of his mind. “Yes. It is what we wanted. I don’t know why I feel so strange about it.”

“Because it’s happening so quickly?” Sy suggested. “Because the temple was given irrefutable evidence of something that you’ve only had opinions about before now? Because the Council is finally listening, even though they never listened to you?”

Yan sighed. “Yes, yes to all of that. I wish I knew who wrote the accursed thing. I don’t know whether I would like to thank them or throttle them.”

“That sentiment is shared by most of the temple,” Sy replied with a smirk. “Especially by those on the Council. Personally, I would like to thank them. My dreams – my visions – have gotten better.”

“Oh?”

“Not fewer,” Sy clarified, “but less violent. Since the arrival of the proposal, I have not dreamed of utter destruction and darkness. I no longer have visions of the deaths of billions, nor the inescapable rise of the Sith. I still dream of that army in white, but it is not so bleak now. There is hope in my dreams, Yan. Hope for the future.”

Yan sat with that for a moment. He’d been privy to Syfo-Dyas’ visions from the beginning. They were best friends, sometimes more than that, and they shared everything with each other. Neither judged the other for their emotions or opinions. They were each other’s listening ear and supporting shoulder. So it was no surprise to hear how bleak the visions were, nor the toll that they had taken on his friend. What was surprising was the change. Drastic change like that spoke of a larger power at work. Could the Force have interfered so powerfully, so directly, in the direction of events? Who was the mystery author who turned the temple on its head? No one who’d read the document had felt that the author had anything but the purest intentions in writing and sending it. In fact, the whole thing felt bathed in light, like the deepest of meditations in the most peaceful of gardens. When Yan had meditated on the subject, the Force had sung golden notes of promise and expectation in a way that he’d never heard before.

Hope. He didn’t realize that he’d lost it until he found it again. The Jedi might have lost their way, but they were course correcting at breathtaking speed and he had hope, for the first time in a long time, that things would actually change for the better. 

“Yes,” Yan agreed finally. “I believe I would like to thank them as well.”

Myles sighed and collapsed onto a chair in the empty office. He pulled off his helmet and smoothed a hand over his braid, then dragged it down his face.

“ Hiding? ”

Myles’ head jerked up at the sound of Zomar entering the room. Once inside, he removed his helmet as well and leaned against the wall with a smirk. Only the faint lines of fatigue around his eyes suggested that he was just as tired as Myles was.

“That boy is a menace ,” Myles hissed. He had no idea how he’d ended up being the main person assigned to look after the jetti’ika , Quinlan, but he had. Quinlan wasn’t a bad kid. Quite the opposite really. He was energetic and curious, always asking questions. He was incredibly intelligent and perceptive. He had some weird thing about always needing to wear gloves, but based on some subtle interactions between him and his buir , Myles figured it has something to do with jettii osik . 

Quinlan wasn’t a bad kid, but he was like a little sentient wrecking ball with more emotion than sense. He was bound and determined to find out where Obi-Wan was and used every opportunity to slip away from his guardians to try to find him. Ba’ji Tholme, for his part, seemed incredibly embarrassed by the behavior of his ad and scolded him every time Quinlan escaped. Tholme’s favorite method seemed to be the ‘I’m not angry, just disappointed’ look, with which every buir was familiar.

The two jettii’se had been here for nearly a week. It wasn’t enough to completely ease their fears that jettii’ade were being mistreated, but it had gone a long way toward assuring that this child was not. Quinlan was precocious and brash, often saying exactly what was on his mind despite the exasperation on his buir ’s face every time he did. He was not scared of his buir , nor did they ever see him flinch away from him the way Obi-Wan had flinched from nearly all adults at the beginning. They seemed like a normal parent-child pair, with the child old enough to now start pushing limits and trying to find his way toward independence. Unfortunately, those attempts at self-determination led him to sneaking around the stronghold and, most recently, attempting to steal a ship.

Quinlan had found Obi-Wan’s room. Myles had noticed him missing immediately, but it took him nearly fifteen minutes to track him down. Quinlan had been standing by Obi-Wan’s bed, one gloveless hand outstretched toward the pillow. Myles had called out to him, using his sternest buir tone, but Quinlan had simply looked at him and maintained eye contact as he touched the pillow. Myles still had no idea what that was about, especially since Quinlan had immediately dropped like a stone after. 

Ba’ji Tholme had burst into the room before Myles had finished calling for help, a frantic look on his face. He’d scooped the jetti’ika up in one smooth motion and marched toward the door. Somehow, Tholme had been convinced to bring Quinlan to the clinic to be looked over by baar’ure. Myles had checked on him, but slipped out of the room when he saw Tholme sitting vigil by his bed, his large hand wrapped around Quinlan’s smaller one.

Quinlan had woken up three hours later. No one was quite sure how he had managed to evade the hawk-like attention of Tholme, the baar’ure , and the various verde hovering nearby out of curiosity and concern, but he had. Myles had received a message not twenty minutes after he’d been notified that the kid was awake that he was missing. 

They’d found him in the space port to the north of the city attempting to steal a ship. Tholme had basically dragged him back by his ear, all while apologizing profusely to Jaster and promising that Quinlan would ‘understand the severity of his actions and be on his best behavior for the rest of the trip.’ Quinlan, for his part, did not seem contrite in the slightest, instead insisting that Obi-Wan was doing something stupid again and needed Quinlan to bail him out.

“ I’m not hiding ,” Myles protested. “ I just needed a minute. ”

“ I wondered if all little Jedi were impulsive and reckless or if it was just Obi-Wan. It turns out that maybe all Jedi are like that. ”

Myles huffed a laugh and shook his head. “ Do you think they were right? I mean, when did Obi-Wan last check in? ”

“ They reported that they were successfully entering the hyperplane yesterday. Obi-Wan has been very secretive about the hunt they have chosen, despite Jaster’s protests. Knowing them, it is likely that their vod is correct. ”

“ Great ,” Myles sighed. “ Has anyone told Jaster? ”

Zomar nodded. “ Jaster is with the Jedi now. Hopefully we will have answers soon. ”

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. Myles kept wondering what would have happened if Quinlan had been successful in stealing that ship and breaking out in a cold sweat over it. The jetti’ika was fifteen and more than old enough to go on hunts, but he would have been alone, no squad or even his buir to look after him. If Obi-Wan truly was in danger, then all Quinlan would have succeeded in doing was joining him, not rescuing him.

The door opened again, this time admitting an exhausted Jaster. His helmet was already off, his hair a mess from running his hand through the sweaty strands. He looked at them with eyes full of exasperation.

“ Obi-Wan has apparently chosen Dathomir as the location of their hunt. ”

Silence, then, “ What!?”

Zomar’s eyes were wide with incredulity. Myles couldn’t speak.

Jaster just nodded. “ The little Jedi has an ability which allows them to have visions when they touch an object. That is why they wear the gloves. When they touched Obi-Wan’s pillow, they were expecting to see Obi-Wan’s past, as that is most common. Instead, they got a glimpse of Obi-Wan’s present, which is on Dathomir. ”

“ What in the Sith hells does Obi-Wan want on Dathomir? ” Zomar demanded.

“ Quinlan did not know. They say that Obi-Wan did not feel afraid, but that they were scared of the surroundings and worried about what Obi-Wan was walking into. They saw a group of warriors surrounding them with weapons. ”

Myles’ throat finally unfroze. “ How could Silas have allowed that? Or Jango? Everyone on that ship is too level-headed to have been on board with Obi-Wan’s plan. ”

That had been Jaster’s intention in making those assignments, after all, and it was hard to believe that any of them wouldn’t have immediately turned the ship around once they knew Obi-Wan’s goal. Obi-Wan was a smooth talker, but he didn’t think that even Obi-Wan had a tongue silver enough to convince grumpy old Silas to drop down onto a planet as hostile as Dathomir. Hivra had gone as well, and she was the best out of all of them at resisting Obi-Wan’s pleading tooka eyes. Even when the rest of them would fold like wet flimsi, Hivra stayed strong.

“ I am not sure, ” he admitted. “Unfortunately, Obi-Wan had a month to plan their method of attack and likely took into account the personalities of the squad accompanying them. It is clear that their plan was successful. Quinlan wishes to chase after them, but I worry that that may do more harm than good. I trust Obi-Wan and I believe that they have a reason for choosing Dathomir. The best course of action is to wait. Obi-Wan is due to check in in eight hours. If he misses that check in, we can reevaluate and go from there. ”

Zomar and Myles both nodded unhappily. Jaster’s reasoning was sound, but that didn’t mean they had to like it.

“ I still just do not understand what Obi-Wan wants from a planet full of Night Sisters, ” Zomar said.

Jaster sighed again and shook his head. “ Neither do I, though I wish I did. ”

Myles collapsed back on his chair, limbs akimbo. He knew that the presence of the jettii’se was going to be stressful, but he hadn’t expected this much excitement. He’d expected moments of culture clashing, days of watching Tholme interact with his ad for any sign of mistreatment, long discussions about Melidaan and Mandalore’s political situation – basically just a really boring, tense couple of weeks. Instead, they’d brought another feral Jedi child into Keldabe and had had to wrangle him like a wild bantha.

“ Oh, and Myles? I need you to look after Quinlan while Tholme and I continue our discussion this afternoon. ”

Myles groaned.

Chapter Text

Jango eyed the women surrounding them warily. In the safety of his mind, he cursed his vod’ika up, down, and sideways for getting them into this mess. When Jango had agreed to let Obi-Wan take the reins on his first hunt and to help him keep their destination a secret from the others, he had assumed, somewhat naively, that Obi-Wan would choose something reasonable. A quick trip to Yavin 4 or even the ecumenopolis Taris to collect a bounty, get his feet wet, and go home.

By some stretch of the imagination, Obi-Wan had chosen a ‘reasonable’ hunt. Dathomir wasn’t far from Mandalore really, except that it was frustratingly difficult to access. They’d had to trek through realspace to the Salin Corridor then exit hyperspace two days away from the accursed planet. That meant that they had spent a total of five days confined to the ship while the others tried to interrogate both of them about their destination. Hivra had nearly burst a blood vessel when Obi-Wan had insisted on entering in the coordinates himself. He tried to take over piloting entirely, but Hivra wouldn’t have it. 

Honestly, Jango was surprised that they made it all the way to Dathomir’s orbit before the others discovered Obi-Wan’s plan. Buir had chosen this squad for a reason. Hivra, in particular, was known for being immovable even in the face of extreme tooka eyes like the ones Obi-Wan was capable of. Silas and Drond were similarly principled, though softer than Hivra, and both had the experience to pull Obi-Wan out of whatever insanity got himself into. Jango and Dakii had been added to round out the group, but also because they were both close enough to hopefully be able to talk Obi-Wan out of said insanity. Jango had not done a good job of that so far.

Jango wasn’t stupid. He’d known that Obi-Wan’s choice wouldn’t be approved by Jaster or any of the verde accompanying them. He’d known it was going to be something reckless, probably something noble and foolish, and he’d expected some trouble. A good firefight, probably, and some bracing adrenaline before they all got out safely and could laugh about it on the ship home before they got chewed out by buir . Never in a million years had he expected for Obi-Wan to have taken them to a planet that radiated darkness so strongly even Jango could feel it. He looked out the viewport at the red planet below and felt his heart sink. He was beginning to regret helping his vod’ika with this.

Obi-Wan had headed off their arguments at the pass. Silas barely worked himself up into the stern, disappointed buir look he’d perfected before Obi-Wan was explaining that he was here to save two children. At the mention of ade in danger, every single one of them folded like a stack of cards. Hivra tried to remain strong for a moment, but Obi-Wan began to describe the children, one of which was only five years old, and how much he feared they would suffer if they didn’t help them.

They capitulated, on the grounds that Obi-Wan sit down with them and plan their every move before they attempted to reach the surface. Obi-Wan seemed somewhat exasperated by this, though also a little amused and more than a little impatient. Still, he sat as asked and explained that he was hoping to achieve his goal peacefully. He wanted to talk to the matriarch of the planet, Mother Talzin, and convince her to let them take the children. If she did not comply, he wanted to steal them anyway.

“ Alor’ika ,” Silas implored, “ we cannot steal someone else’s child. That is not the Way.”

Obi-Wan dipped his head in acknowledgment with an indulgent smile. He didn’t argue with Silas, but nor did he agree and Jango knew him well enough at this point to understand that that meant Silas did not win that conflict of wills in the slightest. 

Throughout the discussion, Obi-Wan would occasionally go silent, his eyes distant as though focused on something far from them. Force osik , most likely. He would always answer when addressed directly, even during those moments, so Jango wasn’t too worried, even if it was a little unsettling.

Jango should have done more to argue against Obi-Wan’s crazy plan. He should have taken one look at that gleam in his eye and turned the ship around. Hivra would have supported him. Silas too, most likely. But the what-ifs were irrelevant at this point, because they were marching through a thick, red-leafed jungle in front of heavily armed women who looked like the slightest infraction would allow them the pleasure of murdering their entire squad mercilessly.

Obi-Wan did not seem worried by this development. In fact, upon seeing the native warriors, he’d simply smiled and asked to be taken to their matriarch. He used her real name, which startled the women. They glanced at each other quickly before shoving them forward and barking orders in a harsh language Jango didn’t understand.

Silas was grumbling under his breath, but stopped every time the tip of a weapon poked his back. Hivra marched with her face forward, as did Drond. Dakii kept looking at Obi-Wan, then glancing around the rest of the group as though visually verifying that everyone was alright before her gaze would inevitably return to the path to keep her feet from being caught up in the roots and slithering plants.

Jango wasn’t certain how long they marched before they finally reached civilization. It was a small town they entered upon, more of a village really, with buildings which had been constructed by hand rather than by machine. They were led quickly through the wide streets toward the largest building in the village which was located directly in the center. From what he could glimpse, all roads led to this one building, immediately marking it of some importance. Obi-Wan seemed pleased with their destination at least, which meant that this part of the plan was going well. He’d warned them that the Dathomirians took security very seriously and that the women who ruled the planet did not like men as a general rule, but Jango was pretty sure that his vod’ika had undersold the situation.

The group was ushered inside the towering, red stone building where they were immediately corralled into a large open room and surrounded. A sharp, quick hand signal sent one of the women sprinting down one of the hallways, presumably to inform Mother Talzin of their arrival. Jango barely had time to start worrying before the woman ran back and whispered in the ear of another.

“You,” the warrior said, pointing at Obi-Wan. “Mother Talzin has decided to grant you the privilege of speaking with her. Follow me.”

It went against everything in Jango’s nature to watch Obi-Wan walk away, essentially marching alone into a viper’s nest, yet he stayed still. They’d discussed this. Obi-Wan had told them that his primary goal was to speak with Mother Talzin alone and that it would be disastrous if any of them were to attempt to intervene. He assured them of his safety and was confident that this would all work out exactly as he said it would. Jango didn’t have a lot of faith that this situation was as clear cut as Obi-Wan made it out to be, but he did have faith in his vod’ika and he would stick to the plan unless something happened to make him change his mind.

Obi-Wan followed the Nightsister down the red and black hallways with the kind of serene pace that he’d perfected as a Jedi. The Force on Dathomir roiled and twisted like a knot of live snakes, putting his teeth on edge, but he did not allow any of that to show in his expression. He’d removed his helmet as soon as he was out of sight of his squad. He doubted that they would have approved of this decision, but it was necessary to meet with Mother Talzin barefaced and without artifice or guile. She was an intimidating figure, but fair in her own way. He was not going to do anything to make her doubt him before he even had a chance to present his argument.

The Nightsister deposited him silently in a room that was surprisingly more homely than he anticipated. Tapestries covered the walls. A fire burned merrily in the hearth, glowing purple from the red-blooded wood which fueled it. A small table covered in a black cloth sat in the center of the room with a fresh pot of tea and two cups. He stood near the fireplace, waiting.

Mother Talzin entered the room like a ghost. One moment she was not there, then she simply was. Obi-Wan turned to her and bowed.

“Well met, Mother Talzin. It is an honor.”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed. “You have come a long way to speak with me.”

Obi-Wan merely inclined his head. It was impossible at this point to know whether she meant the trip from Mandalore or his trip through time. She sat at the table and, after an imperious gesture from her, he followed suit.

“You want something from me.”

“Yes,” he admitted, “though that’s a bit of an oversimplification. I believe that we can help each other.”

“Is that so?”

“You and your children are in danger.” There was no reason to beat around the bush. “At the moment, two of your children specifically are in grave danger. In the long term, your species is vulnerable.”

“Strong words.” Her tone was enough to encourage him to tread lightly.

“True words. Maul Oppress is currently in the hands of a Sith Lord on Mustafar, having every shred of individuality, compassion, and morality stripped from him. Your daughter, Asajj Ventress, is on Rattatak. Whether she is still a slave or if she has been accepted as a padawan by Master Ky Narec, I do not know for certain. What I do know is that she has suffered and will continue to do so if she is not rescued from that planet.”

Mother Talzin studied him for a long moment. “You know many things that you should not. What else do you know, little Mandalorian? Or should I say, little Jedi?”

Obi-Wan smiled. “Mandalorian, if you please. And as you said, I know many things.”

“Interesting. Pour us both some of this tea. No reason that we should continue speaking of such heavy topics with parched throats.”

Obi-Wan poured the electric blue tea into their cups, filling Mother Talzin’s first before his own. He set the pot down and sat back in his chair. The tea was the perfect temperature for drinking and smelled of black currants and spice. He watched as she took a sip before bringing his cup to his lips. The flavor was complex, fruity and earthy at first, then spicy, before finally tasting bitter and sharp. He took another sip.

“Now, tell me what you know and how you know it.”

Obi-Wan had been aware upon the first scent of the tea that it was a drug meant to open his mind and loosen his tongue. He could feel Mother Talzin probing at the edges of his shields, looking for any weakness that would allow her access to his thoughts and memories. As uncomfortable as it was, this was what Obi-Wan had come here for. He knew that if she were to help him, if she were to truly believe the threat leveled against her people, he would have to show her the entire truth. 

After a moment of internal struggle, Obi-Wan thinned his mental shields enough to allow Mother Talzin access. She accepted his surrender eagerly, but did not rush in as he would have expected. Instead she stepped inside almost warily, as though watching for hidden traps or pitfalls. Obi-Wan pulled her in deeper, urging her to look at the memories he was freely offering. He started with the moment he’d woken up in the past, the jarring feeling of having his soul compressed into a vessel he’d long since outgrown and shed like an old coat. He showed her glimpses of his time in the Force, then his death. He worked backwards through his memories, unraveling the yarn stitch by stitch until he arrived at the moment in which he thought he’d killed Darth Maul.

There were many things he did not show her. He did not reveal to her any of the memories shown to him by the Force, nor did he delve into his deeper moments of despair. He skimmed across the events of that other timeline like a stone across water and dragged her along for the ride. She halted him a few times with a feeling like someone yanking a collar around his throat. He resented it every time, yet allowed her to pause and examine a memory more closely. She did not do it often, content for the most part to let him lead her where he wished. When he was done, Mother Talzin backed out slowly the way she came and gently shut the door behind her. He opened his eyes to see her leaned back in her seat, her expression pensive.

She did not speak for several minutes, which allowed him the time to work through the dizziness which had set in and rebuild his mental shields. His mind felt fragile, like a cracked cup that hadn’t yet broken. He breathed through it and steadily solidified his shields until the vertigo disappeared and he felt grounded again.

“Time travel,” she said slowly, “is not something I’ve seen before. Nor had I hoped to in this lifetime. Yet I cannot deny that your situation is useful to me.”

She was quiet for another long moment and Obi-Wan waited patiently. He was rewarded for his patience when she finally gave one, short nod and said, “I agree to place the two younglings you specified into your care. In return, I expect you to save my daughter.”

He wasn’t surprised by her emphasis on Asajj. Nightsisters were considered infinitely more valuable to Dathomirians than Nightbrothers. Still, his heart went out to Maul. Given to the Sith and given secondary, if any, consideration, Maul had never really stood a chance. He wondered if Mother Talzin did care about him as well, but simply couldn’t afford to say so, or if he wanted such a thing to be true badly enough to imagine the pained look in her eye when he said his name.

“Thank you, Mother Talzin. I will do everything in my power to save Asajj, as well as Maul.”

Her expression grew thunderous and he fought the urge to recoil in his seat. “I did not ask for platitudes, Jedi-Mandalorian! I told you to save Asajj Ventress from her fate and I will not accept any less. Even if she must go with your kind on Coruscant, you will ensure her safety and wellbeing, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“I understand,” he returned simply, with a seated bow. Once she had settled, her face losing its dark rage, he ventured to ask, “And of the Sith? They pose a threat to Dathomir. A threat to you. You’ve seen my memories, you know. Will you take precautions?”

“Worry about the task before you, young one,” Mother Talzin replied coolly. She stood. “I will have one of my daughters fetch the whelps for you. Then you and yours may leave unharmed. Consider it a kindness in return for the task you’ve volunteered to undertake for me.”

She swept from the room before he could form words and he was left staring after her for an embarrassing length of time before he gathered himself. That could have gone better, he thought, but it also could have gone worse. He left out of the same door he entered, a different one than Mother Talzin used, and retraced his steps back to the room where his squad was waiting. Nightsisters watched him from the shadows, but didn’t make their presence known so he did not address them.

The armored verde let out a nearly comical sigh of relief when he walked back into the room unharmed. Jango broke rank immediately and started checking him over, asking rapid fire questions about his well being, what happened, and if the plan had been successful. Obi-Wan was glad he’d put his helmet back on before walking in, since the Nightsisters didn’t really need to hear the colorful additions to Jango’s questions regarding themselves and their matriarch.

“ I am unharmed, Jango ,” Obi-Wan assured him. “ Ori’haat. ”

“ You were gone for over four hours!”

Obi-Wan blinked in surprise. It had hardly felt like it had been that long. “ I did not realize, ” he admitted. “Nonetheless, it went well. Better than expected, truthfully. Mother Talzin has instructed one of the Nightsisters to bring Savage and Feral to us, then we can go. She promised we will not be harmed. ”

“ Just like that? ” Silas asked dubiously. “ They are going to give you the children and then let us leave with no fight? No torture or weird magic shit? ”

Obi-Wan grinned beneath his helmet. “ Just like that ,” he confirmed.

Several of them started shaking their heads incredulously, but Obi-Wan continued to placidly confirm over and over again that everything was fine, the children would be here soon, and they would get to leave without issues. They were already on edge from the long wait and were rightfully skeptical about the easy outcome. Obi-Wan couldn’t quite believe it himself. All he’d suffered was a little light drugging and a surprisingly respectful visit into his mind and he was going to extract two children from a bad situation and (hopefully) prevent Savage from Falling, as well as Feral’s death. He knew that his squad was nervous and more than a little confused, but Obi-Wan was nearly giddy with elation and relief. He kept catching himself grinning under his helmet, which he knew the others could hear in his voice if their disappointed head tilts were any indication.

Thankfully, it took less than an hour for the Nightsister to return, dragging Savage and Feral behind her with little regard for the way she was bruising their arms with her harsh grip. She deposited them in front of Obi-Wan with a few hissed words in Dathomirian, then walked away. They cowered together, heads bowed, hands clasped together tightly. Obi-Wan’s good mood vanished in the face of their obvious terror. He knelt in front of the two trembling children and removed his helmet, despite the protests he could hear from his squad who naturally didn’t want him to be exposed in such a hostile environment.

“Hello there. My name is Obi-Wan. It’s lovely to meet you both.”

Savage stepped in front of his brother protectively, baring his little, sharp teeth. Obi-Wan nodded sympathetically.

“I know this is a confusing situation. I know that you’re scared. It’s alright. I promise that I am here to help you and that I will never, ever hurt you. It’s alright if you don’t believe me right now. I have to earn your trust. Until then, would you mind coming with us?”

“Where are you going?” Feral was peeking around his brother, eyes wide. “To the stars?”

Obi-Wan smiled at him. “Yes, to the stars. And then to our home, on Mandalore.”

“Why?” Savage demanded. He was trying to sound fierce, Obi-Wan could tell, but he just sounded young. His tattoos were fresh, only a few weeks old, which made him perhaps twelve or thirteen. His horns were just beginning to grow in, standing about two inches off his skull. 

“Because I want to help you.” Obi-Wan maintained eye contact, wanting Savage to see how serious he was about this. “And I want to help your brother.”

Feral gasped. “You’ll get our brother back?”

Obi-Wan nodded solemnly. “I am going to do everything I can to make that happen. And when I do, your brother will want to know that you’re both safe, right? Then he can be safe with both of you.”

Feral’s lower lip wobbled and his eyes filled with tears. “Really? We can be together?”

“Why would you even do that? How do you know about Maul?” Savage’s eyes were misty as well, but his jaw was set in a stubborn line that proved he wouldn’t trust the word of a stranger so easily.

“It’s a long story. Come with us, and I can explain on the trip.”

Savage bit his lip, but Feral tugged on his arm and gave him the most devastating tooka eyes that Obi-Wan had ever seen. Savage held out for all of ten seconds before he sighed and nodded, his entire body thrumming with tension.

“Alright,” Obi-Wan said gently. “Then we’d better leave before our friendly hosts change their mind, yes?”

Savage cast a wary glance around the room, his eyes flicking to the ceiling and dark corners. Obi-Wan would have been impressed by how quickly the child located the hidden Nightsisters if he didn’t know that such a skill came from a lifetime of fear and hypervigilance rather than natural talent.

A quick hand motion had the rest of the squad moving toward the door, the group instinctively forming up around the two children to keep them safe in the middle. Jango reached over as they walked and angrily plucked Obi-Wan’s helmet from his hand and shoved it on his head.

“ Dikut ,” he hissed over the comms, “ do you know how many of those warrior women were in there? Any one of them could have shot you in the head. ”

“ They were scared, ” he defended, glancing at Feral and Savage between them. “ Would you have preferred I ignored their needs and dragged them to the ship over my shoulder? Mother Talzin promised safe passage. I was in no danger. ”

Jango and Silas harrumphed simultaneously.

“ I cannot tell if you are stupid or have a death wish, ” Dakii grumbled.

“Jare’la, ” Drond said. “ Definitely jare’la .”

Obi-Wan shook his head but didn’t bother to defend himself. If they thought this mission was bad, they had no idea what they had to look forward to once he really started setting things in motion. All said, this mission had gone leagues better than he anticipated. They were already leaving the village, marching the same muddy path they’d taken to get here. Nightsisters still crawled the jungle around them, watching them carefully to ensure they left and did not stray, but they weren’t pointing weapons at them. He’d accomplished his primary goal of retrieving Savage and Feral, and had succeeded in at least warning Mother Talzin about the betrayal of the Sith should she decide to align with them. Her reaction hadn’t left him feeling hopeful about an alliance, but at least he was fairly confident that she would attempt neutrality in the face of the Sith’s rise. She would protect her own, which meant that hopefully one less planet would be destroyed in the coming conflict. It was enough for now.

He worried about his ability to save Asajj. He’d wracked his brain to figure out a more exact timeline, but he just couldn’t be certain exactly when those events occurred. Had Master Narec found her yet? Had she been freed? Was Master Narec still alive? He simply didn’t know. The only thing he could do, he supposed, was make sure that his next hunt took him to Rattatak. If he was early, that was a problem easily solved. If he was too late…well, he just hoped he wasn’t too late.

He’d toyed with the idea of sending an anonymous message to the Temple again, this time informing them of the location of their missing Jedi. The timing issue had stayed his hand. As much as he wanted to save Master Narec, unfortunately Asajj was the priority. If he hadn’t found and freed her by the time of the Jedi’s arrival, they wouldn’t know to look for her and take her with them. Then he’d have to go to Rattatak anyway. Better to just do it himself from the beginning.

They reached the ship unmolested. Hivra entered first and started the engines while Drond did a quick general sweep for tracking devices, planted weapons, or stowaways. Silas dropped into the copilot seat to start the system’s check. Dakii disappeared immediately as well, though Obi-Wan wasn’t sure where she’d gone, which left him and Jango alone in the bay area with two scared children.

Obi-Wan removed his helmet again and smiled at Savage and Feral. He could feel the ship smoothly taking off beneath their feet, but paid it no mind. Beside him, Jango removed his helmet as well and crouched to be closer in height to the two ade .

“ Su’cuy gar, ad’ike . My name is Jango.”

Savage said nothing, but Feral waved at him. “Hi, Jango! Where are we going?”

“We’re going home, to a planet called Mandalore. Have you heard of it?”

Feral shook his head. When Jango looked at him, Savage copied the motion.

“I’ll tell you all about it, if you want.” 

Feral jumped up and down in excitement. “Yes, yes! Story time!”

Obi-Wan smiled. It was good to see Feral so open and childish. Savage had clearly done a good job of protecting him so far. At great cost, Obi-Wan didn’t doubt, but the look in his eyes as he watched his brother dance around the loading bay showed that he considered it worth it.

“Jango can tell you about it at late meal.” He had an inkling that that was where Dakii had disappeared to. Her bright presence had appeared in the kitchen a few seconds ago, indicating she’d removed her helmet. “In the meantime, how about I show you around the ship?” Feral cheered again and even Savage looked at him with interest sparking in his eyes. “Alright. This ship is called Parjai , which means the Victory in Basic. It’s an ST-67 class Sentinel M-33.”

Obi-Wan talked as they walked, pointing out different areas of the ship. He emphasized the things that he thought they would find interesting, but made sure to call attention to the things they shouldn’t touch or places they shouldn’t go. He showed them the room where he, Jango, and Dakii slept, which had two extra bunks where the zabraks would be sleeping. He ended the tour with the kitchen and the promised late meal.

Dakii was already there, as he’d suspected. She was just finishing preparing a large pot of stew when they entered and she turned from the stove with her ears forward and tail raised, which was the Selonian equivalent of a grin. Her helmet was resting on a hook on the wall, which she only took off when she was in a safe, enclosed space. Selonians didn’t like open spaces in general, and Dakii had confided that she was no exception. It was only her armor that prevented a panic attack when she wasn’t underground or inside a sturdy structure like a ship. 

Savage eyed her and the food warily. He tried to step in front of his brother again, but Feral was too busy gazing at Dakii in open curiosity. He sniffed the air, eyes flicking between her face and the food as though he wasn’t sure which one warranted more of his attention.

“What are you?” he asked, prompting his brother to elbow him harshly and whisper in frantic Dathomirian.

“It’s alright, little one,” she assured Savage. To Feral she answered, “I am a Selonian, from the planet Selonia. My name is Dakii.”

“Hi, Dakii! I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t from Dathomir before. I thought Obi-Wan was kinda weird because his skin is so pale and hardly has any color at all, like he’s sick, and then Jango is like that too! But not as pale, so maybe not as sick? But I’ve never seen someone with fur all over them! That’s so cool. Do you travel the stars all the time? Is it awesome? Why do you guys wear armor? Do the colors mean something, like our tattoos mean something? What did you make? It smells good. Spicy. I like spicy. Do you like spicy food?”

Feral took a deep breath to recover from his rapid fire questions and Dakii took the opportunity to start answering them. Obi-Wan didn’t hear her responses. He was too busy thinking of another curious little boy with a million questions. He could see the little sandy haired youth, looking up at him with huge blue eyes as he ran himself out of breath asking about every detail of Jedi life, the Temple, and Obi-Wan himself.

“ That one is going to be a handful, ” Jango said quietly by his side. Obi-Wan startled and glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat and mentally shook away the cobwebs of memory.

“ Yes, I dare say he will, as most children are. Though it is his brother I am most worried about. ”

“ How so? ”

“ His life has not been kind. Males of his species are treated as second class citizens and I believe he and his brother have had it worse than most. He will need a mind healer, as well as plenty of patience and time. ”

“ I heard you mention a third brother before. You promised Feral you would rescue him .” Jango’s eyebrows were raised in both question and judgment.

“ If you recall ,” Obi-Wan replied airily, “I promised to do ‘everything I can’ to rescue him. That is not a promise of certainty. ”

Jango hummed and crossed his arms. “ It is not so much the promise that is bothering me. How did you know about these children? How do you know that their brother is in danger and in need of rescue? Was it another of your visions? ”

Occasionally, Obi-Wan felt badly about passing off his future-that-was knowledge as visions, but no matter how much he’d come to trust and love his new family, he didn’t know how well they would take the revelation that Obi-Wan was not truly a fifteen year old boy, but a man well into his sixties with more knowledge and experience than most people gained in a lifetime. Even if they believed him (he did not believe it himself some days), they would never be able to look at him the same.

Besides, his visions were real. In fact, he’d been having them with increasing frequency of late, as though the Force wanted to inform him of the changes made both by himself and otherwise. He had been witnessed often enough thrashing in his sleep or falling to the ground unconscious only to wake with knowledge of an event that had yet to pass. The information he had, this opportunity he now possessed, it was a gift from the Ka’ra as they believed. There was no harm in allowing them to make their own supplemental assumptions regarding that gift.

“ Yes. I know where Maul is and I know that he must be rescued. Unfortunately, that endeavor will be slightly more dangerous than the terms I agreed to for my first hunt .”

Jango stared at him for a long moment. “ You chose this hunt, you chose to go to Dathomir, because it was the least dangerous of your goals. ”

He said it like it was the obvious conclusion to a puzzle that he’d spent too long trying to solve. Jango sighed and shook his head, looking back over at Dakii and the children, who were now eating and completely ignoring their private conversation in the corner of the kitchen.

“ Nield has told me stories of the crazy, jare’la things you have done. I believed some to be exaggerated and the rest fueled by desperation. I have seen the way you fight. Reckless, at times, but still controlled in a way that should be contradictory and yet is not. Still, it is only now that I understand how your brain works. I believe I will have gray hairs within three years’ time.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “ I have heard that complaint from several people in my life. Buir included. ”

Jango shook his head again and walked away, mumbling something about needing to call their buir and let him know how insane the stray they picked up is. Obi-Wan laughed again and moved to join the group at the table. Dakii pushed a bowl in his direction, but kept her attention on a story that Feral was telling her about hunting with Savage on Dathomir. He was very animated in his tale, growling and curving his fingers into claws to represent the beast they had apparently disturbed. Savage listened as he ate, occasionally rolling his eyes at the embellishments Feral was no doubt adding. Obi-Wan smiled. It was good to see both of them fed and relaxing, or as relaxed as Savage could be in this situation. He tensed slightly when Obi-Wan sat down, frozen in place, but went back to his food when all Obi-Wan did was begin to eat in silence.

Jango came back after their bowls were already scraped clean and stacked, Silas in tow. The two filled their own bowls and sat down. Savage was more anxious now with so many of them at the table and nothing to do with his hands, but didn’t stop Feral from turning to Jango and launching into another series of questions. Jango blinked at the attack, but answered each question patiently between bites of stew.

Obi-Wan excused himself. The Force was nudging at him, like it had some message to impart and would not wait much longer. Either he could find a place to comfortably meditate, or he’d end up on the metal floor as the message slammed into his mind. He chose meditation.

Jango nodded indulgently as Feral told him a breathless, meandering story about his personal plan to rescue his brother, Maul, and keep him safe from both the Nightsisters and ‘the bad man’. It was a child’s plan, full of daring, impossible stunts and with zero practical details, but it was endlessly endearing. They’d managed to convince Feral to actually eat in addition to talking, which meant that he often spoke with his mouth full as he tried to do both at the same time.

Jango had to admit, the kid was cute. He had orange skin that was a few shades darker than his brother’s pale yellow, and had tiny nubs on his head where his horns would one day grow. His sharp little teeth were so tiny as to be adorable rather than intimidating and his big, round, light brown eyes shone with the exuberance and innocence of youth. Dakii and Silas were instantly wrapped around his little finger. Jango was reluctant to admit that he might be as well.

Savage was another story. Skittish and distrustful, the boy didn’t speak aside from monosyllabic responses when directly addressed. He watched him with eyes like a jaig hawk, especially if any of them dared move closer to Feral. His protectiveness was admirable, and understandable. One brother had already been taken away from him; he wouldn’t want anything to happen to the brother he had left.

Still, he’d eaten the food that had been put in front of him and he wasn’t actively fighting or trying to escape. Not that there was anywhere to go on the ship, but Jango had seen scared people do some desperate things. Savage was scared, but he was still level-headed. As far as Jango could tell, Savage’s plan was to observe them as much as possible until they proved themselves untrustworthy. Unfortunately, he didn’t think Savage had considered the possibility that they truly did want to help. That would have to come with time.

He didn’t know where Obi-Wan had disappeared to. He’d gotten lost in his head again earlier. Obi-Wan liked to think that he was smooth and that people didn’t notice those moments he had, but truthfully he wasn’t as slick as he believed. Usually they happened when something reminded him of his past, that much seemed obvious. Jango wondered if Feral reminded him of one of the Young, maybe one who hadn’t made it. There was enough grief in his expression to support Jango’s theory. In a twisted sort of way, he hoped it was just grief and not the result of one of his visions. Those had gotten more frequent as time went on and Jango didn’t know how to help. His vod’ika was suffering. He wasn’t sleeping well, he was jumpy and irritated, and he was constantly stressed. He was fairly certain Obi-Wan was more stressed on a regular basis than their buir . Jango didn’t know what was weighing on him so heavily, but he would bet good credits that it was because of whatever the Force had shown him.

Jango had seen him a few times writing furiously on a ‘pad he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk. He’d never commented on it and Obi-Wan had never offered any information, but Jango was certain that that was where he wrote down all of the things the Ka’ra showed him. Things like missing zabrak children and terrifying Dathomirian matriarchs. 

He wondered if the Ka’ra had ever said anything to Obi-Wan about Arla. He hadn’t spoken to his vod’ika about her, even though he knew he should, since she was his vod now too, but every time he’d tried his throat had closed and he couldn’t get the words out. Talking about her, about her condition and how hopeless he felt about it, would make it real. If he said out loud that he didn’t think she would ever wake up, he would give up the last shred of hope he had and he would be left to drown in the clawing grief that threatened to drag him under every second of the day. So he hadn’t said anything. Maybe after they got home he would find the courage, but now was not the right time.

No one else had mentioned her either. He wasn’t sure what their reasoning was exactly, but no one had said her name in more than a whisper since the baar’ure confirmed that they had no idea when or even if she would wake up. Buir received regular updates on her condition of course, and Jango visited at least once a week, but if anyone asked about her they always pulled him aside and asked in a hushed voice how his vod was doing. She was in that strange limbo between alive and dead. They couldn’t say her name in their Remembrances, but she was not well enough to truly believe that wouldn’t add her name soon.

Jango scraped the last bite of stew from his bowl and shoved it in his mouth. He forced himself to focus on Feral’s story, which had moved on from storming a distant planet where his brother was being held prisoner to some tale about a giant insect called a ‘shear mite’ which could spit acid strong enough to melt solid rock. Judging by Savage’s face, this was not another of Feral’s exaggerations; there truly was such a fearsome creature on their home planet.

Jango returned his story with one about striile , who weren’t quite as fearsome without the ability to spit acid, but were still interesting enough by the five year old’s standards that he listened with rapt interest. Regular non-verbal prompting from Savage kept Feral eating until he finished the bowl while Jango talked.

They still had a five day journey ahead of them. Feral would spend every minute of it asking questions about Mandalore and the squad, and Jango would spend that time working on gaining Savage’s trust and trying to get Obi-Wan to tell him what in the Sith hells the plans were that he considered to be actually dangerous. He looked down at Feral’s face, which was sticky with remnants of stew, and couldn’t help but smile. If the outcome of those crazy plans his vod’ika came up with were anything like today, then they might just be worth it.

Chapter Text

Jaster held his head in his hands and let out the sigh that had been building all day.

Ba’ji Tholme and his ad were, by most standards, excellent guests. Minus Quinlan’s attempt to steal a ship, which had been motivated by extreme concern for his vod , there had been no major incidents. Tholme was thoughtful, observant, and respectful, which led to interesting and in-depth conversations about their respective cultures and how to foster better relations between them. That had been the reason for the jettii’se to visit, after all, and he had to say it was going well despite the fact that it had truly been secondary in Jaster’s mind. In many ways, the Jedi creed was exceedingly similar to the Resol’nare . The jettii’se valued education, self-defense, community, and the care of children. They didn’t put much emphasis on their own native language, Dai Bendu, as the Mando’ade did Mando’a, but Tholme eloquently expressed how much he understood the need to maintain one’s culture and keep it alive. Language was a vehicle of that, even if the Jedi had all but lost theirs.

Quinlan had calmed down about trying to go after Obi-Wan by the evening of the sixth day of Obi-Wan’s hunt. He was still rambunctious and prone to trouble (a certain prank he’d pulled off with Zomar came to mind), but the ad had somehow known even before Jango’s report that Obi-Wan was alright and his hunt had gone well.

And what a hunt it was. Dathomir was not a place Jaster would willingly step foot and he certainly would not have approved the mission if he’d known. Obi-Wan was entitled to independence, which was why he didn’t push for more than the bare bones he’d been given before they’d set out. Obi-Wan had told him that the Ka’ra was guiding him on this mission and, per their agreement when Jaster first adopted him, Jaster accepted this. He knew that Obi-Wan considered the entire mission to be low-risk and that he would likely be bringing back two foundlings. He’d also known that Obi-Wan was hiding things and had an ulterior motive besides the ade he hinted at saving. 

Jango had explained the entire mission in a textbook perfect report, though truthfully Jaster had only been able to grasp the highlights after Jango’s first sentence. Dathomir. Warrior women. A matriarch steeped in darkness. Two traumatized zabrak children. He’d told Jaster about the squad being forced to wait on tenterhooks while Obi-Wan spoke with Mother Talzin for hours and how pale Obi-Wan had been when he’d finally returned, as well as the dangerous, jare’la move he’d pulled in taking off his buy’ce in a room full of hostiles.

The most concerning bit of information his son shared with him, however, was the fact that Obi-Wan had confided to Jango that he’d chosen Dathomir as his first hunt because it was the least dangerous option of the missions the Ka’ra wanted to send him on. Jaster had felt several hairs on his head actively turn gray at the news.

He’d known, in an abstract way, that the Ka’ra would ask Obi-Wan to do difficult, dangerous things. Obi-Wan had expressed that his largest concern was lacking the freedom to follow the will of the Ka’ra and he’d nearly chosen to go off into the galaxy alone rather than risk being shackled by the love and concern of a family. He’d promised Obi-Wan, and himself, that he would never hold the verd’ika back and would only serve to support him in his endeavor to heed the stars’ warnings. He was struggling with that promise now.

Jango had made his report short, even as thorough as it had been, and he’d promised to give Jaster more details in person. From the way he spoke, Jaster had a feeling that he knew at least something about a future mission that would make Dathomir appear to be the most innocuous option. Jaster shook his head. Worry built in his gut as he considered Obi-Wan’s future. Normally, squads would form naturally over time, as they had for Jango. His closest friends became the vode that had his back on hunts. He didn’t think that Obi-Wan had that kind of time. He could continue to send his own verde with Obi-Wan on his missions, but truthfully he would need a specialized squad capable of keeping up with him. They would need to understand the importance of following Obi-Wan even when his decisions didn’t make sense or when they seemed too dangerous to be sane, yet they would also need to know when to provide a voice of reason. The squad would need to be made of verde who weren’t too old to obey a seemingly reckless youth, yet not so young as to lack the experience necessary for perilous situations. That kind of careful balance would be hard to find. He sighed again.

The issue of Obi-Wan and his future squad could wait. The more pressing concern at the moment was the Evaar’ade . Duke Kryze was at least somewhat sensible and was willing to hear Jaster’s arguments about the importance of Mandalorian culture, even if he always had a counter argument prepared. It was his daughter, Satine, who was growing more and more tedious to deal with. She’d latched onto the jettii’se the moment she and her father landed on Mandalore from Kalevala. Every chance she had she initiated a discussion with Master Tholme about the ‘peaceful ways of the Jedi’ and ‘the importance of refinement and cultural evolution.’

Quinlan had been a gift during those moments. The first time she’d called Jedi pacifists, the jettii’ad had guffawed loudly. He’d been unfazed in the face of her scandalized expression, his guffaw turning to loud laughter.

“Padawan,” Ba’ji Tholme had chastised softly, though Jaster could tell that he was fighting off his own amusement.

“I’m sorry, Master, it’s just… pacifists .” He broke out into laughter again. “I mean, there are some pacifists in the Order, but you do know what these are right?” He lifted the metal cylinder at his side, shaking it slightly in Satine’s direction. “A lightsaber isn’t just a toy or a pretty symbol. It’s a weapon.”

Satine wrinkled her nose, looking dismayed.

“A weapon used only as a last resort in the pursuit of peace or the preservation of innocent life,” Tholme qualified. “And it is a symbol, padawan, as I’m sure you remember from various lectures on the subject.”

Quinlan grimaced sheepishly at the reminder. “Of course, Master. I was trying to make a point.”

“You said lightsabers are used only as a last resort,” Satine cut in quickly, clinging to her argument. “And only to save someone’s life. Yet in taking a life is that not going against the Jedi code of peace?”

What followed had been an exhausting conversation on philosophy and morality which Jaster could only partially pay attention to out of sheer boredom. Quinlan, Myles, and Zomar had been equally bored. Jaster was fairly certain that it was at that dinner that Quinlan and Zomar hatched their plan to pull a prank on Ba’ji Tholme. Jaster was just grateful that Tholme seemed to have a sense of humor, as well as an infinite well of patience and grace.

Duke and Duchess Kryze would only be in Keldable for another day. One more day of verbal sparring, one more day of defending Mandalore and the Resol’nare from those that would seek to destroy it. He would much rather be on Dathomir.

“ Sir? ”

Jaster looked up. It was Sha’siss, the head aran of the stronghold. Jaster could feel another sigh building.

“ Elek, Sha’siss. Me’bana? ”

The kel dor hesitated slightly. “ There has been an altercation between the Jedi child and the New Mandalorian youngling. ”

“ An altercation? ” That could mean many things. A loud argument, a prank, maybe. He had a feeling it was something worse than that.

“ Alor Kryze and Ba'ji Tholme have separated the two, but I believe it would be best if you became involved. ”

Jaster nodded and stood. Sha’siss was correct; this was exactly the type of situation Jaster had been hoping to avoid and, as Mand’alor, it was his responsibility to make sure it didn’t escalate and that neither party was unduly offended by the other.

He followed the aran through the halls to the meeting hall. It was much more orderly and calm than he’d anticipated, which was a good sign. Duke Kryze and his daughter were on one side of the room, while Ba’ji Tholme and Quinlan were on the other. Satine’s hair was in disarray and she was bleeding from the nose. Quinlan’s head was bowed as he avoided the disappointed gaze of his buir .

“What happened here?” he asked in Basic, for the sake of the jettii’se .

Ba’ji Tholme stepped forward. “My deepest apologies, Mand’alor. My padawan took offense to something young Kryze said and reacted thoughtlessly.”

“The fault does not rest entirely on Quinlan,” Duke Kryze added. “It was my daughter who was out of line with her words. And actions.”

“Plus,” Quinlan announced, “we all learned that little miss pacifist isn’t as against violence as she claims.”

Satine narrowed her eyes at him and straightened her spine. “You –”

“Enough.” All eyes turned back to Jaster. “It appears that tempers were lost and poor decisions were made by both younglings. I suggest we give them some time to cool off, then reconvene later. Agreed?”

Ba’ji Tholme was the first to respond. He bowed. “Yes, thank you, Mand’alor. We will take our leave.”

Satine marched from the room as soon as they’d left, her head held high. Her father lingered for a moment, his eyes locking on Jaster’s.

“ Ni ceta, ner Mand’alor .” Jaster had to fight not to show his surprise outwardly. “ Today has shown me that perhaps I have been a bit hasty and foolish in establishing the New Mandalorians without consideration for the consequences. I would speak with you later to discuss further steps. ”

Jaster nodded silently and watched him walk away. Adonai Kryze was not an unreasonable man and Jaster had never thought of him as such, even when they were at their most antagonistic toward each other. He understood the pain Kryze felt in losing his wife and how that grief had become the catalyst for laying down his weapons. He could even understand many of the major tenets of the Evaar’ade philosophy. It should be of significant importance to Mandalore to focus on economic prosperity and independence. There should be programs in place for well rounded education and options given for those who don’t wish to fight or become beroya’se . Jaster had thought such things were already in place, but his discussions with Adonai had made him realize that perhaps it was not so. He had been willing to implement some of the changes the Evaar’ade advocated for, but he had not expected their leader to yield on the topics Jaster would not compromise on. He certainly had never expected Duke Kryze to acknowledge him as Mand’alor.

He walked back to his office in a daze and sat at his desk. Obi-Wan and Jango would be home in about four days. He’d debated long and hard about making the Jedi leave before then, but for some reason he was second guessing that choice now. Maybe it was because he’d made assumptions about the Evaar’ade and how their relations would go and had been soundly proven wrong. Perhaps he was wrong about the jettii’se and his son, as well. Quinlan had proven that he cared about Obi-Wan. It wasn’t like he was about to send Obi-Wan off to Coruscant with them. He could control their meeting, watch Obi-Wan’s reaction like a shriek hawk, and end it if he even suspected that Obi-Wan was uncomfortable.

Jaster breathed deeply and let it out, feeling a sliver of relief. He hadn’t realized how much both Obi-Wan’s absence and return had been weighing on him until now. He had confirmation that his sons were okay and he’d made a decision regarding Obi-Wan and the Jedi. There was nothing else for him to do now except wait for Quinlan and Satine to calm themselves. In the meantime, there was always flimsi work. Jaster sighed.

Tholme sat patiently as he watched his padawan pace. Quinlan didn’t often pace like this, instead preferring to act on whatever problem was plaguing him. Right now, however, Quinlan had been sent off to settle his emotions like a child and he resented it. Tholme knew that Quinlan would prefer to seek out Satine again and vent their frustrations at each other openly, but that wasn’t an option right now.

“How dare she!” There it is. Tholme had been waiting for Quinlan’s emotions to boil over. “How dare she call Obi-Wan a coward! He’s the bravest person I know! And how did she know all of that anyway, about the war on Melidaan? We barely know anything about it and we’re Shadows! I know that the True Mandalorians were there but she’s not part of that group and she’s never even met Obi-Wan.”

“Mand’alor Mereel confirmed that a group of New Mandalorians were sent to aid the Young on Melidaan in reestablishing a society. Apparently, it was Kenobi’s idea.”

Quinlan threw up his hands. “See! That’s why I need to know stuff like that! Why didn’t you tell me? And why didn’t I know that Obi-Wan was one of the leaders during the war? He’s already been through so much, Master Tholme, and I can’t imagine him leading a child army. I mean,” he amended with a grimace, “I can imagine it. But that just makes it so much worse. He’s always been small for his age, you know? I know that he can handle himself and I know that he’s already a great leader but he’s even younger than me and I certainly don’t want to ever lead people in battle. Was he hurt during the fighting? Is he okay? Does he have a mind healer?”

“Padawan,” Tholme interrupted gently, “breathe.”

Quinlan took a few shaky breaths then twisted to sit on the ground right where he was. 

Tholme nodded. “Good. Now, I do have a few answers to some of your questions. I was planning to speak with you about what I found tonight, but I suppose now is as good a time as any.” He moved to sit on the floor across from his padawan who was now looking at him with bright, attentive eyes. “I received confirmation that Obi-Wan has been adopted by the Mand’alor.”

“He what!?”

“He is now a full Mandalorian, though I don’t know for certain if he has renounced all ties to the Order. Given the circumstances, I would not be surprised if that were the case. The Mandalorians consider the civil war on Melidaan to be Obi-Wan’s verd’gotten , which is a coming of age ceremony similar to knight trials, if I’m not mistaken. Thus, he is an adult in their eyes, similar to a knight within the Order. He has a full set of armor, though it is made of durasteel rather than beskar. After his first mission, he will receive his first piece of beskar armor.”

Quinlan blinked at him in stunned silence.

“From what I have been able to gather,” Tholme continued, “Obi-Wan suffered minor physical injuries on Melidaan, which were treated and have long since healed. His dehydration and malnutrition have been treated as well, and he was officially let off of medical restriction as of about a month ago. He does see a mind healer, though I believe the word here is mir’baar’ur .”

“His first mission. That’s where he is right now, right?” Tholme nodded. “And he’s coming back soon? I’ll be able to see him?”

“I’m not sure,” Tholme admitted. “I believe that the Mand’alor kept us apart for a reason. He does not trust Jedi with his son, which, given the information that has come to light, is understandable. We’ll have to see if we’ve earned his trust enough to be allowed a meeting with Obi-Wan.”

Quinlan’s expression darkened. “You mean the information about Jinn. Because I was right. Because that nerf herder left him there alone in the middle of a war!”

Tholme let out a measured breath. “Yes. I am afraid so.”

Quinlan turned his face away, breathing harshly. He scrubbed at his eyes, brushing away tears that Tholme politely pretended not to see. Again he released his regret into the Force for not listening to his padawan from the beginning.

“I’m sorry that I pulled Satine’s hair. And hit her in the nose. In my defense, she did hit me first.”

Tholme’s mouth twitched but he managed not to smile. “You know that I will never advocate against self defense, but what do you think you could have done differently in that situation?”

Quinlan bit his lip. “I guess I could have not lost my temper and debated with her instead of calling her and her entire family cowards. And I could have not told her that I thought she was a weak minded fool with no practical understanding of life.”

Tholme’s lips twitched again. “Indeed. Though you also could have simply walked away.”

“Oh, yeah. Or that.”

Tholme lost the battle and threw back his head with a laugh. Quinlan startled, looking up at him in bewilderment before he smiled too. After a moment they were both laughing, clutching their sides.

“Did you see her face when she finally decided to hit me?” Quinlan wheezed. “I’ve never seen anyone so angry.”

“You’re lucky she didn’t know what she was doing. If she had been a true Mandalorian you would have been on the ground.”

Quinlan shook his head, wiping a tear from his eye. “I know. But that was the point, Master. She isn’t a true Mandalorian. I’m really beginning to understand the political divide here and I think that the Evaar’ade and the Haat Mando’ade could get along if it weren’t for extremists like Satine who don’t understand everything that they’re destroying.”

Tholme smiled at him proudly. “So you have been listening.”

Quinlan rolled his eyes. “Yes, Master. You know, I bet Obi-Wan has an even better understanding of all this by now, probably even better than the Mand’alor himself.”

“You’re saying that we can leverage Obi-Wan’s competence to manipulate the Mand’alor into letting us meet with him?” Tholme raised an eyebrow at his padawan, impressed despite himself. That kind of insight and ruthless resourcefulness was exactly the kind of qualities that had made Tholme choose him as his padawan.

“Manipulate is such a negative word, Master,” Quinlan complained. “I just want to make sure the Mand’alor is aware of how useful a conversation between us would be if Obi-Wan were present. He’s the only one who really understands both cultures, after all, and isn’t that what this is about? Bridging the gap between us?”

Quinlan sent him a guileless, wide-eyed look that projected innocent pleading. Tholme shook his head. He thought Quinlan was a menace now; in a few years, his padawan would be a force to be reckoned with.

“You make an excellent argument. I’m sure Mand’alor Mereel would love to hear it.”

Quinlan beamed.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan rolled out of his bunk and stretched. They were nearly home now. They left the Salin Corridor yesterday and were maneuvering through realspace faster than he’d anticipated. Hivra seemed eager to get home and was taking a route that shaved off several hours from their commute. Obi-Wan didn’t ask about the legality or safety of said route.

He was eager to get home too. The Force was urging him onward, as though there was something he needed to do. It would be a lot more helpful if the Force would tell him what task awaited him on Mandalore, but Obi-Wan was patient. He would find out when he arrived and until then, all he could do was meditate, help out on the ship, and look after the two foundlings.

Savage and Feral were adjusting well to their new living situation, but they needed a lot more than could be offered on a ship. Feral in particular had a lot of energy with limited means of using it. All of the verde had done their best to keep him entertained with stories and activities, but Feral still managed to get into trouble every other hour. So far, he’d found his way into the duct system, into the storage hold, and, most distressingly, tangled in the wires under the cockpit. Eventually, Silas had found some old flimsi documents and flipped them to the blank side, handed Feral some paints and pens and let him go to town. It had turned into his favorite activity immediately, though they were starting to run out of flimsi now.

Savage was a different story, as expected. He was still skittish and shy, and he stuck by his brother’s side as often as possible. He didn’t like touch and he didn’t speak much, but Obi-Wan thought he’d been getting more comfortable as the trip went on. Surprisingly, Savage had bonded well with Drond, despite the kiffar’s naturally grumpy disposition. Obi-Wan didn’t know Drond that well, but he thought that maybe something in his past made it easier for him to connect with Savage. It wasn’t Obi-Wan’s place to pry, so he never asked. He was just grateful that Savage seemed to be opening up to someone.

On the third day, after they’d entered hyperspace, Obi-Wan had approached Savage as he watched Feral fingerpainting. He sat next to him, making sure to leave enough space so that Savage didn’t feel crowded.

“Hello,” he said softly. Savage didn’t look ready to bolt, which he took as a good sign. “How are you?”

Savage looked at him out of the corner of his eye, assessingly. “Alright.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Glad to hear it,” he responded lightly. He pretended he didn’t notice the hesitancy in the boy’s answer. “I couldn’t help but notice that you are Force sensitive. That’s something we have in common. I must admit that I miss spending time with others blessed by the Ka’ra . Mostly, I miss joint meditations. It can be very calming and is a great way to get to know another person. Would you be willing to meditate with me?”

Savage had tensed when he mentioned Force sensitivity, but he began to relax towards the end, biting his lip in contemplation. Obi-Wan let him take his time to respond.

“Okay,” he whispered eventually. Obi-Wan sent him a small, but genuine smile.

“Would you like to meditate here?” He had a feeling Savage would be more comfortable if he was still within eyesight of Feral. Savage nodded. “Excellent. I prefer to sit on the floor. Would you like to join me?”

The two of them moved to the floor. Obi-Wan sat with his legs crossed, his feet folded upwards to rest on his knees. He laid his hands gently, palms open and facing upward, on his thighs. Savage did his best to copy his position, though he couldn’t quite get his legs to fold in the same way. Obi-Wan assured him that however he wanted to sit was fine, so long as he was comfortable. Obi-Wan let him fidget and move until he felt comfortable enough to sit still. Training Anakin had taught him that those moments of wriggling and adjusting were vital for younglings to be able to pay attention.

Gently, Obi-Wan guided Savage into meditation. Both of them had their eyes closed as they reached out to the Force and each other. Obi-Wan didn’t push, didn’t do much more than meet him in the middle, greeting him in the distant, cordial way of a Jedi master. Savage responded shyly, but eventually grew bolder as they spent more time in the eddies of the Force. When Savage first intentionally reached out and brushed against Obi-Wan’s Force presence, Obi-Wan had to restrain himself from reacting with the joy and pride he felt, instead sending only a sliver of those emotions through. Still, Savage’s Force presence glowed with satisfaction at the slight praise.

They spent two hours in meditation together. It was far longer than Obi-Wan expected, longer than most younglings were capable of, but Savage was doing so well and hadn’t complained in the slightest. He even seemed to enjoy the exercise. They only stopped when Feral leaped into his brother’s lap and blew a raspberry in his ear. Savage jerked to awareness and shoved Feral off him. Feral just laughed and told them that dinner was ready.

The next two days went much the same. Obi-Wan meditated with Savage for at least an hour each day, but his time was also taken up by the others who wanted to bond with the two zabrak boys. Silas had taken to spending an hour with them each day telling them about Mandalore. Jango too made sure to have story time with them every day. Hivra pretended to be disinterested and spent the majority of her time focused on piloting the ship. Yet when Savage made his way quietly into the cockpit, Obi-Wan had caught her teaching him the basics of flying in the brusque way she had while Savage listened intently and kept his hands clasped behind his back. Obi-Wan had backed out silently, smiling to himself, and left them to their lesson.

Jango and Obi-Wan had both reported directly to Jaster multiple times throughout the trip. Jaster had, naturally, not been pleased about Obi-Wan’s choice of hunt. Obi-Wan hadn’t expected him to be – in fact he’d expected quite the dressing down once the hunt was over – but he was pleasantly surprised by the lack of anger or disappointed lecture. Jaster had been stressed. There was a pinch between his eyebrows and a tenseness around his mouth, but he’d heard Obi-Wan out. Afterwards, he’d asked about Feral and Savage, then asked if the Ka’ra was pleased with his actions. Obi-Wan hadn’t quite known how to respond to that. The Force was never ‘pleased’ in the mortal understanding of the word, but its prodding had gotten less intense and the urgent sound of drums had eased into something softer. He didn’t know how to put that into words, so he’d simply told Jaster yes. Jaster had nodded in response, a resigned look in his eyes.

Despite their contact with Keldabe, however, there had been limited updates on what was going on in Mandalore during their absence. He knew that the New Mandalorians were set to arrive as of three days ago, but he’d heard nothing about how the most recent talks had gone. There had been rumors that Duke Kryze was bringing his daughter this time, which meant that there was a possibility that Satine would still be there when he arrived.

Satine. He wasn’t sure how he felt about seeing her again. Elated that she was alive, of course, but also anxious and a little apprehensive. He would always hold a fondness for her in his heart and he would always have the utmost respect and admiration for her, but their fundamental differences which had led to so many arguments had only become more pronounced. Satine was a pacifist in the ultimate sense of the word. She was passionate in her ideals, which was something that had drawn him to her, yet he could not share in her conviction. He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to believe that a galaxy could be achieved wherein violence was unnecessary. Unfortunately, Obi-Wan knew better. Peace was something that must be fought for. There would always be a division between the powerful and the powerless and the right to freedom would always come at a cost. Satine was simply unwilling to pay that particular cost, which blinded her to the price of her version of peace. 

Obi-Wan thought of Melidaan, and the price the Young had all paid for peace. Neild and Cerasi reported that the rebuilding was coming along even more quickly than projected. Work on the hospital was nearly complete and the New Mandalorians had set up an academy to teach the Young the medical arts. Crops had been planted and were already beginning to show significant growth, though it was the green houses that were bearing fruit and keeping the population fed. Children were fed, clothed, and healthy; families divided by war had been reconciled; and a society founded on the tenets of peace and democracy was being implemented. None of that would be possible without the (yes, violent) intervention of the Mandalorians.

Fighting with the Young during his first life, he’d thought he understood a desire for peace. He thought when he’d met Satine as a padawan that he understood her philosophy on a soul-deep level. At fifteen, he had already been weary of violence, had already tired of war and death. Then the Clone Wars happened and he again saw the pointless loss of life that, at the time, was ostensibly about preventing a larger war and saving lives on a grand scale. To find out later, after betrayal and the kind of loss that cannot be conceived, that it was all for the sake of one puppeteer? Obi-Wan had never felt so broken as he had those years in the desert. He’d tried to come to terms with it all, and had somewhat succeeded, but he’d never quite gotten over the bitterness. It wasn’t until he’d been able to see everything from the Force’s perspective that he’d been able to set aside that well of hurt and understand . 

From Satine’s perspective, her views were logical and just. And in a way, they were. She intimately knew the consequences of violence. She knew what it was to lose someone she loved and that experience changed her, as such things do. As much as he disagreed with her, both then and now, he’d never misunderstood her or thought less of her ideals. He wondered if she was already so polarized or if that was something that came later. If she stood toe to toe with Jaster now, at fourteen, then he sympathized greatly with his buir . Satine would be a handful and he did not envy the Mand’alor in that position.

It would be easy to pass off Jaster’s small tells and furtiveness as a result of the stress of both Obi-Wan’s first hunt and the presence of the Evaar’ade , but Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel like that wasn’t the whole picture. There was something else happening in Keldabe. He didn't know what it was, and no one had seen fit to tell him, but he knew that they were hiding something from him. Jango in particular adopted the stoic expression that he always used to hide something whenever Obi-Wan asked if he’d heard anything from buir about home.

Obi-Wan and Jango were the last to go down to breakfast today. Jango had slept poorly last night and had finally fallen asleep a few hours til morning. Obi-Wan had lingered, purposefully taking his time to get ready as he waited for Jango to wake up.

“ Jate vaar'tur , vod .”

Jango groaned and rolled over, then reluctantly heaved himself into a seated position. He rubbed a hand over his face and looked over at Obi-Wan tiredly.

“ What time is it?”

“ It is still early. Everyone is down at breakfast, but we have about eight hours left until we reach orbit around Mandalore. ”

Jango nodded and stood, stretching his back with another groan. “ Why aren’t you eating with everyone? ”

“ Because I wanted to talk to you .”

Jango paused where he’d picked up his shirt and looked over at him, suddenly alert. “ Is everything okay? Did you have another vision? ”

Obi-Wan shook his head. He leaned casually against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. “ No. I wanted to ask you what is happening in Keldabe that no one wants to tell me .”

Jango ducked his head and turned back to getting himself dressed. He shoved his feet into his boots and began buckling on his armor. Obi-Wan let him avoid answering for a few minutes, but eventually called Jango’s name softly. 

“ I know it is going to seem like we were lying to you, but I swear it was for a good reason. ”

“Alright ,” Obi-Wan responded hesitantly.

Jango took a deep breath. “ The Jedi contacted us a month ago. They wanted to know more about Melidaan and our involvement. They asked if they could send a representative and expressed that they wished to improve relations between the Jedi and Mandalore.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. That was surprising, but ultimately good news. He’d added a few pages in the proposal he’d sent to the Order about the benefits of allying themselves with the Mandalorians. He hadn’t truly expected anything to come of it, but he was glad to be proven wrong. The hesitation in Jango’s face made him think that everything had not gone smoothly, however.

“ They asked about you ,” Jango admitted after a moment. He let out a harsh breath through his nose. “ Zomar wanted us to deny them outright just for that. Buir decided to compromise. Buir talked to the Jedi and allowed them to send someone, provided that you were not on planet at the time. The Jedi arrived just as our ship left atmo. ”

Obi-Wan stared at him. Jango was right, he did feel lied to. He didn’t need shielding or coddling, as he was sure Jaster knew. He struggled with his frustration for a moment before finally letting it go. His family cared about him, as a person, and he treasured that feeling of being cared for and guarded, no matter how unnecessary. Jaster had clearly timed everything perfectly, mostly likely by making the Jedi wait, which would not have made them happy. Obi-Wan scratched at his chin, conflicted.

“ Which Jedi did they send? ”

Jango looked at him sharply. “ That is your first question? ” He shook his head. “ Of course it is. They sent someone named Tholme and their child. I do not know the name of the child. ”

Master Tholme. Obi-Wan rocked back on his heels. That meant that Quinlan was currently on Mandalore. He’d been so close to seeing his friend, yet they’d missed each other by a hair’s breadth. 

“Quinlan,” he breathed.

“ Me’ven ?”

“ The padawan. Their name is Quinlan. ”

“ You know them?”

“We have known each other since the creche. We grew up together. They are my best friend .”

Jango let out a breath and picked up his helmet. He’d finished getting dressed sometime during the conversation. “ I will let buir know that the padawan is your vod. Do you want to see them? If you do not, buir will send the Jedi away before we get to Mandalore. ”

“ I want to see them ,” Obi-Wan said decisively.

Jango nodded. “ Alright. I will comm buir now. ”

Obi-Wan spent the rest of the trip distracted by the thought of Quinlan and Master Tholme. His thoughts kept circling themselves uselessly. It was a good thing that the Jedi had reached out and were establishing open communication between the Order and the Mandalorians. It was a good thing that Jaster had accepted and was allowing Jedi representatives not just on Mandalore, but in Keldabe itself. He was pleased that the Jedi hadn’t jumped to conclusions, as they had at Galidraan, but instead were investigating, asking questions, and seeking answers before they made any conclusions or decisions.

Yet, he worried. Had the Order figured out he was the author of the document they’d received? Were they angry about it? Had any of his suggestions been taken seriously? Perhaps the Order wanted to bring him to the Temple to interrogate him directly. He was sure they would have questions, even if those questions were simply about Melidaan and the Mandalorians. If that were the case, then he couldn’t imagine Jaster simply letting them take him, but then the alliance he was hoping for would be destroyed in a battle of wills – and over him no less! He would have to convince Jaster to let him go. Somehow.

Someone dropped heavily into the chair next to him and Obi-Wan startled.

“ You are worrying ,” Dakii said. She bit into a varos fruit, the juice escaping down her chin, staining her golden fur.

Obi-Wan let out a breath. “ I am not worrying .”

Dakii’s raised eyebrow said more than words. Obi-Wan scratched at the table with a fingernail. He felt a bit like a scolded youngling, or perhaps like Anakin often did whenever Obi-Wan would chastise him for something.

“ I suppose I may be worrying. A bit. ” Dakii made a satisfied noise at the admission and gestured for Obi-Wan to continue. “ The Jedi will have questions. It is possible that they will want me to return with them to the Temple to answer those questions. ”

“ And you do not want to go. ”

Obi-Wan sat straighter in his chair and forcefully stopped his fidgeting. “ It is not about what I want. I worry about the consequences of going. Or rather, of not going.”

“ If you do not wish to go, ” Dakii said casually, taking another bite, “ then do not go. ”

Obi-Wan wanted to laugh. He loved the straight forward way of thinking among the Mandalorians. When put that way, it seemed so simple. Yet Obi-Wan always had to consider the ramifications of his decisions. Action and inaction both came with consequences and he was not free to make selfishly motivated choices. The bone-deep apprehension he felt at the thought of returning to the Temple didn’t matter. What mattered was how his answers to the Jedi Council’s questions would affect their relationship with Mandalore and their decisions for the future of the Jedi as a whole. Such things were too arrogant to say out loud, but that did not make them less true. Obi-Wan’s knowledge gave him power here and now, but it also placed upon him a greater responsibility than he had ever known.

“ I am probably worrying over nothing ,” Obi-Wan admitted. “ I do not know what the Jedi will want and they may not even ask me to return to the Temple. ”

Dakii nodded. “ Exactly. Live life as it is, not how you fear it may be one day. ”

That was another Mandalorian saying, related to shereshoy . It also reminded him quite strongly of the things Qui-Gon would say to him. Sometimes it was difficult to reconcile the very real knowledge he possessed of the future with this philosophy. Even as a young padawan, Obi-Wan had had visions that terrified him with their importance. Over time, under Master Jinn’s tutelage, those visions lessened until they faded away almost entirely. He stopped having visions in the waking hours and hardly ever dreamed of events that had not yet happened. He still received warnings from the Force, but they were always imminent and presently useful so Qui-Gon did not complain about them. Now, after having lived his entire life as it could have been, he did not know if he was truly capable of living only in the present moment. Still, he nodded to Dakii and let the subject drop.

When their ship came into orbit, it took an impressively short amount of time for them to be allowed to land at the space port closest to the stronghold. The privileges of being ade be Mand’alor , he supposed.

Hivra and Drond descended first. Although they were home, it was still protocol, and instinct, for two scouts to disembark before the rest and sweep for enemies or traps. Silas, Dakii, and Jango followed, with Obi-Wan close behind as he gently herded the two foundlings down the ramp. All of the hard work they’d done to make Savage feel comfortable seemed to have gone out the window. He was a taut bowstring about to snap, his shoulders tense and his jaw muscles jumping with how hard he was clenching his teeth. He had a death grip on his little brother’s hand, despite Feral’s complaints.

Jaster met them a few feet away from the loading ramp. He clapped his ori’ramikade on the shoulder, then hugged his sons before finally crouching in front of the two zabraks and removing his helmet.

“ Su’cuy, ad’ike. Ner gai Jaster. Pirusti ru’urcir .”

Silas and Jango had both given the boys a few informal lessons on Mando’a during their trip, but it wasn’t enough to allow them to catch more of Jaster’s words than ‘hello,’ so Jaster immediately translated. His expression and body language remained open and friendly.

“You’re the Mand’alor,” Savage said, surprising Obi-Wan with his boldness. “You’re the one in charge.”

Jaster nodded. “That’s right.”

“That means that you’re the one who decides what happens to us. Obi-Wan said that we could stay here and we would be safe, and that he would help us get our brother back. But he can’t really promise that. You can.”

Jaster’s eyes flicked to him for a moment and Obi-Wan worried for the span of a heartbeat that he was going to make him retract his promise. Then Jaster returned his steady gaze to the elder zabrak brother and solemnly replied.

“You have my word that you and your brother are welcome here for as long as you wish to stay with us. You will be cared for as one of our own. My son and I” – and here Obi-Wan swallowed heavily at the sharpness of Jaster’s gaze – “will discuss his plans to save your brother. Until then, I have some people that would like to meet you. Is that alright?”

Savage nodded wordlessly, but Feral began jumping up and down.

“I told you, Sav, I told you! We’re gonna be Mandalorians! It’s gonna be so cool. We’re gonna wear armor and we’re gonna learn how to fight and do cool things! Obi-Wan said so! And Jango and Silas and Drond and Hivra all said so! And now, Obi-Wan and Jango’s dad said so too! So you don’t gotta be nervous anymore.”

Jaster was fully grinning now, even as Savage’s skin flushed a deep orange with embarrassment. 

“That’s right, ad’ika . And my friends Seke and Mij would like to help you get settled in while I talk to Obi-Wan and his squad, alright?”

Feral frowned. “Obi-Wan isn’t coming with us?”

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan assured him. “Seke and Mij are both really nice and I’ll see you both at late meal. I promise.”

Feral looked at his brother then back at Jaster before finally nodding to Obi-Wan and dragging his brother toward the two verde that Jaster had introduced. Savage followed close behind with only a surreptitious glance back at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan tore his eyes away from the younglings and focused on his buir . Jaster was smiling at him and Jango, though there was strain around his eyes.

“ Is everything alright here, buir ?” he asked.

Jaster’s eyebrows jumped. “ You mean besides learning that my children have been in serious danger for over a tenday, out of reach, when I expected them to be reasonably safe?”

Obi-Wan looked away, sheepish. He didn’t mean to make anyone worry about him so much. Jaster sighed and ran a tired hand through his hair.

“ I am not angry with you, Ob’ika. I understood what I was signing up for when I adopted you, ” he said wryly. “ No, you are correct. Things have been stressful around here lately. Though I believe there has been a positive development in the relationship with the New Mandalorians. ”

“ Oh? ” Obi-Wan was cautiously optimistic. He’d known that Jaster’s survival meant a moderate alternative to the extremist ends of Mandalore’s political spectrum and he’d wanted to believe that that would mean a swifter and more agreeable end to the civil war. The thought of both the Haat Mando’ade and the Evaar’ade coming to the table and working out an agreement had been a bit of a pipe dream he’d indulged in on occasion, one he did not expect to happen without quite a bit of time and effort. He would be pleasantly surprised to be wrong.

“ Yes, I will tell you about it later. For now, there is something else I must tell you, something that affects you directly. ”

Obi-Wan just nodded, already knowing what Jaster was going to say. He was still thinking about the New Mandalorians, and Satine, and how to ensure lasting peace between the two factions. Death Watch was their common enemy, one that might be powerful enough to overcome a majority of their differences in the effort to save both lives and the Mandalorian culture as a whole. Still, they would need something else, something more lasting if they did not want tensions to escalate after Kyr’tsad had been dealt with. A goal that both sides could agree with morally, one that leveraged both of their strengths. Ideally, it would be a goal that bettered Mandalore as well, perhaps with increased trade or a boost in reputation. 

A gasp made him look up abruptly. He’d been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t been paying attention. If he had been, he would have certainly noticed the familiar Force presence of his childhood friend.

“Quinlan?”

“Obi-Wan!”

Obi-Wan suddenly found his arms full of distressed kiffar. He hugged Quinlan back just as enthusiastically, both of them constricting each other’s ribs tightly enough to limit oxygen. Obi-Wan buried his face in his friend’s neck. How long had it been since he’d been able to hug Quinlan? He’d seen him become a Shadow, had seen him knighted, then watched from afar as he raised his own padawan. He’d seen the toll war had taken on him, seen him Fall, then helped him back to the Light. 

None of that had happened yet. This Quinlan was sixteen, just barely growing into himself and nowhere near his knighthood. Aayla probably wasn’t even at the temple yet, if she was even born. It was a strange thought, one that made him feel much older than his physical fourteen years, older even than the years that weighed upon his soul. Anakin hadn’t been born yet either, a fact which twisted his insides viciously whenever he stopped to think about it for too long. Then again, Jango had been born later than anticipated. Could Anakin have been born early? Would he be born at all?

He shoved the panic down and focused on his and Quinlan’s mutual attempt to fuse themselves into one being. Obi-Wan pressed his face into Quinlan’s neck and stifled a sob. Everything felt so heavy all the time, but this was a moment of joy and relief so poignant it hurt worse than the daily drudgery of insecurity, fear, and grief. His friend gripped him back and murmured reassuring platitudes in his ear.

Quinlan pulled back first. He slapped Obi-Wan’s arm, hard enough that Obi-Wan felt the force through the durasteel.

“Hey!”

“No! I’m mad at you. I thought you might have been dead somewhere and then I find out that you’ve been adopted by Mandalorians! Then , I get here and I have a vision that’s not at all like any I’ve ever had, only to realize that you went to kriffing Dathomir and there was nothing I could do about it! You’re my best friend, Obes, and I nearly lost you.”

Obi-Wan paled at the mention of Quinlan’s vision. He hadn’t mentioned anything about the future-that-was or Obi-Wan’s strange experience of a second childhood, but that didn’t stop him from panicking. The only way for Quinlan to have had that vision of Dathomir was for him to have touched something of Obi-Wan’s. Fear trickled like ice down his spine, but he quickly released it into the Force. Would it be so bad if Quinlan knew the truth? He decided to meditate on the subject later, when he was more well rested and less overwhelmed.

“Oh, my dear friend. I apologize for the emotional turmoil I’ve put you through. As you can see, however, I am quite alright. You have no need to worry.”

Contrary to the response Obi-Wan expected, this caused Quinlan to explode. “No need to worry!?” he shouted. Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan could see Jango stifling a laugh, along with several other verde .

“Quin –”

“No need to worry?” Quinlan’s voice had become distressingly high pitched. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, the first time I lost track of you, you ended up enslaved in an undersea mine and nearly blew yourself up trying to free everyone else. The second time I lost track of you, your nerf herder of a master left you on a war torn planet where you led an army of child soldiers. This time , you willingly went to Dathomir for Force knows what reason. Dathomir, I remind you, is a planet notorious for being a Dark Force nexus inhabited by witches who could easily have decided to eat you rather than help you! I think I might put a tracker in you just to make sure something like this doesn’t happen again.”

Quinlan was panting when he was finished. Obi-Wan could only blink at him, taken aback. When laid out like that, he could see why his friend was so distressed. Unfortunately, his tirade had also distressed their audience. He’d forgotten that he hadn’t told Jaster or Jango about his time on Bandomeer. He risked a glance toward them and winced slightly at their expressions. Jaster’s eyes were sad, his lips downturned as he watched them. Jango, however, was livid. His eyes sparked with protective anger and he looked about five seconds away from traveling to Bandomeer and tearing the entire planet apart with his bare hands.

Unthinkingly, Obi-Wan sent a wave of comfort and calm in his direction. Jango’s anger lessened, his posture loosening, but he still didn’t look happy. Obi-Wan knew that he’d have to come clean to both members of his aliit before long.

“I would rather you didn’t,” Obi-Wan said simply. He did not like the idea of a tracker implanted in him, no matter who was doing the tracking. “But I can promise to keep in touch better,” he offered. “I’ll let you know before I do anything dangerous.”

Quinlan groaned and leaned his forehead against Obi-Wan’s. “That’s not what I meant, stupid. I want you to stop doing dangerous things.”

“As if your missions aren’t dangerous at all.”

“I have Master Tholme.”

“I had a squad with me!”

“This time! And I bet Jaster made you take them. You’re so convinced that you have to do everything on your own that you don’t even consider that there are people around you who want to help you, even if your ideas are bullheaded and stupid.”

Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose. “My ideas are not stupid.”

“They kind of are, vod’ika ,” Jango injected, unhelpfully. Obi-Wan shot him a glare.

“I think that our mission to Dathomir went exceedingly well,” Obi-Wan countered airily. Sure, he’d only accomplished one of the two main goals he’d had in going there, but his plans were easily adaptable without Mother Talzin as an ally. Feral and Savage were safe, which was all he cared about at the moment.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.” He turned to the new, yet distantly familiar voice. Master Tholme stood off to the side, watching their interaction. In the Force he released amusement, chagrin, and a twinge of guilt that Obi-Wan didn’t know how to interpret. He bowed, lower than was proper for a master to a padawan. “It is good to see you well.”

Obi-Wan bowed back reflexively. It felt strange in his armor, even armor that Goran Kheri had worked diligently to adapt to his flexibility, yet he could not stop himself.

“Master Tholme. It is good to see you as well.”

Master Tholme didn’t quite smile, but his presence in the Force exuded a gentle warmth in his direction that Obi-Wan couldn’t help but bask in. It wasn’t as though there were no Force users among the Mandalorians, but it was relatively rare and their strength in the Force was not nearly that which he was used to. The few he had met simply used their connection to the Ka’ra for better reflexes, small moments of intuition, and occasionally increased stamina. It had been a long time since he’d felt the friendly, metaphysical touch of another so steeped in the Force.

Before another discussion – or argument – could begin, Jaster herded their group away from the port and back to the stronghold. Jaster dismissed the squad, having received their written reports while they were in transit. Truthfully, it was rare for a simple hunt to require such in-depth debriefs. Jango and Obi-Wan had reported to him directly since he was their buir , but the nature and location of their journey had resulted in extra scrutiny not just from a worried parent, but from the Council of Clans as well. No doubt every word of the squad’s reports had been dissected at length.

Jaster led their group easily into a smaller recreation room on the second floor. It hadn’t been a part of Jango’s original tour to him, but Obi-Wan had found that it was one of the most popular rooms in the building. It was fairly large, yet cramped with two couches, three arm chairs, a sabacc table with six chairs, and a well-stocked liquor cabinet. Jaster and his ori’ramikade liked to unwind here from their long days, playing cards and drinking. Occasionally, Jaster would hold informal meetings on the worn couches, meetings that didn’t hold great political weight and needed a more relaxed touch.

Quinlan had been hovering near him during the speeder ride over and the walk to the rec room. When Obi-Wan sat down on one of the couches, the dark green one which he found to be far more comfortable than the blue, Quinlan sat so close to him as to nearly be on top of him. Obi-Wan hadn’t quite realized how much he’d worried his friend. If he was being completely honest, he hadn’t known he’d meant this much to Quinlan. They’d been close in their youth, of course, but as time had passed they’d grown apart and that close bond had dissolved. When Quinlan Fell, those three years were full of brutal, horrifying betrayal that Obi-Wan had found difficult to fathom. Still, he’d seen pieces of his old friend even in the yellow-eyed monster he’d become. Hope was not lost and, indeed, Quinlan had fought his way back to the Light and joined the Order in the fight against the Sith. 

Obi-Wan restrained a wince at the memories that flooded his mind. He remembered arguing for Quinlan’s reinstatement to the Order, he remembered the less than kind words he’d had for the Council in regards to their culpability in Quinlan’s Fall. He’d succeeded, not knowing the cost of his victory. It had only been a few months later that Order 66 happened and the Empire rose.

No , Obi-Wan told himself harshly. Don’t go there. It hasn’t happened. It won’t happen.

He could feel Master Tholme studying him. There was a thoughtfulness to his expression, a sense of deep contemplation. Obi-Wan sat straighter under the scrutiny and tightened his already beskar-strength mental shields.

No one spoke as they all took seats around the room. Jango had opted to remain standing against the wall by the door, but Master Tholme and Jaster had both taken an armchair and Myles, who’d followed them in, stood on the opposite side of the door as Jango, as though the two of them were guarding the exit.

“I must apologize,” Master Tholme said after they were all settled. Obi-Wan’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “My padawan tried to convince me that you did not leave the Order of your own volition, yet I was blinded by my trust in the Council. They in turn, I believe, were blinded by their trust in Master Jinn. I cannot apologize on their behalf, but I can express my own regret in minimalizing my padawan’s concern and not investigating the events on Melidaan.”

Obi-Wan swallowed thickly and bowed his head in deference. He’d never expected an apology from anyone regarding what happened on Melidaan. Even in the original timeline, when he’d returned to the Order, an apology was the last thing on the Council’s mind. Instead, they’d wanted him to express his regret, they wanted him to atone for the crime of leaving, no matter the circumstances.

“You and I have spoken around the topic of Jedi younglings,” Jaster said, saving Obi-Wan from having to form a response, “but we have not officially had a discussion about Obi-Wan and his dar’cabur . Are you and the rest of the Jedi aware of what occurred?”

Master Tholme inclined his head. “We have recently looked more closely into Master Jinn’s report, as well as the reports coming directly from Melidaan. Aid organizations often work closely with our service corps and those aiding Melidaan have shed some light on the truth of the situation. Master Jinn did not mention to the Council anything about children, let alone the faction called the Young. He simply expressed that, in his opinion, the roots of violence and hatred on Melidaan ran too deeply to ever be truly dug out and that he believed there could be no peaceful end to the civil war between the two – adult – factions. On the subject of his padawan,” he added with a glance toward Obi-Wan, “he merely stated that his padawan chose to stay behind willingly and against his counsel. It was, well, heavily implied , that Obi-Wan made this decision for the sake of a young girl he had met on the planet.”

If it had not been for the memories he’d been shown in the Force, Obi-Wan would have felt shocked at this revelation. Duty and the will of the Force was what motivated his decision, not Cerasi. He cared for her as a friend and had been devastated by her death, but she alone could not have caused him to leave the Order, leave his family . No, it had been the painfully young faces streaked with dirt gazing at him with awe and gratitude for the meager supplies he’d been able to give them. Their situation had been dire. At the time, they’d had no real weapons and no plan besides the desperate desire to end the fighting. Qui-Gon had been too worried about Master Tahl to see the level of despair in front of him.

“ Iba skanah! ” Jango cried. He ignored Jaster’s censorious look. “ Osik lo’shebs’ul narit !”

“Jango! Luubid! ”

Jango subsided with a scowl, arms crossed over his chest as he glared at Master Tholme.

“It’s alright,” Tholme said softly. “Jango is quite entitled to his anger in this case. Obi-Wan, the Order has deeply failed you and I know that this is not the first time that that is true. You should know that changes are being made, Temple wide, that will hopefully prevent anything like this from happening again.”

Changes. Hope surged in Obi-Wan’s chest. Perhaps they’d read his proposal, or perhaps they’d simply learned from his own situation. Either way, it could only be a good thing.

“What sort of changes?” Jaster demanded. He might have reprimanded his son for his language, but that didn’t mean Jaster didn’t agree with the sentiment.

Master Tholme leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together. “Several weeks ago, various members of the Order received an anonymous document taking us to task for our failings. It was quite thorough in pointing out our flaws, as well as proposing actionable, reasonable measures to address those flaws.”

Obi-Wan didn’t like the way Master Tholme was staring at him, making direct eye contact.

“Whoever sent that document must have been very familiar with our Order, and specifically with the Coruscant Temple. Most likely a former or current member. Our slicers have been working on the encryption, but unfortunately all they’ve managed to determine so far is that the document originated from the Outer Rim.”

“Are you making an accusation, Ba’ji Tholme?” Jaster asked icily.

Tholme tilted his head as though considering his response. “An accusation? No. Though I would like to ask young Kenobi how he became so good at shielding.”

Chapter Text

“Six months is a long time, in terms of learning,” Obi-Wan responded, his tone light. Tholme listened carefully in the Force, but the words were not strictly a lie. There was a slight discordance, a note just ever so slightly out of time, but nothing he could pinpoint. “Master Qui-Gon emphasized the importance of shielding and it was a priority in my lessons.”

Tholme did not doubt that that was true. Quinlan had even mentioned something to that effect some time ago, a complaint about Obi-Wan’s shielding making it even harder to gauge his best friend’s wellbeing. Still, he was familiar with Qui-Gon Jinn’s shielding techniques. His shielding was strong, of course, having been trained by Master Dooku and being of the same lineage as Master Yoda, but his technique was particular and easily recognizable. The formidable, layered shields around Obi-Wan’s mind were like nothing he’d ever seen, even from Master Yoda who was one of the oldest members of the Order. His mental barriers were dynamic and complex. They reminded him of shifting sands that warned trespassers away from the towering walls within. They contained traps and illusions, guiding the observer to solidify any preconceptions they had before entry. If he were less well trained, or if he’d been anything other than a Shadow, Tholme would no doubt have seen only a well trained youngling with just-above-average shields. As it was, he’d still nearly fallen into the trap of seeing Obi-Wan as nothing more than a traumatized youngling protecting themselves with every scrap of strength they had. But Obi-Wan didn’t have to strain to maintain his guard. It was as natural as breathing and he knew that his shields would not drop even in his sleep, even in battle. They were solid and unbreakable, the kind of protection one created out of necessity and desperate creativity rather than traditional learning.

“Six months ago, your shielding technique was mostly on par with those of your age,” Tholme said, pushing the issue. “I admit that you have an affinity for it and I am familiar with your work ethic, but even so I find it to be a stretch of the imagination that a fourteen year old former-padawan attained a level of skill equal or superior to many Masters I know.”

Mand’alor Mereel was looking between them carefully. He clearly didn’t understand the nuance of the conversation, but it was obvious enough that Tholme was accusing Obi-Wan of having knowledge he shouldn’t possess. He knew he had to tread carefully if he didn’t want to undo all of the work he’d done so far in building a tenuous relationship between their peoples. The former padawan didn’t falter, however, his calm unruffled as he met Tholme’s eyes. 

“I was fighting in a war, Master Tholme,” he replied evenly. There was steel in Obi-Wan’s gray-blue eyes. It was a strength of spirit that he didn’t usually associate with ones so young, a strength that came with suffering and overcoming, a determination to triumph in adversity. Even at only fourteen years standard, Obi-Wan cut an imposing figure, an image that was helped greatly by his armor. The armor may have been durasteel rather than beskar, but Obi-Wan wore it with pride and the sort of dignity that came only to those who had earned it. Tholme had not studied Mandalore as extensively as his padawan, but he had not been neglectful in his research and he knew the meaning of paint color on Mandalorian armor. Green for duty, blue for reliability, navy to fight for a cause. There were thin lines of light green on his vambraces signifying a lust for peace, yet over his heart was a sunburst in orange-gold that spoke of lust for life bordering on vengeance. His armor told a story, though even with his research he wasn’t sure he was able to read it.

“I’m not sure how familiar you are with war,” Obi-Wan continued in that same calm, composed tone, “but as a Jedi it is exceedingly painful. Without proper shielding, it is, quite frankly, unbearable. To feel the pain of those around you, to experience every death, can make one go mad. I learned because I had to, Master Tholme. I had the foundation and I’d read the theory, but it was experience that taught me how to apply them.”

Quinlan sent a sharp reprimand in Tholme’s direction, which he responded to with only a whispered request for trust. He pondered Obi-Wan’s response. A natural tendril of shame slithered down his spine at the act of interrogating a youngling who’d been through so much, and so recently, but he released the feeling into the Force. He still detected no lie in Obi-Wan’s words, just that same discordant note as before. It was true that war, for a Jedi, would be devastating. In the Force, every extinguished light, no matter the person’s moral character, was a loss. That was why Jedi were peacekeepers, why they held strongly to the belief in the sanctity of life. Yet an adult Jedi could understand the necessity of death when the circumstances required. They could shield themselves from the psychic damage, could rationalize the extinguished light and process their emotional reaction to it. A child, however, had none of those defenses. A child fighting with an army of fellow children had even less.

Yes, it was quite possible that Obi-Wan learned shielding out of sheer necessity. It certainly wouldn’t have been possible for him to survive without it, a thought which sent a tremor of fear through his heart. Obi-Wan was clearly well-loved by the Force. That truth was reaffirmed every time he looked at Obi-Wan’s Force presence and saw the cocoon of light wrapped around him. Guided by the Force, with the foundational knowledge he possessed, it was reasonable to assume that the former padawan could have overcome the horrors around him to attain a level of skill beyond his years.

And yet. Tholme tilted his head a little and studied Obi-Wan. The boy had secrets. Of that he was certain. Tholme’s largest skill lay in being able to identify even the most well hidden secrets. It was why he attained the position he held, why he was so well suited to teach a psychometric padawan.

Mand’alor Mereel and his son Jango were tense in his peripheral vision. The other Mandalorian present, Myles, had adopted a forcefully relaxed posture but in the Force he felt sharp and focused like a well-honed knife. At least here, in their home, they’d removed their helmets and it was possible to have such a strong sense of them. It gave him the warning nudge he needed to realize he was pushing too far too fast.

Tholme backed off. “My apologies, alor’ad Kenobi,” he said with a deep nod. He hoped that the use of the proper Mando’a title would assist in getting his audience to settle. Their defense of Obi-Wan was admirable and, indeed, went a long way toward assuring Tholme that although Obi-Wan had been failed by the Order, he would be well cared for here.

“I accept your apology, Master Tholme,” Kenobi replied formally.

An awkward silence filled the room after that, at least until his padawan grew tired of the silence and tension and decided to break it himself.

“If we’re done interrogating Obi-Wan on shielding techniques and talking about how shitty Qui-Gon is, can we talk about what the kark you were doing on Dathomir?” Quinlan said, punctuating the end of his sentence by grabbing Obi-Wan around the shoulders with one arm and shaking him.

Jango huffed a laugh, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. Obi-Wan, for his part, appeared both chastened and exasperated by Quinlan’s question. He turned and looked his friend directly in the eye.

“I was following the will of the Force.”

Quinlan’s enraged shriek took the Mandalorians by surprise, though neither Tholme nor Obi-Wan were startled. The phrase was unfortunately familiar to Tholme, made infamous by Master Jinn who often used it as an excuse to get out of trouble with the Council. Obi-Wan, in fact, had a slight smirk that indicated he was satisfied by Quinlan’s reaction.

“I thought that was what all Jedi do,” Mereel said tentatively. Quinlan was currently draped dramatically over Obi-Wan’s lap, incapable of speech. “They follow the will of the Force and do stupid, dramatic things, but usually for a reason that is revealed later.”

Tholme raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you’ve been led to believe?”

He wondered where Mand’alor Mereel was getting his information. Perhaps he had accounts or records from Tarre Vizsla. That would be the best case scenario in Tholme’s mind. Vizsla had been both Jedi and Mandalorian, Knight and Mand’alor. If anyone had the knowledge to bridge the gap between their peoples, it was him. On the other hand, the description offered by Mereel was one often used in fiction novels. He desperately hoped that the man was not basing his entire cultural knowledge of Jedi off of fiction.

“Of course,” Jango interjected. “Why else would Obi-Wan be…like that?”

Obi-Wan made a face, but Tholme couldn’t withhold a chuckle. “Oh no. I assure you, the Force does not typically require us to go haring off on dangerous, ill-advised missions. At least, not regularly. Nor does it require us to be dramatic, though you’d perhaps be surprised by the number of us inclined to it.”

His words were a veiled reprimand of Master Jinn, which his padawan had caught if the amusement flowing down their bond was any indication. Actually, it was a bland criticism of that entire lineage. Master Jinn and Master Dooku may be the most obviously dramatic of the line, but Master Yoda loved his games, riddles, and general mischief too much to be excluded. Even Knight Feemor, who now had so little to do with his former master, had his moments that indicated he’d been well-suited to the lineage. It would follow, then, that Obi-Wan, who’d been chosen as Yoda’s favorite since the creche and accepted as Jinn’s padawan, had the same characteristics in spades.

All three Mandalorians turned their heads slowly to look at Obi-Wan. The boy did his best to hide behind Quinlan, but the angle ensured that he was unsuccessful.

“I wasn’t lying!” he protested immediately. “The Force really does want me to do these things!”

Mand’alor Mereel looked back at Tholme, searching for reassurance. Tholme bit back an uncharitable laugh at his expression.

“On occasion, the Force will choose a particular individual to act on its behalf in ways that the rest of the Order finds…extreme, let’s say.” he conceded. “ Alor’ad Kenobi’s former master, for example, was well known for deviating from mission objective to ‘follow the will of the Force.’”

Mereel had a thoughtful look on his face. He looked at his adopted son, then back at Tholme. Finally, he said wearily, “What you’re saying is that I just so happened to adopt an ad who is more, I suppose you would say, in tune with the Ka’ra than normal? Even by space wizard standards?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Tholme’s mouth. “Yes, you could put it that way.”

Obi-Wan groaned. “I’m sitting right here,” he complained. “And Jedi are not ‘space wizards’,” he added under his breath.

“If it makes you feel any better, Ser Mereel,” Quinlan offered, “Obi has always been like this. Even when we were little.”

“You mean the Force has always spoken to him more than others?”

Obi-Wan made a face at this and his mouth opened as though to protest, but Quinlan spoke before he could. “Oh yeah. He used to wake up his entire clan with the visions he would get in his sleep. I accidentally touched his hand once when he was having one. It was awful.”

Obi-Wan frowned at him. “I didn’t know that. You never told me.”

“Who was I to complain about a glimpse I got of your vision when you had to live with them?”

Tholme hadn’t known about this incident either, though he wasn’t surprised that Quinlan hadn’t spoken about it. He never liked to share his own struggles, sometimes even with Tholme, and he wouldn’t have told anyone something that Obi-Wan hadn’t shared himself. The care and respect that Quinlan had for his friend was admirable and Tholme couldn’t help but feel a touch of pride.

“When did this happen?”

Quinlan shrugged. “You were probably seven? I was about nine.”

“Oh.”

Quinlan didn’t respond. He sat up, but didn’t move out of Obi-Wan’s space. Instead he seemed to fuse their sides together, his shoulder jostling Obi-Wan’s in an aggressive, friendly move. Obi-Wan jostled him back and they were soon both smiling. A whole conversation had no doubt occurred over their Force bond, but Tholme respected their privacy and did not attempt to listen.

“Well, Ob’ika, it’s been a long week for you,” Mereel said, smiling softly at the pair. His inner turmoil was well hidden, even within the Force. “Why don’t you go shower and get ready for late meal. I’d like to speak with Ba’ji Tholme for a moment.”

“ ‘Lek, buir ,” Obi-Wan replied easily. He stood and stretched, one hand held out for Quinlan to take. The two boys left the room and Tholme found himself under the intense scrutiny of three curious, protective Mandalorians. It had become an uncomfortably familiar sensation over the past few days.

“So,” Mereel began. He drew the vowel out, allowing Tholme to pick up on his bemusement even without the Force. “Forgive my ignorance, Ba’ji Tholme. Given Quinlan’s behavior, I assumed that all jettii’ade were reckless and impulsive, guided by the Ka’ra to pull dangerous stunts and think themselves invincible. Your words, however, suggest that this is not true.”

Tholme smiled back a little wryly. “No, it is not, though I would say that all teenagers believe themselves to be invincible. My padawan may seem as though he does not think before he acts, but I assure you that he does give quite a bit of consideration to his actions. He must, given his gift. Others might not always agree with his thought process, and his mind works faster than most, but every decision is fully deliberated. Which is why I find those decisions so maddening; I know that he has thought about what he’s doing and decided to do it anyway.”

Mereel laughed. “Yes, it is quite frustrating when our children are smart enough to know the consequences of their actions, yet do them anyway.”

Jango blushed, and Myles laughed. Tholme’s lip twitched; there was clearly a story there.

“Obi-Wan is also thoughtful,” Mereel said more seriously. “I do not believe that he does anything truly impulsively. It’s just that he is urged by the Ka’ra to do things beyond what those his age should be responsible for doing.”

Tholme noted that he very carefully did not say ‘beyond what he is capable’ simply ‘beyond his responsibility.’ The Mand’alor had faith in Obi-Wan’s abilities, beyond the enhanced shielding that Tholme had seen. It was an interesting detail to keep in mind.

“I would have asked while Obi-wan was still present, but as you said he has had a long and tiring week, and I already asked a few rather impertinent questions. Could you shed some light on the reason for Obi-Wan’s trip to Dathomir? Quinlan’s vision did not provide clarity, though my padawan was correct when he said that Dathomir is an incredibly hazardous planet to visit. More so for those who are Force sensitive. I’m not sure if you were aware of the perils when Obi-Wan went, but Dathomir is something we call a ‘Force nexus’. Normally, a nexus is not quite as large as that, but in this case the entire planet is a vergence of the Force. Even our most accomplished scholars do not have a full understanding of Dathomir. For such a youngling, with such a strong connection to the Force, to go there?” Tholme shook his head. “We are all quite lucky that he was able to leave unscathed.”

Both Mereel and Jango appeared shaken by this news.

“No,” Mereel said eventually, “I was not aware of the danger. At least, aside from the obvious. It is clear to me that we could use more information about the Force and how to better watch Obi-Wan’s back.”

“Please don’t misunderstand me,” Tholme entreated. “I do not blame you in the slightest for not knowing. It is not common knowledge. I doubt even Obi-Wan could have known the extent of the risk he was taking. He would not have learned about Force nexuses until his lessons during the third year of his padawanship.”

Mereel nodded, looking slightly mollified but no less exhausted. “Still, I would like to request any information you and your Order are willing to share. If Obi-Wan does not even know enough to keep himself safe, then I at least should have that information.”

“Of course. I will have our head archivist put together a file for you. I’m sure she’ll love the challenge.” Tholme grinned. Jocasta Nu would be thrilled and stressed in equal parts by his request.

“Thank you, Ba’ji Tholme. I am in your debt.”

Tholme shook his head. “No debt. You looked after one of our own when we did not.”

Mereel met his eyes, then nodded once. “Then we are even. Now, I suggest that at least one of us goes after the little hellions before they cause too much destruction.”

Tholme laughed and stood, gesturing for Mereel to remain sitting. “Don’t worry. I am quite adept at pulling my padawan out of trouble by the scruff. I will see you at late meal.”

He nodded to both Jango and Myles as he passed and received one in return. Over the bond, Quinlan’s emotions were muted, indicating that he was focused on the task in front of him. Tholme had found that only that kind of attention to the present moment could truly dim their bond. Even though Quinlan was quite adept at shielding when it came to everyone else, he never liked to shield their bond and in fact became quite distressed whenever Tholme attempted to do so from his end. Instead, he’d learned to filter out the constant influx of information as background noise. He hoped that whatever had caught Quinlan’s attention this time was at least benign in nature.

Chapter Text

After the jettii left, Jaster leaned back against his chair like a puppet with its strings cut. Air pushed out of his lungs slowly, deflating him.

“Buir,” Jango said tentatively into the ringing silence, “ni ceta. I did not know that Dathomir was so dangerous for Obi-Wan specifically. If I did, I swear I would not have allowed us to go there. I - I did not know our destination until we arrived, as I said, but we would have turned around, haat, ijaa, haa’it.”

“Ni kar’tayl, ad,” Jaster replied with a sigh. He rubbed a hand over his face. “I know. I am not angry at you, nor do I blame you. I am not even sure if I can blame Obi-Wan, since Tholme seemed to think they would not have known about the risk themself.”

Jango came and sat on the green couch next to him. For some reason both his sons preferred that couch, even though both the green and the blue were exactly the same. Jango still seemed tense and displeased, despite Jaster’s absolution.

“Sir, ” Myles said. He sat down on the blue couch. “I know that Obi-Wan’s situation is…strange, but we are doing everything we can. It is good that the Jedi have promised to provide information. We will be better prepared for the next time Ob’ika does something like this.”

Jaster shook his head with a weak chuckle. “Yes, next time, since we all know my son will not stop listening to the Ka’ra.”

“Buir, I know that it is still early to be thinking of such things, but perhaps we should consider putting together a more permanent squad for Obi-Wan. They worked well with me and your supercommandos this week, but we will not always be available and I worry that they will go off on their own when the Ka’ra calls. They need warriors who can drop everything at a moment’s notice and be ready for a dangerous hunt.”

“I know.” At this point, Jaster’s lungs were tired of the constant sighing. “I have thought about this myself, though I do not yet have a solution. If either of you have any suggestions, let me know.”

“Not at the moment, alor,” Myles said, “but I will ask around.”

Jango frowned, but he also shook his head. Most verde were in squads already. It was possible to simply place Obi-Wan with one of those squads, but that would come with its own tangle of issues that Jaster didn’t feel like unraveling. 

“An issue to address later. Myles, I am putting you in charge of interrogating the jettii’ad more thoroughly about Obi-Wan’s past. They hinted at some things today which were…distressing.”

“Of course, alor.”

“Excellent. Now, I believe it is time for late meal.”

Jango groaned and Jaster nearly joined him. Dinner, unfortunately, would not be a leisurely affair tonight. Both the Evaar’ade and the jettii’se would be in attendance, which meant that Jaster felt more like he was preparing himself for battle than a friendly meal.

He clapped his son on the back of the neck as they both stood and steered him toward the door.

“Do not worry,” Jaster said jovially, “your little sibling is here now to talk politics.”

Jango let out a breath of relief. “Yeah. They are good at that.”

Jaster laughed, thinking about all the times Jango’s eyes had glazed over listening to his vod’ika give a lecture on some aspect of politics. Jaster always enjoyed those talks, but he knew that his first born found the topic exceedingly boring. He always found some excuse to leave the room before Obi-Wan had a chance to really settle into his subject. Luckily, Obi-Wan did not seem offended by Jango’s disinterest, merely amused, and he would easily turn his full attention to Jaster who was far more appreciative of Obi-Wan’s knowledge.

They entered the dining room to find the table already populated by Duke Kryze, Satine, several of his ori’ramikade, the two zabrak children, and Baar’ur Mij. They’d invited Mij tonight as a way to hopefully allow Savage and Feral to become comfortable with his presence, as he would be their primary medic going forward. Jaster trusted Mij, having relied on him as his field medic for several years. Nowadays, Seke had taken over that role as Mij had elected to spend more time at home and less in hyperspace in his ‘old age’. Savage and Feral were seated between the two baar’ure, using them as a shield against the less familiar faces at the table. Feral stopped mid-sentence to shout a greeting to Jango though, proving that they’d bonded well during their journey.

Seke’s riduur was at the table as well, along with Khin’s. Silas’ riduur was away from Mandalore at the moment, as he’d taken their ade to Krownest, the home of his aliit . Between his ori’ramikade and their spouses, the two foundlings, and the duke and lady, the table was already overflowing and the jettii’se hadn’t even arrived yet. Chairs had been taken out of storage to accommodate them all. Jaster took a seat at the far right end of the table, near the duke. Jango sat in an empty chair to his left while Myles shoved a chair between him and Drond, forcing the kiffar to scoot over with a scowl.

A quick look around the table proved that the jettii’se and Obi-Wan would have a similar battle for seating. There was one spot next to Satine, since few wanted to sit next to her only to have her disparage their entire way of life all evening, as well as one on Drond’s right, which was likely the cause of his irritation with Myles. He hoped that Tholme and his ad would not take offense to the lack of arranged seating, though it hadn’t been a problem so far.

Zomar had been elected to cook tonight’s meal and Khin had volunteered their services to help him. Jaster could hear the two of them in the kitchen, bickering and clanging pans. Between the two of them Jaster had no doubt that every single pot, pan, and utensil from the stronghold would be dirtied in the effort of making tonight’s dinner.

“Mand’alor Mereel,” Adonai greeted politely. Jaster met his eyes and he was gratified to see that Duke Kryze seemed just as determined as yesterday to keep his word about finding a middle ground between them. They nodded to each other as Jaster took his seat.

Conversation flowed stiltedly as they waited for the food to be served. When it was ready, both Dakii and Drond jumped up from their seats to help the two chefs carry it all in. Ba’ji Tholme had already arrived, slipping quietly into the open seat next to Drond and integrating himself into a conversation between Dakii and Feral across the table. Jaster had succeeded in catching his eye after a minute, silently asking if all was well with Quinlan and Obi-Wan. Tholme had returned a subtle nod that eased the knot that had grown in Jaster’s gut.

The two boys showed up just as the final dish was set on the table. The two spots left were between Satine and Dakii, and between Mij and Zomar Obi-Wan hesitated, a slight reaction that was so restrained he doubted it had been noticed by anyone other than him and, apparently, Quinlan. Quinlan took one look at his friend’s face before grabbing the second empty chair and shoving it between the one Obi-Wan had been aiming for and Satine Kryze. He gestured for everyone on that side of the table to scoot down to make room, which they did with no small degree of amusement. Satine wrinkled her nose at the action, but didn’t comment as Quinlan plopped into the chair next to her like a buffer between Obi-Wan and Lady Kryze.

Jaster wasn’t sure what all of that was about, but a fraction of the tension in Obi-Wan’s shoulders eased and he purposely bumped his arm against Quinlan’s in gratitude as he sat down. On Obi-Wan’s other side, Dakii brushed her shoulder against his until he turned to see her grin. His ad grinned back.

Conversation halted for several minutes as everyone served their food and started eating. Zomar and Khin had done well; the traditional tiingilar and herbed flatbread were delicious. The tiingilar was spiced heavily, though not so much that the layers of flavor didn’t come through. He voiced his approval, which caused Khin to simply smile and Zomar to preen like a loth-cat after a successful hunt. Jaster didn’t roll his eyes at his ori’ramikad, but it was a close thing.

“Mand’alor,” Duke Kryze began, his tone and posture exceedingly formal, “thank you for inviting us to your home and sharing this meal with us tonight.”

Jaster inclined his head with an equal amount of formality, though internally he was twitching both at the unnecessary thanks and the easy use of toothless, Republican Basic from someone he’d once proudly fought beside as a warrior. 

“I accept your debt,” Jaster replied. It was possibly not the most diplomatic response, but if the Evaar’ade insisted on trampling on tradition, he would be there to remind them of the consequences.

Obi-Wan looked between him and Duke Kryze with eyes that sparked with amusement. Obi-Wan hadn’t been a Mandalorian for long, but he understood their subtleties better than most. Beyond history and politics, Obi-Wan had a nuanced understanding of social interactions and their deeper meanings. He knew what it meant for a verd to remove their helmet in a person’s home versus a public setting, he knew the insult it gave for a Mando’ad to arrive unarmed, and he absolutely understood the gravity the words ‘ni ceta’ and ‘vor entye’ meant in their culture. From the beginning Obi-Wan had shown an astounding level of respect and rarely made the mistake that all aruetii’se – and especially jettii’se – made of apologizing for no reason and indebting themselves left and right. Despite his upbringing on Coruscant, Obi-Wan bit his tongue when it came to that particular habit. Truthfully, Jaster hadn’t questioned it until the jettii’se arrived and thanked everyone around them for opening doors, passing a datapad, and even for sharing food. Only the constant internal reminder that it was merely a cultural difference and not an insult nor foolishness kept Jaster and his verde from reacting with violence for the offense. Tholme and his ad had mostly learned their mistake by now, though they still had moments where their jettii’la mannerisms won out. The fact that Obi-Wan had never blundered this way was further proof that he was adept at observing those around him and adapting himself accordingly.

Satine appeared slightly confused by Jaster’s response, though the skin around the duke’s eyes pinched in displeasure. He’d grown comfortable in this new life he was leading and he’d forgotten the importance of his word and honor. If he was serious about accepting Jaster as Mand’alor and about finding a middle ground between them, he would have to remember it.

“I have been thinking about relations between the Haat Mando’ade and the Evaar’ade ,” Obi-Wan interjected suddenly. His body language was relaxed and his tone was mild, though the suddenness of his announcement made Jaster wonder if the Ka’ra had warned him of mounting volatile emotions in Duke Kryze.

He watched as Adonai, his old friend, reined in his surprised anger and sat back in his chair. He sipped from his glass of tihaar mixed with varo juice and visibly composed himself before asking, “Oh? And what thoughts have you had, little one?”

A slight twitch in Obi-Wan’s eyebrow was the only indication he gave of how little he appreciated the moniker. “I believe that the best way to resolve tensions between our two peoples is to work together toward a tertiary, external goal. Something that will combine both of our skill sets and satisfy our differing moralities.”

Internally, Jaster preened at the easy way Obi-Wan included himself as Mando’ad. Some foundlings, particularly the older ones, found it difficult to truly shed their old lives and adapt to Mandalorian life. It took a while before they were ready to casually consider themselves one of them. Obi-Wan had only been here for a couple months, and yet he fit in so well, so seamlessly, it seemed even he forgot there had once been a separation.

“A broad statement,” Satine sniped. She’d laid down her spoon daintily next to her bowl, which was only half eaten. “Almost purposefully vague, I’d say, since it does not actually provide a solution.”

“It provides a direction at least,” Quinlan countered. “And a far more reasonable one than anything out of your mouth.”

Satine scowled and Jaster had a moment of near-Jedi prescience wherein he saw Satine once again launching herself at the jettii’ad and starting a brawl right on the dining table.

“You are both correct,” Jaster said diplomatically, one hand held up in a silent request for peace. “Obi-Wan, could you please elaborate, or give an example of what you mean?”

The look his ad directed towards him was full of pride. Jaster didn’t quite know what to do with the feeling of his own child being proud of him for his diplomacy skills, but he decided to ruminate on it later.

“Of course, buir. I admit that I presented in vague terms,” he looked at Satine, “at first because the ideas I came up with are rather ambitious as a starting goal. My personal favorite, however, is a joint mission to end slavery in the Outer Rim.”

Instantly, Obi-Wan had the attention of everyone at the table.

“Obviously, this is a monumental endeavor which would necessitate toppling both the Hutt and Zygerian empires. That would be a massive military undertaking, which is why it has not yet been attempted. It would require coordinated strikes by hard hitting, fast moving troops in order to prevent one arm of the empire from growing disproportionately strong in the power vacuums we create, especially in regards to the Hutts who feed off the weakness of others. Top operators would have to be hit first, but henchmen and sycophants would be an immediate secondary priority to prevent prolonging the conflict further than it has to be.

“Then, of course, the slaves themselves would need to be part of the operation. True freedom is earned, never given, and we do not have the right to take that away from them. We would need teams to meet with resistance groups and train them how to fight. We need supply chains to sneak in weapons, food, and chip scanners. We need medics to remove slave chips and slicers to get into transmission towers to prevent the slaves from being blown up from a distance before the coup is even fully underway.”

“As much as I’d love to see an end to slavery, I don’t see what the New Mandalorians have to do with this plan,” Duke Kryze said.

Obi-Wan nodded to him in acknowledgement even as Jaster flushed with anger. Yes, Adonai would ‘love to see an end to slavery,’ yet he is unwilling to lift a finger to make that a reality. Hut’uun.

“The aftermath, specifically, is where I believe the New Mandalorians will be of the most use. The Freed will need places to go. They will need shelter, food, and work. The New Mandalorians wish to see an economically independent Mandalore? What better way to ensure that end goal than to have an influx of grateful, skilled workers? Slaves from Tatooine know what it is to survive in a harsh, ungiving environment. The Dral’han ruined Mandalore’s ability to produce all of her own food, but that is not the end of the story. There is a way forward, it’s just that it will be long, arduous, and not immediately fruitful. Yet it is not impossible.”

Jaster stared at his ad. He’d been thinking about this for a long time, perhaps longer than Jaster had known him. A thought occurred to him. Perhaps bringing the Evaar’ade to Melidaan had been a test, to see how they would do working with a group of traumatized individuals who were willing to put in the work for a better future. It was a test to see if they could provide guidance and assistance without being overbearing, yet it was also proof of concept. The Evaar’ade hadn’t done away with all aspects of being Mandalorian, after all; they had the capacity to be great if only they’d allow themselves to get out of their own way.

“Damn, Jas,” Silas said into the ensuing silence, “you are one lucky buir.”

Obi-Wan flushed a deep red immediately. Jaster ducked his head to meet his eyes. “Yes,” he agreed, “I am.”

Quinlan stared at his friend incredulously. He frowned to himself, the conversation around him dulling as he puzzled over the mystery that was his best friend. Obi-Wan had always been impressive, in his opinion, even if others were often blind to his true worth. He was incredibly smart and he always worked hard in class, even the most boring ones. He was quick and sharp, and had been good at puns and games of wit since the creche. Obi-Wan’s silver tongue had gotten them out of quite a lot of trouble since he was so good at saying exactly what the other person, especially masters, wanted to hear. The only time his eloquence failed him was when he was trying his best not to escalate things with people like Bruck Chun.

So, in a way, Quinlan wasn’t exactly surprised by Obi-Wan’s suggestion. It was well thought out, considered both sides of the situation, and addressed a pervasive, moral issue for the galaxy. There was nothing more quintessentially Obi-Wan than that.

Still, there was something about the passion behind Obi-Wan’s argument that shocked him. There was a depth of emotion there that he hadn’t been prepared for and, though Obi-Wan hid it well, this topic meant a great deal to him. After the words were spoken, Quinlan had felt a sense of conviction in the Force, as though no matter what, Obi-Wan would see this plan through. If it took him years, even if it took him the rest of his life, he would unite the Mandalorians and end slavery in the Outer Rim. Quinlan felt shaken by that certainty, and the immensity of that goal, but he did not doubt it.

The rest of dinner passed more or less without incident. Both Mand’alor Mereel and Duke Kryze promised to think about Obi-Wan’s proposal and discuss it further. Mereel tried to caution that he thought the project would be too big to take on immediately, but Obi-Wan hadn’t seemed concerned by this.

“Oh, of course. I just suggested it since it was the most all-encompassing plan in terms of meeting the ultimate goal. I had no illusions that it would be the first step.”

The Mand’alor had only nodded, his expression a little bewildered, and moved the conversation onto talks about Mandalorian history. This got Satine involved, and she had quite a bit to say about Mandalore’s tendency toward violence and how their people should leave the history where it belonged: in the past. Quinlan could only roll his eyes and look over at his friend in commiseration. Obi-Wan smiled wanly back at him before turning back to his food.

After dinner, once the Kryzes had ‘retired’ to their guest rooms and Master Tholme had gone to theirs with a stern look in Quinlan’s direction (which he ignored, for obvious reasons), he dragged Obi-Wan away with the intent of finally getting the whole story from him.

Obi-Wan allowed himself to be dragged, his amusement plain in the Force. He didn’t protest when Quinlan shoved him inside his own room and shut the door behind them. Quinlan turned around and put his hand on his hips, his expression leaving no room for doubt as to what he wanted right now.

Obi-Wan sighed. “You might want to sit down, my friend.”

Quinlan eyed him for a second, then sat cross-legged at the end of Obi-Wan’s bed. Obi-Wan joined him at the other end. Despite his uncomfortable-looking armor, he sat the same way with his legs crossed beneath him and his back straight as though they were about to enter into a joint meditation.

“What I am about to tell you is highly sensitive. I’m going to have to ask that you not tell anyone, not even Master Tholme.”

Quinlan’s eyebrows rose. “You know I’m good with a secret, Obes, but is it really that bad?”

Obi-Wan tilted his head. “Bad? No, I wouldn’t say so. Incredible. Outlandish. A tale that the Council certainly would not believe, nor most Jedi as a whole, yet is true nonetheless.”

“Well I’m on the edge of my seat now. What the hell is so incredible?”

Obi-Wan smiled at him and it was an indulgent smile, like a master to a padawan. It was patient and amused, yet not at all like a smile between friends. Quinlan frowned.

“I am from the future,” Obi-Wan told him. “I died forty-four years from today. Or, I will? Would have? Anyway, I existed as a ghost for a while before I became one with the Force. I…I tried to make a difference both when I was alive and after my death, but it never felt like enough. Then, when I finally let go, the Force was able to show me clearly everything that happened and why.”

Quinlan’s brain had short circuited. “You died?” he whispered.

Obi-Wan’s eyes were sympathetic as he looked at him. “Yes, I did.”

“How?”

“That’s not important right now. The point is, I was given a second chance by the Force to fix the things that had gone wrong. I understand now, Quin. I know now how things got so bad, how the Darkness built and spread. I - I have a chance.”

Quinlan stared at him. “How bad was it, Obi-Wan, that the Force itself decided to ask you to fix it?”

Obi-Wan looked away. That was answer enough. Quinlan took a deep breath then reached out and pulled Obi-Wan to him, using the Force to augment his strength since, with the armor, Obi-Wan was a lot heavier than he remembered. He folded Obi-Wan into a hug and ignored the discomfort of durasteel pressing into his unarmored body. He held him tightly until Obi-Wan clutched back, somehow even more desperately than when they’d seen each other at the space port.

Time travel, admittedly, wasn’t something that Quinlan had ever considered. It was, as Obi-Wan had said, outlandish, like a bedtime story or a holonovel. His first instinct was to deny what Obi-Wan was saying, to claim that Obi-Wan had cracked under the pressure of fighting in a civil war at thirteen. Yet the words rang true in the Force. There was no hint of deception or lie. And truly, if some insane, unbelievable, Force-related event were to occur, obviously it would happen to Obi-Wan. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered in Obi-Wan’s hair. “It’s okay. I believe you. I’m here now and I’m going to help you and we’re going to do whatever banthashit crazy stuff the Force wants us to do to save the galaxy or whatever. It’s going to be okay.”

Obi-Wan laughed a bit, the sound wet and snotty. Quinlan grimaced at how much salt water and mucus was going to be on his robes after this, but he ignored it for now for the sake of comforting his friend.

Obi-Wan eventually stopped crying and let him go. He leaned back and scrubbed at his eyes with a sigh that sounded soul-deep.

“So, I’m guessing the two zabrak kids are important somehow?” Quinlan ventured.

“In a manner of speaking,” Obi-Wan hedged, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “It’s really their brother who I’m most concerned about at the moment, but retrieving them and making sure they were safe was the first step.”

“How many steps are we talking?”

“To save Maul?”

“To save the galaxy or whatever.”

Obi-Wan laughed. It grew into a great belly laugh that had him bending backwards and nearly howling. “How many –?” He guffawed and held his stomach. “Oh, Quinlan Vos, I have missed you.”

Quinlan grinned, though internally he was a bit discomfited by Obi-Wan’s reaction. “Glad to hear it, Obes, but seriously. I know you have a plan. Tell me about it.”

Obi-Wan’s laughter faded and he nodded. He stood up and went over to his desk. He pulled a datapad from the bottom drawer and brought it back over to the bed.

“There are a lot of steps, Quinlan. This…this isn’t a simple problem with a simple solution. It’s an insidious, pervasive rot that needs to be purged from the body so it can heal. To truly ensure the safety of the galaxy and the continued existence of the Light, it will take years. Some important events have already been changed and that will lead to a cascade of changes going forward, but it’s not enough.”

Quinlan accepted the ‘pad. A quiver of fear jolted through him at the phrase ‘the continued existence of the Light,’ but he set it aside for now to focus on the document in front of him. He snorted at the title. Step by Step Guide to Inconveniencing the Sith. It was something he would have titled it and he hadn’t expected Obi-Wan to be so facetious. Then, the actual meaning of the title hit him.

“Sith?” His voice was hoarse.

Obi-Wan nodded grimly. “That’s what I mean, Quin. This is so much bigger than anyone realizes and it goes so much deeper. The Sith were never gone; they’ve been here the whole time, working in the shadows, laying the foundation for their future Empire.”

Quinlan shuddered. “Okay,” he whispered. “Kark. Okay.”

He understood what Obi-Wan meant when he said that the Council and Jedi as a whole would have a hard time believing that the Sith still existed and were an active threat to the galaxy. It was generally accepted knowledge that the Sith had long been defeated and no longer existed. Unfortunately, Quinlan knew that Darkness was still alive and well in the galaxy, even if he hadn’t specifically known about the Sith. It didn’t surprise him that a few of them survived. It was hard to completely eradicate that kind of evil, no matter how hard you try. Quinlan had seen some of the worst things sentients had to offer and he wasn’t as blindsided by this news as Jedi who mostly operated in the Temple. Or really, any Jedi who wasn’t a Shadow.

He skimmed the list of goals Obi-Wan had written, then went back up to the first one. Reform the Jedi. Quinlan hadn’t been involved in any of the hysteria caused by an anonymous document that had been sent to the Temple, but he’d seen the aftermath and well, he wasn’t a Shadow-in-training for nothing. He’d sliced into Master Tholme’s ‘pad while he was at a Council meeting and he’d read the mysterious document. Or rather, he’d skimmed it for important parts and then read all of the communications between the frantic masters who’d received it. The gist of it was that the author had called the Order out on all of its hypocrisy and stagnation, called for radical reform from top to bottom, and was completely unapologetic about doing so. It was badass, if you asked him, though several Council members in particular hadn’t appreciated it.

“You’re the one who wrote that thing?” Quinlan exclaimed. He looked up at Obi-Wan with wide eyes. Obi-Wan blinked back, nonplussed. “Man, you have no idea what that ‘proposal’ did to the Order, do you?”

“I…what? I wasn’t sure anyone would even read it, to be honest.”

“Well, they did, and now all the masters are going absolutely crazy. Anyone with an ounce of self-preservation has been avoiding the archives and Master Yoda has been going on all of these trips even though he’s hardly left the Temple in years. Master Koon, who I have never seen yell at anyone ever, got into an argument with Master Mundi in the hallway about how many padawans a master could have. Not to mention Masters Che, Tyvokka, and Vana and all the changes they’ve been making.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes had widened further and further as he talked. He’d been telling the truth when he’d said that he hadn’t expected anyone to read his proposal. To be fair, it had been nearly two hundred pages long and so incredibly thorough and well researched that it could have been submitted by a Knight on Archivist track. Which was why Quinlan hadn’t bothered reading the whole thing.

“I didn’t mean to cause so much chaos, though I can see how differing opinions on the topics I touched on could lead to dissent.” His expression was contemplative and he stroked his chin as though he had a beard and not smooth, teenage skin. Quinlan was certain that in the future he’d come from, Obi-Wan had a thick, red beard. The image suited him, but also made Quinlan want to laugh when compared to his current, beardless self. 

“Obes, my friend, my beloved idiot, you basically told the Order in no uncertain terms that we are deeply flawed and need to change a whole list of fundamental aspects of how we function if we want to survive. Then you broke down all of those flaws and pointed out ways to fix them which are incredibly obvious in hindsight. Basically, you made them all feel stupid and scared. Of course you caused chaos.”

Obi-Wan was frowning.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Quinlan insisted. “If you ask me, they needed to be shaken up. Hardly anything has changed in the past thousand years, except maybe that we’ve gotten smaller. And if the future really is as terrible as you say, then we need to be ready for it, even if it makes us uncomfortable for a little while.”

“It is,” Obi-Wan said after a moment. “It is as terrible as I said. Worse.” He sighed. “You’re right. A bit of discomfort now is worth it for the Order to be prepared for what’s coming.”

“Exactly. So. You’ve done the first step, check. You’re working on uniting Mandalore, if your little speech earlier was any indication. I mean damn, Obi, you’ve been here like two months and already you’ve got their entire political drama solved. What are you so worried about?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, chuckling. “I haven’t ‘solved’ anything. The political situation within Mandalore is complex and unfortunately most of that responsibility will fall to Jaster. So much depends on his ability to end Death Watch and create peace between his people and the New Mandalorians.”

Quinlan would address Obi-Wan’s apparent need to fix everything by himself later. For now, he asked, “I’m guessing it’s a lot more important than just stabilizing this corner of the galaxy?”

“Far more.”

“And if you can end slavery while you’re at it, all the better, right?” Quinlan grinned.

Obi-Wan laughed. “Yes, precisely. Now that the idea has been planted, hopefully Jaster and Kryze will make it a reality once they feel ready for the challenge.”

“You are something else, Obi-Wan.” He looked down at the ‘pad again, still grinning. “Okay. Walk me through the rest of it.”

Chapter Text

The morning air was chilled, indicating the approaching winter, though Obi-Wan could barely feel it through his armor and kute . It never got truly cold on Manda’yaim , not like it did on Hoth or even Krownest, but there were seasons here unlike on Tatooine and that meant winter winds. The bio-dome over Keldabe kept the climate contained, almost like an overly large greenhouse, but when the planet tilted away from its sun the temperature still dropped enough to be noticeable.

Obi-Wan held onto this tangible difference from the burning sands of his memory as he walked to the forge to meet with Kheri. His talk with Quinlan last night had gone far better than he’d anticipated, for which he was profoundly grateful. Talking about the future-that-was, however, no matter how vague he had been about the actual details, had opened the floodgates in his mind. He’d been so focused on his mission that he hadn’t given himself time to think about how terrible it had all been. He’d spoken to his mir’baar’ur about his childhood, something he’d never spoken about with anyone, but he hadn’t been able to tell her about the agony of Anakin’s Fall or the devastation of the deaths of so many Jedi. He hadn’t told her about how helpless he’d felt during the Clone Wars and how it reminded him of Melidaan or how a part of him had felt like the clones’ betrayal had been justified until he’d learned about the chips after his death and he realized it had never been betrayal at all.

Quinlan didn’t know these things either. Obi-Wan hadn’t felt ready to tell him – he wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready – but mostly he’d feared that Quinlan, as a teenaged padawan who had never seen the fall of the galaxy, wouldn’t believe him at all. He had prepared a number of responses to prove otherwise, including the extreme measure of having Quinlan use his psychometry. Instead, after the initial shock, Quinlan had immediately focused on Obi-Wan’s plan for saving the galaxy from the future he’d lived. He’d been the steady rock in the stream, letting his curiosity, fear, and confusion flow past him. Obi-Wan had talked for over an hour about his plan and his hopes for this new reality. He knew that Quinlan had wanted, desperately, to ask him more about the future he’d known, but he’d found restraint from somewhere and had held his tongue. He’d simply listened and provided unyielding support, something that Obi-Wan hadn’t realized he’d needed so badly. Jaster supported him, as did the rest of the Mandalorians he’d met, but they didn’t know the whole truth of his circumstances. And, though he loved them for who they were, they weren’t Jedi. 

After Obi-Wan had talked himself out, Quinlan had coaxed him into a joint meditation session. They didn’t delve deep enough for Quinlan to see any of his memories, but it had been enough to simply feel each other in the Force and know that they were both whole and Light. Obi-Wan had felt tears streaming freely down his face at the intense feeling of camaraderie and warmth. If he thought that Master Tholme greeting him in the Force was healing, then that had nothing on meditating with his old friend. The Force itself was so Light now, full of shining stars that reflected the abundance of life within it. He still shielded the heaviest of his emotions within himself, not wanting to burden Quinlan with them, but he hardly noticed this unconscious action as he basked in the ability to truly connect with another Jedi in a way he hadn’t been able to in decades. He could feel Quinlan’s concern for him grow, but he chose to focus on Obi-Wan’s joy and together they had set aside everything having to do with the future and saving the galaxy in favor of simply wrapping around each other with the intention of not letting go. When Obi-Wan woke this morning, he’d found himself tucked under Quinlan’s chin, half draped over his friend even as their Force presences were still intertwined. He’d had to slowly, carefully extricate himself before he could leave for the day.

Quinlan would ask his questions eventually. He would no doubt want to know how the Jedi discovered the existence of the Sith in his other timeline, would want to know the differences between then and now. He would especially want to know how Obi-Wan had died. He’d already tried to ask, but Obi-Wan had internally recoiled from that question so fast that Quinlan hadn’t bothered asking again. But he would, eventually. Until then, he would live in the here and now, which was his trek to see Goran Kheri and report to her about his first hunt.

All major events and missions had to be reported to the Mand’alor, of course, while minor happenings and routine hunts could simply be filed on an internal system. The local goran , however, also required an in-person accounting of all the goings-on in their clan. Births, deaths, hunts, foundlings – every detail was shared with them. They were the keepers of knowledge within the clan and it was their job – and their honor, as Kheri would say – to remember both the clan’s history and its present. 

He stepped just inside the doorway of the forge and waited patiently for Kheri to acknowledge him. She was working on a beskad , it looked like, and she ignored him while she pounded the metal then stuck it back into the fires before pulling it out again a few minutes later to keep hammering. She continued this several more times before dunking the glowing hot metal into a barrel. Steam clouded the air and she removed the sword before inspecting it critically and finally setting it aside.

“Vaar’ika,” she greeted. “Me’vaar ti gar ?”

Obi-Wan was under no illusion that she hadn’t already heard most, if not all, of the details of his first hunt, but he still grinned a little and replied, “Naas .”

Her answering glare was unimpressed and his grin widened. He claimed a stool from near the wall and sat down. More seriously, he said, “The hunt went well. The goal was to rescue two children from a dangerous home situation and we were successful in that. Feral and Savage have been seen to by Baar’ur Mij and they are in fairly good health, other than some malnourishment and being underweight for their ages. They stayed with Zomar last night. We had hoped that they would be comfortable enough to stay with either Seke and their family or with one of the verde from the hunt, but they were excited to see another zabrak and felt safe with Zomar. ”

Kheri nodded. “I am glad that the little children are safe and I am proud that your first hunt went so well. I had no doubt that you would be a strong, compassionate warrior. ”

“Even though I am so small?” Obi-Wan teased.

Kheri tilted her head in a way that indicated she was rolling her eyes beneath her buy’ce. She had pulled over a finished vambrace blade and was polishing it. She could never sit still without at least something to do with her hands. “Yes, runt. Even so. ” She smiled at him. “Now, tell me about what the Ka’ra said to you to make you go to such a dangerous planet where not even the most hardened of warriors dare to tread.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “It’s not so bad. ” Kheri fixed him with a glare and he sighed. “Alright. I keep seeing visions of a young zabrak child, a little older than Savage, surrounded by fire and darkness, being tortured by a person whose face I cannot see. I know that the child is in terrible pain and that if they are not rescued, they will be twisted into something they are not and forced to kill for the sake of their master. ”

Kheri finished polishing the blade and set it down on the counter next to her. She picked up another and began working on it. She worked in silence for several moments as she thought about Obi-Wan’s words.

“A gruesome thing the stars have shown you. Monsters who would hurt children in this way do not deserve to live. Do you know where this child is?”

“Mustafar.”

Kheri’s hands paused and she looked up at him. Despite the helmet, he was certain he could feel her eyebrow raise in surprise.

He nodded. “I know. It is…not ideal, which was why I did not start there. I saved the child’s siblings first. ”

“But you plan to go to Mustafar and rescue the one you have dreamed of? ”

“Yes .”

She hummed and went back to the blade in her hands. “Your buir is concerned for you. They worry about how much the stars ask of you, and about your willingness to do those things even at great risk to yourself. They have come to me for advice about a squad for you. ”

“I am only fourteen! ” Obi-Wan protested. “I know I am an adult, but usually squads form over time, right? People go on solo hunts or join existing squads at first until they learn who they work best with. ”

Kheri shrugged. “Yes, usually it is so. Unless childhood friends are close enough to fight together as a unit. In your case, your buir thinks it is too risky to wait. ”

“Will that cause backlash? ” He didn’t want Jaster to have to bend tradition for him.

Kheri shrugged again and tilted her head back and forth. “Perhaps. But not enough to matter. You have already made a name for yourself, my little runt. Whispers have spread about your trip to the planet of dark magic and your meeting with the Mother Witch. They knew that you are Ka’ra-touched, but now they think you are magic. They call you brave, but they also call you dangerously stupid. ”

Obi-Wan laughed. “I am sure that will help with finding verde who want to work with me .”

“You would be surprised ,” she replied, a hint of a smile in her voice. 

“What does that mean ?”

“It means, little warrior, that there have already been a handful of applicants. ”

Obi-Wan reared back a little in shock. “To be on my squad? Why? How many is a handful?”

Kheri chucked. “Seven so far have approached Jaster. And as to why, well, did you think you were the only jare’la verd on Mandalore? ”

Obi-Wan just shook his head. They talked for a while longer. Mostly, Kheri worked on wheedling more details about Dathomir from him, with a few interspersed questions about his relationship with the Ka’ra.

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure how he felt about people thinking he had some sort of special, unique relationship with the Force. Yes, his situation was unheard of – as far as he was aware – and he’d developed a deeper understanding of it after his death, but he wouldn’t call himself particularly beloved or exceptional. He had been present for a great many pivotal moments and was thus well suited to be one of the Force’s tools of change. It wasn’t anything more than that.

Distantly, he heard the Force’s song change, something that was a strange mix of amused and exasperated. He wasn’t quite sure what it meant.

Obi-Wan left the forge at midmorning. He headed straight for the training grounds, where he planned to meet Jango. He was surprised to see both Quinlan and Master Tholme there. Quinlan waved at him enthusiastically. Over their bond, which had grown stronger than it had ever been in his previous life, Quinlan encouraged him to ‘kick his brother’s ass’. Obi-Wan sent back his amusement and joined Jango in the sparring ring.

It was easy to fall into the rhythm of fighting. In those moments, he was fully present in a way Master Qui-Gon had always wanted him to be. He could feel the sand sliding beneath his boots, a different texture than that of Tatooine, and he could feel the pleasant strain of muscles under his armor as he feinted, ducked, and darted in to flip Jango over his shoulder. Jango landed with a sharp exhale before rolling immediately to his feet. They went back and forth, exchanging blows and trying to get under the other’s guard. It was fun. Neither of them were trying to hurt the other (there was no rain, no child army sitting inside, no impending war swinging over his exposed neck like a blade), they were simply sparring for practice and, more importantly, for the joy of it.

They called it after an hour. Obi-Wan had bested Jango ten times, but Jango had been learning his tricks and was able to beat him seven times. Jango was still a little sore that his vod’ika won so often, but he just rubbed his hand roughly over Obi-Wan’s buy’ce as though ruffling his hair. They gave their report to Silas, who was overseeing three different sparring rings, then moved over to the benches to rest and rehydrate.

“That was amazing, Obi!” Quinlan exclaimed, bouncing over. “You guys were so fast! And brutal. Lightsaber spars aren’t quite the same.”

“When is the last time you’ve practiced with a ‘saber?” Master Tholme asked.

“A long time,” Obi-Wan replied regretfully. “Master Jinn took my ‘saber with him when he left Melidaan.”

Master Tholme nodded, his expression thoughtful. “How would you feel about a spar now?”

Obi-Wan’s forehead scrunched in confusion. “Apologies, Master Tholme, but I have not been able to replace my ‘saber. I wouldn’t be able to –”

“You can borrow mine!” Quinlan interjected. Obi-Wan turned to him, eyebrow raised. “I know it won’t resonate with you the same, but I mean, if I like you then it does too, right?”

Obi-Wan smiled. It was such a simplistic view of it, but he wasn’t wrong. Lightsabers were an extension of the self and, while they didn’t have opinions or thoughts in the same way as a person, they tended to reflect those of their user. Obi-Wan nodded and accepted the metal hilt that was handed to him. It was warm in his hand and buzzed faintly with energy. He took a step back and lit it, the blade straight up in front of him. It glowed a brilliant green, its energy barely contained, just like Quinlan’s. His smile grew. Yes, it would do for a spar.

 Silas eyed both him and Master Tholme critically before agreeing that they could use the far left ring. Drond and Hivra had just finished a ferocious match and had cleared the ring, meaning that it was empty for the moment. Several verde saw the two of them enter the circle of sand and started murmuring to one another. When Master Tholme lit his ‘saber, the murmurs increased and a small crowd began to form.

He and Master Tholme took a moment to stretch. Sparring with a lightsaber was far different from hand to hand combat. That was why Kheri had worked so hard to create armor that allowed him greater freedom of movement. He’d worried that he was being difficult and that she would refuse to accommodate him, but she’d seen it as an interesting challenge. Now was time to put her hard work to the test.

He bowed to his opponent and Master Tholme bowed back. They fell into their opening stances. Obi-Wan chose Soresu, out of habit, and he was surprised to see that Master Tholme chose Form VII. Juyo was aggressive and direct, and required a strict control of one’s own emotions. It wasn’t taught any more at the Temple and the only master he knew of who used it was Mace Windu, though Vaapad was his own variation of it. He hadn’t known which form Quinlan’s master had preferred, but if he’d ever given it any thought he wouldn’t have guessed Juyo.

It made sense, he reflected as he parried the first strike. Master Tholme was a fierce man and incredibly disciplined. Through the nature of his work, he often delved deeper into the dark side of both the Force and sentient nature than most were comfortable with. He had the control necessary to maintain a form like Juyo and would likely find himself in situations where bold, direct movements would be necessary to fight his way out of trouble when his mental skills weren’t enough.

Obi-Wan held his ground and defended against the merciless strikes. Green ‘saber struck against green, the sound loud in Obi-Wan’s ears. Maul had once favored Juyo as well. Obi-Wan kept his steps steady as he moved around the ring. He could feel Master Tholme’s interest at his continued use of Soresu, though his emotions were muted in the Force as he kept to Juyo’s teaching of control. Obi-Wan nearly smiled. Form III was so often underestimated. To the end Anakin had looked down upon it, not understanding Obi-Wan’s lack of aggression. Yet it was Soresu that allowed Obi-Wan to protect his troops and Soresu that gave him the endurance to outlast Sith opponents fed by the Darkside.

Obi-Wan lost himself to the fight. It was easy, familiar, and he hardly had to think to maintain his position. Master Tholme did not get frustrated. He did not increase the speed or ferocity of his attack when he saw it was ineffective, he simply continued. Perhaps this was his way of testing Obi-Wan, but he gave no cracks in his defense to exploit and there was no moment of weakness in which to strike. Master Tholme attacked, Obi-Wan parried, and the fight went on.

Finally, after an indeterminate amount of time, Obi-Wan saw his chance. Master Tholme left his side open, just a little, as he twisted and Obi-Wan struck. The powered-down blade hit true and Master Tholme stumbled. Without hesitation, Obi-Wan switched immediately to Ataru. It was the form that allowed him to defeat Maul the first time, so he knew it was at least somewhat effective against Juyo.

Master Tholme startled at the change and didn’t recover quickly enough to fully counter Obi-Wan’s attacks. The cadence of the fight changed. Now Tholme was on the defense as Obi-Wan acted as the aggressor. He flipped, swung, rolled, and leapt, releasing his pent up energy and shoving all thoughts of the last time he’d used Ataru against Juyo into the box at the back of his mind that held all of the other things he didn’t want to think about.

He was surprised when Master Tholme pulled back and lifted his lightsaber in the classic gesture of surrender. Obi-Wan froze mid-motion before gracefully sweeping back and raising his own lightsaber vertically in front of his face. They powered off their ‘sabers and bowed to one another.

Silence surrounded them. Obi-Wan had been distantly aware of the growing crowd, but since they posed no danger he hadn’t given them a second thought. He’d been too focused on the fight to care about who was watching. Now, he saw that what looked like every verd in the training yard had gathered to watch the fight. After a moment of stunned silence, the crowd erupted into cheers. Verde began clamoring for their attention, coming closer as they congratulated them on their skill and asked questions about fighting with a lightsaber. 

Jango was suddenly there, wrapping his arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders and tugging him into a half-hug. “You did well, vod'ika,” he said. “Ba’ji Tholme is an expert at lightsaber combat, are they not? ”

“Technically yes,” Obi-Wan hedged, a little irritable. He was dismayed that he fit so easily under Jango’s arm – he was practically in his armpit – and he grumpily pushed Jango off. Jango wasn’t even that tall. It was just that Obi-Wan hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet and still looked twelve instead of fourteen. He shoved his vod further away with a scowl. “Anyone who achieves a rank of master must be at least proficient at using a lightsaber, though their specialty is in the mental arts rather than combat."

"You are still stubborn as a bantha when it comes to compliments. Just accept it, idiot."

Obi-Wan shoved him again just in time to be caught by Master Tholme. Obi-Wan flushed beneath his buy'ce even though all he felt from the Jedi was amusement instead of disappointment or recrimination.

“That was well fought,” Master Tholme praised. There was a keen gleam in his eye that Obi-Wan didn’t like that reminded him that Master Tholme was a Shadow for a reason. “Your use of Form III is impressive. I didn’t know Master Jinn had had time to begin teaching you a form outside of that which he favors.”

Obi-Wan cursed internally. He’d grown too comfortable. He hadn’t even thought about the implications of him knowing Soresu, let alone using it to such effect. He was supposed to be fourteen years old with only one year of formal padawan learning under his belt. He was not a Master of Soresu here.

Quinlan came to his rescue. “He taught himself. I told you, Master, he’s a total nerd.”

Obi-Wan shot him a grateful look and received a playful eyeroll in response.

“You are self-taught in Soresu?” Master Tholme sounded genuinely impressed, which caused Obi-Wan to blush yet again. “I do not know of any master at the temple with such skill in Form III as you have just demonstrated.”

Obi-Wan shrugged and tried not to fidget. “I find it to be the most intuitive,” he said truthfully. “It is the most effective at deflecting blaster fire when protecting not just oneself, but a group of people.”

Master Tholme’s expression turned sympathetic. “It was cruel of Master Jinn to take your lightsaber from you when he left Melidaan. Lightsabers are not forbidden to those outside the Order and you still have a right to yours. I will see it returned to you.”

Obi-Wan blinked in surprise. “Oh. Thank you, Master.” He bowed low in gratitude.

Beside him, Jango twitched. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, so he could tell that he was instinctually disgusted by the word ‘master’, no matter what it meant amongst the Jedi. He didn’t say anything, so Obi-Wan let it pass though he resolved to avoid using that term in the future.

Obi-Wan, Quinlan, and Master Tholme spent a fair amount of time after that patiently answering the questions that the surrounding verde had for them. What were lightsabers made of? Kyber crystals mostly, though there were other options. How early did they learn to fight? The earliest lightsaber classes started at age three, though they didn’t get actual ‘sabers until age eight. Could all Jedi fight as well as them? Most were better. Was Master Tholme single?

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together to stifle a grin and very deliberately did not look at Quinlan. He could still feel his friend’s despair and embarrassment over their bond.

As they held court, Obi-Wan watched out of the corner of his eye as Jango slipped away from the crowd and exited the training yard. He was headed east, away from the city center and very obviously not headed back to the stronghold. He had noticed that Jango always headed east after training on Taungsday, though he always went alone and Obi-Wan had never asked where he went. He never seemed happy when he returned home from those excursions and Obi-Wan admitted to a not insignificant amount of curiosity in regards to what was upsetting him so. It wasn’t his place to pry, he told himself.

Yes it is , Quinlan countered over their bond. Obi-Wan grimaced; he hadn’t meant to project his thoughts. He’s your ori’vod, right? That makes it your place. Little brothers are supposed to be nosy and annoying. That’s literally your job now.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. I’m sure not all brothers are like that.

Even as he said it, he was reminded of Anakin constantly wanting to know everything about him. He spent the first three years of his padawanship attached to Obi-Wan’s hip. Obi-Wan had hardly been able to use the ‘fresher alone; he certainly hadn’t been able to keep secrets. 

Go follow him. I’ll cover for you .

Obi-Wan shook his head, but it was in exasperation rather than denial. Truthfully, he did want to know what was going on with Jango. If he was in trouble or if there was something he was involved in that could potentially affect the future, then Obi-Wan needed to know. If it was innocuous, Obi-Wan could simply leave and pretend he never saw anything.

Fine. Now get out of my head, you nosy bastard.

Quinlan’s laugh rang in his head as he made his excuses to both Master Tholme and their audience before quickly making his way out the same exit that Jango had taken.

It took some patience to track a man wearing beskar. In the Force, beskar’gam muffled a person’s presence, making them seem indistinct and distorted. It was difficult to identify individuals and impossible to glean thoughts or specific emotions. Obi-Wan was very familiar with Jango’s Force signature, however, and after a couple minutes of mostly directionless meandering, he was able to lock on to his location and make his way towards him.

It was second nature to mask his presence with the Force and move swiftly down the street after his ori’vod , feet padding silently heel to toe against the ground. He walked straight-backed and unobtrusively, a normal enough sight that even without the help of the Force he would be fairly unremarkable to passersby. They would recognize him, of course, if they looked long enough to register the paint on his armor, but they wouldn’t look and he didn’t dawdle.

To his surprise, Jango headed straight for the hospital. Was Jango sick? A severe enough illness could require weekly visits, though Obi-Wan didn’t know why Jango would keep such a thing secret and Jaster had never said anything. Perhaps he was visiting a friend, someone who’d been injured during a hunt. But again, why the secrecy? Jango wasn’t hiding his activity, exactly, but he hadn’t talked to Obi-Wan about it at all, despite how close they’d become since Obi-Wan had been adopted.

He slipped in the door after Jango and followed him silently down the halls. Jango knew where he was going. He didn’t stop to talk to the ven’baar’ure or baar’ure , he simply marched directly to the room he was aiming for and stepped inside. Obi-Wan caught the door before it closed fully and peeked inside.

A woman lay on the bed. Obi-Wan didn’t recognize her. Jango sat on a chair next to the bed and picked up the woman’s limp hand, a small, sad smile on his face.

“Su’cuy, ori’vod, ” he greeted. “I have much to tell you. Obi-Wan is doing well. They completed their first hunt. Jare’la, that kid! ”

Jango continued telling the woman about their recent adventure on Dathomir and everything that happened afterward, but Obi-Wan stopped listening. Ori’vod. The woman on the bed was Arla Fett. She was alive. She hadn’t been taken by Death Watch or murdered in the attack on their family. Another change.

Tentatively, he reached out in the Force to gauge the severity of her injuries. He was far from adept at healing, but field medicine was a hard won skill that he doubted he would ever lose. He brushed against her Force signature gently and was shocked to find a little pocket of light humming back at him. The light was dim, like it came from far away. He stretched further, like extending a hand to one who has fallen just out of reach. The Force surged around him, more wild than he’d felt in this new life, and he silently begged for assistance. Slowly, the dim light grew brighter and a small tendril reached back to touch him.

Hello there , he said kindly, my name is Obi-Wan. It is lovely to meet you.

The light warmed like a smile. Su’cuy gar, Obi-Wan. Vod’ika.

Obi-Wan laughed just as a gasp came from inside the room, followed by shouting. Jango called his sister’s name, then for a baar’ur. 

We will speak soon, ori’vod , Obi-Wan said. Ret'urcye mhi .

Obi-Wan backed away from the door and exited the way he had come, passing a trio of baar’ure who were rushing toward Arla’s room.

Chapter Text

Jaster knocked back another shot of tihaar and reached deep for the last shred of patience he possessed.

Duke Kryze had promised to meet him to talk terms and to swear the Resol’nare . He’d followed through on the meeting, and had listened attentively to Jaster’s explanation of both the creed and his vision for the future of Mandalore, but now he was trying to ‘negotiate’ his way out of full commitment.

“Please understand,” the duke said for the fifth time. “Imagine it from the view of my people. I leave them for a week to spend time with an opposing political faction and return having sworn to not only acknowledge you as our sole leader, but also to venerate the very same armor that has served to characterize us as barbarians to the outside world. I am simply asking for one small concession, in the name of compromise and peace.”

Jaster breathed out slowly through his nose. “The concession I am willing to make is to allow you and your people the option of not wearing armor at all. I will not remove it from the Resol’nare . Our history is part of who we are, even as we evolve, and our armor even more so. To wear armor is to wear your soul on the outside for all to see. It is an act of bravery, even as it is an act of self-defense. For you, this may be more metaphorical. To wear your ideals outwardly, rather than beskar . I have no problem with this.”

Adonai pursed his lips. With a sigh, he finally swallowed a healthy amount of tihaar , which he had been mostly ignoring during their conversation, and set the glass back down gently.

“I had not thought of it like that. I used to. My armor was once so much a part of me…” He trailed off with another sigh and shook his head. “Yes, I understand the point that you are trying to make. I do not even disagree. I am simply trying to ensure that the New Mandalorians will follow my example rather than simply cast me out as a traitor and elect someone new in my place.”

Jaster grunted. Yes, that was an outcome that they would both like to avoid. By the Ka’ra , he hated politics.

“Can you not explain to them, as I have explained to you?” he asked. Speaking Basic for such a prolonged period of time was starting to give him a headache. His grasp on the language’s grammar was tenuous at best and he often had to search his mind for even the most common of words. Yet, as Duke Kryze had said, he compromised in the effort of peace. Now if the duke would only meet him halfway.

“If I presented it in just the right way, perhaps…” Again he trailed off, this time in thought. “Yes,” he finally concluded, “I believe I could word the announcement in a manner that would alleviate certain concerns before they have a chance to take root.”

“ Ori’jate ,” Jaster breathed, relief rushing through him. “You will say it now, then. We have witnesses.”

Seke and Khin had drawn the short straw and had accompanied him to his meeting with Kryze. He knew that Khin in particular was displeased with missing the training session today. Aside from the joy of watching Obi-Wan’s progress in the ring, there had been rumors that the jettii’se would be in attendance today. Everyone wanted to see what Ba’ji Tholme, in particular, was capable of. His comm had dinged several minutes ago, however, and by the tilt of their helmets he knew that both of his ori’ramikade had watched a holovid that had been sent to them. Unfortunately, he would have to wait to be able to see it for himself. They were fully paying attention now, however. They were both watching the duke like striile on the hunt.

Kryze’s face went through a complicated series of surprise, reluctance, consideration, and acceptance before nodding. It was clear that, despite his new worldview, he had not fully gotten over the habit of being able to express one’s emotions freely underneath one’s buy’ce .

“Education and armor,” he began, only for Jaster to stop him with one raised hand and an irritated scowl.

“O’r Mando’a,” he demanded. On this, he would not budge. The New Mandalorians may wish to forsake all that makes them Mando’ade , but he would not allow the Resol’nare to be so disrespected as to be sworn in Basic. Our language , it said. The language of their ancestors, the language that united them and cradled their culture. He would not let it be forgotten. It was enough that Kryze was swearing the Resol’nare armorless and seated across from him as an equal. He would swear in Mando’a or not at all.

Duke Kryze wrinkled his nose in distaste, but he continued in the language he had spoken since he was six years old, “Ba’jur, beskar’gam, ara’nov, aliit, Mando’a bal Manda’lor; an vencuyan mhi.”

Satisfaction filled him. Ever since he’d made the decision to vie for leadership, he’d been plagued by doubts and fears. He was a warrior and a scholar, not a politician. Leading a squad was not the same as leading an entire people and he constantly feared that he would fail and leave his people to either Kyr’tsad or the toothless Evaar’ade. He’d stuffed those doubts into the recess of his mind and allowed himself to be guided by his convictions, but that didn’t mean they didn’t crop up at every hardship or sign of weakness. Fighting Kyr’tsad was far more straightforward than going against the Evaar’ade . They fought on the field of battle, not in words and subversions. Jaster was too blunt to play the games the Evaar’ade favored and he had feared he would never win this particular battle. Today proved those fears wrong and he found his confidence fortified.

“Ni vorer gar verbur,” Jaster said with a gracious nod that was far more regal than the fierce pride he felt. “Now, let us discuss –”

He was cut off by another chime from his wrist comm, this time far more urgent. By the pattern of the blinking light, it was Jango reaching out to him.

“I must take this,” he informed Kryze before quickly accepting the call. It was voice only and the way Jango’s voice shook when he said ‘buir’ made anxiety grip Jaster’s heart like ice.

“Ad, me’vaar ti gar?”

Jango took a shaky breath. “Arla hoyc. Ni nakar'mir boru. Al Arla hoyc.”

“Jango, ibic jatne evaar'miit! Ni olaror.” He stood as he spoke, excitement and relief flooding his voice. Arla was finally awake! The baar’ure weren’t sure she would ever wake. He didn’t know what had brought her out, but truthfully he didn’t care. She was awake and that was all that mattered.

To Duke Kryze, he explained, “My ad is now awake from a coma. I am going to the hospital. We will resume later, yes?”

“Oh! Yes, of course. Go! May the Ka’ra watch over your family.”

Jaster nodded his head before spinning on his heel. Seke and Khin fell in step behind him. He decided to take a speeder rather than walk, since he didn’t trust himself to not simply break into a sprint in order to get to his ade faster.

—------------

Arla blinked awake. The light above her was too bright and the blanket laid over her was too insubstantial on her skin, making her itch. She blinked again, trying to get her vision to clear.

“Arla?” asked a breathless voice to her side. She recognized that voice. Sluggishly, she turned her head and, with another blink, the image of her vod’ika resolved enough to let her see his awestruck, hopeful face. He looked older than she remembered. His curly hair had been tamed into a close-cropped style and he stood taller, more comfortable in his own skin.

“Jan’ika? Me’bana? ”

“Arla! You’re awake! ” He was crying. Why was he crying? She tried to lift her hand to brush away his tears, but her limbs were too heavy to move.

Arla blinked again and Jango rushed back over to her side. When had he left? She took a deep breath and tried to sit up.

“No, no, no. You can’t get up yet. Let the medics look you over, okay? ”

“Where is he? ”

“Who? ”

“There was…someone woke me up. Obi-Wan.”

Jango startled. “ Obi-Wan woke you up? How? They were not even here. ”

Arla shook her head slowly. “ I do not know. I was…lost. I could not find my way back, no matter how hard I tried, but then I heard their voice. They guided me back. ”

Tears were streaming freely down Jango’s cheeks now and he let out a breathless laugh. He shook his head. “ Of course they did. ”

Baar’ure flooded the room, pushing Jango back. He stood against the wall, still crying, and watched helplessly as the medics looked her over. She recognized a couple of them, but her mind and body still felt like it was waking up and she couldn’t remember their names. They measured her vitals, asked her questions about her name and the date, checked her reflexes and sensation. 

“Everything looks good,” one of them confirmed, stepping back. “No complications in terms of heart rate, respiration, or her nervous system. Motor speech is good. There is some sluggishness which is only to be expected in this situation. You should be advised that you will likely experience what we call a ‘state of agitation’ while your neurons recover and you regain full control of your body.”

“What situation? ” she asked, confused. “I do not understand .”

“What exactly is a ‘state of agitation’?” Jango asked, nearly at the same time. “They do not seem agitated. ”

The baar’ur grimaced. To her, they said, “You have been in a coma for a little over three years. We were not sure you were going to wake up."

Three years? That was impossible. She turned to look at Jango and her heart fell. One look at his face confirmed what the medic was saying. She didn’t even remember why she was in the hospital, or how she’d gotten lost in the vast light that seemed to swallow her whole. She remembered a feeling of anger and desperation that built and built to an insufferable pressure, accompanied by grief as sharp as a knife. It had felt like a deadly combination, a dangerous chemical solution that would explode sooner rather than later. Then, the pressure had released and she’d known only light for a while. 

“A state of agitation,” the baar’ur continued, “does not refer to emotional wellbeing. It is a period of time in which the patient experiences loss of limb control. Involuntary limb movement is common. I assure you that is normal. Be patient and it will resolve itself rather quickly.”

Arla turned to look at Jango. His expression was pinched with worry, his eyebrows drawn down in a fierce scowl as he listened to the medic. Oh, Jango. Her hand twitched in his direction in invitation and he practically teleported to her side. For her, those three years had passed quickly and painlessly, but for her vod ? No doubt he had been afraid and alone, waiting for her to come back. She gripped his hand as tightly as she was able.

“It is alright, vod’ika. I am right here. I am alright.”

Jango nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed shakily. “Yeah. You are alright now.”

The door suddenly opened, revealing Mand’alor Mereel. She blinked at him in surprise before recovering. She struggled to get up, but was gently pushed back onto the bed by both Jango and the Mand’alor. She looked at her vod in confusion.

He gave her a half smile. “Jaster adopted me after…after what happened on Concord Dawn. They would have adopted you too, but, well.”

“I was in a coma? ” she concluded wryly. Jango rolled his eyes and she smiled before turning to the Mand’alor. Jaster. She remembered now, hearing Jango’s voice as though from the opposite end of a long tunnel as he explained through tears that their buire were dead. He had begged for her to come back, telling her how much he needed her, but she hadn’t been able to find the way out. She’d scratched and clawed and screamed, but nothing happened. She’d been lost in the blinding white, wishing she could at least cry with her vod as he told her about his adoption and the transition of moving to Manda’yaim. She took a deep breath and let it out. She was alive, her vod was alive, and she was no longer lost in the nothingness.

“Thank you,” she told Jaster sincerely, “for looking after them when I could not.”

“No debt,” he returned immediately. “It was my honor and my privilege.”

Jango was blushing now at the sincerity in Jaster’s voice and she brushed her thumb across his hand soothingly. 

“Buir ,” Jango said, “Arla said Obi-Wan was the one to wake them up.”

“Obi-Wan? ” Jaster repeated with a touch of surprise. “Where are they? ”

“That is the thing, buir. I do not know. I did not even know they knew about Arla.”

Arla frowned. “You came here and talked to me. I heard your voice, even from wherever I had gone. You told me all about your new sibling. That is how I recognized their name when they introduced themself. You did not tell them about me? ”

Jango grimaced. “It is not like I was keeping you a secret. It was just…hard to talk about.”

She slapped his arm. Or, well, she tried to slap his arm but her arm flopped against his breast plate instead with a dull thunk. Still, he pulled away with an offended hiss as she narrowed her eyes at him dangerously. “That is no excuse. You have always had the emotional intelligence of a river rock.”

He pouted. He would never admit it, but he was a gold-medal pouter. “It is not like you’re any better,” he sniped.

She hid a grimace, knowing he was right, but wouldn’t let her vod’ika have the upper hand. “I have never kept one sibling a secret from another.”

Jango very maturely stuck his tongue out at her.

“Ade,” Jaster interrupted, fighting a smile. “Please. Arla, I will give you time to recover, since you have only just woken. I wish you to know that I still have every intention of adopting you as well. I know you are an adult, but everyone needs family and I already see you as my own. I would be honored if you would consider allowing me to say the gai bal Manda.”

“There is no need to wait,” Arla said decisively. “I am ready now.”

Jaster smiled at her. “Alright then. Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad , Arla Fett.”

—-----------

Jocasta sipped deeply from her tea. It was a bitter blend, smoky and a little earthy. It was perfect for her current mood. Across from her, Yan and Sifo-Dyas sipped their own tea from one of Yan’s favorite tea sets. They were gathered in his rooms, sitting around the tea table on thick cushions. It had been a long time since the three of them had gotten together for a gossip session – not that they called them such, of course. It had been their habit as padawans to get together whenever they were all at the Temple and share stories of their exploits and discuss the rumors they’d heard. Then Sy had gone to that accursed Sith temple and had been lost for quite some time in the terrible visions he’d been plagued with since. They had both tried to be there for him, of course, but it was difficult when she and Yan were both up for their Trials. They had both suffered from the knowledge that even if they were to spend every free minute with Sy, they would not be able to truly help him. Neither of them had ever done well with helplessness.

Yan had started to pull away after that, embittered by the corruption of the Senate and his increasing disagreements with the Council as he entered his knighthood. In response to their absence, Jocasta had thrown herself into her studies and dedicated herself entirely to books and records.

They all still spoke, but it was stilted now and long stretches of time passed between their communication. It was rare to see one another in person, even after Jocasta had earned the position of Master Archivist and spent nearly all of her time in the Temple. She had to admit she’d missed her friends and she was very glad of their company, even if the topic of their conversation was heavier than usual.

“I don’t know where I went wrong,” Yan admitted into the silence. His back was straight, his expression impassive, yet the words and tone filled the room with a sense of grief and self-recrimination.

Jocasta reached over and touched the back of his hand gently with her fingertips. “You are not responsible for Qui-Gon’s actions,” she said firmly. “You raised and taught that boy as best you could and he is a fine Jedi.”

Yan’s mouth tightened and the lines around his eyes deepened. Jocasta pressed her fingertips more firmly against his thin-boned hand.

“I admit that perhaps he should not raise padawans. It is clear that he is not suited for it.” Yan raised a sardonic eyebrow. In another, more expressive person, that would have been an incredulous snort. She smiled a little ruefully. “I understand that that is an understatement. I am not saying that Qui-Gon does not need to face the consequences of his choices, but I don’t want you to lose sight of his positive qualities as well. He has done so much good for the galaxy, Yan, and he could not have done that without your tutelage.”

Yan looked down at his tea and swirled it with his free hand before setting the cup back in its saucer. “Our relationship was so contentious at the end. He hardly wanted anything to do with me. Did I not…did I not provide him with a good example of what a master should be? I know I can be,” he cleared his throat, his expression uncomfortable, “aloof. Emotionally distant, overly critical, arrogant, stern –”

“Yan,” she interrupted. Her heart hurt hearing her best friend speak so lowly of himself. It was good to acknowledge one’s own flaws, but not to the point of self-flagellation. “I meant it when I said that you did well by that child. You can be distant, yes, but you are a great teacher. You have never been cruel, despite the high standard you hold for yourself and others. If it had been you and Qui-Gon on that planet, would you have left an impassioned thirteen-year-old padawan behind to fight alone for his convictions?”

Yan physically recoiled. He did not seethe, nor hiss, though Jocasta could tell it was a close thing. “Of course not.” 

The idea was so abhorrent to him that he could not even elaborate. Normally, Yan would take the opportunity to elucidate exactly why Qui-Gon’s decision had been the wrong one and what he should have done instead. Now, he was silent, his eyes distant and haunted.

“Qui-Gon made a mistake,” Sy agreed, speaking for the first time, “but truthfully it ended far more favorably than anyone could have predicted. The Force itself is lighter for it. I believe Obi-Wan was always meant to align himself with the Mandalorians.”

Yan frowned. “No matter how serendipitous my grand-padawan’s meeting with our ancient enemy,” he said in a voice as smooth as ice and just as unforgiving, “that does not change the fact that he has suffered far more greatly than any padawan should. Even disregarding what happened on Melida/Daan, I told you both of the events on Bandomeer, which I have only recently learned. Events that were orchestrated by my own dear master.”

Jocasta winced. She had read Qui-Gon’s original report from that mission. While concerning, his account had not caused the same amount of alarm that the supplemental report submitted by Master Tholme only days ago had created. No one, it seemed, had been aware of the extent of poor Obi-Wan’s trials. They’d known that former-padawan Xanatos du Crion had kidnapped him in an attempt to gain Gui-Gon’s attention. They’d known that he’d spent some time in the deep sea mines and the Halls of Healing had documented extensive wounds from beatings caused by fists, electro-whips and, distressingly, a lightsaber. Yet somehow, they’d never really dug deeper into all that Obi-Wan had experienced. No mind healer had been assigned and no follow-up interviews had been conducted with Padawan Kenobi. His physical wounds had been treated, a meal plan had been written, and he’d been left completely in the care of Master Jinn.

Yan, in particular, had been enraged when he discovered the truth. Qui-Gon had been so blase about the fact that Initiate Kenobi, who was only twelve standard, had been enslaved for months while Qui-Gon chased after du Crion. Master Tholme included a first-hand account from his padawan, who was very close to Kenobi, in which he explained Kenobi’s mental and physical state after Bandomeer. Vos’ report was blunt as he quoted the reasoning Kenobi stated for Master Jinn finally choosing to take him on as a padawan.

“I have always been too angry and passionate. I was destined to Fall, as Master Jinn said, which is why they sent me away. When I offered to explode my collar to free the others, Master Jinn had hope that there was perhaps something worthy in me. I am grateful for this chance and I don’t want to disappoint him.”

Jocasta had closed her eyes after reading that and had sat in her office for a long time in silence. She couldn’t help but think of the proposal that had consumed her life since its arrival. It filled her thoughts, haunted her imagination, starred in her dreams. It was the catalyst for her every research project and the topic of nearly every conversation with fellow Jedi. She hadn’t wanted to believe its contents at first – no one had – yet the further she delved, the more firmly believed that its conclusion, that the Order needed to change, was fundamentally correct. Yan had been arguing this point for years and no one had listened, including herself. Now, a padawan had been lost, had nearly died , because their policies did not provide adequate oversight to the training of their younglings. She wasn’t sure she had ever known such shame.

“In any case, this is not about former-Padawan Kenobi. He lied,” Yan said sharply. “Qui-Gon lied to the Council about Obi-Wan’s reason for leaving the Order. He did not even give my grand-padawan the benefit of allowing us to know the true conflict of morality that caused him to stay. He portrayed the boy as selfish and guided by attachment, rather than as a compassionate, principled being willing to act for the sake of righteousness even when it puts him against authority.”

That speech had been building for some time. Still, Jocasta was impressed. It was not in Yan’s nature to speak so highly of someone. She wasn’t sure if he truly found Obi-Wan to be so exceptional or if he was simply speaking from a place of anger and hurt caused by his own padawan.

“Tell us why you’re so upset, Yan,” Jocasta demanded. “Get to the heart of it.”

Yan breathed harshly for a moment and his hand twitched beneath hers. “You say that my padawan grew to be a fine Jedi. If he is an example of what Jedi are meant to be, perhaps I no longer wish to be associated with that.”

Jocasta stilled. His words echoed in her mind, yet it took her a long moment to process what was truly being said. Yan wanted to…leave?

“You don’t mean that,” she whispered. Then, more firmly, “You don’t mean that.”

He withdrew his hand. “I do, Jo. The Jedi are hypocrites. We speak of doing good for the galaxy and bringing light and peace wherever we go, yet the rotting core of who we are has been exposed. We cannot even keep one youngling safe from ourselves. How are we to help the entire galaxy? We are beholden to the Senate and stretched thin enough to allow atrocities to happen under our noses every single day. What are we doing, really? Who are we?”

Sifo-Dyas stared at Yan with a mixture of horror and resignation. Jocasta shook her head, angry. She reached out and snatched Yan’s hand back, holding it between both of her own.

“We are Jedi,” she said decisively. “Yes, we are flawed. We have grown stagnant, as you have said, and are in dire need of change. Do those flaws mean that all that we have strived for is worthless? Is the good we have accomplished worth nothing? The lives we’ve saved meaningless?” She shook her head again and gripped his hand harder. “No. We have seen our shortcomings and we will address them. We will adapt and overcome, because we are stronger than our faults. Would you give up so easily, my friend?”

Yan looked into her eyes. Finally he turned away with a sigh. “No. You are right, Jo. I’m sorry.”

Sifo-Dyas slumped in relief. “I get the feeling that Mace is somewhere complaining of a sudden migraine.”

Yan smiled begrudgingly as Jocasta laughed. “I believe you are right, Sy.”

She shuddered to think of the shatterpoint they had just broken. If Yan had decided differently, he could have left the Order. She did not like to think of her friend somewhere in the galaxy without the support of the Temple behind him. She laced her fingers with his and squeezed. He squeezed back. His dark eyes were still troubled and she knew they had not entirely assuaged his doubts, but it was enough for now.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan sat under his favorite tree. He had foregone the bench this time in favor of sitting directly on the ground, his ungloved hands buried in the soil between the tree’s roots. He smiled to himself. There were many aspects of his padawanship with Qui-Gon that had been difficult, even painful, but one of the many gifts Qui-Gon had given him was a love for the natural world. Plants, trees, animals – they brought him peace and joy now where they had once brought only disinterest at best or fear at worst.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, sinking deeper into the Force. Arla was alive and safe with the Haat Mando’ade . Of all the surprises he’d received in the past few months, this one was perhaps the most pleasant. He had never known she was Force sensitive. Or, perhaps, she hadn’t been, in that previous life. The Force had closed the distance it used to keep from the mortal world and had changed so many things irrevocably. He wanted to meditate on those differences, and take time to ask the Force what his next step should be. He had planned to go to Rattatak, but every time he tried to solidify those plans, the Force sent a vague feeling of displeasure, as though it were the wrong choice. Mustafar, then?

“Hi, Obi-Wan!”

He twitched, but didn’t open his eyes. “Hello, Quinlan.”

He felt Quinlan’s grin. “Whatcha doin’?

“Meditating.”

“Boring.” Quinlan tapped him on the forehead with a gloved finger. “Let’s talk more about your vision.”

At this, Obi-Wan did open his eyes. “My what?” he asked flatly.

Quinlan wriggled his eyebrows meaningfully. “You know, your vision .”

Realization landed like a hammer. It seemed like Quinlan had already, unknowingly adopted Obi-Wan’s own cover story for the knowledge he possessed. A vision was the most believable option and gave him wiggle room to explain the moments when he would slip and either say or do something that revealed a greater amount of experience than he logically should have. This was even more effective with Mandalorians, who had limited experience with trained Force users but a healthy respect for Seers. He didn’t think that the Jedi would be so accepting. Other than Quinlan, of course.

“What do you want to know?” he asked warily.

“Everything.” As he expected. “But mostly I want to know about the Sith. And how you died. And where I was. And what the kark happened to the galaxy.”

Obi-Wan sighed. He had prepared mentally for this moment, but there was still something daunting about telling someone the truth about what happened. He’d never really had to before. Everyone had either already lived through it or were dead. Then, he was dead and it wasn’t as though Luke needed all the sordid details in order to confront the Empire.

Haltingly, Obi-Wan began to speak. “I could start this story in many different places, but I will begin with the point where I think we all went wrong, the moment that the Jedi made a choice to the devastation of not only themselves, but the galaxy.”

He started with Kamino, the planet that didn’t exist, and the millions of bright souls that he found there. They had never had a choice in the war. Though the Jedi often felt like they had likewise been unable to make any other decision, the truth was that they had decided. They decided to use the weapon crafted for them without their knowledge, even with the understanding that that ‘weapon’ was an army of sentients. He explained to Quinlan the true origins of the clones’ creation, weaving in the tale of exactly why Master Dooku Fell. He told him about Geonosis and the first true agony of war. He didn’t tell him about every battle, or even very many of them, but he did tell him about Christophsis and Umbara and Utapau. He told him about Ahsoka, about Bariss and her betrayal, about the Council’s failure. He told him about the creeping Darkness and how it shrouded every decision and clouded their perception until they were completely blind to the way they were all being manipulated so thoroughly.

He did not speak of Anakin. He could not say his name, could not so much as imagine that supernova that used to be bonded to him. He could not conjure the image of his brother’s face. He could not see the Temple as it had been that day, so full of blood and ash.

He took a deep breath and kept speaking. One part of his mind was constantly searching their surroundings to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard, but Quinlan had chosen his ambush well. This garden was sparsely used and well insulated; their conversation would easily be private unless someone came close, in which case both he and Quinlan would have felt them coming.

He continued. Tatooine. Luke and Leia. The Death Star. Reaching out to Luke as a ghost. His final moments and the release into the Force.

“Oh, Obi,” Quinlan said softly, when he was done and his voice was hoarse from overuse. He wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan and pulled him close. Tears were flowing freely from Obi-Wan’s eyes and he just wished he could stop crying. “I’m so sorry, Obi-Wan.”

He shook his head. “It was my failure.”

Quinlan shook him, none too gently. “Obi-Wan Kenobi. Don’t tell me you actually believe all of that to be your fault?”

Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose. “Not all of it, surely. I am not so arrogant to assume that I had the power to actually cause or prevent all that happened. But I certainly could have done a better job of things. I could have fought harder for the clones. I could have stood up for Ahsoka. I should have spoken up about my doubts regarding the Council’s decisions and how I felt as though the center of the Darkness was focused within the Senate. There are a lot of things I could have done differently that would have led to a better outcome.”

He would have raised Anakin differently, in hindsight. He’d been so overwhelmed at the time, freshly (undeservingly) knighted and grieving the loss of his master. He’d felt so alone then, yet also watched. Every move he made was under a microscope. It didn’t help that he’d earned the moniker ‘Sith slayer’ and the infamy that came with it. Then to take on the Chosen One as a padawan? Anakin had obviously felt that pressure, but Obi-Wan had felt it first and more keenly for not even feeling worthy of knighthood. Every decision he made, every lesson he imparted to Anakin and every mission they went on was dissected, questioned, and doubted. He had not even known until months after the events on Naboo that Anakin had been a slave. Qui-Gon had never told him and Anakin had assumed he already knew. Even the Council had not been told and thus could not have imparted to him that information.

Obi-Wan was not going to be Anakin’s master this time, but he’d spent a good (unhealthy) amount of time on Tatooine thinking about all the things he would have done differently if he could raise Anakin again. He would have ignored the Council. He would not have let their pressure force him to treat Anakin like any other Temple-raised padawan. He would have used different meditation techniques and researched other Force philosophies, ones that might have better explained how to love without holding on so tightly as to destroy rather than cherish. He still didn’t quite believe that sharing his own past with Anakin would have helped anything, but he might have tried anyway. Anakin had always complained that Obi-Wan could never understand him, that he’d never suffered the way Anakin suffered. Perhaps if he knew that he wasn’t alone, he would have trusted Obi-Wan more. Perhaps he would have told him about Padme or he would have explained that his dreams about his mother were Dreams and not just a manifestation of missing someone he loved. Or perhaps not. He would never know.

“You are a ridiculous person, Obi-Wan,” Quinlan said. “We don’t have time to unpack all of your self-esteem issues right now, so I’m just going to say that you’re wrong and move on. And anyway, you have a chance to do everything over now, right? So, you know, you can tell the Council to kriff off, which you’ve already done, and you can save your clones, and make sure that that Ahsoka person never faces treason for something she didn’t do.”

Obi-Wan smiled and shook his head. “First of all, they’re not my clones. They’re Jango’s clones and they won’t exist now that Jaster survived Korda VI and the Massacre of Galidraan has been prevented. He has no reason to agree to the contract.”

Quinlan frowned at him for a long moment. “Are you okay with that?”

Obi-Wan looked away. He hadn’t been expecting the tears that sprang to his eyes so quickly. Quinlan, for all of his other qualities, was an incredibly perceptive person. Trust him to get right to the heart of the issue. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“Yes.” His voice was still too hoarse. “It’s for the best. Their training was cruel and their purpose was insidious. They were slaves of the Republic. None of their choices were ever theirs and it’s not fair that they existed the way that they did.”

“But you miss them.”

“Of course I miss them. I will always miss them. They deserved better and I mourn them, but I also acknowledge that a world in which they do not have to exist is a better one.”

The thought sliced through his heart like a blade, but it was no less true for the pain of it. The clones’ lives had been too short and not at all pleasant. They had carved out a space for themselves anyway, with their own culture and stolen moments of happiness, but it wasn’t enough. If Obi-Wan did his job right, there would be no war and thus no reason for the clones to be created at all.

“Tell me about them, then.”

Obi-Wan looked up at him, surprised. He could do that. It would hurt, but he could talk about them. He could talk about Commander Cody, the steady pillar by his side for three years whom he had trusted not only with his life but with his soul. He could talk about Waxer and Boil, whose hearts were so full of compassion Obi-Wan felt humbled. He could tell him about Captain Rex and how he became Ahsoka’s ori’vod almost immediately. He had so many stories about Longshot and Wooley and Crys and Fives and Echo and all the rest. He remembered their names, carried them with him always. Quinlan settled in and listened patiently, and very kindly didn’t comment when tears continued to occasionally escape Obi-Wan’s eyes.

“Master?”

Tholme hummed absently, not looking up from his datapad. He and the Mand’alor had finally managed to complete the first draft of the treaty between their peoples. He was reviewing the section on their mutual ability to request aid, wondering if it was perhaps too broad. Originally, the sentiment had been to allow Mandalore to reach out to the Agricorps for help restoring their planet in recompense for the Excision. Tholme had been the one to suggest that Jedi aid should not stop simply at righting a wrong, to which Mand’alor Mereel had responded by saying that, in that case, it should be an equal exchange. He scratched out some of the wording and rewrote it.

“We’re going to assign a Jedi ambassador to Mandalore now, right? Because of the treaty?”

Tholme hummed again, but scrolled down the section that mentioned ambassadorship. Tholme had advocated for a permanent Jedi position, which Mereel had been hesitant about. Adopting a former padawan and allowing one Jedi master-padwan pair to visit had done much to improve public opinion, but Mereel had worried that it wasn’t enough to truly allow a full-time Jedi presence.

“Obi-Wan is looking for a squad.”

Tholme’s brow wrinkled. He wasn’t sure where Quinlan was going with that non-sequitur, but he was sure he had a point that he would get to eventually.

“Apparently he has plans for some pretty dangerous missions. Because of his visions.”

Tholme nodded. He didn’t quite agree with operating solely based on visions, but he also didn’t totally agree with Master Yoda’s view that visions were to be largely ignored. The Force gave them visions for a reason, did it not? He was also aware that the Mandalorians had a different view of visions than the Jedi. In Mandalorian culture, Seers were revered. It made sense that they would allow someone, even one as young as Kenobi, to use them as a basis for missions.

“I could join his squad.”

Tholme finally looked up. Quinlan was standing straight-backed, though he fiddled slightly with a loose thread on his glove.

“I know I couldn’t be here all the time, since I’m still a padawan and still learning,” he added quickly. “I would still go on missions with you and I could take my classes online. But Obi-Wan needs help. The Mandalorians are great and all, but they’re not Jedi, you know? Obi-Wan needs someone who understands Force stuff.”

Tholme mulled this over in silence. He would not have suggested his padawan as the Mandalorian ambassador on his own. The thought wouldn’t have even occurred to him. Yet, Quinlan had a point. The Mandalorians were distrustful of adult Jedi, but they had a soft spot for children and seemed to like Quinlan well enough despite his antics. He had already done research into Mandalorian culture and had learned more during their stay. Diplomacy was not in Quinlan’s future, but a well-rounded education never hurt anyone. Plus, it would give him plenty of useful contacts for his future as a Shadow. If Quinlan kept up with his classwork, continued training his psychometry and saberwork, and was allowed the freedom to go on missions with both the Mand’alor’s son and with Tholme, then this would perhaps be an excellent learning opportunity.

He would have to speak with the Council, of course. They would want to assign a more experienced ambassador, one who could dedicate themselves more fully to the role. Perhaps both options could be accepted. Quinlan as junior ambassador, whose primary function was to serve on Obi-Wan’s squad, and a senior ambassador to fill the more formal position of facilitating communication between the Jedi and the Mandalorians. He made a note to include the change to the treaty and nodded to his padawan.

“Alright,” he said. Quinlan whooped. “I will talk to the Mand’alor and to the Council. If they both agree, you may talk to Obi-Wan.”

Quinlan was jumping up and down now. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Tholme held up a hand. “Don’t thank me yet. This will be difficult, a true test. Especially so soon into your padawanship. You will be faced with more responsibility than you’ve ever had and I will not go easy on you just because you will now have a full schedule. I will expect thorough reports for both your Mandalorian and Jedi missions, regular updates on all you are learning about Mandalorian culture, and full effort in all of your Temple classes. Are you sure you still want to do this?”

Quinlan had stopped bouncing. His eyes were serious as he nodded and said, “Yes, master. I’m sure.”

“Alright then. Now, go spar with Zomar and leave me in peace.”

Quinlan grinned. “Yes, master. Bye!”

Tholme shook his head fondly and turned back to editing the treaty. He was already planning to meet with the Mand’alor in a few hours. He would put off calling the Council until after then.

Obi-Wan was setting down the books he’d just borrowed from Jaster’s library when he found himself suddenly yanked off his feet. He yelped in surprise as Jango swung him back and forth in an exuberant hug, his feet dangling like a tooka in the arms of a three year old.

“Wha –?”

Jango squeezed him tightly enough to make Obi-Wan’s ribs constrict beneath his armor. He patted his forearm awkwardly, wondering what the kriff had happened and if his vod was quite alright.

“Arla, ner ori’vod, hoyc,” Jango said after a long moment. His voice was thick and he was still squeezing Obi-Wan within an inch of his life, to the point where he worried about his durasteel armor.

“Oh,” he wheezed. “Good. I was worried I did not do enough, but Arla had already done most of the fighting on their own. I just gave them a nudge.”

“How did you even know about them? ”

“I did not ,” Obi-Wan admitted. Jango set him back on his feet. “I followed you.”

“You little shit. Of course you did. ” Jango wasn’t actually angry, he was too happy for that, but Obi-Wan still felt a little bad for violating his privacy. “Vor’entye, vod. Seriously. You have no idea what this means to me.”

Obi-Wan didn’t want to tell him that he did, in fact, understand loss and how it felt to suddenly have back everything that once was lost. Obi-Wan couldn’t save Jango’s parents, and he really hadn’t done much at all in terms of helping Arla, but he was glad he was able to give Arla the helping hand she needed to wake up. It wasn’t uncommon for untrained Force users to fall into a coma. It was easy to overdo it and then get lost in the infinite power of the Force, just one light among trillions. There were certain Healers at the Temple who had been specifically trained to carefully guide those beings back to the realm of the living. Obi-Wan was not one of those people, but Arla was not one of the typical cases he’d seen. She’d already been close to the surface, metaphorically treading water in an attempt to pull herself out. The tides of the Force were strong, but Arla’s will was stronger and all he’d had to do was show her the way and she did the rest.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said instead. “I am glad that they are alright. When will they be allowed to leave the hospital? ”

“Medics say within forty-eight hours. They do not normally deal with comas like this and, when it happens, those patients do not normally wake up. Arla seems fine, physically, and there is no reason to keep them there other than for observation.”

Obi-Wan smiled and clapped his hand on Jango’s shoulder. “That is good news. I cannot wait to meet them.”

Jango nodded, looking a little sheepish. “I am sorry that I did not tell you about Arla. I was not intentionally keeping them a secret from you – ”

Obi-Wan cut him off with a raised hand, shaking his head. “I understand. Some things are difficult to talk about, no matter how much you trust the other person. I am not upset, though I wish I could have helped sooner.”

“Well, if I had known that your jettii magic could have woken them, I would have brought you there immediately.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “Maybe you should actually listen to me when I talk about what the Force can do, huh? ”

Jango rolled his eyes and pushed the side of Obi-Wan’s head. Jango hated it when Obi-Wan went into ‘lecture mode’ and did not have the patience to actually listen even if he couldn’t find an excuse to leave the room. Much like Anakin.

“Have you –” Jango started, only to be cut off as an explosion suddenly rocked the floor beneath their feet. Obi-Wan quickly shoved his helmet back on and drew his blaster. Jango was already moving towards the door on quick, steady feet. With his helmet now on, he could hear the tail end of Jango asking for a sitrep, followed quickly by the verde in and around the stronghold sounding off to indicate they were alive.

“The attack did not come from above,” Sha’siss said. “It looks like explosives were planted beneath the building at some point and detonated remotely. Attack protocols have been initiated.”

No one had heard from Jaster yet, which made anxiety crawl up Obi-Wan’s throat. He released as much of it as he could into the Force; it would not serve him now. He needed to be focused.

He followed Jango down the hallway, both of them walking in the predatory stance of bent knees and forward weapons. The entire left side of the building was rubble. Somehow the right side was still standing with only minimal damage, meaning that Obi-Wan and Jango had been alright, as well as about half the other bedrooms, the library, and the kitchen. The dining room had taken some damage, but the meeting hall was entirely destroyed. The hall was the most likely target for the attack, though Obi-Wan hadn’t known that there was a meeting occurring at the moment. He’d thought that the duke and Satine were preparing for their departure, but it was possible that they’d planned one last meeting, especially since Duke Kryze had sworn the Resol’nare and would be announcing that to the rest of the Evaar’ade tomorrow. 

He reached out to Quinlan over their restored bond and received only silence. It wasn’t the silence of death, which was a relief, but Quinlan had his shields pulled up reflexively high. That could mean a myriad of things, but Obi-Wan felt certain that Quinlan had been caught up in the blast somehow. To protect himself, Quinlan needed beskar-strength shields and absolute focus. Obi-Wan withdrew.

He and Jango rounded the corner at the top of the stairs. The stairs themselves no longer existed, forcing Jango to use his jetpack to get down while Obi-Wan simply jumped and used the Force to control his fall. They fell back into step immediately and kept sweeping each room that they passed for either survivors or the enemy.

Obi-Wan felt it was a fairly safe bet to assume that the enemy in question was Kyr’tsad . They’d been too quiet for too long, stewing in their failures as the Haat Mando’ade gained strength. It made sense for them to target a meeting between Jaster and Duke Kryze; cut off two heads with one ‘saber strike, so to speak. Jango tried to comm Jaster directly, but received only static.

“Enemy inbound,” Lanzir, another aran , announced. “Squad of twelve dropping from the north.”

“Same on the south side,” Dakii said grimly. He was glad that she was alright, at least for now. “Twelve verd squad, dropping fast.”

Jango swore violently and picked up the pace. The good news was that the stronghold did not have any full time employees and even those visiting or working in the stronghold for the day knew the protocol, which essentially consisted of: get out and regroup. Anyone present in the building capable of walking would have immediately gotten outside as quickly as possible and gathered in either the training yard or the barracks, depending on the level of cover needed.

“How many of you on either side? ” Jango demanded.

“Fourteen on the north,” Lanzir confirmed.

“Eleven on the south.”

“Lanzir, engage as soon as possible. Utilize the canons on the east wall. ”

“Way ahead of you. ”

“Good. Dakii, is Khin with you? ”

“Negative. Khin was in the meeting hall with Jaster.”

“Kriff.”

A new voice spoke up. “Meis D’ruvas here. If it is a sniper you need, I can be of assistance.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows rose. He recognized that name from the files that Jaster had given him on the verde who’d requested to join his squad. Meis D’ruvas was a Devaronian sniper and recon-specialist with pink skin, dark brown eyes, and black hair. She was one of the small percentage of female Devaronians with gray fur covering her body, which somehow made her look fiercer in her photo rather than soft. Perhaps that was more a result of her smile, which showed off her sharp canines and a fierce glint to her eyes.

“I will happily accept your assistance,” Dakii said. “Where are you ?”

There was the sound of long-range blaster fire and then, “Already in position.”

Cheers went up and Obi-Wan shook his head fondly. Cheeky. He would have to look at Meis’ file again. 

He and Jango were picking their way through the destroyed portion of the building now. It was astonishingly demolished. The ceiling and walls were completely gone, leaving only chunks of stone and durasteel, some of which was melted grotesquely. The air shimmered with residual heat. Obi-Wan’s heart sank. He’d seen scenes like this before and the rate of survival was…suboptimal. He shoved his fear and dismay into the Force and focused on the placement of his feet.

He reached out in the Force, searching for signs of life. At first, he was only aware of Jango in front of him and the verde outside fighting against Kyr’tsad . Then…yes, there! He indicated to Jango where he found a pocket of life and he felt Jango’s relief clearly even through his beskar . Jango immediately began digging at the rubble. Obi-Wan leapt in to help, using the Force to lift the larger chunks and set them safely aside. Between the two of them, it took about fifteen minutes to clear a small space, only big enough to let air through and, thankfully, allow them to speak to the survivors below.

“Hello?” Obi-Wan called in Basic. Other than Jaster and a couple ori’ramikade , the people mostly likely to be down there were the duke, Satine, Quinlan, and Master Tholme, which meant that Basic was the better option. “If you can speak, please do so. We are coming to get you.”

“Obi-Wan!” Quinlan shouted, sending relief cascading through Obi-Wan’s veins. “We’re alright, mostly. Mand’alor Mereel is alive and breathing, but he hasn’t woken up. Master Tholme is also unconscious. He leapt over the table to protect Lady Kryze.”

There was no real indication in his voice of how he felt about that, but Obi-Wan knew his friend and he knew that he was fighting off a certain amount of bitterness toward Satine. Quinlan would never wish her dead, he knew, but he likely wasn’t too happy that his master had been hurt saving her life, especially if she had been any degree of annoying or ungrateful in the ensuing timeframe following the explosion.

“Understood. And the others?”

“My daughter and I are alright, thanks to the Master Jedi and Khin.”

“It is good to hear your voice, Duke Kryze,” Obi-Wan said. “I am glad you are both alright. Khin? Me’vaar ti gar?”

“Nu kadala . Zomar jate balyc.”

“Jate. So there are seven of you down there?”

“Yes,” Quinlan confirmed at the same time that Khin said, “Elek .”

Obi-Wan nodded, even though they couldn’t see him. “It sounds like the battle is almost over, so we will receive more help soon. In the meantime, Jango and I will continue working to free you. If at any point it seems unstable from your perspective, shout or, Quinlan, reach out to me and we will stop immediately. Sound good?”

“Got it, Obes. Get us out of here.”

Obi-Wan backed away from the hole and nodded to Jango. They had a system now. They worked in tandem for another ten minutes before Dakii confirmed over the comms that the squad that had attacked from the south was neutralized. A minute later Lanzir confirmed the same in the north. Both groups converged on their location and joined Jango in dragging away the smaller, moveable pieces while Obi-Wan continued to doggedly lift the large, boulder-like pieces of stone and durasteel. Some of those pieces were larger than a speeder and he was starting to tire. He couldn’t take a break though. Due to the nature of their task, and the way they were going about it, it was vital for Obi-Wan to identify the most problematic pieces and haul them away before they could destabilize the entire pile and send it crashing down on the survivors below. It was a constant game of prioritization and repetitive motion that he’d gotten used to in the Clone Wars. He’d worked side by side with clones in exactly this way before, digging out civilians and soldiers alike for hours at a time. The difference now, besides the obvious, was that he was currently fourteen years old and without the stamina of his thirty-five year old body. He was wearing fast. His vision began to blur, then dim, yet he drew upon that well of stubborn strength he’d relied on his whole life and kept going.

He lost track of time. He had no idea how long it took them before they had a large, and stable, enough opening to begin pulling people out, but eventually they managed and Obi-Wan stepped back with a small gasp as he finally let go of the Force. Dakii was somehow there, instantly, with an arm around his shoulders as she guided him to sit down. He went willingly. He was sucking in air desperately, his lungs feeling strangely weak and ineffective. Dakii gently pulled off his buy’ce and encouraged him in low, gentle tones to breathe slowly and deeply.

“Obi-Wan? What’s wrong?”

That voice. It sounded like Cody, but wrong. Cody never called him Obi-Wan, even when he practically begged him to drop the formality at least once. No, no it wasn’t Cody. Where was he? What was happening?

“I think they overdid it ,” another voice confided in Mando’a. “ They seem pretty out of it. I do not know much about the Force but I think it would be best if we took them to the hospital with Jaster and Ba’ji Tholme.”

“Yeah, okay. Come on.”

Hands scooped under his knees and beneath his back. His vision was still flickering and his thoughts felt unbearably hazy and confused. An ache had settled into his muscles and the back of his eyes, into his very bones. Everything hurt and he felt like he could just drift away, let go and float into the Force.

No.

No?

No , the Force confirmed. Hold on.

Obi-Wan tried to respond, but his mind could not grasp the thought long enough to communicate. He blinked slowly. On the next blink, his eyes closed and did not open again.

Chapter Text

Master Yaddle sat in meditation in one of the private meditation rooms in the Temple Spire. Most people tended to prefer the Room of a Thousand Fountains or one of the other gardens, but Yaddle wished to be alone for this. Her eyes were closed, legs crossed beneath her, as she sank deeper into the Force searching for guidance. So much had changed in the Temple recently. Good changes, she thought, though some made her nervous. 

The Council of First Knowledge had nearly reworked the entire curriculum for students from initiates to senior padawans. There was a greater emphasis on Temple history, as well as options for Jedi within the Order. Representatives from each of the service corps had been contacted to give lectures about their field, the first series of which had started last week. Already, a difference could be seen in the attitude of the younglings living in the Temple. The number of fights had decreased and the general amount of stress had diminished. Students were coming up to masters freely to ask more questions about branches of the service corps which had caught their attention. Yaddle hadn’t even been aware that this was a severe enough issue to warrant rectification, yet the transformation was undeniable.

Those changes were positive, both empirically and anecdotally. However, it was the addition of classes on Sith history and practice which made her uneasy. Those classes weren’t taught until the second year of a student’s padawanship, but even that concession had been fought for tooth and nail against those who believed it should be taught as early as possible. Those were the ones who’d been alarmed by the contents of the proposal which hinted at the fact that the Sith were not as eradicated as they were once believed to be. ‘Forewarned is forearmed,’ they claimed, even as her stomach writhed at the idea of bringing Sith ideas into the Jedi Temple. It was for education, of course, but a part of her still rebelled.

The Jedi Shadows had begun their own investigations into the deeper subtext within the proposal, such as the survival of the Sith and possible plots within the Senate to weaken the Jedi. So far, the investigations were only in their beginning stages and thus bore no fruit, but Yaddle was not sure if she was looking forward to their results or if she dreaded them. In either case, research within the Temple was going much more smoothly. It was Master Tholme who’d had the idea to send Shadows-in-training to discover the prevailing attitude amongst the younglings concerning the service corps versus knighthood. The results of that inquiry had led to the rapid changes on which Yaddle had just been reflecting. It was the attitude amongst Jedi adults, however, that most interested her at the moment. Did they agree with the changes? Did they believe the Temple was now moving in the right direction? Some undoubtedly did, including Masters Dooku, Tyvokka, Koon, Nu, Sifo-Dyas, as well as several younger masters. Master Ki-Adi Mundi was vocally against the changes, but he was surprisingly in the minority. Even Master Yoda had taken to the reforms and was actively working on reopening a temple on Ledeve in an attempt to halt the steady decline of the Jedi in its tracks and perhaps start moving the trend in the opposite direction. 

With her Shadows at work, Yaddle was free to do some investigating of her own. No one would suspect her of being the Head Master of Shadows, especially when Master Tholme was ostensibly the face of their sect, which gave her an advantage when it came to gathering intelligence. For example, Master T’un had spoken freely to her over tea about his concerns regarding the return of the Sith and how he’d secretly feared that it was impossible to entirely rid the galaxy of that type of evil. He’d been shaken by the visions shared with the Council by Master Sifo-Dyas and he believed that there was at least a kernel of truth to the repetitive vision of war and destruction that plagued the poor master. The only reason he hadn’t spoken up at the time, he confided, was that he worried that no one would listen to him and he would be discredited as a being who jumped at shadows, rather than being grounded in the here and now, as Master Yoda was so fond of saying.

Yaddle had sat for a long time after Master T’un left her office, contemplating his words. Even a month ago, she would have said it was impossible for the Sith to still exist, let alone be actively plotting a full-scale return. Now, she wondered if that was simply arrogance and fear blinding her to the truth, which was that balance in the Force meant a continued existence of Sith operatives, even when such a thing was anathema to the Light.

She focused on her breath and slowly let go of the mortal world, leaving only a thin tether to her body as she released herself to the Force. It was a dangerous technique she practiced, one which was largely forbidden by the Order for the possibility of losing oneself entirely to the Force at the cost of life, but Yaddle knew her limits and she knew that her tether was enough to guide her way back. It was important that she see what the Force had to tell her about all of this.

Blaster fire rang in her ears. It surrounded her in all directions, fired from thousands of blasters and filling the air with light and sound. She looked up and saw a marching line of white armored troopers pressing inexorably forward, even as their members dropped one by one into the dirt. Across from them, an even more bone chilling line of gold droids fired back in the same formation, pressing forwards, dropping one by one. Eventually the two lines would clash, but who would win was never certain.

The vision blurred and washed away like mist. It had held the twinge of possibility, but one which grew fainter every day. She let it go, and another took its place.

A man stood in a miasma of Darkness, even as he himself glowed with brilliant Light. He radiated like a sun, a powerful symbol of hope and righteousness. He wore armor of a type she had not seen in a very long time, painted blue, green, navy, gold, and light green. The patterns were important and the colors more so, but she did not know enough to say what they meant. In his hand shone a lightsaber that was nearly invisible except for the afterimage that lingered with each movement. In his other hand shone a brilliant blue shoto. The invisible blade was as silent as the man himself.

The vision faded again, this one leaving behind a sense of importance and certainty. This man did exist and he was vital to pushing back the Darkness. If the Sith still existed and if they did have plans for the galaxy, they would need to find this man and seek his help. She folded that knowledge away, then let herself drift until a new image solidified in her mind.

Battle raged, fiercer and far less organized than the last. Lightsaber struck against lightsaber, blaster bolts flew to and fro. Death rang out into the Force like a continuous cry, making Yaddle shudder and her heart weep. The droids had once again made an appearance, though this time they were accompanied by Force users wielding blood red ‘sabers that spun and struck mercilessly against the tide of Jedi and armored fighters alike. The ground was soaked beneath her feet and she did not have to look down to see that it ran thick with blood and oil. A scream lodged in her throat as she saw Master Koth fall to his knees, his head rolling away from his body. So many beings she recognized dropped before her eyes: Tyvokka, his fur stained black with blood; Windu, beheaded just like Master Koth; Fisto, slain in the mud; Mundi, a smoking hole in the center of his chest. Knights fell as well, even those who had only just passed their trials and looked to her like younglings fresh from the creche. A man suddenly stood before her, drawing her eyes away from the horror. He was shrouded in writhing Darkness and she did not have a chance to so much as gasp before a red blade swung down and –

Yaddle came back to her body with a pained cry. Never had she been so deep in the Force and pulled herself back out so quickly before. She sat for a long while, catching her breath and clutching her clawed hand over her heart. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. It was true; the Sith had returned. A battle was coming, worse than they had ever seen. They must be ready.

Sifo-Dyas woke up drenched in sweat, his heart and head pounding. Without pause, he snatched the datapad by his bed to begin transcribing his dream as best he could. It was always harder to do it himself after a vision like that and he preferred when someone else could listen to his ramblings and put them down in words, but needs must.

Black storm clouds. Burning lava. A river of blood shimmering with dark oil. The sounds of screams, both in the Force and from sentient mouths, building to a crescendo that never broke. A choking Darkness crawling closer and closer until it slithered in his mouth, viscous and colder than death.

A man wreathed in light, carrying an invisible blade. A faceless army pitted against another. A woman in rags, face proud and streaked with dirt, standing Free in a desert. Three children, united, their faces obscured half in shadow, half in light. The end of all things, and the tide of hope that stood against it.

Sifo-Dyas scribbled until his hand cramped and then kept going. The Force had never shown him so much at once before. Usually, it was just the faceless armies and the Darkness, accompanied at times by endless rain and never ending despair. He’d never seen the man, nor the woman, and he’d certainly never seen children in his dreams. He wrote down every detail he could remember, then his impressions and theories on the meaning of each part.

When he was done, he laid back against the pillows with a punched out sigh and let the datapad fall from nerveless fingers. He wished Yan were here. He was so good at making his visions seem coherent and even better at helping to ground him after seeing such terrible things. If he were here, he would make Sifo-Dyas a cup of calming tea, put on some soft, classical music, then let him sit between the vee of his legs and be held until he felt solid in his body once again. Unfortunately, he wasn’t, which meant that he was left to the strategies he could do by himself, which mostly relied upon breathing techniques and painstakingly rebuilding his shields while the tremors subsided and his heart rate calmed until he felt well enough to make his own cup of tea.

Eventually, he stood on legs that trembled like a newborn eopie and shuffled his way into the kitchen. He started the kettle while he pulled down a mug and dropped in a pre-made bag of tea. Yan would be appalled, but he wasn’t capable of anything more at the moment. He leaned against the counter to wait for the water to boil and rubbed his temples. A soft noise from his comm roused him just as the kettle began to whistle and he pulled it off the heat as he answered with a distracted, “Hello?”

“Hello, Master Sifo-Dyas.” He nearly dropped the kettle in his surprise. He wasn’t sure he’d ever received a direct call from Master Yaddle. “I was wondering if we might have tea together.”

“Oh! Y-yes, certainly. I am actually just making some tea now.”

“Perfect. I will make my way there.”

With that, she hung up and Sifo-Dyas stared at his comm in bewilderment for a long moment before shaking himself. He refilled the kettle, pulled down a respectable tea set, and dumped some tea leaves into the pot. It was an earthy, somewhat floral blend that he thought she might like, if her tastes were anything like Master Yoda’s.

In a bit of a daze, he poured the freshly boiling water, set the table, and sat on one of the floor cushions, sipping at his previously made tea. He finished the tea just before his door chime went off, and he hurried to set the empty mug in the kitchen before answering it.

Master Yaddle was in her hoverchair, which she used less often than Master Yoda and usually only when she did not wish to take her time walking from one place to another. Either she had been a good ways away from his quarters, or she considered this matter urgent enough to hurry.

“Come in,” he invited politely, stepping out of the way. She bowed her head as she passed and parked the chair to the side of the door before clambering down and waddling over to the low-set tea table. She settled herself down without ceremony and Sifo-Dyas rushed to join her. He poured her cup first, then his own and set the pot down. After they’d both taken a sip, Yaddle finally broke the tense silence.

“I will not make you continue to sit on tenterhooks, Master Sifo-Dyas. I have come to speak with you for a reason.” Despite her words, she still paused long enough that he shifted uncomfortably before continuing, “I was meditating earlier today. The Force showed me a very concerning set of visions, some of which reminded me very much of the visions you submitted to the Council. I wished to speak to you of what the Force has shown you, in full.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. No one from the Council, other than Yan, had shown any interest in his visions, other than pity for his plight. The general consensus was that visions were dangerous, and should largely be disregarded. To act on them was to act on fear and to perhaps cause the very events one was trying to prevent. He understood this, to a point, though his attempts to argue for nuance were shut down every time. It did not matter the urgency, only that the source of his visions was Sith in nature and that was enough to not even allow him the benefit of the doubt. If Master Yaddle, however, had been shown the same events, that would change things. It would give credence to his reports and perhaps encourage further investigation. That was all he asked for. He just wanted someone to take him seriously and look into the possibilities presented to him by the Force.

“What is it, specifically, that you would like to know?”

She studied him critically for a moment. “You have had a vision tonight, have you not?” Before he could respond, she frowned and said firmly, “Yes, I can see that it has disturbed you. Have you eaten?”

“I…no,” he admitted, “though I don’t think I can yet.”

Her face was sympathetic, but she nodded in acceptance. “In that case, I would see what you have transcribed from your vision, if you please.”

He couldn’t refuse. He stood up and walked into his bedroom, bringing back the datapad. He sat back down, unlocked it, and slid it across the table to her. His body felt wooden, like a puppet he was operating rather than his own body. He watched her pick up the ‘pad delicately between her claws and begin to read while he fidgeted and drank more tea with stiff hands. He was on the third cup by the time she finished with a thoughtful hum. She set the ‘pad back down and sipped at her now cold tea in silence.

“Many things, the Force has shown you.” It was rare for her to speak with the same syntax as Master Yoda, though he noticed she slipped into it at times when her mind was focused on something specific. “This man, the one you describe as ‘wreathed in light, carrying a colorless blade’, I have seen him as well. He was in my vision. Did you feel that he was important? To the galaxy, I mean.”

“Yes,” he answered instantly. “More than just to the galaxy, I believe he is the bulwark that will hold back the tide of Darkness and preserve the Light.”

Her already large eyes widened. “A bold claim.” She looked down at her empty cup, tilting it one way and then the other. “Though perhaps not incorrect,” she whispered.

“And the woman? The children? Did you see them as well?”

She shook her head, ears flapping slightly with the motion. “No. I saw the ‘faceless army’, though to me they appeared as armored warriors. I would have even said they were Mandalorian, if the idea of Jedi and Mandalorians fighting side by side didn’t seem so far-fetched.”

“Not so far-fetched,” he countered. “Surely you’ve been following what has happened to Padawan Kenobi, and the reason for Master Tholme and Padawan Vos to be on Mandalore?”

“Of course. I am aware that things are changing. Perhaps it is simply changing too quickly for me.” She sighed and he poured her another cup of tea which she gratefully drank. “I speak as though I am as old as Yoda. I am glad of these changes – many of them, anyway. It is still hard to truly imagine an army made of Jedi and Mandalorian warriors.”

He smiled at her wanly. “Yes, I know what you mean. Many of the things I see are difficult to imagine, which makes it all the harder to convince people the truth I see in them. The Force has shown me these visions for a reason and to ignore them…to ignore them will lead to our downfall.”

Master Yaddle frowned, but did not disagree. “We have long believed the Sith to be defeated. Not hiding, not biding their time – eradicated. To contemplate the possibility of their return is not just difficult, it is contrary to knowledge we have held in our hearts for a thousand years. It means that we were wrong, that we are vulnerable, and that a great fight is before us. It is not something to entertain lightly, and not something most are willing to consider. I was not, but the Force showed me the truth anyway, as it has shown you.”

Sifo-Dyas nodded. He had known for a long time that the Sith still existed. The Force had shown that to him since the moment he’d touched that accursed artifact and had not relented since. He had lived with that knowledge, had sat with it and accepted it. To others, especially if they had never seen , it would be outlandish. Impossible. It would be easier to dismiss the dreams of one master rather than accept that their greatest enemy yet lived and planned their demise.

They drank the rest of their tea in silence, each lost to contemplation. When the pot was empty, Master Yaddle stood and bowed to him.

“Thank you for the tea, Master Sifo-Dyas. It was delicious. Please, keep me apprised of any future visions.”

“I will,” he promised. He opened the door as she climbed back into her chair and bowed deeply to her as she left. Then he shut the door, rested his forehead against it, and blindly called his friend.

“You need a mind healer,” Yan said, for the second time in this conversation alone. He’d said it after Xanatos fell, he’d said it after Qui-Gon repudiated Feemor, and he’d said it over a year ago, when Yoda first began pushing a new padawan onto him before he was ready.

Qui-Gon did not lose his temper, but instead nodded graciously and continued to tend to one of his plants with slow, practiced movements. Yan had come over for breakfast and tea, which was long since finished, and Qui-Gon had quickly fled the table to put distance between them. He wasn’t entirely sure what his plan had been in coming here, other than simply needing to know what was going through his padawan’s mind. He’d always found Qui-Gon hard to read, but now he wondered if he’d ever really known him. He admitted that he was…worried.

“I have heard your advice, Master, but respectfully, I decline. My place is in the galaxy, helping those in need, not stuck in the Temple allowing someone to dig through my head. Helping others is healing to me, as is tending to my plants.” He gestured toward the room overflowing with wide leaves, trailing vines, and more plant pots than seating.

“That may be true,” he allowed, “but it is no replacement for actual help. I know that I, perhaps, am not the one you wish to hear this from, but I truly believe that it is necessary.” He paused. “I, myself, have been to a mind healer before and I have considered going to one again of late.”

Qui-Gon finally turned around, surprised by this news. “You have been to a mind healer? You’re going to go again?”

Yan grimaced. “I am not saying it is pleasant. I am not a fan of the sessions themselves, but I must say the results are worth it. Madame Nu has been pushing me for some time to return and, in light of recent events, I am inclined to concede the point. I am asking you to do the same.”

“‘In light of certain events.’” Qui-Gon repeated, “meaning my struggles or your own?”

“Both,” Yan answered gravely. “My thoughts have been tumultuous these past few months and, clearly, yours have been as well. What happened with former-Padawan Kenobi is unacceptable, as I’m sure you realize. I believe it would behoove both of us to seek counsel.”

“You mean, if I go to therapy, you’ll go to therapy?”

Yan frowned. “That is not how I would have put it, but if it works for you, then yes.”

Qui-Gon stared at him for a long moment, then turned abruptly back to his plant. “I heard about…about Obi-Wan. He’s been adopted by the Mand’alor, which is a fate I never anticipated for him.” He focused on watering a couple of his plants for the span of several breaths, gathering his thoughts. “I did not realize when I left him there that the Young were a true army. They were using toys to distract the two armies and they were hardly what I would call a cohesive unit. I did not think that the Melida nor the Daan would actually attack their own children. I feared…I feared that Obi-Wan had become attached, like Xanatos.”

Yan frowned deeper. “So you did not try? You did not bring Obi-Wan back to the Temple, even against his will, or try to reason with him? You did not send anyone back to check on him?”

Qui-Gon’s shoulders tightened. “He made his choice. He was no longer a Jedi and, without an official request for assistance, I could not send anyone. I tried to reason with him. I told him that Master Tahl needed immediate medical care and that there was little we could do for the people of that planet. He was arrogant; he disagreed. He pulled his lightsaber on me, Master.”

“Ah.” Yan nodded. He could see how that would be triggering for Qui-Gon, whose previous padawan had left the mark of his own ‘saber on him, as Qui-Gon had marked his face with that distinctive, circular burn. Obi-Wan’s passion would have been read as betrayal, his desperation and concern as attachment. It was easy to see, now, what had happened. 

“This is why I thought it was too soon for me to take a new padawan,” Qui-Gon said in a low voice, his fingertips brushing lightly over the wide, purple leaves in front of him as he sought comfort.

“I agree,” Yan replied solemnly. “I, and most of the Council, was against Yoda pushing the two of you together. Even if you would have made a good team eventually, as he claimed, the harm to you both was too great in the meantime.”

Qui-Gon nodded. Yan let the silence rest for a moment as Qui-Gon processed their conversation. Eventually, he said, “I will go to a mind healer. Provided that you do as well.”

Yan let his mouth relax into something that was almost a smile. “Then it is a deal. I will go tomorrow, and set up my own appointment.”

“I will as well.”

Yan bowed and started to leave when his padawan called out to him, halting him with his hand on the door handle.

“Thank you, Master. I know we’ve had our difficulties, but it is nice to be reminded that you care.”

“Of course I care, padawan.” The door clicked gently shut behind him.

Yan walked down the Temple hallways with a troubled mind – and heart. He’d never meant to make Qui-Gon feel that he didn’t care. Another failing of his, he supposed. He struggled to show affection in a way others could easily see. It was the politeness with which he was raised, compounded by the Jedi ideal of detachment and objectivity. The truth was, he loved his padawans and he saw his grand-padawans as pseudo grandchildren. He thought that, at least on some level, Qui-Gon had understood that. Jocasta understood what it meant when he returned from a long mission with an obscure text he’d found or a new blend of tea for her to try. Sifo-Dyas understood that the times he’d slip into his bed just to hold him against the nightmares was a sign of deep affection, even if neither of them ever spoke of it during the light of day. He’d done his best to show his care for Qui-Gon in the little things, even if he’d never said it outright. Perhaps he’d been too subtle.

His comm chimed, dragging him from his thoughts. “Dooku,” he answered sharply.

“Hello, my friend.” Sifo-Dyas’ voice sounded rough, tired. “I was wondering if you could spare a moment for tea?”

“Of course. I’m on my way.”

“Thank you.”

Yan strode quickly through the halls, his height, stern countenance, and reputation leading those he passed to practically leap out of his way, especially the younger ones. Some days that made him feel uncomfortable, but right now he spared them no mind. Sy sounded like he did after a long night of visions, and particularly bad ones at that. Yet there had been something else in his voice, a kind of confusion that meant this was not the normal vision-hangover morning. 

He entered Sifo-Dyas’ quarters without preamble and found his friend already seated at the low table he favored, a steaming mug clutched in his hands.

“I’ve already had far too many cups of tea this morning,” he greeted, “but I don’t foresee myself stopping any time soon.”

His mouth pulled up at the corner, indicating that he’d used the word ‘foresee’ on purpose and had amused himself with his own cleverness. Yan simply shook his head and sat across from him. He picked up the mug that had been prepared for him and breathed in the steam appreciatively. A heady blend, caffeinated and strong. This was not going to be a lighthearted conversation.

“Tell me,” he demanded, as gently as he was capable, which was not very.

Sifo-Dyas sighed. “I have been thinking about our conversation last week.”

“What of it?”

“I do not believe you are the only one who has been having doubts. You know I’ve had my own grievances with the Council, but I have never once thought of leaving the Order.”

Yan nodded. What he’d said had shocked his friends, he knew, yet he had not quite resolved the turmoil in his mind with regards to the Order. Jocasta’s words had stuck with him, however. ‘We will adapt and overcome, because we are stronger than our faults. Would you give up so easily, my friend?’

No, Yan was not the type to give up, and it was true that positive changes had been made. But was it enough? He didn’t know. 

“Master Yaddle came to visit me.” Yan’s eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. That was unusual. Sifo-Dyas only nodded back, a grim twist to his mouth. “Yes, my thoughts exactly. She wished to speak with me about my visions. Apparently the Force showed her a few possibilities that were, ahem, similar to mine.”

“Well,” Yan managed after a moment. He took a bracing sip of tea. “That is…unexpected.”

“Indeed. Between both of our visions, she is convinced that the Sith are still present and active in the galaxy.”

“You and I have known this for a while.”

“Yes,” Sy agreed, “but now it is being acknowledged by more than just us. And there’s something else, something I didn’t share with Master Yaddle.”

Yan made a noise of interest and Sy, the bastard, took a long sip of tea to draw out the anticipation before he deigned to continue.

“Both of us saw a figure bathed in Light which stood against the encroaching Darkness. A man in Mandalorian armor. This man was…familiar to me, as I believe he would be familiar to you.”

“The Mand’alor?” Yan asked, puzzled. He knew of very few Mandalorians and none that quite fit the description Sy had just given. Sifo-Dyas shot him a disappointed look.

“I believe you have a grand-padawan who has just become Mandalorian. The report from Master Tholme describes his armor exactly as I saw it.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.” The name rumbled from his mouth, a prophecy and realization in one. Of course it would be him, the one whom the Order had lost. He closed his eyes.

“Yes, I believe so. I cannot be certain but…”

“But you felt it,” Yan finished. 

This was it, the turning point. The moment when Yan truly had to decide. Did he want to stay with the Order and fight from within? Did he want to stand with them, his family, in the coming war?

He thought of Rael, of Qui-Gon, of Jocasta and Sifo-Dyas and Master Yoda. It would not be an easy path. He would continue to disagree with the Council, he would continue to push the line and be pushed back in return, but perhaps that was exactly what the Order needed. If the famed proposal had proven anything, it was that the Jedi sometimes needed a good kick in the pants to get moving. Yan could utilize the momentum to his advantage, as so many had already been doing, and by the time the Sith struck, they would be ready. 

He looked up and made eye contact with his friend. Sy nodded, seeing the decision in his expression. 

“I will be glad to fight beside you, my old friend.”

“And I, you,” Yan replied, just as seriously. “Let us hope this fight is not our last.”

Chapter Text

“I must say this is not how I envisioned meeting you for the first time.”

Obi-Wan blinked blearily and looked in the direction of the wry voice. Arla’s familiar-unfamiliar face swam into view, helmetless and grinning.

“Oh.” he said intelligently. “It is nice to finally meet you in person.”

He didn’t think he’d ever met her in person before. Had he? Not in that other life, he didn’t think, but his brain was too foggy to really be sure. Definitely not this one though. She was blonde, which was somewhat of a surprise considering Jango’s dark curls, with a playfully mocking smirk which was belied by the true concern in her dark brown eyes. Obi-Wan wondered which of their parents had been blond.

“What happened?” he asked sluggishly. 

“What happened,” Jango interjected, “is that you are a kriffing idiot.”

Obi-Wan blinked and turned his head slowly toward Jango, who was rudely situated on the opposite side of the bed. His vision swam with the motion before settling and he had to swallow past the nausea. “I am afraid you will have to be a bit more specific.”

Arla began cackling, though Jango turned a very angry shade of red. He looked a half second away from shaking his finger in Obi-Wan’s face in disapproval and for a split second Obi-Wan could very clearly envision Helix making the same expression, complete with finger wagging.

“You almost died,” he hissed, which sobered Arla’s laughter. Ah yes, he vaguely remembered that. “Because you used too much of your magic osik and nearly put yourself in a coma just like –”

Jango cut off, his voice throttled by his emotions. Guilt swam through Obi-Wan’s veins and he couldn’t make eye contact. He truly hadn’t intended to scare Jango like that, especially to make him revisit such a recent trauma, but he had done what he needed to do to make sure that everyone made it out of that meeting hall alive. 

“Ni ceta, Jango,” he said sincerely. “It was not my intention. I simply wanted to make sure everyone got out safely. ”

“That includes yourself!” Jango shouted. “You are always included in the count, do you hear me? Everyone getting out safely includes you.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him. No one had ever quite worded it that way before, but for the first time he felt the lesson truly sink in. He remembered more than one occasion when Helix and Cody would team up to give him disappointed looks regarding his ‘lack of self-care and self-preservation’, but he’d never really understood it. Sure, he knew that tactically, he was important and couldn’t afford to die, but he could certainly afford to skip meals when resupply shipments were late or stay up all night working on flimsiwork or defer the use of bacta to soldiers who needed it more. He had the Force to sustain him and he didn’t need those things as much as others. Cody and Helix had always seemed exasperated when he said that, though Cody was much more restrained in his reaction, and Obi-Wan had thought it was simply because they were concerned for their general. It didn’t occur to him to include himself ‘in the count’ as Jango said. He was important because he was a member of the squad and the goal was always for the entire squad to return alive.

“Okay,” he said hoarsely, “okay.”

“Good,” Arla declared, “because I just got a new sibling and I would like to keep them.”

Obi-Wan chuckled, which was as close to a laugh as he could manage at the moment. Every muscle felt sore and bruised, even though he hadn’t been anywhere near the firefights, and laughing was more painful than it had been yesterday. He’d only truly suffered Force exhaustion a few times in his life, but it was terrible every time.

“Is everyone alright? ” he asked, to distract himself from the way he could feel his pulse in his skull and how tight and sensitive his skin felt stretched over his muscles.

Jango bit his lip, which was a habit he’d been working to overcome yet still did unconsciously when he was stressed. “Buir is still unconscious. Not a coma,” he clarified, “but there was some swelling in their brain. The medics are optimistic, though, and say they should recover within the next few days. Ba’ji Tholme woke up yesterday and is doing well. Quinlan is recovering from a pinned leg which nearly crushed their tibia. Khin and Zomar are fine, other than some bruises.” He paused, took a deep breath. “Lanzir and Wekon were both killed in the attack.”

Grief flooded him. His connection to the Force was weak, made tenuous by his own overuse, and he had nowhere to put the heavy sorrow. He bit back tears. He knew both arane. He didn’t know Lanzir as well, but he’d been kind and funny, with a perpetually quick wit. Wekon though…Wekon was leaving behind three ade , one of whom was a former member of the Young. His heart broke for Timat, and for her siblings, as well as Wekon’s partner, Korro.

How had he not seen this attack coming? The Force had been so active in his life these past few months, and his visions so frequent, so how could he not have had forewarning? Did the Force intend for this to happen? What use was this to the greater galaxy? The tears building in his eyes finally fell, propelled by frustration.

“Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la,” Arla reminded him softly.

“Yeah,” he agreed roughly. He found it hard to find comfort in that at the moment when he believed they shouldn’t have died in the first place. And how much worse would it have been if he hadn’t pushed himself the way he had? Jaster and the others had been buried under the rubble of three stories’ worth of heavy stone and durasteel. How long would it have taken them to bring repulsor lifts and start pulling away the heaviest stones? With Master Tholme out of commission and Quinlan suffering such pain, would they have been able to target the most dangerous sections of rubble the way he had? Several times, he knew with certainty that if he did not move quickly and support one section of the rubble while pulling somewhere else, the whole thing would have collapsed.

“I know I yelled at you before,” Jango said after a moment, “but thank you for what you did. The medics say that if buir had not been brought in as quickly as they were, the damage would have likely been permanent, if not fatal.”

Obi-Wan simply nodded, his fears confirmed. “How did they survive initially? ” he asked, which was a question that had plagued him even while working to free them. “Why did the roof not simply collapse onto them? ”

“Quinlan ,” Jango answered succinctly. “They used their magic to hold the weight back. It is a testament to their strength, honestly, considering it was several tons of material above them.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows, impressed. “How are they? Other than their leg.”

“Good, healing. Nearly as exhausted as you, but they recovered quickly.”

That was a relief. He’d heard of people being able to do incredible things under duress, had seen many of those miracles and pulled off a few of them himself, but it was always amazing to see. Quinlan did not possess a lot of raw strength in the Force, as his affinity was really for psychometry and empathy, so for him to have held up such a large portion of the building on his own for as long as he did… Suffice to say it was a miracle in and of itself that Quinlan was not suffering from Force exhaustion equal to or worse than Obi-Wan’s. Perhaps it was the lack of hours-long precision and split attention between removing the debris and holding it intact, combined with the fact that Quinlan’s body had had far more actual training than Obi-Wan’s. Either way, he was just glad his friend was alright.

Between Jango and Arla, he received the rest of the details of what had happened. Apparently the bombs had been planted three days ago by a verd who’d been turned by Kyr’tsad. They exploited the verd’s anger regarding the alliances Jaster was building with both the New Mandalorians and the Jedi. She apparently thought he was ‘toothless’ and was destroying Mandalorian culture by aligning himself with dar’manda aruetiise and historical enemies. As a trusted fellow Haat Mando’ad , the verd was able to walk freely into the stronghold and plant the bombs. No one had any reason to suspect treason and the bombs were hidden well enough that no one noticed anything out of the ordinary. Still, Obi-Wan wondered why he hadn’t felt anything. There had been no hint of danger, no bad feeling. He’d simply been having a conversation with Jango and then boom.

He wished he could ask the Force, but at the moment he would barely be able to meditate. He resisted the urge to groan in irritation.

He listened with increasing weariness as his vode continued to tell him about the culprit and her capture. She was being held pending Jaster’s recovery, so that he could sentence her accordingly. Technically, in his absence Silas could make that decision as Jaster’s second, but he’d deferred the honor in favor of waiting for the Mand’alor. In terms of political optics, Obi-Wan thought that was the right move, even if many Haat Mando’ade were on edge and out for blood. It helped that none of the other members of Kyr’tsad who’d attacked them survived. Apparently Meis had taken down four by herself and got in seven shots that assisted another in taking down an enemy, plus eleven more shots that saved the lives of her fellow verde . Obi-Wan knew that Jango had thrown those facts in there as a hint, but he merely smiled to himself and didn’t comment.

Eventually, Obi-Wan couldn’t hide his fatigue any longer and Jango and Arla left him alone to sleep. He didn’t want to sleep. There were too many things he wanted to do. He wanted to check on Jaster and Quinlan, he wanted to talk to Sha’siss about stronghold security, he wanted to talk to Master Tholme to see if he’d had any warning prior to the attack, and he wanted to ask the Force what the kark . Instead, his eyelids closed against his will and he sank into unconsciousness.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes sometime later to the sound of shuffling and various thuds. It was dark outside the window, meaning it had been several hours since Jango and Arla had been here. He blinked in the room’s dim light and looked over to see Quinlan hobbling his way through the doorway, his crutches bumping improbably into every single obstacle in his path as he hissed and cursed.

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan greeted dryly.

Quinlan’s head snapped up and he grinned. “Obes Kenobes! You’re alive!”

Obi-Wan laughed, even as he winced at Quinlan’s usual butchering of his name. “I am. I am glad that you are as well, my friend.”

“Ah, well, you know me,” Quinlan responded lightly. He finally made it over to a chair sitting by Obi-Wan’s bed and collapsed onto it. “Can’t keep me down.”

“Obviously not, otherwise the baar’ure would have made you stay in bed. Are you supposed to be walking around?”

“Technically? No. But, I’m on the good drugs so I can barely feel any pain. Or anything at all, really, it’s super weird. And I haven’t left the hospital, which is Master Tholme’s number one rule while injured. Well, technically it’s ‘don’t leave the medbay when you’re injured’ but I figure ‘hospital’ is a good substitution for ‘medbay’ in this scenario.”

“Indeed.” Obi-Wan’s lip curled in a half smile, especially at the way Quinlan had mimicked Master Tholme’s deep, even voice. Then he sobered, looking more intently at his friend. “How are you? Truly. I heard that you were rather heroic yesterday.”

“Yesterday? Obes, you’ve been asleep for three days.” Obi-Wan frowned. Yes, he had thought it odd the way Jango had said Master Tholme woke up ‘yesterday’, but he hadn’t really considered the implications. No wonder Jango had been reminded of Arla’s coma.

“But yes,” Quinlan continued with a shit eating grin, “I was quite heroic. I’ve gotten two marriage proposals and an offer of adoption since the explosion. I’m very popular.”

Obi-Wan laughed, despite his twinging ribs. “I’m happy for you. Did you say yes?”

“Well, I can’t be adopted. And apparently it was quite rude of them to ask, since the Mandalorians consider Master Tholme to be my buir and he wasn’t dead, so someone smacked them before I could even respond. As for the marriage proposals, well, I told them that Jedi can’t have attachments, of course, but I’m more than willing to have a good time.”

He winked at him and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. He knew Quinlan was just kidding, of course. Sixteen might be considered an adult by Mandalorian standards, but even those marriage proposals were likely in jest considering that Mandalorians didn’t marry until at least twenty. Besides, he happened to know Quinlan had been a virgin until the age of twenty-three and as a demisexual, hadn’t been interested in anyone until then.

“Anyway,” Quinlan said, propping his feet onto Obi-Wan’s bed and making it sink under the weight of his cast, “I have news.”

“Oh?”

“I am officially the first member of the Obi-Wan Kenobi squad!”

Obi-Wan blinked at him. “You…what?”

“I’m part of your squad! Like a joint task force type of thing.” He was grinning very close to Obi-Wan’s face. Then, his grin faded and a thoughtful expression entered his eyes. “Technically, my official title is ‘junior ambassador’ and I can’t always be on Mandalore and go on missions with you, but other than mandatory missions and training with Master Tholme, I’m pretty much going to be here permanently! Isn’t that awesome?”

A million scenarios passed through Obi-Wan’s head, most of them involving a level of chaos he hadn’t seen since Anakin was a padawan. He suppressed a groan.

“The Council approved this?” he repeated, a bit dumbly.

“Ah, well, no,” Quinlan admitted. “Master Tholme was planning to call them after the meeting with the Mand’alor and Duke Kryze, but, well, you know.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “But this is something you want?”

Quinlan met his eyes, all humor gone. “Yes. You’re doing big things, galaxy changing things, and I want to be part of it. More than that, I want to be there to watch your back and make sure you come out of this alive. I mean, you’ve more than proven that you can’t take care of yourself without me so –”

“Hey!”

“-- so I have a moral obligation, as your friend, to look out for you,” Quinlan finished.

Obi-Wan shook his head, but he was smiling. “The two of us against the galaxy, huh?”

“I’m assuming it’s going to be more than just the two of us,” he countered, one eyebrow raising. “It’s going to take a village to look after you.”

“Ha, ha. Speaking of, have you gotten a chance to meet Meis D’ruvas?”

“The Devaronian? Yeah, she came up to me last week and was asking questions about you – oh. She wants to be on your squad too, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Huh. Well, she seems alright. A little intense.”

“Because you’re not.”

“Hey! I am a delight.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t.”

The two of them dissolved into bickering, their interchange lighthearted and childish. Obi-Wan couldn’t stop grinning. The stronghold had been attacked, two arane were dead and several people were in the hospital, and all Obi-Wan could think was how karking grateful he was to have his best friend with him. It didn’t completely soothe the ache of knowing who wasn’t here with him – Anakin, Ahsoka, Qui-Gon, the clones – but it went a long way toward assuring him that he hadn’t lost everything . He still had Quinlan, and the Force, and he’d gained a family that was closer than anything he’d had before.

A throat cleared from the doorway and they both stopped their teasing and whipped their heads to look at the newcomer. Baar’ur Mij Gilamar stood there, arms crossed over his chest.

“You,” he said to Quinlan, in accented Basic, “are supposed to be in bed, in your own room.”

“I’m fine!” Quinlan protested. “See? My leg is propped up, I’m resting, no strenuous activity of any kind –”

“In. Bed.”

Quinlan pouted for a moment before his expression cleared except for a distressingly familiar glint in his eye.

“Quin –” Obi-Wan started to protest, but it was too late. Quinlan had already tossed himself bodily in Obi-Wan’s bed, landing half on top of him with his elbow digging into Obi-Wan’s side and his cast bumping painfully against his ankle. He grumbled and complained, but shifted and wriggled with Quinlan until they were both lying comfortably side by side.

Mij watched this with an unamused head tilt, though the twitch in the left corner of his mouth undermined his stern expression. He let them get settled before sighing.

“Alright. Obi-Wan, are you okay with this?” When Obi-Wan confirmed that he was, Mij nodded. “In that case, I’m going to look you both over and then I expect both of you to sleep.”

He said the last word meaningfully, staring each of them in the eyes to drive the point home. They meekly agreed and then submitted to the scanners that Mij passed over them to check on their condition. Once it was confirmed that neither of them had worsened since they’d last been looked at, Mij left them with one last warning that he better not hear any whispering or giggling coming from this room.

Despite the warning, Quinlan immediately curled into him and began giggling the second the door closed. Obi-Wan shook his head, but curled into his friend as well.

“You are such trouble,” he lamented. “I love you.”

Quinlan froze, then his head popped up to look at him, his dreads tickling Obi-Wan’s face. “You’ve never said that before.”

Obi-Wan shrugged, uncomfortable. “You’re my best friend. Of course I love you.”

Quinlan’s smile was blinding in the dark. “I love you too, Obes. Now shut up and be a good pillow.”

Obi-Wan grunted as Quinlan settled down again and made himself comfortable, but he was still smiling as he fell asleep.

Jango suddenly, viscerally understood why his buir sighed so much. Duke and Lady Kryze had just left that morning, their departure delayed by the attack. Unfortunately, the whole ordeal caused Satine to double down on her belief that all violence was barbaric and uncivilized, though her father managed to end her tirade before she really got into it. Duke Kryze instead had offered his official assistance in rebuilding the stronghold and providing any humanitarian aid they might need. It had been up to Jango to accept that offer, with his buir in the hospital and Silas busy with other things. He’d wanted to simply agree and move on, but some of Obi-Wan’s lectures must have sunk in through osmosis because he found himself asking exactly what Duke Kryze was offering and what his conditions were, which was how he’d found himself in a two-hour long meeting hashing out exactly how many architects, construction workers, and supplies the Evaar’ade were sending and where those people were going to be housed while they were here. He was exhausted by the end of it, but he thought he did both his buir and his vod’ika proud.

Jango had no idea how he’d made it through the past few days. Seeing both buir and Obi-Wan in their hospital beds, laying still and unresponsive, was nearly too much. It was only Arla, who’d been by his side since the attack, and the support of his squad that carried him through. Njais, Cuvros, and Lanni had been on the other side of Keldabe at the time, but they’d rushed toward the stronghold at the first sign of trouble. Arla had been closer and she’d apparently joined the fighting on the southside, though Jango hadn’t known that until later. Lanni had arrived in time to assist with the medical evacuation, while Cuvros had immediately joined Zomar, freshly pulled from the rubble, in beginning the search for the cause of the explosion. Njais had stuck by Jango’s side and accompanied him to the hospital. They had held him as he finally overcame his shock and broke down crying next to the bed where his buir was laying hooked up to various tubes and wires. He’d never seen him look so fragile. Njais had held him in strong arms while he sobbed, not judging, not shushing, simply letting him purge the terrible emotions until he felt stable enough to wipe his tears and do what needed to be done.

Arla had been the one to speak with the baar’ure and get an exact prognosis. She had been the one to reach out to the investigation team for an update, to set up a meeting with Sha’siss, and to contact the families of those who’d been injured or killed in the attack – all while he bawled himself out in Njais’ lap. Other than Obi-Wan, buir , and the jettii’se, three other verde had serious injuries and five had minor wounds that needed treatment. It was a miracle that only two had died, though the loss still stung and his heart still went out to their families.

After Jango got himself together, Arla came back in with food and water and forced both him and Njais to eat. He admitted that he did feel better after that, well enough to leave the hospital and head back to the stronghold. A transformation had taken place in even just those couple of hours he’d been gone. More of the rubble had been cleared away, aided now by repulsor lifts and labor droids. Silas had taken charge of organizing and he’d done well to get everyone moving efficiently. Jango wasn’t sure even Jaster could have done it better.

Now, four days later, everything salvageable had been removed from the stronghold and the entire building had been razed to make room for new construction. He’d just returned from the space port to check on their progress and was amazed, once again, at the efficiency of his people.

“Jango!” Silas greeted. “Just the person I wanted to see. How are Jaster and Obi-Wan? ”

“Good. Obi-Wan woke up yesterday, though they fell asleep again after only an hour. I am planning to go check on them after this.”

“That is excellent news. And Jaster? ”

Jango grimaced. “Still unconscious. The medics say they think they will wake up sometime today or tomorrow, but they have no way to know for sure. ”

Silas nodded. “ We have finished slicing into the comms on the Kyr’tsade . We believe we have found their central location. The comms showed messages to and from Concordia, though the signal had been bounced around the galaxy like a pinball so we are only about sixty-five percent sure. ”

“Good work. When do you want to move out? ”

“Today. No sense in waiting for them to regroup and either launch another attack or finding a new hiding spot.”

Jango nodded. “Excellent. I can be ready in twenty.”

Silas grimaced. “Actually, it would be best if you remain here. In my absence, you have the next highest rank and we need someone here to be in charge until Jaster wakes up.”

“Fine,” Jango bit out after a moment, scowling. He understood the logic, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “K’oyacyi, vod.”

Silas clapped him on the shoulder. “We will root them out, do not worry. This cowardly attack will not go unanswered.”
Jango returned the gesture and nodded. He had no doubt that Jaster’s ori’ramikade would be ruthless in their pursuit of Kyr’tsad, which was the only reason he wasn’t fighting harder on this. They would get revenge on the ones who put his buir in the hospital and then, maybe, all this split-faction nonsense would finally end. Maybe they could even enact Obi-Wan’s insane plan to take on two separate empires and end slavery in the Outer Rim. 

Jango took a walk around the empty space where the stronghold used to be before heading back over to the hospital. It was strange seeing it like this. The stronghold had been home for three years. It was a symbol of fortitude, a physical manifestation of the Mandalorian ideal of self-defense. To see it destroyed was nearly as difficult as seeing his buir in that hospital bed. Neither of them should be fallible, yet he’d harshly discovered how wrong that belief was. Jaster was just a man, the stronghold was just a building, and anything could fall with the right amount of force.

He ended the loop where he began and stared over the desolate land for a moment before turning on his heel and marching toward the large glass and durasteel building where his family was located. Arla was already there, having opted to skip the meeting with the duke in favor of checking on Obi-Wan. She’d already sent him a holo of Obi-Wan fast asleep in bed, tangled up with Quinlan in a mess of rumpled blankets and haphazardly strewn limbs. One of Quinlan’s eyes was cracked open, glaring at the camera, but Obi-Wan was still deeply asleep with his face mushed into Quinlan’s collarbone.

He arrived just in time to see Obi-Wan push the jettii’ad out of the bed with a crash. Quinlan was laughing though, even from the floor, so Jango didn’t worry about his busted leg. It was good to see Obi-Wan acting his age; so often Jango felt like his experiences had aged him so much he was practically an old man shoved inside of a fourteen year old body.

“Jate vaar'tur,” Jango greeted. He laughed at the way Obi-Wan turned his scowl from his friend to the doorway, his expression clearing slightly on seeing who it was. “What has the jetti’ika done now?”

Obi-Wan’s scowl returned. “First, he was taking up all the space, and then he dropped sugar in my tea! Sugar!”

Obi-Wan’s tone was so scandalized that Jango laughed harder, a full belly laugh that made his sides hurt. Now that scowl was fully turned on him, along with Obi-Wan’s ire.

“It’s not funny,” he defended. “It’s sacrilege and that was my morning tea.”

“You need fattening up,” Quinlan argued, still on the floor. “If I have to follow you around handing you snacks and sneaking sugar into your tea, then so be it.”

Obi-Wan groaned and collapsed against his pillows. “I eat! I eat all the time! Don’t touch my tea!”

“Okay, okay,” Jango intervened, sensing an escalation. “Obi-Wan, I’ll get you another cup of tea. Quinlan, get off the floor. I’ll be right back.”

By the time he returned, steaming mug in hand, his vod and Quinlan were sitting squashed together on the bed again, as though they’d never had a fight to begin with. Arla was there as well, leaning against the wall with an amused expression on her face.

“Jate vaar’tur,” she greeted. “Val bal'ban vode, nayc? ”

Jango laughed. “Elek. Bal’ban.”

Obi-Wan looked up and immediately made grabby hands for the tea, which Jango handed over immediately. He’d learned the hard way that Obi-Wan without tea was as dangerous as Hivra without caf, which was to say that he would be taking his own life into his hands if he denied his vod’ika for even another second.

“Have you heard the good news?” Arla asked, and for a second Jango’s heart soared with the hope that buir was awake. Arla immediately sensed this and quickly continued, “Quinlan has joined Obi-Wan’s squad.”

Jango’s mind screeched to a halt. He didn’t even think about his disappointment that Jaster wasn’t awake; he was too preoccupied thinking about all the ways Obi-Wan and Quinlan would manage to get into trouble together. Dread settled heavily in his gut.

“Oh, yeah?” he managed. Arla’s grin only widened.

“Yep. Apparently, buir already said yes before the attack. Now only the jettii’alore need to sign off, and Quinlan is sure they will.”

“Oh. Good.” Arla outright cackled at whatever expression he was making.

“Hey! Why are you laughing? We’ll be excellent partners,” Quinlan said, pouting.

“Partners in crime, maybe,” Jango muttered under his breath.

“You’re just jealous because you were hoping Obi-Wan would join your squad,” Quinlan sniped childishly.

“Oh hell no,” Jango responded immediately. “I don’t want to get involved in whatever jare’la, burk'yc, magic-driven osik my vod’ika has planned. No thank you.”

Obi-Wan mock-frowned at him. “I thought you had fun on Dathomir.”

The look Jango shot him could have peeled paint from beskar. “Hell. No.”

Obi-Wan doubled over laughing, his free arm clasped tightly around his ribs even as he kept his precious tea safe in the other. Jango smiled. Maybe having Quinlan around wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Obi-Wan certainly hadn’t laughed this much until he arrived.

Jango settled into one of the chairs by the side of the bed. There were things he probably should be doing, administrative tasks that his buir usually handled, but right now he just wanted to spend some time with his vode.

Chapter Text

Jango wrinkled his nose, using his HUD to scan the area. Simpla-12 was, to put it lightly, not a pleasant place to be. It was a neglected backwater that had been strip-mined and left ripe for exploitation and crime. It was a hub of black market deals, illegal gambling, theft, murder, and general lawlessness with a side of sentient trafficking. Gangs controlled certain sections, but entire swaths were left in total anarchy where only the savviest survived – and by that he meant either the most cunning or the most cutthroat. It was not part of the Guild and there were no legitimate jobs to be found on the planet or even in the vicinity. It was not a place he would have ever chosen to go without a very, very good reason.

So of course this was where his dikut’la vod’ika had brought them.

It had been less than two weeks since the attack on the stronghold. Jaster was awake and recovering quickly (thank the Ka’ra for modern medicine and knowledgeable baar’ure). He woke less than twenty-four hours after Obi-Wan and had immediately requested a sitrep before even allowing the medics to do a thorough examination. He’d been relieved, as they all were, that the attack had been shut down as quickly as it had and that there hadn’t been more loss of life. It had already been theorized that without Obi-Wan’s intervention, that minimal loss of life would have included several more, Jaster included, and it had been sobering to realize how close they’d come to losing their Mand’alor. Of course, Jango would have lost a lot more than just a leader, but the point was that Kyr’tsad had planned their attack well and, had they succeeded, would have destabilized nearly all of Mandalore and caused them to descend into a more fervent repeat of the civil war which had nearly destroyed them a few years ago. 

Jango had thought it strange that they’d only sent twenty-four verde for the actual assault, but Jaster believed that they had been counting on the explosion to kill at least a few of them, while causing enough chaos and disorder to make picking off those who survived an easy job for a handful of trained warriors. It had been luck that saw most of Jaster’s verde outside of the stronghold that morning and even greater luck that those in the meeting hall had not been immediately crushed. Or, not luck so much as direct intervention by the Ka’ra.

Jaster had thanked Quinlan for his quick reflexes and endurance in shielding them from the collapsed building. The jetti’ika had ducked his head, shoulders raising almost to his ears, at the sincere gratitude. He’d tried to claim that there was no debt, but Jaster would not hear of it. To Quinlan’s credit, as soon as he realized the offense he was causing by his refusal to accept the life-debt, he bowed his head and solemnly accepted Jaster’s gratitude. Quinlan’s buir had seemed proud, for all his jettii’la stoicism.

Silas and the verde he’d taken with him were still hunting down Kyr’tsad. They received regular reports, but the slippery bastards had scattered as soon as they realized that they had an entire company of enraged Mando’ade on their tails. It would be slow, frustrating work, but rewarding every time they found a pocket of the dar’manda ge’ hut’uune. All of the verde involved in the hunt were dedicated to the cause; they wouldn’t rest until every last member of Death Watch was dead.

In summary, things were going well. Jango had almost started to relax. His buir was back in charge, Silas was ridding the galaxy of Kyr’tsad filth, and both of his siblings were awake and doing well. That had been his mistake. He should have known better than to relax, because the second he did, Obi-Wan had a kriffing vision that dropped him like a stone right in the middle of the street.

He had tried to talk Obi-Wan out of this hunt. He’d only just been cleared by the baar’ure and Ba’ji Tholme had declared, in his self-professed non-medical opinion, that Obi-Wan would be alright so long as he didn’t use the Force for a few more days. Ba’ji Tholme had explained that it was like a strained muscle; it would heal on its own, but it needed plenty of time and rest in order to do so. Visions, apparently, didn’t care about things like strained Force muscles. Obi-Wan, likewise, did not care for things like rest or restraint. Instead, he’d immediately begun preparing for a mission to this sad little backwater and fully intended to go alone. That foolishness is exactly how Jango had ended up volunteering himself and his own squad to accompany him. He was just thankful that Njais, Cuvros, and Lanni had been so understanding.

It helped that Obi-Wan had explained to them exactly who it was they were hunting. Jenna Zan Arbor was the definition of a modern day Demagol. A scientist with no morals, no limits, only a desperate desire for fame and recognition. She had been performing deadly experiments on Force-sensitive sentients for a while now, according to his vod , and Obi-Wan’s visions had shown that the scientist was currently experimenting on a child. Everyone had shuddered at that, their gazes hardening into vicious determination. The very origin of the word ‘demagolka,’ the original monster, was a scientist who experimented on children. No karking way would they let this woman continue her work – or to breathe.

They let Obi-Wan lead the way. As with Dathomir, this was his hunt, and a test for his new, partial squad. Quinlan, of course, had already declared himself a member of Obi-Wan’s squad and had practically threatened Obi-Wan if he didn’t allow Quinlan on this hunt. That kind of loyalty was exactly what Jango’s vod needed and, even if he had been apprehensive about Quinlan and Obi-Wan together, he heartily approved after seeing the way Obi-Wan capitulated beneath Quinlan’s well-meaning ire.

Arla, somewhat surprisingly, had shown up with her bags packed mere minutes after Obi-Wan and Quinlan finished their argument. She had calmly asked where they were going, insinuating herself into Obi-Wan’s squad so casually that Jango wondered for a moment if he’d missed a previous, vital conversation. Judging by the way Obi-Wan had blinked in surprise, rendered uncharacteristically speechless, he assumed that it was simply Arla being Arla. On second thought, her decision really wasn’t that surprising. Arla had a protective streak a mile wide and a sense of adventure that even Obi-Wan’s Ka’ra -assigned quest across the galaxy wouldn’t be enough to sate. She would fling herself into danger right beside him, laughing. They would even get to do their magic shit together, which he was sure Arla saw as another benefit.

Meis D’ruvas was the final member of Obi-Wan’s fledgling squad. Jango wasn’t sure how he felt about her yet. She had only been officially accepted as a squad member eight days ago, meaning that none of them had had time to train together. She had been invited on this hunt as a test of sorts, to prove that she would mesh as well with the rest of them as Obi-Wan believed she would. Jaster had nearly put his foot down, citing that normally, a squad that new, and that young, would be given time to bond and settle into working as a unit before going on any hunts, but, as usual, Obi-Wan’s magic osik forced an exception. The Ka’ra had spoken to him and he was adamant that Meis would be a valuable member of his squad, and useful on this hunt specifically. Their buir had backed down at that, even though Jango was still a little miffed about the whole thing. Meis was a mir’sheb . She was snarky and sarcastic, with such a dry sense of humor sometimes Jango wasn’t sure if she was actually joking or not. Then again, his vod’ika was actually the biggest mir’sheb Jango knew, so maybe she was actually the perfect fit for Obi-Wan. He was confident, at least, in her ability as a sniper and he’d seen her around the training yard enough to know that she was proficient in hand-to-hand combat as well. He decided to reserve judgment until after this hunt.

Jango stayed to the rear of their group, near Meis, and kept his head on a swivel. Locals watched them warily, but a group of Mandalorians was not something any of them wanted to mess with. He knew they looked appropriately intimidating; besides their distinctive armor, Mando’ade had a tendency to walk with a kind of loping saunter, like a large predator species on the prowl. It was unconscious, a result of their training and the weight of their armor, but something about their gait always served to clue people in that they were dangerous. Even if they had somehow missed the beskar’gam and the fact that every Mando’ad was a walking armory, a base instinct caused the beings around them to recognize that becoming their enemy would be very bad for their health. His vod took point easily, leading them through the labyrinthine streets as though he had a homing beacon in his buy’ce that was guiding him straight to his target. Karking Force osik.

One particularly brave, or particularly desperate, person darted forward out of the crowd and tried to pickpocket Lanni, but was caught before their deft fingers could find their way inside her pack. She caught their wrist and stared down at them with her expressionless helmet. The humanoid was young, perhaps early teens, and their thin knees shook under the weight of Lanni’s ire. They tugged once, twice, and Lanni let them go. They ran through a nearby alley and disappeared. No one else tried anything after that.

Arbor’s laboratory was located directly in the heart of a sector controlled by a gang who called themselves simply ‘The Kings’. Their leader, as far as Njais’ research had revealed, was a human man named Chas. The rest of his group was mostly humans, with a couple of trandoshans thrown in as the muscle. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” The voice that called out to them was raspy and low, as though they’d spent most of their life smoking deathsticks. 

Obi-Wan stopped, halting the rest of the group. He regarded the human in front of him coolly, his helmet helpfully making him seem even more aloof.

“Let us pass.”

“This is my terf,” the human countered, bucking up into Obi-Wan’s space. “You don’t decide the rules here, Mando.”

Jango and several of the others twitched toward their blasters, but didn’t draw just yet. He knew that Obi-Wan was hoping for a peaceful solution, but Jango frankly wasn’t as optimistic.

Obi-Wan inclined his head ever so slightly in acknowledgment. “Then I ask permission to cross through your land.”

The human, Chas he assumed, hummed faux-thoughtfully. “Why? What business do you have here?”

“We are here to see the scientist Arbor.”

“Doctor Arbor?” Chas repeated in surprise. “She involved with Mandos now?”

Obi-Wan said nothing. He had explained to Jango once that it was sometimes easier to let people’s assumptions guide the way, rather than try to create a lie they would believe. Jango thought it was good advice.

“If your business is with Arbor, then I have no problem with you,” the human said bravely, considering how poorly things would have gone for them and their fellow Kings if they had decided to ‘have a problem’ with them. “Just let her know how considerate we’re being of her guests.”

“I will.” The Kings likely couldn’t hear Obi-Wan’s smirk through his vocoder, but Jango could, and he grinned in response. He was sure that Obi-Wan would find a way to drop the human’s message to Arbor at some point before they killed her.

They passed through unmolested and entered the laboratory with no further fanfare. A large warehouse had been converted for Arbor’s purposes. Tall ceilings stretched above them, while the open space below was filled with hulking machines, tanks of multi-hued glowing liquid, and snaking wires as thick as Jango’s arm. At one side of the building, a young boy lay strapped to a metal table. He was utterly still and pale beneath the harsh lights. A woman was tinkering with one of the machines, her blonde hair tied back as she worked. Arbor.

Obi-Wan used quick hand signs to send Lanni and Cuvros to free the boy. Another flick of his fingers sent Quinlan and Arla circling around the long way, while Meis was sent to climb the stacked shipping containers that occupied the far wall and provide cover. Jango and Njais stayed with Obi-Wan. So far there had been no sign of the assistant, Nil, that Obi-Wan had warned them about.

“Hello there!” Obi-Wan greeted. His voice was loud in the cavernous space, even with the whirring and beeping of machines.

Arbor whirled to face him. “Who the kark are you?”

“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, of Clan and House Mereel.” There was that smirk again. “I would say it’s lovely to meet you, but, well, that would be a lie.”

“What do you want?”

“Your work did such good once,” Obi-Wan said. “You saved an entire planet from a deadly virus, you helped planets with little technology overcome their burdens.”

“My work still does good!”

Obi-Wan continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “Yet, all that good was a farce, was it not? You caused those tragedies you helped ‘solve.’ You released the virus in the Caldoni system. You engineered the famine on Rend 5. Then, at the height of their desperation, you swooped in as their benevolent savior.”

The woman’s face had twisted into a sinister sneer as Obi-Wan spoke. “Who are you to make such claims?” she demanded. “I am a hero! I saved those people! I deserve a reward for my service! Who the kark are you to come here and make such foundless accusations?”

Cuvros and Lanni had freed the boy from his restraints now and were carrying him out of the side entrance Njais had found on the building’s blueprints. Their main job in this was to get the ad to safety, and they were doing that job flawlessly. The plan now was for them to take the ad directly to the ship and wait for the rest of them to follow. Cuvros would have the ship ready for them in case they needed to make a hasty exit, while Lanni would tend to any wounds the ad might have. That left the rest of them free to fight without fear of harming the ad in the crossfire.

“I know what you are trying to learn. You want to know how the Force works. You want to know what it does to the body of someone who’s Force-sensitive. If you can solve that, if you can prove how the Force works, you’ll be famous. Everyone will know your name. People will seek you out for your brilliance. That’s what you want right?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I am so close. I can feel it. I know I can figure it out. I just need more test subjects! Ones who are stronger than that –”

She stopped mid-sentence, her arm flung toward the now empty table. Rage overtook her features and she whipped her back to glare at Obi-Wan.

“Where is he?” she demanded. “Where is the child?”

“Safe,” Obi-Wan said. “Somewhere you will never touch him ever again.”

Arbor shrieked, then yanked on the wires connected to the machine behind her. As soon as she moved, both Jango and Njais began firing. Blaster bolts flew in her direction, but she ducked for cover and their shots hit the spot where she had been. The machine, however, was sparking ominously and rattling with some sort of overload or imbalance, as had no doubt been her intention.

“Get back!” Obi-Wan shouted. He and Njais obeyed immediately, but they weren’t fast enough for Obi-Wan’s tastes and soon found themselves shoved further away by Obi-Wan’s magic. They landed near the door they’d entered through just as the machine exploded.

The sudden influx of light and sound messed with Jango’s helmet and it took a moment for the static to settle enough for him to see what was going on. Obi-Wan was already up and moving, sprinting toward Arbor as she tried to escape. Quinlan stepped into her path before she could go far, however, causing her to swerve recklessly. Arla’s arm snapped out and struck her across her collarbone hard enough to knock her to the ground. Obi-Wan arrived a second later, his blaster immediately joining Arla’s in pointing at the scientist’s forehead. Jango could see his finger on the trigger.

A feral scream erupted, followed by a blur of fur and rabid, protective rage. The figure was aiming directly for Obi-Wan, claws first. Jango struggled to his feet, ignoring the way his ears still rang, and staggered forward. The sound of blaster fire filled the air just before the being collided with Obi-Wan, sending them both to the ground.

Jango sprinted as fast as he could, his heart in his throat. He skidded to a halt as his vod shoved the body off of him. It was a quint, male, bleeding from a single hole in his forehead. Nil.

Jango reached down a hand and helped Obi-Wan to his feet. Arbor was babbling now, begging for her life and trying to convince them how ‘necessary’ and ‘important’ her work was. Jango’s lip curled in disgust, especially as the woman glanced over at her loyal assistant who lay dead not five feet from her and didn’t even react. Obi-Wan raised his blaster once again and fired. The scientist slumped to the floor. It felt like an anticlimactic end, perhaps, but Jango felt that that was what this woman deserved. A monster does not deserve to die with dignity or fanfare.

Unfortunately, however, the explosion she had caused did not go unnoticed.

“Incoming,” Meis announced. “I count ten heat signatures.”

“Understood ,” Obi-Wan replied. “Move to the roof, provide cover. Arla, Jango, take the side exit and circle towards the front. Njais, Quinlan, with me.”

Meis immediately sprung upwards in a series of acrobatic movements that brought her to a skylight, then out onto the roof. Jango spared a glance for her skill as he ran with Arla through the side exit. They moved in tandem toward the front of the building, their weapons at the ready. According to Meis, the gangsters hadn’t even bothered to split up and attack the building from different directions; they were simply charging the front door in an undisciplined mass.

Jango almost felt bad about how easy it was. The Kings weren’t prepared to go up against Mandalorians and when they opened fire on the unarmored group, they fell like wheat before a scythe. The two trandoshans in the group lasted longer, but ultimately were taken out by superior marksmanship and the fact that none of them got close enough for the trandoshans’ claws to be of any use to them. Only the knowledge of the Kings’ activities, and their culpability in Arbor’s experiments, kept him from feeling any true remorse at the carnage.

Reinforcements arrived for the Kings within minutes, but it was too late. The original ten were dead, and Meis began picking off the newcomers one by one. Quinlan leapt into the fray with a borrowed beskad , which was the closest thing to a lightsaber he could use without giving away his affiliation with the jettii’se , which Obi-Wan had wanted to avoid. Arla was taking great joy in the fight, especially now that there were so many of the gangsters that they were actually posing a bit of a challenge. Still, the entire skirmish was over in less than thirty minutes, with none of the Mando’ade taking more than a scorch mark or two to their armor. The Kings had been passionate, and had decent aim, but they were used to dealing with beings from their own little corner of the galaxy who feared them simply because they were the biggest threat in a small pond. 

Obi-Wan wasn’t happy though, Jango could tell. Taking a life should never be done lightly, of course, but Obi-Wan was particularly dismayed by the necessity. Nield had told him that, at first, Obi-Wan had been reluctant to kill even in the midst of war. He’d incapacitated any Elders he came across, and facilitated the destruction of their weapons caches and the like, but he refrained from killing. He’d learned eventually that such mercy was not always feasible, especially not when mercy could get your fellow soldiers killed. He’d taken to the lesson with grim determination, but each death weighed heavily on him, Nield said. Jango could see it now. There was a harsh set to his shoulders as he looked over the bodies strewn around them, and a kind of disappointment. Jango tried to see it as Obi-Wan did, as he’d likely been taught by the jettii’se , but all he saw was an enemy who’d tried to harm him and his, dead before they could cause more harm.

They left the Kings where they lay and walked back to the ship. They received an even wider berth than they had on the way in. If the Kings did not stand a chance against them, how could anyone else on this planet hope to challenge them? The result was a path made of eerily empty streets all the way to the equally empty, paved space that acted as a port, where their ship sat idle. The ramp lowered as soon as they were in range and took off the second it closed behind them.

“Another successful mission, vod,” Jango praised as Cuvros took off. He slung his arm over Obi-Wan’s shoulder and pulled him into a half-hug. Obi-Wan hated when he did this, so he took the opportunity to do it as often as possible.

“We eliminated an evil today, ” Obi-Wan agreed. He jabbed Jango in the side, between the armor plates, until Jango released him. “Our mission is not yet over, however. We must return Ren to his parents on Balasco.”

“And we will do so,” Njais agreed from his other side, “but for now, celebrate our success.”

Obi-Wan nodded. It was a lesson he struggled to truly accept. He was always so quick to focus on his own faults and shortcomings, or to rush ahead to thinking of all that yet needed to be done. He hardly stopped to reflect on the good things. Jango was not alone in constantly reminding him of the finer points of shereshoy ; any time anyone noticed Obi-Wan falling into old habits, they were quick to point out a positive quality he’d overlooked or suggest a way for him to focus on the present. He was learning slowly, but Jango had a feeling that these negative habits were instilled since he was an ik’aad and would take time to correct. Perhaps he should arrange to spend time with Quinlan alone so that he could get a better understanding of the jettii’yaim and Obi-Wan’s former Ba’ji without Obi-Wan endlessly defending them.

Jango clapped Obi-Wan on the shoulder before pulling away. The two of them walked together toward the ship’s small medbay, not having to speak to know that they both wanted to check on the ad they rescued before they joined the others in the commissary for a drink.

The ad, Ren S’orn, had been through the wringer. His injuries were extensive and there was evidence that he’d been held for at least several months now. He was exhausted and malnourished, similar to how Obi-Wan had been after Melidaan. Ren had been barely conscious as Lanni carried him to the ship, and she’d had to sedate him once they arrived in order to treat his wounds without causing him undue pain. He was sleeping now, aided only by pain medication and fatigue.

Njais had researched Ren and his family before the mission, and confirmed, as Obi-Wan’s vision had shown, that Ren was the son of the senator of Belasco, Uta S’orn. He’d been a candidate for the Jedi Temple, but his mother had naturally been uncomfortable with the Jedi practice of completely severing ties with their families. She didn’t want to lose her son. It was simply tragic that a scientist she trusted nearly caused her to lose him anyway.

Obi-Wan watched Ren’s sleeping face for a long moment, listening to Lanni’s report almost absently. Jango wondered what he was thinking. Perhaps how close Ren had been to dying on that damn experiment table. Perhaps about Ren’s buir, who loved him enough to want to keep him close, even if it denied him formal education for his gifts. Perhaps he was thinking of his vision, or of the dead Kings, or any other number of things that swirled around in the head of his vod’ika. He worried sometimes that he would never understand Obi-Wan. Even after months of knowing him and watching him heal and grow, Jango found himself constantly caught off guard by him.

Eventually Obi-Wan nodded and asked Lanni to keep them informed before he turned and headed toward the kitchen, where the others were already gathered. Jango didn’t know what to say, since he couldn’t even get a read on Obi-Wan’s emotions, so he bumped his shoulder against his in a way that could be seen as comfort or solidarity. He received a bump in return, and he figured he’d chosen correctly.

They didn’t get too rowdy that night, conscious of their injured guest, but they emptied a couple bottles of tihaar and sat up talking well past when they should have been asleep. Obi-Wan, he’d discovered, had a disturbing ease with drinking hard spirits beyond what his age would suggest. The legal drinking age on Mandalore was thirteen, or whenever one passed their verd’goten, but that was usually just for ne’tra gal. Verde typically didn’t start drinking harder stuff until they had a few years of adulthood under their belts, though occasionally older vode would slip the younger ones a few sips of tihaar as a sort of rite of passage. When he’d first done so for Obi-Wan, the kid had barely blinked at the burn. It made Jango wonder if the Young had somehow gotten access to alcohol on Melidaan, but a part of him didn’t want to know. He’d heard quite enough tragedy from that planet.

Since then, however, Obi-Wan had been allowed to join in when the rest of them indulged, though always in smaller amounts and he was always switched to ne’tra gal early on. Obi-Wan kept to this rule tonight, though a few of the others hit the bottle a little hard. Quinlan didn’t indulge in tihaar at all, and nursed only one glass of ne’tra gal the whole night, which helped Jango relax. Meis was the next youngest, but she was already seventeen and he didn’t worry about her drinking habits and so didn’t feel the need to act as a mother striil towards her.

Jango sat back and listened to Njais drunkenly compliment Meis on her acrobatics. Obi-Wan similarly complimented Arla on her speed and accuracy in overly flowery terms, while Quinlan did his best to talk up his vod as the best of them all. They had reached the point in the night where the conversation could only devolve into a competition to see who could convince the other that they were the superior fighter. He’d seen enough of those ‘arguments’ to know exactly where this was headed. He gruffly began herding everyone to bed, even as he fought off a smile of amusement.

He’d just finished putting Njais to bed, since they’d drunk the most out of anyone and lacked the coordination to do so themself, when he overheard Quinlan’s quiet voice.

“It’s not a bad thing, Obi-Wan. You’ve changed. Of course you have, with everything.”

“I was made for violence,” Obi-Wan responded, just as quietly. There was a resignation in his tone that made Jango frown. “The Force showed me for a long time only a life of infinite sadness, but now it seems like the only way to avoid that is through violence. I don’t mind, most of the time. I know it’s necessary. But sometimes, when it’s people like those gang members? They didn’t know any better. They’d never had an option for a better life. Not a realistic one, anyway. And now they are dead.”

There was a long pause before Quinlan spoke. “It’s sad,” he agreed. “In a better galaxy, they would have had more options and wouldn’t have had to choose to do terrible things to survive. But it isn’t a better galaxy, and they did those terrible things, and now they can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

Obi-Wan sighed. Jango knew that he should move on, that his vod likely didn’t want anyone overhearing this conversation, but he was rooted to the spot. He wanted to know Obi-Wan’s opinion on this.

“There is a power vacuum on Simpla-12 now,” he countered. “It will be filled by a new gang and the cycle will continue. We didn’t stop the harm from happening, just the perpetrator. But I see your point, I suppose. The good we do is not without purpose, of course, and defeatist attitudes won’t help anyone. We know that the Kings’ crimes were heinous, so I don’t actually feel badly that they are dead. I just…I don’t know. I don’t know what to do with the fact that I still feel conflicted about it.”

“Meditate,” Quinlan offered immediately. “Ask the Force for advice. Or the Manda or whatever you call it now.”

“The Manda is part of the Force but it’s not the same thing. I know you listened when I told you about this.” Jango could practically see his vod’ika frowning in academic disapproval. “The Manda is the collective spirit of Mando’ade. It –”

He was cut off by Quinlan’s groan. “I know, you nerd. I heard you the first time. The Manda is like a protective guardian and the representation of all the Mandalorians who came before you, blah, blah, blah. I get it. But that’s all the more reason to ask it for help right?”

Obi-Wan let out a slow breath which meant that he was letting go of his frustration with his friend’s facetiousness. “Yes, Quinlan, that is correct. Now go to sleep and let me meditate in peace.”

Jango walked away to the sound of grumbling and shuffling, which meant that Quinlan was obeying, but was being vocal about his displeasure in doing so. He moved into the cockpit, shooing Cuvros out so that he could take over and give him a break. The kiffar gave him a cheeky salute in thanks before leaving for his own quarters for a rest. The ship was in hyperspace, the coordinates long since entered, so there wasn’t much for Jango to do except monitor. He’d indulged less than almost any of the others, minus Quinlan, which meant that his mind was still sharp and alert as he gazed out at the blurred space passing in front of the viewport. He let out a plosive sigh and focused on relaxing his tense muscles.

This mission had been easy. It had been disturbing, of course, but straight-forward and with low-level risk. He had talked with buir about the fact that most of the hunts Obi-Wan would go on would not be for money, as would be the case with beroya’se. He also would not serve the function of directly going after threats to Mandalore, as Silas and his verde were doing at the moment. Instead, he would be doing things like this, eliminating demagolka’se, rescuing ade, and generally targeting the worst that the universe had to offer. It was a strange situation, but one they had accepted. He sighed. The galaxy was going to experience a severe wake up call, and both of his vode would be right in the thick of it.

Haar’chak. He was going to have to be right there with them, wasn’t he?

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan decided to forego his usual garden today, and had instead chosen to meditate in the forest behind where the stronghold once stood. Construction was going well, despite some conflicting design ideas between the Evaar’ade and Haat Mando’ade architects. Obi-Wan thought they might be done within the month, which was nothing short of a miracle.

They had successfully returned Ren S’orn to his parents with no complications. Obi-Wan had been subconsciously waiting for the moment when they would be attacked or Senator S’orn would become irate for some imagined wrong they had committed. None of that happened. Instead the senator had abandoned her guards to rush toward them and hug her son. She wept into his hair and thanked them over and over again for rescuing him.

She asked, repeatedly, how she could repay them. Obi-Wan had told her that he would ask to count on Belasco should they ever need their assistance. The senator had agreed eagerly. She had gone on to offer them money and any goods they could carry on their ship.

Obi-Wan had nearly refused, out of habit, but Jango stepped in and told her their usual rate, then told her they would accept only half on account of the fact that they were simply glad that the child was safe and with his buir . Uta S’orn had been more than amenable to this and sent them on their way with the money, as well as enough goods to fill their cargo hold. A ‘bonus,’ she’d called it, with a wink.

Jaster had been pleased with both the success of their mission and the payment. He’d clapped a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulders and told him he’d done a good job. He still felt the flush from that praise on his skin even though it had been hours.

Obi-Wan readjusted and tried again to focus. He’d come out here at Quinlan’s suggestion, since he’d been largely unsuccessful at meditating on the ship. Technically, he should still be taking it easy in terms of using the Force, but it had been more than long enough to allow for meditation. That didn’t explain why he was struggling so much with concentration.

A sound like wind chimes brushed across his mind, playful and untethered. Ah. Perhaps the Force itself was not so focused at the moment?

Hello, my old friend. I have been wanting to speak with you.

He was acknowledged by the sound of deeper chimes, the kind that settle something in your soul, yet only play at the whims of the wind. He smiled.

Please, he said, why did I receive no warning before the bombing?

The Force responded with a memory of Master Yoda. It was simply his voice saying, Balance, there must be, mhmm, yes. Balance in all things.

You…wanted this to happen? He asked hesitantly. The destruction of the stronghold and the death of two verde was…balance?

His mind reeled. It was difficult to think of something he saw as so intrinsically good as having allowed something so terrible to occur. He knew, of course, that the Force was both Light and Dark. It contained both and thrived off the balance of all things. Life and death, good and evil, grief and joy. One cannot exist without the other. He knew this, logically, yet something in him still rebelled at what felt like a betrayal.

The Force crooned at him, like a mother singing to her baby held tightly in her arms. He shook his head, eyes shining with tears. No, he didn’t want it to be true. But he could find no other explanation. The Force hadn’t warned him because it was something that it felt needed to happen.

In his mind, he saw an image of the rubble as it had been after the attack. Slowly the rubble cleared away, accompanied by a fast moving sun across the sky. Time passed and the stronghold was built again, even stronger and better than it had been before. People walked in and out of its doors: Jaster, his ori’ramikade, Jango, Duke Kryze, several Jedi, various familiar senators. The stronghold gleamed in the light, full of hope and life.

The scene changed. He saw Silas, his armor painted like a hardwood forest at dusk, all green and pine, brown and tan, streaked with dirt and drops of blood. He signaled with one hand while the other held his blaster. Bodies littered the ground. The armor of the dead was painted a very distinctive black and blue. Death Watch was falling before the Haat Mando’ade, and the victorious cheer of Oya! indicated that it had been a rout. He could imagine the fierce grins beneath helmets and the celebration that would occur that night.

Is that happening right now?

The Force’s answer, as ever, was not in words, yet Obi-Wan understood that he had been correct. Silas was even now standing in a muddy field, surrounded by dead enemies and triumphant verde . Obi-Wan smiled to himself. He was glad to see Silas both hale and successful.

He sobered quickly. The implications of the Force’s revelations weighed heavily on his mind. How could he trust the Force at all, when it made decisions entirely based on its own whims and not for the wellbeing of people he cared about? He wanted to shake his doubt, but the betrayal was a sharp wound to his lifelong sense of infallible trust. Jaster had nearly died. Quinlan, Master Tholme, Khin, Zomar, Satine, Duke Kryze – all of them could have so easily been lost that day. He acknowledged that the Force had intervened enough to give both him and Quinlan the strength to prevent such loss, but the fear and doubt settled in deep.

The Force wrapped around him gently and he curled himself as small as he could manage inside its embrace. The Force would always do as it willed. It had sent him here, after all, when he hadn’t asked nor expressed any desire to do so. He’d been content in death. He’d lived his life, had experienced life to the fullest extent of joy and grief that he thought a person could experience. The Force had sent him back anyway. He trusted it then; there was no reason he shouldn’t still trust it now. Death was a part of life, and though he regretted the deaths of Wekon and Lanzir, he knew they were not truly gone. Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la. 

He took a deep breath and recentered himself. He’d chosen to sit amongst the roots of a large oak tree, and he felt guarded by its thick trunk and raised, gnarled roots. He could feel its life force, steady and solid, as it stretched both high towards the overarching dome above Keldabe and deep into the soil in a twisting, rhizomatic pattern. He breathed deeply and followed the path of water from the tip of one root to the veins of an emerald green leaf. He exhaled and felt the nourishing warmth of the sun on the surface of that same leaf. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt such profound peace in plant life before. For a moment, he missed Qui-Gon so much the pain sliced into his heart like a burning red blade. Then, he slowly released his grief and regret as he pressed his back more firmly against the tree behind him.

A snuffling to his left caused him to open his eyes. It took a moment to reorient himself to experiencing his surroundings with his normal hearing and sight, rather than the senses of a tree. Once he blinked away the disorientation, he was surprised to see a striil pup seated in front of him, its head cocked to the side as it studied him. It was small, with reddish brown fur and amber eyes. One of its ears stuck straight up while the other was folded over. That would likely change as it grew up, but for now it just made the creature even more adorable.

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan greeted softly. He didn’t move, so as to not startle it. “Where is your mother? Are you lost?”

The striil cocked its head the other way. Then, it suddenly lunged forward and, instead of whatever it had intended to do, faceplanted directly into Obi-Wan’s lap. Obi-Wan laughed and gently helped it back onto its six, tiny little paws. Its whip-like tail wagged, dragging through the dirt. Its mouth opened in what could almost be mistaken for a grin. Miniature, sharp teeth poked out of its gums like little needles. Obi-Wan cooed at it.

“Well aren’t you the cutest thing? You must be missing your buir. Let’s go find them, shall we?”

He resisted the urge to pick up the pup, as it would be a bad idea to approach the mother with it in his hands, smelling like him. The mother could become aggressive or worse, it could reject the pup. Instead, he reached out with the Force to see if he could find the mother. He could feel many animals nearby, mostly small reptiles and birds, a thriving community of insects, and a few rodents. There were quite a few striile behind him, in town, but they were pets and not what he was looking for. Despite the widespread domestication of striile , many of them were wild and left to their own devices in the few unpopulated areas on Mandalore. He could feel one pack of them to the east, but none of the striile of that pack had the sense of recently giving birth. He frowned to himself.

“How far from home did you get, little one? I can’t seem to find your buir.”

The pup just looked up at him. He could leave the pup here. It would likely find its way back home eventually and there were no predators big enough to threaten a striil. Then again, this one was so young that it might tempt some of the larger hunting birds in the area. Obi-Wan looked into the pup’s eyes and felt the moment that his resolve crumbled. Maybe the pup’s mother was dead and that’s why he couldn’t find her. He couldn’t in good conscience leave the pup out here to starve, could he?

He reached out a hand and let the pup sniff his fingers before gently stroking over the soft fur on its back. The pup wriggled under the attention, pushing up into his hand. He laughed quietly and scooped the pup into his chest.

“What a friendly thing you are,” he said in wonder. “I see no collar, otherwise I might think you belonged to someone already.”

He kept talking to it as he stood and started his way back into town. It wasn’t a long walk, only a few miles, but the pup started to get restless after about ten minutes and demanded to be put down. Obi-Wan obliged, feeling once again conflicted. He cast out in the Force one more time to see if he could find any sign of the pup’s mother. There was nothing. He started walking again, much slower this time to account for the pup’s short, uncoordinated limbs as it followed clumsily behind him. It stopped every few feet to sniff at things. Its favorite thing to sniff was apparently flowers, as every time it saw one it shoved its snout all the way into the center and inhaled, even if it caused the pup to pull back with a cute little sneeze every time.

“I have been wondering what to call you,” he told it conversationally, “but now I believe the only fitting name for you is Sarad.”

The pup yipped and pawed at his calf. Obi-Wan picked it up again and cuddled it close. Sarad was tired from their walk and their eyes blinked sleepily as they burrowed into Obi-Wan’s chest. It only took a few more steps for the pup to be completely asleep in his arms.

Obi-Wan walked back to Khin’s house, where they had been staying since the attack. Well, he, Jaster, and Arla had been staying with Khin while Jango had mostly been staying with Njais and their family. The rest of Jaster’s ori’ramikade had gone with Silas, leaving only Khin behind from their number as Jaster’s guard while he healed.

Jaster looked up from his datapad as Obi-Wan entered. His eyes were drawn immediately to the creature in his arms and his eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Hi, buir,” he greeted.

“Whatcha got there, kid? ”

He lifted the datapad he’d taken with him in case he had a vision and needed to write down what he saw. “A datapad. ”

Jaster shot him an unimpressed look. The striil took that moment to wake up with a huge yawn that showed off their mouthful of sharp teeth. Sarad closed their mouth and blinked, looking around at the new location.

“Where did you find it? ”

Obi-Wan fought the urge to fidget like he was still in the creche and getting in trouble with Quinlan for one thing or another. “The forest. They were all alone.”

“Are you sure? ” his buir asked with concern. “Mother striile can be vicious if they think you have taken their baby.”

“I am sure. ” 

Jaster nodded, trusting his judgment. “Alright then. Have you thought of a name? ”

“Sarad .”

Jaster smiled. “A fitting name, no doubt. It will be good for you to have a striil companion. It has proven to be very healing for many verde. ”

Obi-Wan cuddled the striil a little closer and looked into their sleepy, blinking eyes. He’d always had a fondness for animals. The fauna to his master’s flora, he’d once joked. Yes, he could see that the two of them were going to be good friends.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan tossed in his sleep, a distressed sound trapped behind his clenched teeth. His eyes flickered beneath his eyelids, seeing images long since passed. He heard the sound of explosions, of men screaming, of blaster fire so frequent it sounded like one, continuous, deadly noise. In his hand hummed his lightsaber as he deflected shot after shot, his body tiring yet his determination forcing it to keep moving. He could feel his men dying, could feel their fear and anger, but he pushed those things to the back of his mind. There was no time to focus on such things now.

The sounds faded as the fatigue dragged him down, down, and suddenly he was lying on his back, staring up at a familiar, cracked ceiling. His breath came ragged in his chest, his tears flowing unimpeded down his cheeks to drip soundlessly onto the floor beneath him. Water was too precious here to allow such an indulgence, but he was beyond caring now. His mind spun in useless circles, each thought biting the tail of the one before it, and he couldn’t escape the agony of memory.

I HATE YOU .

Those eyes. Those burning, molten, hateful eyes. Oh, Anakin. Didn’t you know I love you? Didn’t you know I would have done anything for you? That I turned a blind eye to your love for, and attachment to, Padme, even though it was so against regulation you could have been stripped of your rank for it?

There’s no way he could have survived that , a different voice said, distant and calloused. A voice which had become synonymous with safety and comradery, a voice he trusted above any other.

How had he failed them so badly? Had he really been so naive as to think that fighting for their rights could wait until after this Force-forsaken war? Did they truly hate him so much?

A wet nose pushed against the underside of his jaw, jarring him. Did an animal get into his hut? He knew of no creature on Tatooine with such a cold, wet nose. A small body wriggled against his chest, pressing closer, its claws scrabbling as it desperately attempted to give comfort. He wanted to pet its back, soothe the creature’s distress, but his hand felt disconnected from the rest of his body. Did he have a body? He was dead, wasn’t he? He didn’t remember anymore.

A sudden nip to his jaw snapped him awake and he gasped, sitting up with wild eyes. He looked around at his surroundings, and the familiarity of it dispelled the last of the images from his dreams. He was on Mandalore, in his room at the newly rebuilt stronghold. The creature that awoke him sat on his lap, quivering.

“Thank you, Sarad,” he said softly, petting her soft ears. She yipped at him, pressing close, and he allowed himself a moment to hold her before releasing her with a sigh. He had things to do today, and he’d never been one for self-pity. (Other than those years alone on Tatooine, the lonely years which stretched into impossible eternity. Years wherein he’d been trapped with his own thoughts, marinating in his regret and guilt until it had nearly eaten him alive. He didn’t count those years.)

Gently, he encouraged Sarad to climb off him and let him stand. He stretched his back and smiled at the striil pup.

“I’m going to shower then go down for breakfast,” he told her in a comforting tone, despite knowing that she didn’t understand a word he said. “I’m alright now, I promise. Thanks to you.”

Sarad escorted him to the ‘fresher, but left him at the door and he was allowed to ready himself in peace. When he finished, Sarad was no longer in his room, but he didn’t worry. He dressed for the day, going through the motions of putting on his armor piece by piece. He reinforced his mental shields with each piece of beskar, rebuilding himself from the shards that had scattered in the wake of the memories which haunted him. When he was done, he stopped to glance at him in the mirror. Satisfied that no one would be able to tell how turbulent his sleep had been last night, he flicked off the light and exited his room.

Arla sipped her caf and swallowed it along with her laughter. She knew that if she were to make a sound right now, Jango would remember that she was there and he would stop having the epic stare down with Sarad which was happening right now. 

This had been going on for several days, ever since Obi-Wan had found the pup in the forest and brought her home. The pup was cute. It was a little over a month old, according to the agol’baar’ur , and in perfect health. The veterinarian had also confirmed that Sarad was female. Obi-Wan loved her and Sarad clearly loved him as well, but her affection was much harder to win from anyone who was not Obi-Wan. Arla had won her over with treats (despite Obi-Wan’s half-hearted complaints that she was spoiling the pup) and so was exempt from the strange games that Jango had taken to playing in order to convince the baby striil that he was worthy of her love. At this point, Arla was pretty sure Jango would accept even tolerance from Sarad, since she had been rather antagonistic towards him from the start. 

When Obi-Wan had first introduced Sarad to them, she had hidden in his arms while simultaneously growling at anyone who dared get close. Her tiny fangs were hardly a threat against their beskar , but the attempt was adorable. Jango had tried to pet her head, ignoring the fangs, and had been bitten through the glove for his efforts. Ever since then, the animosity had been mutual.

It didn’t help that Sarad took every opportunity to inconvenience Jango. She pissed in his boots. She chewed on his kute . She knocked over his things. Before now, Arla would have said that striile weren’t capable of being petty, but Sarad had quickly proven her wrong. Which was how they arrived to this morning, with Sarad sitting right in front of the caf pot, fangs bared, her whiplike tail swishing across the floor and Jango standing two feet in front of her, trying to stare her into submission so that he could get the caf he so desperately needed, if the dark circles under his eyes were anything to go by.

Jango made a sudden dart toward the counter, but he had made a fatal error in judgment. He’d arrived to the kitchen in his sleep clothes with not a scrap of beskar on his person. When Sarad leapt in return, her sharp little needle teeth sunk firmly into Jango’s shin and he cursed wildly, shouting and jerking to dislodge his assailant.

Arla lost her battle to remain quiet and burst into laughter. Jango whipped his head around to glare at her, which did not have nearly the desired effect when he was being harassed by a creature that currently weighed seven pounds and his hair was still disheveled from sleep.

“ Ne'johaa! Arla! It is not funny! ”

Arla just laughed harder. Her stomach was starting to cramp and her eyes were watering with mirth, but she just couldn’t stop.

“ Oh, but it is, little brother. This is the funniest shit I have ever seen. ” she said between gasps of laughter. He glared harder and began to reach down to pry open Sarad’s mouth and force her to release him.

Just then, Sarad suddenly let go and sat back on her haunches, an innocent look on her face. Her head was cocked slightly to the side, emphasizing her lopsided ears. Her gray tongue lolled out of her mouth lazily. Arla looked up to see Obi-Wan standing in the doorway, dressed and ready for the day. He never looked like he just rolled out of bed, somehow; he was always put together and controlled. Arla blamed the stars which favored him.

“ Sarad ,” he greeted warmly, “ I was wondering where you went. ”

His eyes glanced quizzically over the two of them as he greeted them in turn. Jango returned the salutation with a grunt as he finally was able to slip by the distracted pup and pour himself a cup of caf. He leaned against the counter with it, glaring at all three of them. Obi-Wan’s eyebrows rose.

“ Really, Jango, ” Obi-Wan chastised lightly, “ I would think you would be too mature to be feuding with a striil pup. They are hardly a threat. ”

Jango grumbled unhappily into his mug and Arla couldn’t help another chuckle at her brother’s expense. He narrowed his eyes at her. Obi-Wan, for his part, shot her a sly look with a twinkle in his eye that told her that he knew exactly what had gone down this morning and he too found it amusing.

Deciding to be magnanimous and spare her brother further teasing, Arla switched the focus to Obi-Wan. “ So, ” she began casually, causing his shoulders to stiffen, “ Is your class meeting today, Professor Obi-Wan? ”

Her vod’ika grimaced, his face turning bright red. The ‘class’ had started by accident, she knew, but it still gave her joy to tease little Obi-Wan about his new status as teacher. It began when he went to check on the two zabrak boys he’d rescued and the older one, Savage, had shyly requested to meditate with him again. No one could resist either Feral or Savage when they made a request, but everyone tended to be a little quicker to jump whenever Savage managed to voice his wants and needs. Obi-Wan was no exception to this, and he’d immediately taken Savage to a garden to meditate. It became a daily occurrence and the whole city knew that at mid-afternoon, they could always find the two of them sitting cross-legged in the vine garden, sometimes floating, as they communed with the Ka’ra . The curious would often come by to watch, maintaining a respectful distance, but the novelty soon wore off as people realized it was rather boring to watch the two sit there with their eyes closed and do nothing.

Those who had a connection to the Ka’ra , however, continued to stop by, every afternoon, right on time. They could feel what was happening, even if on the outside meditation appeared to be the opposite of interesting. Arla was one of those people, though she’d only intended to stop by once and check on her vod’ika . She’d instead been ensnared by the peace radiating from the pair as they sat a pace away from each other, their hands flat against their knees. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before.

Arla had been the first to sit down next to them and ask to join. Obi-Wan had been pleased, which was an expression that would be called ‘overjoyed’ on anyone else, though Savage was wary. That first session had gone well, though, and, after seeing Arla’s bravery, they gained a fair few attendees to the Meditation Hour, as it became known. Obi-Wan blushed fiercely anytime someone brought up how well he was doing as a teacher, and several parents had thanked him for helping their ade with their gift.

“ Yes, we will meet again today. Routine is good when it comes to meditation, especially for younglings, and that routine was interrupted for a while.”

All three of them winced at the reminder. The stronghold was officially liveable again (a minor miracle) and Jaster was recovering well, but none liked the reminder that their home had been made vulnerable by the enemy, and all that they could have lost that day.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, his hand petting Sarad. She had clearly sensed his distress and was leaning heavily against his leg, her tail swishing. 

“ Training has been going well, ” he commented, changing the subject.

Jango nodded in agreement. “ Yes, Meis is doing exceedingly well. Even Quinlan is taking to the training better than expected.”

Obi-Wan smiled a little. “ I am not surprised. Quinlan does love novelty and as long as their interest is piqued, they will work hard. I daresay there will be a lot of upcoming excitement to keep them engaged. ”

Jango groaned and slumped against the counter. If there had been a more conveniently placed surface for him to do so, he would have slammed his head against it in frustration.

“ The Ka’ra has sent you another mission .”

Obi-Wan’s smile turned amused even as his eyes became grim. “ Yes.”

“ What happened to ‘ade need routine?’” Jango groused, without any real heat. He knew that the missions the Ka’a sent Obi-Wan were important. Besides, Sapt, Hivra’s sixteen year old niece, had taken to Obi-Wan’s lessons like a fish to water and she had even begun taking over the sessions if Obi-Wan couldn’t make it. She would lead in his absence.

“Their training will hold for a few days, ” Obi-Wan said serenely. “ There is…something I need to do, but first I need a new lightsaber. I was not sure that I would get another” – his lips twisted, and Arla knew there was a lot more to that statement than his even tone would suggest – “ but buir convinced me that it would be a good idea. Normally, such an endeavor is a largely solo hunt, however I know full well that none of you will let me go alone. ”

“ He can be taught! ” Arla exclaimed. “ Well done, little brother! ”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at her. “ I simply know how to pick my battles. ”

“ When do we leave? ”

“ Tomorrow. I understand that is short notice, so if any of you is unavailable to accompany me, that would be – ”

“ We will be there, ” Jango interrupted firmly. “ Do not even try it. ”

“ I have no idea what you are talking about, ori’vod ,” Obi-Wan said, blinking innocently. Arla snorted into her caf.

Jango grunted again, eyes narrowed as he studied Obi-Wan’s face for signs of deception. “ Right. Tomorrow it is, then. ”

Obi-Wan waited in front of the ship, his thoughts an unfortunate maelstrom within his mind. When he had told Arla and Jango yesterday that he hadn’t been sure that he would ever get another lightsaber, he’d meant it. He was no longer a Jedi. Did he have a right to wield a lightsaber? They weren’t exclusive to Jedi, of course, and it was hardly illegal for those outside of the Order to possess them, but it was exceedingly rare. The entire process of finding a kyber crystal, bonding with it, and making the weapon itself were not only closely held secrets, but impossible for those without the Force to achieve. It required patience, precision, and knowledge. A Jedi’s lightsaber was sacred, in the way that beskar’gam was sacred to Mando’ade . To exist outside of the Order, yet still carry one, would place him in limbo, the kind which he’d only just felt like he’d crossed over the threshold of. He’d accepted that he would not be a Jedi in his life, he understood the use he had from the outside, and he’d been working hard with his mir’baar’ur to come to terms with his new reality. It was normal to miss one’s family, she’d told him, and he was allowed to grieve. He’d never been given permission to do that before; he’d simply done so, quietly, alone. Yet Mir’baar’ur Linnej had told him that he didn’t have to be alone in his grief anymore. That was what his new family was for. They would support him, listen to him, help him carry the weight. He still hadn’t quite made himself take those steps to let them do so, but the seed of thought had been planted and he’d been ruminating on it since.

This mission to Jedha was forcing him to confront that grief head on. From a practical standpoint, he needed a lightsaber. If he was going to go to Mustafar and battle against Sith, he needed a weapon capable of the job. He needed the weapon he felt most comfortable with, as Jaster had argued. Even Quinlan had ganged up on him, trying to convince him that he would always be a Jedi, regardless of whether he was part of the Order or not. Obi-Wan tried to argue that, by definition, that was categorically untrue, but Quinlan would have none of it.

Eventually, they had worn him down and Obi-Wan had conceded to go on this journey to, once again, find a kyber crystal and build himself a ‘saber. How odd it felt, he reflected, to be working toward such a familiar goal on such an unfamiliar course.

“Obes!” A heavy arm suddenly slung over his shoulders and pulled him close. “Are you excited?”

Obi-Wan bit his lip to clamp down on his amusement. “Good morning to you too, Quinlan.”

“Man, you keep promising all these dangerous missions, but so far you haven’t delivered!” his friend complained dramatically. “Simpla-12 was a cakewalk and now Jedha, home to a bunch of nerds surrounded by dusty books? I’m starting to think you were overselling.”

He could hear what Quinlan was not saying, of course, beneath his dramatic disappointment. Obi-Wan had rattled him to the core with talk of Sith plots and entrenched evil sown throughout the galaxy. This inaction, in the face of such horror, was grating. He wanted to be making tangible action against the future that Obi-Wan had seen – had lived – and so far it appeared as though they were doing nothing. Obi-Wan knew that frustration well. He’d seen some fruits of his labor in reports from the temple; changes were happening at breakneck speed, especially by Jedi standards. Master Yoda was in the process of reopening the temple on Ledeve, several changes to both Youngling education and padawanships had already been enacted, and lines of communication had been opened for all Jedi to speak freely about their concerns. Apparently, the Council had been under the impression that there were no widespread concerns. In his first life, Obi-Wan might have thought the same. He had his own feelings and opinions on decisions the Council made, mostly in regards to Anakin and himself, but those felt like personal matters, not a reflection of the Order as a whole. Then, when he’d been on the Council, the war had taken up everyone’s attention. Everyone knew the concerns in regards to the war, so there was no need to hear the petitions of various Jedi who opposed their role in it. All other concerns became of no consequence when Jedi Generals were leading men into battle for the fate of the galaxy itself.

This was a different time, however, and the Jedi apparently had a wide array of concerns to bring to the fore. Many of them were reiterations of the proposal he’d sent: too little fact checking of Senate reports, declining numbers of Younglings in the creche, the isolation of Jedi who went on missions. The Order had been shaken, but Obi-Wan was able to see the continuing effects of his influence on them and how it would make them stronger in the days to come. So, while they weren’t headed straight into the mouth of the beast with this mission, Obi-Wan had faith that they were moving in the right direction. He bumped his shoulder into Quinlan’s and smiled, trying to convey this feeling without words.

“Take heart, my friend. Nearly all missions with me tend to go somehow awry.”

It was a joke at his own expense, but Quinlan truly did seem heartened by the prospect. For all Obi-Wan knew, his flippant comment would turn out to be prophetic and they would encounter brain eating worms, or uncover some insidious plot, or run into pirates on the way to Jedha. 

Obi-Wan pulled himself out of his thoughts to observe how the preparations were going. The ship had already been fully loaded and the squad were all present, ready to go. Meis was leaning against the side of the ship, her arms crossed as she tried to look bored rather than show off the excitement he could sense in her Force signature. Njais, Lanni, and Cuvros were all there, despite Obi-Wan lobbying that it was overkill to have seven people on such a simple mission. He sighed. They were already there, so there was no use in continuing to argue that they were unnecessary.

Lanni spotted the moment he accepted their presence and, given that none of them were currently wearing their helmets, he saw the wide grin spread across her face. She winked at him and he sighed again, shoulders slumping. This would be an interesting mission.

The trip to Jedha passed innocuously enough. The ship that Jaster had lent them was larger than Jango’s and thus fit all of them comfortably. They played games and shared stories to pass the time, the squad teasing each other whenever they lost a round or shared something particularly embarrassing. Meis and Quinlan now got along like a house on fire, which was a migraine waiting to happen. Together, they invented a new game which could only be considered a ‘card game’ insomuch as it used cards as placeholders rather than their intended use. The game involved lying (‘It’s called ‘bluffing,’ Obes.’), storybuilding, and a good amount of improv. It was surprisingly fun.

By the time they landed on the moon, near the holy city of NiJedha, Obi-Wan was feeling far more relaxed than he had been this morning. They exited the ship, unconsciously forming a V-formation as they descended the ramp. They were greeted by a Guardian, who bowed to them in greeting. Obi-Wan resisted the ingrained urge to bow back, instead following his fellow Mandalorians’ lead in nodding respectfully toward the Guardian.

“We have been awaiting you,” they said. “Which one of you wishes to enter the Temple of the Whills to test if you are worthy of a crystal?”

“I do,” Obi-Wan said, stepping forward. The Guardian studied him openly, looking him up and down, then straight into his helmet’s visor as though staring directly into his eyes. Obi-Wan stood still and let him look.

“Yes,” the Guardian said vaguely, “I can see that. Welcome to Jedha, Seeker. I am called Tiose. Please, follow me.”

Obi-Wan took a step forward and the others stepped with him. Guardian Tiose stopped and held up a hand to prevent them from continuing further. “The rest of you are welcome in NiJedha. It is a beautiful, peaceful city and you will find no danger here. There are plenty of merchants who can provide anything you might need.”

“ It is alright, ” Obi-Wan was quick to assure them over comms. “ I warned you that this is a solo hunt. I will find you after I find my crystal. ”

“ Wait ,” Jango blurted, darting forward to grab Obi-Wan’s arm as he started to follow after Tiose. “ Is it safe? ”

“ Perfectly safe, ” Obi-Wan said smoothly. “ Jedi take their younglings to find their crystals on Ilum all the time. There is no need to worry, vod. ” He pressed a quick keldabe to Jango’s helmet to soften the blow of his words.

Jango grunted unhappily but let him go. 

“ Be careful, Obi-Wan, ” Arla told him quietly, over a private channel.

“ Always, ori’vod .”

He followed Tiose as he took a serpentine route through the streets surrounding the massive, towering temple. It stretched up toward the sky, drawing every eye within several miles. The Guardian did not lead him up to the tower directly, however, instead leading him down, down, and finally through a hatch that led underground. They continued to descend, the air becoming even cooler than on the surface, and damp. He could hear them now, the crystals. They hummed, like the buzzing of a thousand bees. Down here, they were pure potential energy, poised and waiting. 

Tiose led him to a point where the humming was beginning to crescendo and stopped. They bowed to Obi-Wan once again.

“This is where I leave you, Seeker. It would help your quest if you were to remove your armor, though you are not required to do so. When you are done, if you are successful, your crystal will help guide you to the surface. May the Force be with you.”

This time, Obi-Wan bowed in return and the Guardian turned and walked away with a swish of their robes. Obi-Wan turned back towards the crystal tunnel and hesitated, his fingers lightly touching the surface of his armor. He had not been regularly wearing armor for that long, only a few months, but even so, the idea of stripping himself of it now felt incredibly vulnerable. It was a part of him now, as his lightsaber had once been a part of him, and it felt strange to contemplate parting with it. Perhaps a compromise?

He pulled off his buy’ce and set it gently on the ground, followed by his gauntlets. He stripped the armor from his legs and laid those pieces down as well. He kept the beskar covering his torso and arms. It felt poetic almost, this mix of armored and unarmored limbs. The perfect metaphor for the situation.

He stepped forward into the tunnels and immediately felt the assault of thousands of whispers against his mind. The kyber crystals were vocal, and they knew that he was an anomaly. Force-Chosen, they said, Time-Bender. Once-Jedi, a few muttered. Mandalorian. Sith-Slayer. Balance-Bringer. Prophet. Sand-Hermit. Negotiator. High-General. Former-Slave. Savior-of-Light. Slave-freer. Child-of-No-One. Ad-be-Ka’ra.

The names layered over each other, nearly unintelligible in the crystals’ fervor to know just what this creature was that sought them. Very few of the names they gave him were in Mando’a, but the ones who whispered in the language of his new family intrigued him the most. They called him Ka’ra touched, beloved of Mandalore, freedom fighter. He followed the thread of those few voices, winding deeper and deeper into the tunnels.

He passed statues made entirely of kyber, which glowed softly in the darkness as they depicted Jedi and non-Jedi Force wielders alike. He turned left at the statue of a Jedi locked in an eternal, fierce battle against a serpentine foe and let the whispers guide his feet onwards.

The closer he came to the origin of those whispers, the more his mind began to play tricks on him. Interspersed with the crystals, he heard familiar, impossible things. Captain Rex calling out instructions to drilling shinies. Bail Organa whispering his fears to him over a bottle of Corellian whiskey. Anakin, young and out of his depth, asking if Obi-Wan would ever leave him. Commander Cody, offering him back his lightsaber after a battle. Ahsoka, laughing as she teased Wooley for something or other.

The sounds tugged at his heart and he wished desperately to stop, to clamp his hands over his ears and hear no more. Especially as the treasured memories turned to the hissing and spitting of vitriol as familiar as the bittersweet memory of grief. The voices of his friends were replaced with those who had done everything in their power to tear him down. Asajj Ventress cackled at him from the shadows, mocking him for his compassion. He heard the screams of men dying, of them calling out for their batchmates because they had no mothers to cry to.

General Grievous sneered at him from just behind his left ear. Mercy , he scoffed. There is no such thing as mercy. Only weakness .

Chancellor Palpatine whispered slimy promises and platitudes into the ear of a vulnerable child, a child who soaked up the attention like a sponge until it took root in his mind like a cancer, spreading until he could no longer trust anyone around him. Isolated and afraid, the child turned to the only thing that promised solace: the Dark.

I HATE YOU .

The same scream he heard in his dreams echoed through the tunnels, reverberating and distorting. Obi-Wan grit his teeth and kept walking.

“Emotion, yet peace,” he said to himself, letting his own voice echo off the walls, much more real than Anakin’s had been. “Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony.” He trudged on, forcing step after step. “Death, yet the Force.”

Finally, he stood in front of a crystal which shone more brightly than any of its fellows. Its shine was orange like the rising sun, like the paint of the 212th, like hope and shereshoy . He gently touched the stone wall in front of the crystal and it crumbled away under his fingertips like ash. He reached in and grasped the crystal, feeling its blinding warmth in his fist. It was so light , so pure. He’d spent so long in the Darkness, so long alone and lost and terribly bitter. He knew intimately what it felt like to drift in a sea of lifelessness, the shining Force devoid of every spark of light that had kept it Light. He would never forget that feeling as long as he lived. This crystal was the anathema of all of that. It was life and hope and honor. It shone with unbreakable faith in the goodness of the galaxy. Its brilliance sank into him, soul and bone, and washed away the remnants of that remembered heartbreak. He sank down to his knees and wept, holding the crystal close.

He’d heard of this type of crystal, though it was so rare he’d never seen one in person, nor heard of one actually in use in modern times. A solari crystal. It could only be used by the pure of heart, by a true servant of the Light. It could never be corrupted, could never serve a master who even considered the temptation of the Dark. Obi-Wan had never been tempted by the Dark Side, but he had never thought himself worthy of a crystal such as this.

The crystal hummed in his mind, drowning out all other noise until all he could hear was its comforting song. It sounded like the Force when he admitted to his fears and doubts, like a mother wiping away her child’s tears. I would not have chosen you without good reason , it seemed to say, and Obi-Wan knew it to be true.

He didn’t remember standing, nor walking back to his armor. He did not remember putting the shed pieces back on, nor climbing to the surface. He barely recalled navigating the city streets toward the market where the rest of them would be waiting. It wasn’t until he was standing in front of them, crystal clutched close, that he came back to himself.

“ Alright, vod’ika ?” Jango asked worriedly.

Obi-Wan couldn’t speak. He didn’t know how to answer anyway. Was he alright?

“Come on,” Quinlan said jovially, slinging his arm over Obi-Wan’s shoulders. He could feel the tension in his friend’s arm, how the move had been overtly casual, yet served to make sure Obi-Wan remained upright. “Let’s go back to the ship.”

Obi-Wan let himself be steered back toward the space port. His mind was quiet. He wasn’t sure that his mind had ever been truly quiet outside of meditation.

They were back on the ship now, though Obi-Wan couldn’t recall the interim between the market and here. Quinlan began stripping him of his armor, his movements more sure than he would have expected from someone who didn’t wear armor himself and had only been around those who did for a couple months. He let himself be manhandled and deposited, armorless, on a pile of blankets that had been left in the communal sleeping quarters. He was vaguely aware of the others moving around, but didn’t take much stock in their actions until he felt a couple warm bodies press close to him.

It was Arla and Meis, bracing him. They didn’t cling, didn’t even touch more than their shoulders to his, and he appreciated their support. He sagged against them, exhausted and boneless. Cuvros had taken up a position by the door, keeping watch. Lanni and Njais sat on cushions nearby, in sight yet not crowding. Before he had a chance to wonder where Jango and Quinlan had gone, they returned with trays of tea and snacks. Jango quietly passed the cups of tea around while Quinlan made a beeline for him and gently placed Obi-Wan’s hands around the steaming mug. Obi-Wan looked down at the dark liquid and took a silent breath. The familiar smell brought him back a little further into his body.

“ Did you find what you came for?” Jango asked hesitantly. Quinlan shot him a look, but Obi-Wan just nodded and pulled the crystal from the pocket of his kute . It had been a source of warmth against his thigh, reminding him of its presence. Quinlan studied it for a moment. Obi-Wan felt the moment he realized what it was, and the significance of it, though he did his best to stifle his reaction in the Force. Obi-Wan still caught a glimpse of shock and awe before they and all other emotions were placed safely behind Quinlan’s shields.

“ I take it that this glowing rock is special somehow? ” Meis said dryly. Then she amended, “ More special than usual magic, glowing rocks? ”

Quinlan ducked his head to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes. Wordlessly, he asked if Obi-Wan wished to tell them or if he wanted Quinlan to. Or if he wanted Quinlan to bullshit on his behalf, a question asked with a raised eyebrow and a mischievous gleam in his eye. Obi-Wan’s mouth pulled up a fraction in the corner and he gave a small, barely perceptible nod. Quinlan nodded back.

“This type of crystal is exceedingly rare,” he explained. Quinlan rarely used his ‘lecturing Master’ voice, but he was quite good at it when he so chose. “It is called a solari crystal. The golden light is unique, but more important is its properties. You know about the difference between the Light and the Dark sides of the Force. The solari crystal only works for those firmly in the Light and will stop working if the Jedi they are bonded with even considers using the Dark side. The only story we still have about a Jedi using one ends with her being tempted by the Dark after someone she loved was murdered. Her lightsaber stopped working mid-battle, the crystal refusing to sing for her, and she was killed. For a solari crystal to have chosen Obi-Wan, that means that it, and the Force, believes that he will never Fall. Most believe that the solari crystal is a myth, like a cautionary tale, but Obes here just had to prove everyone wrong. Like he always does.”

A ghost of a smile pulled at Obi-Wan’s lips even as he shook his head. “I have always believed in the Force,” he said, trying to get his thoughts in order and failing miserably. “It is strange to…”

“To realize the Force has faith in you too?” Quinlan finished. 

“Something like that.”

It was quiet for a moment as everyone digested that information. Obi-Wan’s mind still buzzed like the hum of an electrified fence. He stared down at the crystal and tried to convince himself it was real.

“ Damn, vod’ika ,” Arla said into his thoughts. She whistled lowly. “ You never do anything by halves, do you? ”

The others chuckled, though Jango remained silent. His dark eyes were trained on Obi-Wan, serious and unrelenting. “ This does not mean that you now have permission to do empty-headed, jare’la shit, vod. ”

Obi-Wan laughed. Thank you, Jango, for always bringing him back to practicality.

They went to sleep after that. Obi-Wan had no idea what time it was, but exhaustion tugged him down until he was laying in the nest of blankets and the others followed suit, though he was fairly certain that otherwise they would have stayed away for a few more hours at least. The snack tray sat untouched on a table against the wall, but they would keep until morning and Obi-Wan couldn’t muster up the energy to be hungry. The last thing he remembered before sleep took him was Arla curling close and brushing a hand through his hair before kissing his forehead.

Chapter Text

Tholme stretched his neck and heard the joints within it crack and pop with the movement. This trip to Mandalore had been nothing he would have ever expected from such a mission, though he couldn’t say he was displeased with the results. Discussions with the Mand’alor, or Jaster as he insisted on being called, had continued to be engaging and informative on both sides. He greatly enjoyed how knowledgeable Jaster was on Mandalorian history. The Commando Codex, which Tholme had since sent to the Council to have them read as well, was well researched, well written, and incredibly reasonable.

Life amongst the Mandalorians was also far more pleasant than he had anticipated. Mandalorians were a loud, passionate people, but they were hardly the brutes rumor reported them to be. There were no more fights in the streets of Keldabe than there were around the bars of Coruscant. Tholme would wager that there were far fewer fights, in fact, since most often offenses were handled in the official sparring ring under the supervision of witnesses. Very rarely was an offense so grave as to require immediate violence.

There was a sense of community here, as well, which felt comfortingly familiar. Children were safe to roam, protected as they were by the entire city. Neighbors helped neighbors, community gardens flourished, and laughter was the most common noise above the clank of beskar and the hum of speeders. Mandalorians felt everything deeply and without censure, something that was difficult to get used to as a Jedi, but the Force signature of Keldabe was bright, like the Light of the Temple, and filled with warmth. Tholme thought he could quite grow to like living here.

And live here he would, for extended periods of time from now on. The Council had had mixed reactions to his formal request for himself and Quinlan to become ambassadors to Mandalore. It was hard to fathom that they were now in a position to be on friendly terms with a people with whom they shared such a contentious history. Master Yoda, joining the call from Ledeve, had laughed and nodded the moment the request was out of Tholme’s mouth.

“Much clearer, things are, now that away from Coruscant, I am,” he had said. “Ambassador to Mandalore, you will be. A member of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s team, Padawan Quinlan will be, hmm? Agree with this, the Force does. Good for the galaxy, it will be.”

Concerns were voiced, questions were asked, and stipulations were made, but after Yoda’s proclamation, the decision was final. Tholme would continue most of his duties as a Jedi Shadow, but he would become the means of communication between Mandalore and the Order, as well as the source of information for both sides. In many ways, he’d already been doing just that for the past several weeks, so it was no true hardship to continue doing so.

His comm buzzed and Tholme took a second to glance at who was calling him before he answered.

“Padawan,” he greeted, “how goes your mission?”

“Hey, Master.” Quinlan smiled at him, all white teeth. Tholme narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “We’re on our way back from Jedha now. We had to refuel this morning, but we left atmo a few minutes ago. We’ll hit hyperspace in an hour.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Quinlan shifted, his eyes flicking to the side. “Do you remember that story you told me about Shaela Nuur?”

Tholme blinked at the non-sequitur. He did remember telling Quinlan that story. It had been the eighth rough night in a row and Tholme had been running out of stories to tell his distressed padawan to help him fall asleep. The story of Shaela Nuur had required him to dig deep into his repertoire, but it was an important story nonetheless about the dangers of attachment and revenge. 

“I do,” Tholme answered simply. He would wait for Quinlan to tell him the point of bringing up that story now rather than speculating.

Quinlan took a deep breath. “Obi-Wan found a solari crystal.”

Tholme blinked. Then he blinked again. “I admit, that is not the sentence I expected to come from your mouth just now.”

Quinlan smirked. “Nor did I expect to see a light orange crystal singing like the Force itself in Obi-Wan’s hand.”

“No, I expect not. I was not sure they still existed, if they ever did.”

“Obi-Wan is just special, Master.”

Tholme huffed. “Indeed.”

He still hadn’t forgotten the way Obi-Wan had fought during their spar. He had been patient, disciplined, and well trained. That kind of fighting was not instinctual, not for any being in the galaxy. It took years of endless practice and learning. It could not be self-taught by a youngling, no matter the pressure they were under nor their innate skill. That spar had raised quite a few questions, none of which Tholme felt any closer to answering. He knew that Quinlan knew the answers; he knew his padawan too well to not recognize the signs of secret keeping. For now, however, he was content to wait. Perhaps once he had earned Obi-Wan’s trust, he would tell Tholme himself. Otherwise, there would doubtless come a time to observe the answers with his own eyes, if only he had patience.

“Jedha was pretty cool though, the little we saw of it.”

“Do tell,” Tholme urged. He sat back to listen to his padawan talk about his experience, putting the mystery of Obi-Wan Kenobi to the side for now.

Obi-Wan sat in the kitchen sipping a cup of caf. Quinlan had gone off a half hour ago to comm Master Tholme. Meis and Lanni had gone down to the cargo hold to spar. Cuvros and Jango were in the cockpit, while Njais had gone off to do inventory. That left Obi-Wan with a rare moment alone. He was savoring it, and the caf.

He’d never really liked caf, not the way he appreciated a good cup of tea, but he was feeling…perhaps nostalgic was the right word. In that cave he’d heard the voices of several clones. It was almost as though he could feel their Force signatures, like ghosts weighing down on him and suffocating him with memory. He’d drunk his fair share of caf during the war. It was rough stuff, thick and almost tar-like in both consistency and taste, but it had carried him through more than one sleepless night.

He didn’t miss the war. Only a fool would miss the war, but he did miss the camaraderie. The sense of purpose. He missed Commander Cody, steadfast and solid, like a boulder in the middle of a river. He missed the troopers, all so bright and unique in the Force. He missed how clear everything had seemed then, even if he’d been as blind as a lothal-bat and as stubborn as a bantha. 

He picked up his newly acquired crystal and rolled it in his palm. It had a steady presence, not unlike the long-lost commander he’d just been reminiscing about.

“Nothing is ever so easy, is it?” he asked it rhetorically.

As if in answer to his question, the power to the ship immediately cut out and the ship tilted violently sideways as they tumbled out of hyperspace. It was a dangerous move to attempt purposefully, though he knew that some Corellian pilots had mastered the maneuver. This did not feel purposeful. It felt rather like someone targeting them and pulling them off course into open space for an attack.

Obi-Wan jumped up, caf long forgotten and spilled across the table and floor, the mug shattered. He ran for the cockpit.

Quinlan joined him and they skidded into the small space at the same time. Jango and Cuvros were already attempting all of the back-up procedures to restart the power. Their helmets were on, reminding Obi-Wan that he’d left his in the kitchen. He ignored Jango’s pointed glare.

“Enemy inbound,” Cuvros informed them, “ t appears to be a pirate ship.”

Obi-Wan felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, coupled with that unique mixture of annoyance and amusement which only a handful of people in the galaxy could provoke.

Before more words could be exchanged, their communicator crackled to life and the holoprojector stuttered before clarifying into the image of an unfortunately familiar weequay wearing googles, decorated dreads and a high-collared coat.

“Greetings, kind beings!” he announced, spreading his arms wide. Obi-Wan wanted to groan. “We simply wish to board and take your valuables. There is no need for hostility. We will be in and out, quick as you please. We just ask that you cooperate and everything will go smoothly.”

“I would say your intentions alone are reason for hostility,” Quinlan retorted immediately.

“Now, now,” Hondo said. “We do not wish for anyone to come to harm. Let us take what we came for and we can both be on our way.”

Jango stepped forward to reply, but Obi-Wan cut in front of him tilted his head at the pirate. He raised a disappointed eyebrow.

“Now, Hondo, is that the way to treat an old friend?” Obi-Wan asked teasingly.

“Baby pirate!” Hondo exclaimed. “I thought you had gone to become a Jedi farmer. Now

you are Mandalorian? You lead an interesting life, my friend.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but laugh. “You don’t know that half of it, my dear.”

The pirate laughed as well, slapping his knee. “I knew you were made for bigger things. It is as my dear mother always says, ‘Better to take the pleasures of life than let them be taken by someone else,’ and you, baby Mando, have taken life for yourself.”

He said this proudly, as though Obi-Wan had learned this from Hondo himself during Hondo’s takeover of the transport ship that fateful day so long ago. Well, only a few years ago now, he supposed. Hondo had taken a liking to him then, claiming that he would make an excellent pirate if he wished to join them. Even after Obi-Wan refused, he continued to call him ‘baby pirate’ and variations thereof. He’d been incredibly disappointed when they’d had to flee and Obi-Wan stayed behind.

“Perhaps so,” he conceded. “We have no valuables on board, Hondo, nothing that you and your men would be interested in. Let us go in peace.”

Hondo made a considering sound. “You are sure, baby Mando? Truly nothing?”

“Nothing profitable.”

“Hmm.” His eyes roved over the assembled Mandalorians, his eyes calculating. Then, to his men he suddenly shouted, “This effort is no longer profitable! Grosk, turn the ship around!”

He turned back to Obi-Wan. “It was good to see you, old friend. May your future endeavors always be profitable!”

Then, just as suddenly as they’d arrived, the pirates were gone. Everyone stood tensely as they waited to see if it was a trick, but their instruments showed that they were alone in this section of space and Hondo had made good on his word. The power was back, allowing Cuvros to guide the ship back on course. They entered hyperspace smoothly, as though they’d never been pulled off course. Everyone released a breath of relief.

“Dikut! ” Jango yelled, slapping the back of Obi-Wan’s head. Obi-Wan ducked and reached up a hand to rub the spot, offended. “What have you been told about always wearing your helmet in dangerous situations! You absolute, jare’la, thoughtless, imbecilic, utreekov dikut! ”

Obi-Wan grimaced. “I did not exactly have time to grab it when –”

“Dikut! ” Jango yelled again, and reached out to slap Obi-Wan’s head, but Obi-Wan ducked this time and his hit went wide.

After several more minutes of Jango voicing his frustrations, he finally grabbed Obi-Wan in a headlock and wrestled him to the ground. The two of them grappled for a while before Njais had enough of their antics and lifted Obi-Wan off his brother by his armor like an unruly tooka. Jango just huffed and stomped off toward the kitchen, where someone had already cleaned up Obi-Wan’s broken mug and spilled caf. He began to angrily prepare food, slamming the pots down and generally making as much noise as possible while making stew. He kept muttering under his breath about how Obi-Wan ‘would never learn his lesson’ and ‘one day it would get him killed,’ which was quite the overreaction in Obi-Wan’s opinion.

Arla was the one to attempt to break the tension by asking how Obi-Wan knew the pirate in the first place. Glad for the reprieve, Obi-Wan launched into the tale of his botched attempt at joining the Agricorps. Everyone except Cuvros, who was still piloting, were gathered around the table to wait for the food to be ready, and they listened attentively as he told his story. He attempted to tell the tale as humorously as possible, framing the pirate attack, the discovery of the assassination plot by Xanatos, and his time in the mines as an exciting adventure. He glossed over a few of the more…unsavory details, before finally ending with how he’d been accepted as Qui-Gon’s padawan and was allowed to return home with his dignity more or less intact.

He apparently hadn’t done a good job on the delivery, however, since no one was laughing. Even Quinlan, who already knew the whole story and was known for using deflecting humor to cope with even the most terrible of situations, was quiet. 

Then, in an act of betrayal, Quinlan quietly said, “You left out a few things.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “Only minor details, Quin.”

“Minor –!” Quinlan shook his head, irritated. “Only you would see a bomb collar, electro-whips, and your karking master approving of your choice to blow yourself up for the ‘greater good’ to be ‘minor details.’”

“What?” Jango asked, his voice low and dangerous. The stew was bubbling behind him, the spoon in his hand dripping onto the floor.

“It wasn’t –”

“If you say ‘it wasn’t a big deal,’ so help me, Obi-Wan, I’ll –”

“It got me accepted as a padawan!” Obi-Wan interjected. “I would have done anything .” He choked, feeling strangled by his emotions. He let out a conscious, slow breath and released those feelings into the Force without bothering to detangle them. He started again, calmly.

“I thought I’d lost my chance to become a Knight. It was all I ever wanted. No other master would take me and Qui-Gon thought I was too violent and emotional to become a Jedi. He thought I was destined to Fall. By offering myself for the sake of others’ freedom, I proved that I was not as selfish as Qui-Gon believed. I proved myself worthy.”

“ Bullshit ,” Arla said immediately, with fervor. “ Sacrificing oneself should not be the measure of worth. Especially for a child. ”

“Obi-Wan, ” Lanni added, more gently, “I am sure you have already spoken about this with your mind healer, but that kind of negative validation during such a formative time of your life is dangerous. You were a child who craved acceptance and care, and you learned early that those things can only be achieved through great personal loss. This is an example of how your guardian wronged you.”

Tears pricked his eyes even as he shook his head. He knew that Qui-Gon had been less than perfect; he’d discussed the topic at great length with Mir’baar’ur Linnej. Still, it was hard to accept that Qui-Gon had ever truly wronged him. Hadn’t he been the one to finally give Obi-Wan a chance? Hadn’t he been the one to take Obi-Wan on when no other would, even if he did so reluctantly? He owed Qui-Gon so much. They’d grown to respect each other over the years of Obi-Wan’s padawanship and, by the end, he’d loved Qui-Gon as a father.

“Honestly, this explains so much about you, ” Jango said. Arla reached over and slapped the back of his head in a parallel to what Jango had done to Obi-Wan earlier.

Obi-Wan was quiet for the rest of the trip. He was still having trouble reconciling what the others had said about Qui-Gon with his own perception. He knew, through the Force, that he and Qui-Gon had been manipulated to come together as a master-padawan pair by Yoda. Qui-Gon was not, in fact, the only Jedi Master to have been interested in him. It was only Yoda’s desire for Qui-Gon to have another padawan with which to redeem himself and restore his self-esteem that led to Obi-Wan’s early suffering which then blossomed into a beneficial learning relationship.

Still, he couldn’t let go of the love he had for a man he secretly considered a father. Traitorously, his mind offered comparisons between Qui-Gon and Jaster, showing their parenting methods side by side. It wasn’t fair. The ways of Mandalorians were not the ways of the Jedi. Masters were not supposed to care for their padawans as though they were their own children. They weren’t supposed to rub their back when their nightmares prevented sleep or hug them when they’d done well or delight in buying them trinkets just because it would make them happy. Their job was to teach and guide, without falling prey to attachment

Master Tholme isn’t like that, his mind reminded him shrewdly. His subconscious could try shutting up for a change.

Qui-Gon had learned the hard way the dangers of attachment to a padawan. He’d loved Xanatos, had coddled him and praised him and turned a blind eye to his flaws. Then Xanatos had effectively cut out his heart. He couldn’t afford to raise a padawan the same way. He couldn’t bear to become attached to another who might Fall.

‘That kind of negative validation during such a formative time of your life is dangerous. You were a child who craved acceptance and care, and you learned early that those things can only be achieved through great personal loss.’ Lanni’s words echoed in his head. That wasn’t true, was it? Sure, Obi-Wan did tend to be a little self-sacrificing at times, a little too apathetic toward his own needs, wants, and life, but that was what a Jedi was supposed to do. They were supposed to be selfless. They were supposed to give and give and bleed and bleed so long as the people around them could thrive.

Obi-Wan found himself still absorbed in his thoughts when the ship landed back on Mandalore. He disembarked with the others, his helmet finally in place, if only to hide his expression. He didn’t know what that expression was, exactly, but he knew that if anyone saw him they would worry. He just needed some time alone to think.

“Su’cuy, ad’ike,” Jaster greeted warmly. He reached out and pulled Obi-Wan and Jango to his sides and waved his hands until Arla joined them in a group hug. Obi-Wan allowed himself to be smothered and tried not to think too hard about how nice it was to be so freely offered such affection.

“I am glad to hear that your hunt went well. I have some news for you, after you have had a chance to clean up and rest.” He kissed each of them on their helmet and shuffled them off toward the transport with a quick wave and rushed greeting towards the others. None took offense to his attention on his children; it was expected of a buir.

Obi-Wan kept quiet during the ride home, his thumb rubbing the crystal in his pocket over and over in a soothing gesture. He needed to get himself together before dinner. Thankfully, he had a couple hours in which to do so. Perhaps a long shower and then cuddling with Sarad would give him the equilibrium he needed.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan laid for a long time after his shower just stroking Sarad’s soft ears and focusing on his breathing. Emotions rose and fell like waves, cresting and crashing, and he sent all of it into the Force. He knew that his mind healer was right when she said that throwing all of his emotions to the Force wasn’t helpful in the long run and that he would need to actually sit and process them at some point, but right now he simply could not do that. So he leaned on the Force, and the Force held him until it was time for dinner.

When he dragged himself downstairs, the meal had already been laid out, though with far fewer people than usual. The new dining room was similar to the last, though with more windows which were letting in the golden light of the setting sun. The window felt defiant, as though they were saying that despite how vulnerable they’d been made to feel here, they would not hide. Obi-Wan knew that all kinds of new security features had been added to the entire building, the windows included, but he enjoyed the sentiment anyway.

He sat down next to Jango. Cuvros, Lanni, and Njais had all opted to join them tonight. Next to Njais sat Master Tholme, though Quinlan chose to sit on Obi-Wan’s other side rather than sit closer to his master. Mij was there as well, which was a rarity, and he’d brought Savage and Feral. With Zomar gone to hunt Death Watch, they’d been left in the medic’s care. Feral was happily poking Master Tholme’s arm as he asked question after question about the Force. Tholme accepted both the prodding and the questions with good grace, answering the zabrak child as patiently as any creche master.

“ Obi-Wan ,” Jaster greeted him with a smile. “ How are you? Yet another successful hunt. You are building quite a reputation for yourself .”

Obi-Wan blushed. He’d told everyone that this was a low-level mission, yet it seemed that they hadn’t believed him, even after it was over. He supposed this was his fault, for making Dathomir his first move.

“ I am well, buir. It will take time to bond with my new crystal, and then I can begin constructing the hilt for my ‘saber. ”

“ Is it true that your crystal is rare even among Jedi? ” Mij asked curiously. He was looking at him as though he could find where he was hiding it on his person through vision alone. Too bad for him, the solari crystal was currently laying against the skin over his heart, safely beneath his breastplate and therefore away from prying eyes.

“ Yes ,” he admitted begrudgingly. He knew through experience that the curiosity would wane with time, but now he would have to put up with people constantly asking him about it.

“ A powerful weapon for a strong verd ,” Cuvros said with satisfaction. “ Fitting .”

Jaster sighed. “ I suppose now that you have it, that means you will begin preparations for the dangerous missions you have been postponing until now? ”

Obi-Wan grinned at him. “ Well, there is one thing I wish to do that will be much easier once my ‘saber is complete. ”

“ Great ,” Jaster said sarcastically. Obi-Wan liked to think he could see his buir actively gain a few gray hairs right in front of his eyes.

Conversation turned to other things as they ate. Silas and his team – which included most of Jaster’s ori’ramikade . were still off-planet, though they’d sent back word that their hunt had gone exceedingly well. There was still no sign of Viszla, but that wasn’t unexpected; Pre was notoriously cowardly. He preferred to operate from the shadows and send his soldiers out to do his bidding. Very rarely did he meet his enemies on the field of battle. For someone who claimed to want a return of ‘real Mandalore,’ it was rather ironic.

Jaster checked in with his other children, then with everyone else at the table in a way that somehow felt nothing at all like a status report and everything like a concerned party asking for details about the lives of their loved ones. Jango reported that he was well, though a little stressed – he looked at Obi-Wan as he said this, for some unknown reason. Arla was doing far better than the medics had predicted and felt no ill-effects from her coma. Her mediation sessions with Obi-Wan had been doing wonders, apparently, which was good to hear.

Master Tholme had spoken to the Council, which sparked a rather long-winded conversation as both Jaster and Obi-Wan tried to drag details out of him. Jaster seemed mostly concerned with the changes to padawanships and the results of the investigation to see if any other children were being mistreated by their masters. (There were two found whose needs were not being properly met, as well as some other minor adjustments made for several others, but there had thankfully been nothing approaching the level of trauma Obi-Wan had faced in his twelfth and thirteenth years.) Obi-Wan, on the other hand, wanted to know about everything else. What decisions were being made? How were the efforts to reopen old temples? Were the Service Corps being more thoroughly integrated into the Jedi framework?

“You seem to be very knowledgeable about a document which was sent anonymously to the Jedi Council,” Master Tholme commented lightly, after a few minutes of alternating between answering and dodging questions.

Obi-Wan swallowed. If he admitted to writing the proposal, the consequences could be very dire indeed. They could be disregarded as the ramblings of a bitter teenager who had left the Order. His warnings could be dismissed, his pleas ignored. It would mean starting over when he’d only just begun to feel like he was gaining traction.

Not to mention the difficulty he would have in explaining just how he had written such a thorough, accurate report delving into topics that even hardcore archivist Knights stayed away from for their complexity.

Master Tholme’s eyes softened. “It is a great burden, is it not, to be Chosen by the Force?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. “Chosen?” he choked out. He was not chosen by anyone, let alone the Force. That had been Anakin, bright eyed and impulsive and eager. Anakin, with eyes red as lava as he crawled across the burning ground, with a body count that made Obi-Wan sick –

“It’s alright,” Master Tholme assured him softly. “I know it seems terrifying and overwhelming. You have support. You have your family here, of course, but please know that the Jedi support you as well. We may not have done well proving ourselves before, but we are willing to prove so now, if you’ll let us.”

Obi-Wan just stared at him, at a loss for words. Numbly, he felt Quinlan reach out and clutch his hand beneath the table.

“The strength of your connection to the Force is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It was the Force that guided you to write that document, was it not?”

Obi-Wan nodded. He could do nothing else. His throat felt as parched as sun-bleached sand.

“I thought so. Masters Dooku and Sifo-Dyas are particularly impressed by you. They want to meet you.”

Obi-Wan squeezed Quinlan’s hand and looked helplessly toward Jasater. They wanted to meet him? Why? He trusted neither of them. Or, perhaps he hoped to trust them and that scared him more than anything. Master Sifo-Dyas, he’d learned, had never actually been involved in the creation of the clones, though it was his name that the Sith had used. He had never been on the wrong side of the war, just someone who’d seen it coming and tried to warn anyone who would listen. Unfortunately, the wrong person did.

Master Dooku was that wrong person. Had he always been? Surely not. He’d been a Jedi once, raised in the Temple and faithful to the Light. It had been time, and corruption, and anger that had worn him down into a shadow of himself. Were the changes being brought about within the Order enough? Were they happening fast enough? Obi-Wan didn’t know if he had acted in time. Then again, he wouldn’t know for sure unless he saw Dooku in person. 

“ Do you want these Jedi to come here ?” Jaster asked. His tone implied that it was entirely up to Obi-Wan. If Obi-Wan said no or even indicated that he was uncomfortable with them being here, that would be it. They would be barred from the planet indefinitely and the subject would never be brought up again.

Obi-Wan took a moment to think. On one hand, the idea of Master Dooku coming to Mandalore by invitation to meet peacefully with Mand’alor Mereel was such a deviation from the previous timeline as to make it very tempting to say yes. On the other, if Obi-Wan was wrong and Dooku was already too far gone to be saved, then he was essentially inviting the enemy for tea.

Well, Obi-Wan did always believe that most conflicts could be solved over a good cup of tea.

He nodded to Jaster solemnly. “ Yes. I believe Sifo-Dyas will be particularly helpful. They are inclined to visions, more so than I am, and have developed methods to deal with them most effectively. ”

“ And the other one, Dooku ?”

“ Dooku was the guardian of Qui-Gon Jinn. Essentially, they are my ba’buir. Ba’cabur ?”

“ And you want them here ?” Jaster asked again.

“ Yes ,” Obi-Wan said, and he meant it. He needed to know if Dooku would remain Light this time. He needed to see that tangible change for himself, to look the man who had tortured him in the eyes and know that such events would never occur in this life.

“ Jate .” Jaster nodded once. To Tholme, he said, “You may tell Ba’ji Sifo-Dyas and Dooku that they may come to Mandalore.”

After the Mand’alor’s announcement, the conversation moved on until the dishes were being cleared away and it was time for bed. Obi-Wan didn’t protest when Quinlan followed him up to his room and curled around him to sleep. With his friend on one side and Sarad on the other, Obi-Wan was able to let his tumultuous thoughts go and let himself sleep.

—--

The next few days were quite a relief in their normalcy. He trained with Arla, Meis, and Quinlan. Jango and his ramikade sometimes joined, which was incredibly fun. He quite enjoyed using the Force freely during training and he used some of the methods he’d learned during the war to desensitize the Mandalorians to its use. Meis in particular adapted quickly to being thrown with the Force and they quickly came up with several techniques that would be useful on missions. He meditated in the gardens with his little group of Force sensitive Mandalorians. He met with his mir’baar’ur and with Baar’ur Latt. He attended his classes, worked on his assigned modules, and borrowed from Jaster’s library for his own study. He even managed to fit in one visit with Kheri to learn more about Mandalorian folklore.

He carried the solari crystal with him everywhere. It hummed, quietly, like an idling ship. It was warm against his chest, like a miniature sun. Sometimes, when he cupped it in his hands and sank into the Force, he could almost hear it whispering to him like the voices in the cave. Its voice was different than the Force’s song, more like a deep, rumbling bass. It was comforting. He thought he’d be able to make the hilt in a few days, assuming he could find the parts. He would have to ask Kheri about that.

He also spent a fair amount of time sketching out details of their plan with Quinlan. Miraculously, his ‘pad had survived the bombing. Most of his belongings had survived, in fact, since that section of the stronghold had been left more or less intact. Still, when he opened the document which held all of his scattered memories, he sent out a burst of gratitude toward the Force. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to recreate it accurately, not without leaving out many things. 

It meant that the two of them were not starting from scratch to continue hammering out the next steps of the plan. And it was their plan now, according to the stubborn kiffar. Their next move would be to rescue Maul from Mustafar. It had taken some time to untangle his memories to reconstruct some kind of timeline, but Quinlan had been patient as he puzzled over Obi-Wan’s overlapping, illogical mess. They’d come to the conclusion that it would make the most sense to save Maul first, then focus on making some allies, fuck with Palpatine a bit, and then finally go to Rattatak in a couple years. 

The plan to rescue Maul was simple: get in, move fast, snatch the kid, get out. Despite Obi-Wan’s instincts, the best plans, he’d learned, were the simplest. Less moving parts meant less opportunity for failure. That didn’t mean, however, that they couldn’t have contingencies.

“I’m just saying that we should have a few people in reserve in case a rescue is needed. A secondary rescue,” Obi-Wan amended.

“Sure,” Quinlan agreed, his eyes fierce, “but I won’t be one of them. I told you: where you go, I go. If you’re going down to that hellscape, then I’ll be right beside you. Don’t try again to stop me.”

Obi-Wan looked at him for a long moment, his heart doing strange things in his chest. “Okay,” he said eventually. “In that case, you will be training with me until we go.”

“Uh, Obes, I already train with you.”

Obi-Wan smirked at him. “No. I mean I will be training you to take on a Sith.”

The color drained from Quinlan’s face. “Kark. I forgot that you’ve fought Sith.”

“Yes. Hopefully this time we will get to Maul in time and I will not be forced to bisect him again.”

Quinlan made a high pitched choking noise. “You what ?”

“I didn’t tell you that?”

“Uh, no. You said he killed Jinn and then you thought you killed Maul. You didn’t say how.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “It isn’t a pleasant memory,” he said lightly. “And it’s not like it worked anyway.”

“Right.”

Obi-Wan discovered that it was incredibly helpful to have another person to help him solidify his plans. It wasn’t at all like battle planning with Cody, since Quinlan could not be more opposite of his commander’s disposition, but it was far less overwhelming to look at the future when he had someone beside him rolling up his sleeves and saying, ‘Let’s go.’

It was a little over a week later when Masters Dooku and Sifo-Dyas arrived.

Obi-Wan had spent the two days previous pretending that he wasn’t nervous, while Jango, Arla, and Quinlan decided to team up against him. They kept him distracted, mostly, while Jango assured him over and over that the Jedi could be turned away, all the way up until the last second. Or even once they were already on planet, he assured. At any point, Obi-Wan could change his mind and no one would be angry or disappointed.

Except Dooku and Sifo-Dyas, Obi-Wan thought, though he kept that to himself. He was touched by their concern, even as he began to grow stifled under the attention. That attention only intensified as the Jedi ship was allowed clearance and began to approach the port. 

Quinlan and Arla stood shoulder to shoulder with him while the ramp lowered. Jango stood a little in front of him, not quite shielding him from view but indicating with his body language that he would in an instant.

The Jedi who walked down the ramp were tall, imposing, and serene. Sifo-Dyas was shorter and broader than Dooku, with long black hair held up in a bun except for two thin braids that were left hanging on either side of his face, ending just under his chin. His dark eyes were intense, but mostly held curiosity and caution.

Dooku looked very nearly exactly like Obi-Wan remembered, minus the golden eyes. He was tall and thin as a reed, and held himself like a whipcord poised to strike. He wore all black, except for a layer of royal blue that was visible as two thin strips on his tabard. His salt and pepper beard was meticulously groomed, along with his hair, and every inch of his clothing hung exactly the way he wanted it to. His facial features were severe, with his strong, thin nose and dark eyes. There was no hatred in those eyes, however. They held the same curiosity as Sifo-Dyas’, as well as a hint of caution, but his expression was open and without malice. Obi-Wan dared a small sigh of relief.

“ Olarum be Mandalore .”

The Mand’alor greeted them politely, though his body language was aloof and slightly wary. He inclined his head toward them in the barest nod.

Yan returned the gesture with a moderately shallow bow. It was deeper than he would grant to the Council, but not one that exposed his back for too long. It was the best compromise he could find. Beside him, Sifo-Dyas bowed a hair lower, but straightened just as quickly.

“Thank you, Mand’alor Mereel,” Yan replied gravely. He’d done his research, so he knew how seriously Mandalorians took declarations of thanks or guilt. He fully meant to accept any debt he needed to for this opportunity. The opportunity to visit Mandalore, of course, was a privilege that had been granted to no Jedi, before Master Tholme and his padawan, for centuries. Beyond that, however, he was grateful for the chance to meet the boy who would have been his ill-fated grandpadawan, had circumstances been different. A boy who sat at the center of the storm that was tearing through the galaxy.

Obi-Wan was smaller than he’d anticipated. His file said that he was fourteen standard years old, Stewjoni, with red hair, blue eyes, and an affinity for the Cosmic Force. Given the boy’s armor, Yan could not confirm his physical appearance, but there was something…formidable about his presence despite his small stature. He was surrounded by his siblings and Padawan Vos, but something about the way he was standing indicated that he was the one in charge, second only to Mand’alor Mereel. And that was only by courtesy.

A shiver threatened to slither up his spine, but Yan pushed it aside. His curiosity, however, was more potent than ever. When he and Sy had been informed that they were formally invited to Mandalore, both of them had set aside their duties immediately. They left the next morning.

Master Tholme stepped forward. His eyes were smiling, though his expression was serious. “Master Dooku, Master Sifo-Dyas,” he said, “it is good to see you both.”

“And you, Master Tholme. I am glad to see you are well.” Master Sifo-Dyas’ words could have been a simple expression used between two people who hadn’t seen each other in a while, or it could have hinted at the worry the Jedi had felt about two of their own being in not-quite-enemy territory. Yan knew that it was both.

“I thought we would begin with a tour,” Jaster interjected smoothly. Yan swallowed his irritation. He knew better than to think that he could immediately request a private conversation with former-Padawan Kenobi, but it was still frustrating to realize that he would likely run into obstacles to that end for some time. He nodded graciously and their little group climbed into the waiting speeders to head into town.

They disembarked just outside of Keldable and walked. Yan listened with polite interest as Mereel spoke. After only a minute or two, he requested to record the Mand’alor as he explained their city and its history, knowing that Jocasta would be deliriously happy if he returned with it. Mereel nodded and gestured for him to do so with a gesture that was more careless than magnanimous. He smothered a smile as he clicked on the device, imagining Jo’s face when he handed it to her. The manic gleam in her eye could be disconcerting at times, but he didn’t mind. He enjoyed her ravenous need for knowledge.

The tour was, in fact, more interesting than anticipated. Still, he mostly found himself watching Kenobi. 

His armor was durasteel, unlike most of the Mandalorians around him, which meant that his Force presence was not muffled. It was, however, incredibly well shielded. It took him several hours to realize that what he was sensing was not particularly strong shields for a fourteen year old with minimal training. No, that was just what Kenobi wanted him to see. That illusion was the first layer of defense and it was fascinating. He’d never seen anything quite like it. He’d seen plenty of shields that relied on misdirection, of course, but this was nothing like that. Yan was careful not to actually press against Kenobi’s mind, as that would be not only rude but highly ill-advised in this situation, but he did examine it. After he became aware of the illusion layer, it became possible to see beyond it, if only to the second line of defense. Beyond the impression of a battle-worn child was, of all things, a desert. The kind of vast, empty wasteland that could swallow a being whole if they weren’t careful. Yan was quite sure that if he were ever so bold as to step inside, he would become lost. Only Kenobi’s mercy would free him then.

Curiouser and curiouser. Kenobi only became more interesting the more he learned about the boy. And his former padawan had let this one go? Perhaps Yan had underestimated just how badly Qui-Gon needed a mind healer.

It was sometime after the fifth statue and before the apparently famous cantina that Kenobi managed to manipulate it so that he and Yan were together at the back of the group. Sy was walking next to the Mand’alor, eagerly soaking up the knowledge that was being freely given, and the two Fett siblings were commiserating in their boredom. Padawan Vos had noticed Kenobi’s move and facilitated it by distracting Master Tholme with a barrage of questions. Yan did not miss that aspect of having a padawan.

“I hear that changes are being made at the Temple,” Kenobi said casually.

Yan looked down at him from the corner of his eye. “Yes. Quite substantial ones.”

“Is that a good thing?”

Yan had no idea what to make of this line of questioning. “Yes, I believe so. The Order had been stagnating, as was pointed out to us. I have been saying the same for years. Though, I admit, even I did not realize the extent of our folly until it was presented to us.”

Kenobi hummed in understanding. “I see. Do you believe,” he paused and Yan wished he could see his facial expression to know what caused his hesitation. “Do you believe the changes are enough?”

Yan nearly stumbled in his surprise. Had he not been wondering the same thing himself for weeks? “I do not know,” he replied honestly. “Do you believe they are enough?”

Kenobi was quiet for a long moment. “I hope so. I believe the changes are necessary and I have faith that they will make a difference. Is it enough? It is impossible to know.”

Yan hummed, a mirror of the sound Kenobi had made a few moments before. “Indeed. You are wise beyond your years, young one.”

“Thank you.” Yan could almost hear the wry smirk in Kenobi’s voice.

They reached the cantina, which Mereel claimed was the oldest on the planet, and were enfolded back into the group. He did his best to keep his attention off Kenobi for the rest of the tour, but found it quite difficult. More and more questions. And yet, no answers.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan had managed to avoid any more one on one conversations with either Dooku or Sifo-Dyas the rest of the day. They had been thoroughly distracted for the remainder of the tour and Obi-Wan had sat at the opposite end of the table at dinner, though that decision had been Jango’s. His vod had not been subtle as he bodily herded him away from his usual seat towards the far end. Since he wasn’t keen on an interrogation just yet, Obi-Wan allowed this with no small amount of amusement.

It wouldn’t last forever though. The Jedi had made no secret of the fact that he was their primary reason for coming here. They would corner him eventually. Now that Master Tholme knew it was him who wrote the proposal, that moment would come even faster. The problem was, he didn’t know what to say to them. He’d seen what he needed to see, and now he was starting to regret his decision to allow them to come to Mandalore.

Quinlan was an excellent distraction. The next day, he found Obi-Wan after his early morning meditation and dragged him to the training yards.

“You said you were going to teach me to fight a Sith,” Quinlan said as he shoved Obi-Wan into the center of one of the unused spaces. “So teach me.”

“Alright then, if you’re so eager.”

Truthfully, there were many things that he would need to show Quinlan before Obi-Wan felt confident having him by his side against a Sith. Most of those things did not include physical fighting in the least. However, Quinlan was nearly vibrating with excitement at his side and he knew that what Quinlan was looking forward to was a spar. So, he settled into a fighting stance and gestured for Quinlan to light his ‘saber.

The blue saber ignited with a hiss and Quinlan grinned at him briefly before settling himself. That brief moment was something that Obi-Wan would have to train out of him. In a real fight, Obi-Wan knew that Quinlan would be far more focused, but any hesitation against a Sith would be used against him. They couldn’t afford to be distracted or caught off guard. For now though, Obi-Wan simply attacked.

Fighting against an armed Jedi without a ‘saber of your own is not something encouraged for those of sane mind. Mandalorians, as a rule, did not adhere to this logic and were apt to attack without thought of the blazing blade that could shear through metal like hot butter. Beskar was a match for kyber crystals and would hold against even a direct hit in most cases, though it came out worse for wear. It gave them a sense of imperviousness. Obi-Wan didn’t have beskar armor at the moment, and he kept that in mind as he ducked low and came up under Quinlan’s guard and punched him hard in the solar plexus.

Quinlan stuttered and wheezed as he backed up frantically. Obi-Wan allowed him no reprieve. He kicked his leg out from under him, grabbed the handle of the ‘saber, and twisted the blade around to point at Quinlan’s neck.

“First point goes to me, it seems,” Obi-Wan said cheekily.

Quinlan got back to his feet and accepted the powered down lightsaber that Obi-Wan held out. He nodded gravely. “Point taken,” he said seriously. “Let’s try again.”

The next bout lasted slightly longer, in the sense that it was over in closer to a minute than a few seconds. Quinlan had learned not to let Obi-Wan get too close, but he’d forgotten that Obi-Wan was no ordinary Mandalorian and thus fell victim to a Force push, allowing Obi-Wan to once again disarm him and hold his own weapon to his chest.

“Again,” Quinlan demanded.

Again and again they fought. Obi-Wan wasn’t indulging in playful sparring this time. He didn’t throw in unnecessary flips or showy moves. He stalked Quinlan around the ring like a hunting striil until sweat dripped off his friend’s dark skin in rivulets and Quinlan was panting. All this, and Obi-Wan didn’t have a ‘saber of his own. Perhaps he should fight harder for Quinlan to stay on the ship when they went to Mustafar.

They had gathered a crowd by now. He could see from the corner of his eye as bets were placed. A few were on Quinlan’s side, perhaps thinking that his weapon would eventually give him the advantage or perhaps simply rooting for the underdog.

The Jedi were here too. He could feel Dooku’s eyes watching him as he bested Quinlan over and over. With each win, he could feel Dooku’s interest increase. His Force presence was muted, but focused and intent. Obi-Wan did his best to ignore him.

Quinlan, on the other hand, was becoming more creative as time went on. He began throwing objects at Obi-Wan with the Force after the fourth bout, though it was of no use. Obi-Wan simply avoided them, caught them, or sent them right back to sender. To his credit though, Quinlan never got sloppy, even as he tired and his limbs began to shake with exhaustion. Obi-Wan was getting tired as well now, though he hid it better. His body may have been stronger than it had ever been at fourteen, but he was still only a young teenager and this body had never gone through the rigorous trials of a long, full scale war. It didn’t have years of conditioning and training. His mind did though, and it was enough to keep granting him the ability to put Quinlan in the dirt for as long as necessary.

Finally, Quinlan called for mercy. He was on his knees, his back to Obi-Wan with his lightsaber held a few inches from his throat. Obi-Wan released him immediately and handed back his weapon. For a split second as he held out the silver hilt, he could see a thousand iterations of this moment. A ‘saber hilt offered in one hand, another hand reaching for it. Except, in this moment, he was the one holding the weapon and Quinlan was the one who had no idea what was coming.

“Damn, Obes,” Quinlan groaned as he shook out his aching limbs, “you weren’t kidding.”

“I wish I was,” he responded gravely. “You did well.”

“Hardly,” Quinlan snorted. “I just got my ass handed to me about a hundred times.”

“Thirty-seven,” Obi-Wan corrected. Most of those thirty-seven had lasted less than thirty seconds, but the record today was nearly three minutes. It was honestly better than he’d expected. Better than Anakin, certainly, who without fail devolved into incoherent rage after a few losses. It became impossible to instruct him on anything after that and it was usually best to keep their actual sparring sessions short.

“An impressive showing,” a deep voice said from behind him. “And unarmed, as well. Skills you learned on Melidaan, I suppose?”

Obi-Wan turned and smiled blandly at Master Dooku. The smile was hidden beneath his helmet, but he was sure Dooku could hear it in his voice when he said, “The Young often did not have weapons. In fact, it wasn’t until a few weeks before the Mandalorian intervention that we managed to obtain enough blasters for a decent portion of our army. Unarmed combat was, lamentably, often unavoidable.”

“Indeed.” Dooku’s tone dripped with suspicion. Of everyone here, he was most likely to understand exactly how it was that Obi-Wan twisted the truth. He never lied, not outright, but Obi-Wan had become quite adept at answering questions without actually answering them. From the expression on his face, Master Dooku had already caught onto this little talent of his.

“ Very impressive ,” Jaster agreed from Dooku’s side. He inserted himself between them and clapped Obi-Wan on the shoulder. “ You have been holding back on us, little warrior. ”

Obi-Wan ducked his head. “ Hardly. Quinlan wanted a demonstration on how a Mandalorian could defeat a Jedi. It is a different style of fighting than what I have been doing .”

“ I could see that ,” Jaster agreed. There was a gleam in his eye that proved that he was already thinking of how to integrate this in Obi-Wan’s training. “ I cannot wait to see how well you fight once you have one of those Jedi light swords. It will be something to see, I imagine .”

Obi-Wan didn’t know what to say to that, but before he could come up with something, Meis was suddenly right in front of his face. She was helmetless, allowing him to see her serious expression and blazing eyes that bored into his visor.

“ You will teach me how to do that ,” she said. “ I fight well, but I do not think I could fight like you just did. Tomorrow, here. Same time .” Then, she vanished back into the crowd.

Obi-Wan blinked after her. He had gotten used to her bluntness over the past few weeks, but she’d never been quite as abrupt as that. She must want to learn very badly. Well, he would never deny another being the knowledge they crave.

A few more congratulations and requests for lessons came while credits exchanged hands in the background. Some, mostly those who had lost said credits, came up to Quinlan to offer him pointers for next time. Quinlan soaked up the advice readily, nodding seriously with each point that was made. Obi-Wan smiled a little to himself. His friend learned quickly and, if he continued to improve at the rate Obi-Wan expected, he thought they might be ready for Mustafar in a few months or so. The wait would be galling, but manageable.

“Obi-Wan.”

He turned to see Master Sifo-Dyas standing before him, shoulder to shoulder with Dooku. He nodded to show the Jedi had his attention.

“I was wondering if I might speak to you at some point today, regarding your connection with the Force. Your fighting today showed that you have a very close, healthy connection with it, but I wanted to talk to you more about your visions. I have some experience in that area and I wanted to pick your brain a bit about what the Force is showing you.”

Obi-Wan had been expecting this. Sifo-Dyas had planned his moment well. Obi-Wan was tired, his guard down, and could not easily avoid the request without being rude. Sifo-Dyas himself was non-threatening and sincere, which made it even harder to refuse. Not that Obi-Wan had been planning to. Truthfully, he did wish to speak to him about it. Sifo-Dyas’ own visions were not exactly conventional, which was the main reason cited by the Council to ignore them. That unconventionality, however, was something Obi-Wan wished to know more about. An official investigation into Sifo-Dyas had been opened after the clones had been found on Kamino, but not much came of it. At least, not much that Obi-Wan had been privy to. He wanted to know more about it, about the nature of his visions and the accuracy. 

He inclined his head graciously. “I would be delighted. Perhaps after lunch we can share a cup of tea and have a talk.”

Sifo-Dyas smiled. “Excellent. I will see you then.”

There was still enough time before lunch to get cleaned up and meditate in the gardens, so Obi-Wan made his polite escape and headed back to the stronghold. Quinlan followed him, naturally, and once they were both showered and dressed, they headed toward the verdant garden that Obi-Wan had come to mentally refer to as ‘his.’

Someone must have alerted the other Force sensitives in Keldabe of his destination because, when they arrived, a good dozen or so were already waiting on the soft, green ground.

Contrary to popular opinion, meditation had not always come easily to him. As a child, he’d struggled to sit still and let himself be at one with the Force. Partially, he’d been scared of losing himself, either to the Force itself or to the visions that he only ever half-remembered upon waking. Partially, it was because he’d struggled, like all children, to sit still and not allow himself to be distracted by the dizzying number of things that demanded attention. He’d learned eventually, of course, but it had been a hard won skill. Now, it was as natural as breathing. The trick these days was to consciously keep himself from leaving his body entirely. Group meditation made that far easier. He could ground himself in their light and remain rooted in the here and now.

And how bright they were. Each and every one of them. He let himself sink into the meditation and reached out gently to brush against those burning stars. They brushed back and the Force sang with happiness, like a contented sigh.

Against his chest, he felt his solari crystal glow and hum with equal happiness. It was ready, he thought. He would ask Jaster today for the parts to make a hilt. He wouldn’t begin its construction yet, not even if Jaster somehow had all the pieces hidden away in his office, but within the week, he was sure.

He wasn’t sure how long they meditated for. He always had a habit of losing time while meditating and that had only gotten worse since his death and subsequent resurrection. Time meant nothing to the Force and, while in its grasp, it meant very little to him either. He roused himself, then gently led the others back to waking. He opened his eyes to Savage smiling at him, his little, pointed teeth sharp and joyous.

Obi-Wan smiled back. “You are doing exceptionally well, dear one,” he told him, and Savage’s grin widened. “Perhaps soon I can begin teaching you other things.”

“Like what?”

“How to move things with the Force, for one. You already have a solid grasp on empathy and the Living Force, but I could show you some practical, every day aspects of using it.”

“Yes, please,” Savage said, somewhere between excited and shy.

“Me too!” piped up another child, Bizath, if Obi-Wan remembered correctly.

“Yes, I can teach you some things soon as well, young one.”

A dozen other voices piped up then, all begging for more instruction. Obi-Wan was suddenly hit with the fact that he was very likely about to start an academy for Force-sensitive Mandalorians, which was exactly what Arla had accused him of. It hadn’t been his intention, but he was hardly upset about it. Though, he had significant doubts as to his ability to do so on his own.

Quinlan huffed a laugh and nudged his shoulder. “Master Kenobi,” he teased. “Looks like you will have quite a few padawans to teach, doesn’t it?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Yes, it rather does.”

Quinlan proceeded to rib him the entire way back to the stronghold for lunch.

“Is this the reason you were arguing for Jedi masters to have more than one padawan? You want a little hoard of Force-sensitive children to follow you around?”

Obi-Wan kept walking with his head high and did not sigh, because he had more self-control than that. He didn’t respond, even as he felt the corner of his mouth twitch in the slightest of smiles.

Lunch was a casual affair, as usual. He and Quinlan raided the kitchen like a pair of hungry nexus, not even bothering to sit down. He’d forgotten how ravenous being a teenager made him. His stomach felt like a gaping pit on a good day and, after this morning’s work out, he was ready to eat a gundark. Quinlan must have felt much the same because he didn’t speak as they tore through several plates of food.

When they were done, surrounded by the remains of empty plates and crumbs, Obi-Wan leaned against the counter and let out a slow breath. He felt a frisson of fear thinking about talking to Sifo-Dyas. He still firmly believed that it was a fundamentally bad idea for people to know the truth about his situation. Quinlan was an exception, and he thought Master Tholme might know more than he let on, but he was certain on a bone-deep level that it was dangerous for too many people to know. Master Dooku may remain on the side of the Light, but he couldn’t help but feel that his position was still precarious. Therefore, he would have to be exceedingly careful in what he said, and how he said it, when he met with the Jedi.

“So,” Quinlan said, “Master Sifo-Dyas.”

Obi-Wan smiled wryly. “Yes. I promised to meet him after lunch.”

“Uh huh. Do you want me to go with you?”

“Thank you, my friend, but I’ll be alright. Besides, I have a feeling our conversation will be rather technical and I’m afraid that you would grow bored rather quickly.”

Quinlan frowned. “Even so, you know that I would –”

“I know,” Obi-Wan said genuinely. “And I appreciate it, but truly I will be fine on my own.”

Quinlan nodded and bumped his shoulder against his. “I’m not worried about you.”

Obi-Wan laughed and bumped him back. “Of course. In any case, I must go find him. I’ll talk to you later.

“Bye, Obes,” Quinlan said as Obi-Wan walked away. Then, louder, he called, “You absolute shebs ! Come back here and help me clean up!”

Obi-Wan just laughed and kept walking. Shame on Quinlan for not realizing what he was doing until he was already out of the room.

He found Sifo-Dyas in his room. He and Dooku had each been granted a room in the guest wing of the stronghold. He was alone, which was a slight surprise. He’d expected to see Dooku lurking, wanting to be privy to their conversation. He supposed that, instead, Sifo-Dyas planned to fill him in later. 

“Ah, Obi-Wan, please, come in.” Sifo-Dyas gestured for him to sit across from him at the low table which already held a steaming pot of tea. Obi-Wan sat, legs crossed, and removed his helmet.

“It is nice to formally meet you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Sif-Dyas said formally. “You’ve become somewhat of a topic of conversation among the Order.”

Obi-Wan hid a grimace. “Is that so?”

Sifo-Dyas smiled sympathetically. He poured them both a cup of tea. “I’m afraid so. A padawan thought to have left the Order of his own volition, who was later discovered to have joined an army of child soldiers and brought peace to a seemingly endless war? And by calling for help from the Mandalorians, no less.”

Ah, yes, that was quite a unique situation, he supposed. “The Mandalorians were uniquely suited to end the conflict and provide aid, especially given that the population most at risk consisted primarily of children.”

The Jedi hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, I quite agree, though I regret that it was not the Order who could be relied upon for help with Melida/Daan.”

Obi-Wan nodded to show his appreciation, though truthfully he was getting almost tired of the apologies. Their regret did not change what happened, nor the fact that no matter any individual Jedi’s willingness, the Senate would never have agreed to such comprehensive aid, particularly of the financial kind. Palpatine was nothing more than a senatorial aid at this point, so the immorality of the senate could not be placed solely on his shoulders. The rot had taken root long before he came into office.

He took a sip of the tea. It was lovely, light and floral. It tasted green and ever so slightly sweet. It must have been brought from the Temple.Mandalore sadly did not have a robust selection of teas, much to his dismay, though Jaster had taken to ordering different types every time he sent for supplies off-planet. Obi-Wan appreciated the gesture more than words could say. Still, this particular blend was unique to the Temple’s gardens. He hadn’t had it in such a terribly long time. It tasted like home.

“I’m not sure if you’ve heard rumors about me, when you were at the Temple,” Sifo-Dyas said with a rueful expression that proved just how much he knew of those rumors, “but I have had a rather singular experience with the Force which has left me with some intense visions. I have been informed that something similar is true for you as well.”

Obi-Wan nodded. He decided to be frank. “I know of your encounter with a Sith artifact which has left you with often debilitating Force visions, visions which are largely disregarded by the Order at large for their apparently Dark origin.”

He took a breath. “My visions are similar in the sense that they can be disruptive and exhausting, though their origin is quite different. You could say that the Force has…taken a particular interest in me.”

Sifo-Dyas hummed and sipped his tea, saying nothing.

“I believe that the Force wants change. Big changes, across the entire galaxy. I am fortunate to have found people who believe my visions and give me the freedom to act on them as I see fit. Would you tell me of your own visions, that I could compare them to what I have been shown?”

“Of course,” Sifo-Dyas said readily. “That was my intention, in requesting this meeting. The visions themselves have changed drastically as of late, perhaps due to the Force’s desire as you have said and your own role in instigating those changes. I will tell you of what they used to be and the ones I’ve had in the past few months.”

Obi-Wan didn’t let the surprise show on his face. Sifo-Dyas’ visions had changed? A promising sign, to be sure. He waited with baited breath to hear what Sifo-Dyas had to say.

The original visions were grim indeed. If Sifo-Dyas had been the one to create the clone army and put into motion that which he’d been accused of, Obi-Wan could almost see why. A great, inexorable Darkness creeping over the galaxy, swallowing it piece by piece. A faceless army in identical white armor sweeping over a wide swath of land, trying their best to tear apart the Dark at the roots and failing at every turn. An empty Temple bathed in red, red like blood, red like the sickly light from a thousand ‘sabers. A puppeteer in a dark hood, face shrouded, pulling strings with malicious glee. A hundred thousand deaths, a haunting scream, a hissing breath that echoed. It was a terrible array of images to be plagued by.

Obi-Wan had to focus hard to avoid losing himself to the memories as Sifo-Dyas spoke. No one had known, no had believed , even with the very clear warnings that Sifo-Dyas had received. It made the tragedy so much sharper, digging into Obi-Wan’s sternum and making it hard to breathe.

“Then, recently, it changed. The army was still there, but it was different. There was…hope. It didn’t feel like a battle that had already been lost before the first blaster shot was fired. There was less death, less darkness. And, there was you.”

“Me?”

Sifo-Dyas nodded and poured them both another cup. “The figure had armor painted like yours, though his was not durasteel. It was mostly beskar, I believe, though I am far from an expert on such things. I could not see the color of his lightsaber – likely a detail hidden from me by the Force – but he held a blue shoto. He stood in the Darkness as a beacon of Light. He was the last bulwark against the dying of the light, a symbol to look to and fight for. After meeting you, I have no doubts that that figure was you.”

Obi-Wan blinked. That was…

“Oh,” he said faintly.

“I recognize that such a future is daunting. For anyone, let alone one as young as yourself, but the Force was quite clear. If I believed in prophecies, as some among the Order, I would say that you are the Chosen One we have been waiting for. As it is, I believe that the Force has chosen you as one of its favorites and will use you against what is coming.”

He wanted to laugh, or maybe cry. He took another sip of his tea. He couldn’t taste it anymore.

“I see. Thank you for sharing this with me, Master Sifo-Dyas.”

“I am not sure that thanks are in order, especially given the look on your face, but you are welcome nonetheless. Will you share with me that which you have seen?”

Obi-Wan let out a breath and steeled himself. “Some of the same,” he admitted. “I have seen the army, though honestly I thought I had changed things enough to prevent their existence. It is…slightly disturbing to realize that I may have been wrong about that. I have also seen the Darkness. It is the return of the Sith. They were never gone, not completely, and have been biding their time while they waited to enact their revenge upon the galaxy.”

Sifo-Dyas nodded, unsurprised. “I have suspected as much for some time. In truth, I thought it quite arrogant of us to believe them to be completely eradicated. After all, how can you kill an idea? And is that not the core of both the Light and the Dark, our ideas? Ideals, philosophies, beliefs, these cannot be squashed by violence nor stripped from the universe by the root. They persist. It is our failing to have fallen victim to our arrogance in this regard.”

It was similar to what Obi-Wan had said in his proposal. His language hadn’t been so damning, but the central tenet was the same. He wondered if Sifo-Dyas was trying to subtly get him to admit to writing it. Had Master Tholme told the Order that he was its author?

Sifo-Dyas smiled at him as though he were aware of what Obi-Wan was thinking. “Yes, I am aware that you wrote the document which turned the Order on its head. I admit I regret that such a thing never occurred to me before. Though I doubt I could have done so thorough a job as you managed.”

“It was simply my own observations and the Force’s guidance. I am sure you would have done far better.”

“You sell yourself short, Obi-Wan. To say that the proposal was impressive is to say that Hoth is a little chilly. It was truly magnificent.”

Obi-Wan fought down a blush and cleared his throat. “The Force has also shown me other things, details that will lead to those things it showed you originally, if they are not changed. It is my goal to enact as many of those changes as I can manage.”

“A formidable task,” Sifo-Dyas commented lightly, though his brow was furrowed heavily. “And quite the weight to place on a fourteen year old, no matter how capable.”

“I have a team,” Obi-Wan countered. “And a plan.”

“Still, if there are tasks you wish to delegate, I will gladly accept. So will Master Dooku, and a significant number of masters among us. Just say the word, Lightbringer, and we will do what is needed.”

“Lightbringer?” he repeated with a chill running over his skin. The only other time he’d heard that term applied to him was in the tunnels below Jedha. It was jarring to hear from the mouth of a master who did not even know him.

Sifo-Dyas looked confused for a moment, as though he hadn’t meant to say the word and didn’t know why he’d done so. “I…I believe it is something I heard in a vision. If they do not call you that now, they will.”

The words had the weight of prophecy to them and Obi-Wan shivered.

“The galaxy is lucky to have you, Obi-Wan Kenobi, of Clan Mereel. I look forward to seeing what you will do in the years to come.”

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan stepped into the garden and felt the peace of it wash over him. After meditating here with the younglings for so many weeks, the place had become steeped with the serenity they had manifested. It was an echo of the Room of a Thousand Fountains at the Temple, though it would take centuries to reach the level of ingrained tranquility that space had earned through generations of Jedi.

He took his time walking down the path. He ran his fingers over the broad, flat leaves near the entrance, then the prickly edges of the purple bushes, then the smooth red bark of the thin, tiny trees with their deep emerald leaves that sparkled in the sunlight like goldstone. He could feel the younglings before he turned the corner. They were excited for another meditation session, but more so for the proposed lesson that would come after. Still, their energy was not rowdy, but rather anticipatory.

He entered the meditation space, a smile on his face, and froze. Sitting there on the ground, surrounded by younglings, was Master Dooku. It took effort to keep the smile on his face.

“Hello, master,” Obi-Wan greeted.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Dooku said, gesturing to the loose circle that had formed. “I was told that you hold daily group meditations and I was curious.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said. He regained use of his legs and stepped forward to join them on the mossy ground. “All are welcome. I am glad to have you with us today.”

Obi-Wan was well accustomed to adapting to strange situations, had been even before his death, and this was no different. He took a subtle breath to center himself and treated this meditation just like any other.

“How is everyone doing today?”

He always liked to start by asking the younglings how they were doing. Arla was the oldest that typically joined him, with the rest being between four and seventeen, so they usually had quite a bit to say and adored the attention he gave them. He listened attentively as Bizath and Rozre played off each other to tell him a story about an art project they had completed in class. Sapt told him about her progress in push-pull with Iss. He was told about interesting flowers that had been encountered, food eaten, bugs seen (eaten or not), and games played. He allotted twenty to thirty minutes at the beginning of nearly every session to just catch up with his students. When their momentum finally began to fade, he stepped in smoothly to make the transition to meditation.

“I am glad to hear that you’ve all had such an exciting time since the last time I saw you. Now, are you all comfortable?”

There was quite a bit of shuffling and rearranging before a chorus of ‘yes!’ went up from the small crowd. Obi-Wan smiled at them.

“ Ori’jate . Please close your eyes.” He waited until all eyes were closed, including Dooku’s, before continuing. “Take a deep breath in. Feel it travel through your body. Focus on how your body feels, how the ground feels beneath you. Breathe out. Can you feel the Force? Reach for it, sink into it. Good. Let us begin.”

Ignoring Master Dooku’s presence was like ignoring a thorn that had gotten lodged in his skin. A minor inconvenience, but enough to drive him to madness if he let himself think about it too long. He guided the group through meditation, encouraging them this time to focus on a bush that was just coming into bloom. Savage in particular loved when their lessons focused on nature, so he tried to incorporate it as often as possible. He had quite a bit of practice with using the Living Force this way, so it was no trouble.

Dooku did not actively participate in the meditation. He was a spectator, his presence placid and unobtrusive. Even the curiosity that had been coming off him in waves since his arrival was completely hidden behind a sea of peace. He felt nothing like the Sith Master of the future-past. He felt like a Jedi. It wasn’t a surprise, yet Obi-Wan was surprised anyway. He hid it well, but that thorn dug a little deeper any time he allowed his attention to stray to that calm observer.

Their session ended without incident and Obi-Wan dismissed the group to whatever other activities they had planned for the day. A few stayed behind with questions, but after a short while he was alone with Dooku and Arla. Normally, Arla didn’t bother to stay after the meditation session, since she could ask him questions any time, but she obviously wanted to keep an eye on the Jedi.

“A masterful group meditation,” Dooku praised. “I know some masters at the temple who could learn from you.”

Obi-Wan felt himself blush deeply and did his best to push the reaction away. “I am flattered, Master Dooku, but I am sure it is not so impressive.”

“You underestimate yourself. Leading a group meditation is no small feat and to do so with untrained younglings? That requires patience and talent, both of which you seem to have to spare.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head in acceptance of the compliment. He instinctively wanted to demure further, but held his tongue. “Thank you, Master.”

“More and more I am certain that the Order has experienced a great loss in losing you, yet equally I am certain that you are exactly where the Force wants you to be. It is a curious contradiction.”

Obi-Wan hummed. “The Force works in mysterious ways.”

Dooku nearly smiled. “Indeed. I heard that you are now in possession of a kyber crystal. Will you be constructing your lightsaber soon? I admit I am curious to see your skill with a ‘saber, especially after your demonstration yesterday.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan confirmed. “I believe I am ready to begin construction as soon as I can get access to the parts. I was planning to ask the goran and Jaster about it today.”

“Excellent. In the meantime, I have brought something with me from the Temple which belongs to you. It should have never been taken from you in the first place.”

From his robe, he pulled a familiar silver hilt. It was a hilt he hadn’t seen in many, many years. His first lightsaber. The one he’d built as a youngling, after his first trip to Ilum. The one that Master Jinn had taken from him on Melida/Daan.

Obi-Wan blinked at the hilt for a moment before reaching out a slightly shaking hand. Holding it felt like reuniting with a childhood friend. He had changed irrevocably, but the bond was still there. It hummed in his palm, warm and welcoming. He swallowed.

“I admit that I should have given it to you sooner. I hope you accept my apology.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said hoarsely. Dooku didn’t offer a reason for withholding the weapon and Obi-Wan didn’t ask. He bowed shallowly to him, still gripping the hilt tightly.

“Thank you for returning this to me. If you’ll excuse me, I believe I need to meditate alone.”

“Understandable,” Dooku replied graciously. “I will see you at dinner.”

Arla shot him a concerned glance as Obi-Wan left the garden, but he just nodded at her to show that he was alright and simply needed a moment to himself. He’d never felt more grateful for his helmet as he shoved it on before joining the crowd.

For some reason, he found himself headed for the spot where he’d first met Sarad. It was secluded enough, which was his primary goal at the moment. He walked quickly to the tree he’d sat beneath then and collapsed to his knees.

His emotions were jangling in his head like a thousand discordant bells. The hilt in his hand fit perfectly in his too small palm, its crystal singing a song that was too nostalgic to bear. He set it down on a bed of fallen leaves and slumped against the trunk of the tree.

He’d never known what had happened to this blade in the original timeline. He’d had to go back to Ilum and get a new crystal after he’d been accepted back into the Order after Melida/Daan. That new lightsaber had been the one he’d bisected Maul with. It had been the one he’d carried into war. The one he’d fought Anakin with, fought Darth Vader with. This weapon had seen none of that, in either timeline. It was a piece of innocence preserved and returned to him.

A warm, wriggling body suddenly pressed against him and he opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed to see Sarad had found him. As if she’d known he needed comfort. He removed his gloves and pressed his hands into her fur, letting her lick his face.

“Hello, girl,” he said softly. “You have quite excellent timing.”

Sarad whined and pressed closer. He let her, holding on tightly.

If he were being honest with himself, he would admit that he’d been off kilter since the arrival of Sifo-Dyas and Dooku and had not regained equilibrium since. Especially since his conversation with Sifo-Dyas. He still saw the ‘faceless army in white,’ he said. The clones would still exist, despite his intervention. He did not know whether to weep with joy or grief, all he knew were the salty tears that made their way down his face onto Sarad’s soft head.

Did they already exist? Could he prevent the abuse of their childhood?

Had Cody been born yet?

Panic was making him lightheaded and it was only Sarad’s weight against his chest that kept him from losing himself to it completely. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, holding Sarad and crying, but he pulled himself back eventually. He sighed and rested his forehead on the striil’s shoulder. He had things to do today. He couldn’t afford to allow his emotions to debilitate him like this. He took a deep breath and sat back. A private meditation session would do him good.

An hour later, Obi-Wan was mostly restored. He was calm, at least. Calm enough to meet Meis in the training yard as promised.

Meis was waiting for him when he arrived. She was sparring with Cuvros. Nothing strenuous, just a way to work off some energy before Obi-Wan got there. He waved to her briefly and went to warm up before starting their lesson.

Now that he had his own ‘saber, it would be far easier to structure the lesson. He lit the blade and went through a few katas, letting his body refamiliarize itself with the different movements. He advanced to a more complicated set, first going through it slowly then speeding up. He went through it three times before he was satisfied and powered down the ‘saber.

Meis was watching him when he finished. There were also quite a few others who had paused in their own activities to watch him. Obi-Wan was slowly getting used to the attention he received every time he trained.

“ The blade suits you ,” Meis told him simply.

Obi-Wan accepted the compliment with a grin. “ It feels like home .”

She nodded in understanding. With a tilt of her head, she silently asked if he was ready to begin. He answered by settling into a fighting stance and she mirrored him from across the ring. The spar began like any other. Fighting with purely Mandalorian tactics, Meis had the upper hand. She was vicious, agile, and precise in her movements. A sniper in hand to hand as she was with a weapon, she targeted her opponent’s weaknesses with ruthless efficiency. It was something he admired about her.

It did not, however, allow her to easily fight against someone with the Force.

Meis had grown used to adapting to a Force push or other small aggressions. She was good at finding her position mid-air and flipping her body to land on her feet. She never hesitated, never faltered. Except when Obi-Wan pulled his blade.

She stumbled slightly at the hiss of the blade extending and Obi-Wan used the moment to sweep her feet and send her to the ground.

“ Lesson one, ” he said, helping her to her feet, “ never let a Sith catch you off guard. They will have many tricks and they will fight you mentally and emotionally as much as they fight you physically. Stay focused. ”

Meis nodded seriously and settled in for another fight. This one lasted much longer. Obi-Wan used the Force more liberally than he had since his arrival on Mandalore. He let it augment his speed, used it to predict Meis’ movements and redirect hits. He made himself untouchable via his blade and his connection to the Force. By the end, Meis was sweating and panting, but she hadn’t landed a single blow.

“ Lesson two ,” he said, “ never let a Sith get close enough to hurt you. ”

“ You did not win ,” Meis argued. “ It was a draw. ”

“ Was it? I am hale and alive at the end of our fight, and I did not expend nearly as much energy as you. Is that not a win ?”

She glared at him, then furrowed her brow thoughtfully. “ Your jetti’la ways are strange, but I am beginning to see their use. ”

Obi-Wan laughed. “ I am glad you see it that way. ”

Chapter Text

In orbit around Mustafar, Obi-Wan finally realized his mistake. He’d managed to maintain a cognitive dissonance between the Mustafar where Maul was being tortured into the perfect Sith acolyte and the Mustafar where he had confronted Anakin. Staring down at the angry red planet, however, he knew that he could no longer avoid the truth. This was the same planet where he’d stared into the sickly yellow eyes of his brother and seen only hatred and madness. This was where he’d fought, blade to blade against one of the most important people in his life. Here, he had heard him scream as he’d been swallowed by lava. It was here that the last vestiges of Anakin Skywalker died and Darth Vader emerged to torment the galaxy.

He kept his breathing controlled and held back the memories like incoming blaster fire. His new lightsaber, constructed just a few scant weeks ago, hummed at his side. This was not then. Anakin, if the timeline remained correct, would be born sometime within the year if he hadn’t been already, and he would be nothing more than a particularly bright, powerful child. He would be born a slave, but even that was relative safety compared to what could be. Obi-Wan had plans already in motion to save not only him and his mother, but the rest of Tatooine just as Anakin had always dreamed.

The priority right now was Maul. Darth Maul had been the subject of many of his nightmares and the cause of his greatest grief outside of Anakin’s Fall. Obi-Wan feared him still. Maul was the first Sith he’d ever faced, the first the universe had seen in centuries, and he’d never forgotten that moment. He’d never forgotten the terror of realization when he and Qui-Gon had understood who it was they faced. He’d never forgotten the helplessness he’d felt at being separated from his master at his greatest moment of need. The final blow that felled Qui-Gon Jinn was forever burned into his memory, a brand against his psyche. Maul’s triumphant face haunted his dreams and he knew Maul’s voice better than he remembered his own master’s.

Yet, Maul had been a victim too. He had been taken from his home and cruelly twisted into a creature that knew only hatred and suffering. That was no life for a child, no life for anyone. Obi-Wan simply hoped he was in time to save Maul from the worst of it.

“You’re brooding .”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile. “Is this what our relationship is to be? ” he asked Dakii. “You pointing out my emotions to me? ”

She laughed. “I was not aware that ‘brooding’ was an emotion, but yes, I suppose so. Someone has to, since you clearly were never taught emotional intelligence .”

Obi-Wan let out a surprised bark of laughter. If only people at the Temple knew the Mandalorian view of the Jedi emotional control. It was dangerous for Force users to let their emotions run rampant. It was a risk that Force nulls simply could not understand to indulge in anger or hatred or overwhelming fear. Yet in their attempt to avoid such perils, they moved entirely in the other direction. There is no emotion, there is peace.

The Mandalorian way was closer to the old Jedi creed: Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony . There was a time and a place for each emotion. Anger is an energy that can be used to help a warrior face down a stronger opponent, yet it is also a potential weakness to be exploited. It is healthy to grieve, yet an insult to lose oneself to grief entirely and forget to live. The danger that Mandalorian teachings cautioned against was more about inappropriate use of emotion rather than danger from the emotions themselves.

Not all Mandalorians were good at following those teachings, of course. It took years of dedicated effort to gain control over one’s emotions no matter which philosophy was being followed. Mandalorians were more likely to talk a fellow verd through their turbulent emotions over a glass of ne’tra gal than a Jedi, however, and he could see the difference that attitude made. He could not imagine actually talking through his emotions with Master Qui-Gon.

“Release your emotions into the Force, padawan,” he would have said. “Stay in the present. Do not let yourself be clouded by feelings and doubts.”

He meant well, Obi-Wan knew, but those teachings hadn’t taught him anything but how to avoid emotions like his life depended on it.

“I was not brooding,” he said after a moment. He ignored the incredulous tilt of her head. “I have seen this place so many times in my dreams. I feel as though I know it. Its heat, its rivers of lava, the pain soaked into the very air. This is a place of suffering and evil. Just being here is torture for a Force sensitive individual. I can not imagine what it would do to one being trapped here for years, even without the additional…teachings of a Sith lord.”

Dakii stood next to him and looked out the viewport. “The suffering of a child is never acceptable. It is good that the stars have sent you to help them. Maul will need our patience and support for a long time, more than most children who come into our care. But do not worry, little warrior. Maul will heal, with time. We will make sure of it. ”

Obi-Wan dipped his head in acknowledgement and gratitude. He knew that the Mandalorians would be good for Maul. They would not condemn his violent reactions nor judge him for his past; they would simply love him and care for him as they would any child.

The ship began its descent. Obi-Wan carefully folded away every memory of ship crashes he’d been in and clung to the present moment and his faith in his pilot. He focused on the hum of the engine beneath his feet and the feel of his armor providing a comforting weight against his skin. The miasma of pain, anger, and darkness grew closer and closer. He breathed it in, then breathed out light. He might be entering the Darkness, but he was doing so as a beacon of light and he would not let himself be snuffed out.

Quinlan followed Obi-Wan closely as they made their way toward the massive Sith temple. Mustafar was stiflingly hot, the very ground burning. Obi-Wan steered his speeder deftly, avoiding lava and unexpected geysers with alacrity. The rest of the team followed his path as exactly as possible, moving in a tight, slithering line.

Obi-Wan had said that the Sith lord was not currently on the planet. He’d been certain about this, though Quinlan wasn’t sure how he could distinguish any life forms from the overwhelming agony screaming within the Force from the planet’s very core. A Sith lord could easily hide their Force presence among such darkness and chaos. 

He knew that if Obi-Wan had his way he’d be on this planet alone. There was a hesitancy to him every time he included the rest of them in his plans to rescue the zabrak child. He’d been training them hard, especially him and Meis, but Jango, Njais, Lanni, and Cuvros as well. He’d been ruthless. Quinlan had had some tough teachers, but none like Obi-Wan. In spars, he exploited every hesitation, every sign of weakness. He pushed them through grueling physical conditioning, then dragged them through mental exercises that made Quinlan feel like his brain was going to leak from his ears. Obi had called it a ‘Sith fighting crash course’ and Quinlan was shocked how much improvement he’d seen in his own fighting ability in just a few weeks. Yet, every mistake, every tiny misstep or pause, made Obi-Wan frown. He tried to conceal his disappointment, yet they all felt it. It made them work harder, put in longer hours, until Obi-Wan finally seemed to deem them ready. Or, his visions pushed him to accept their skill level even though he thought they might never truly be ready.

Quinlan was surprised by the frequency and strength of Obi-Wan’s visions. He knew that they had plagued him as a child, but he would have thought that having lived an entire life and come back in time would have exempted him from that. Instead, it seemed to be the opposite. According to Obi-Wan’s account of the future-that-was, Jinn had essentially trained him out of his visions by the time he was sixteen. That wasn’t going to happen now, even if such a thing were possible or advisable. Quinlan isn’t even sure how Jinn did that to begin with. 

Obi-Wan traversed Mustafar as though he’d lived here his whole life. Quinlan wasn’t sure if that was because of the future he had lived, his visions, or simply his communion with the Force, but in any case, they made it all the way to the front steps of the temple with no complications. The Sith probably assumed that no one would be crazy enough to come down to this planet and thus no traps or guards were necessary. A reasonable assumption, even if it appeared arrogant, and would hold against anyone who was not Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Obi-Wan parked his speeder and hopped down. He was amazingly light-footed for one weighed down by durasteel armor. The rest of them stopped behind him and stepped onto the black, rocky ground. Volcanic rock and cooled magma composed the solid surface of the planet. The temple itself was made of sharp, obsidian spires that stabbed toward the red sky like knives made of black glass. Some sections of the stone walls were rough and raw, while others were smooth enough to reflect dull red and orange as though the building itself were burning.

Obi-Wan used hand signals to send everyone but Quinlan circling the building. Jango and Arla went left, Lanni and Njais went right, and Meis began free climbing up the side of the temple in search of a useful perch. Obi-Wan turned to him, his helmet expressionless and his emotions locked down tight behind his shields. 

“Are you ready, my friend?”

“Always,” Quinlan replied with a sharp grin. Obi-Wan nodded once and led them inside.

It was quiet. There was no sound at all once they stepped over the threshold, the air as thick as the inside of a tomb. Quinlan’s shields were high, strengthened as they had been by Obi-Wan’s tutelage, yet he could still feel echoes of pain and death here. It was soaked into the walls, the floors, the air, like a twisted mirror version of the Jedi temple on Coruscant. Quinlan did his best to ignore it. He tugged on the edges of his gloves to ensure they were on properly and wouldn’t slip. It would be uniquely terrible to touch anything in this building.

Obi-Wan moved forward slowly, but inexorably. He moved differently than he used to. He’d adapted well to the stalking grace of a Mandalorian, his center of gravity low as he prowled through the halls. He held his lightsaber in one hand, unlit, and his helmet moved side to side as he watched for traps. The hallways all looked the same to him, but Obi-Wan seemed confident so Quinlan didn’t question as they continued forward.

The walls here were covered in layers and layers of scratches, as though centuries of creatures trapped inside had tried to claw their way out. The long hallway was perfectly rectangular, the walls oppressively geometric as they stretched above their heads. Once, Quinlan thought he heard screaming coming from one of the rooms they passed, but when he peeked inside, there was only a broken 'saber hilt. He shivered and backed out quickly.

A row of busts carved from the same obsidian as the building lined the middle of the hallway. He did not recognize any of their faces, but he could make an educated guess. Previous Sith, lined up in chronological order. Each one killed by his apprentice in an enduring line of bloodshed and betrayal. Quinlan paused to lean toward the first one, the one who must have begun all this terrible business. He was more ordinary looking that Quinlan would have imagined. He was human, bald, with what looked like might be tattoos around his eyes. His lips were turned down in a perpetual frown, his stone eyes full of hate.

The Force suddenly reverberated with rage and pain that slammed against Quinlan’s defenses so hard they shattered. He dropped to one knee with a groan, his free hand coming up to the side of his head. Despair welled up in him in a tide that swept through his bones and he knew there was nothing they could do against this enemy. There was no option left except to lay down and show his belly like an eopie before a krayt dragon. His bones ached beneath the pressure of the unknown force. He was nothing, he was weak, he was dirt. The Darkness was ubiquitous, unstoppable, inevitable. There was no fighting something that simply was. Was the universe, was the space between, was the twisted heart of sapient life, was the selfish desire to live and own and have.

The Sith, a scrap of his still conscious mind realized. This was what they faced. This is what Obi-Wan had been training them so hard for. It was all for nothing. He was going to die here.

“Get up.”

Quinlan whined. He didn’t understand the voice. It sounded familiar, but how could he think to stand when he was in so much agony? Who was this person to tell him to push against the weight of Hel itself?

“I said stand!” This time the voice came with a burst of light so bright Quinlan cried out. He opened his eyes to see Obi-Wan standing there, bathed in brilliant gold from his lightsaber. It seemed to glow brighter than an ordinary lightsaber, brighter even than it had yesterday during their spar. It was nearly blinding in the darkness that surrounded them. Quinlan’s eyes watered and he looked away.

With Obi-Wan bolstering his shields, he was able to stand and shake off the effects of that terrible attack. Still, his limbs trembled and his heart raced. Obi-Wan stood firm, his hand steady as he held his ‘saber aloft.

“Forward,” he commanded. Quinlan could do nothing but follow.

Chapter Text

Yoda’s ears twitched as the cacophony in the room continued to roar on. The Force was a faint chime beneath the din, like a wind chime barely audible above a raging wind, but Yoda heard it anyway. It was a peaceful, almost innocently happy tune that reminded him of the laughter in the creche. He focused on it, rather than the arguments around him as he gathered his thoughts.

He had only returned from Ledeve yesterday. It had been an enlightening excursion, one that made him wish he had not given up traveling outside of the temple these past few years. Few decades, if he was being honest. It had granted him some of the perspective he’d asked the Force for and he was grateful.

“This committee, we created,” he said. He interrupted Master Piell mid-sentence, but he took little notice of the lannik’s twinge of offense, instead nodding at the silence that fell at his words. “Listen to their suggestions, we will. Long stagnant, we have been. Showed us this, the Force has. Change, we must, even if uncomfortable, we are.”

The room shivered with negative emotions as the Council released them into the Force before settling into tense anticipation.

“Thank you, Master Yoda,” Master Vesresh said. He was the spokesperson that had been elected from the committee which had been formed only five weeks ago. It was a quick decision, hasty even, but the Force had sung with glee when the idea had first been brought up in the meeting and they were Jedi. They could not go against the will of the Force, even if following it went against their ingrained sensibilities.

Change was not something that came easily to Yoda, nor many of the other masters in the temple. Their traditions had stood for centuries, many of them with good reason. It shook them to their core to even consider altering – or abandoning – any of them. When the proposal had first arrived, Yoda could admit that he had been troubled. He had taken time to meditate in the gardens on what this meant for the Order. Like his dear grand-padawan Jinn, Yoda was deeply entrenched in the Living Force. He did not often think about the future, especially not in concrete terms and certainly never to dwell on possibilities and fears, but he found himself struggling that day to imagine the path the Order would have to take. He stayed in deep meditation for what he thought might have been hours, but later learned was two days. Change was never easy, but change they must, and so he had given his support for a select team of Jedi to meet and discuss what those exact changes were to be.

Master Nu had volunteered immediately, armed with a threatening stack of datapads and the Force around her shimmering with determination. Master Plo was the second volunteer. Some argued that members of the council should not be allowed to also be on the committee, but before Yoda could speak against such constraints, Master Koth stepped in to argue that all Jedi had a responsibility to work towards the betterment of the Order, regardless of their current status. It had still taken over an hour to reach a consensus on that point, but eventually it was decided that Master Koth’s point had merit and any Jedi who wished to become part of the council may petition to do so.

In the end, the council was made of twenty-four representatives. Two crechemasters, the Order’s battle master Cin Drallig, three council members, five corpsmen, and an assortment of Jedi from other areas in the Order. It was an eclectic mix, as Yoda supposed was the intention, and they had met daily to discuss the issues they were tasked to address. Today, they were bringing the first of those proposed changes to the council.

“The first and most pressing issue is that of initiates and padawans. The council largely agrees with the points that were brought forward by the Proposal, and we have discussed various ways to address them. Some action has already been taken, such as with bringing representatives from the Corps to present in front of initiates, but others will take longer to undertake. What we propose is this: We wish to raise the age limit for padawans to be chosen from thirteen to fifteen, eliminate the Rule of One, and begin a rotation program for padawans within their first year of apprenticeship that will allow them to choose an area of study outside of traditional learning. If you will allow, I would ask Master Tyyyvok to explain our reasoning for the first point, then move on to Master Kuun to discuss the second and finally Master Mivrul to define the rotation program in detail. Master Tyyyvok, if you would.”

Master Tyyyvok, who was at the moment in charge of the Tauntaun Clan in the creche, stepped forward with a soft roar of gratitude toward Master Vesresh. She began what was clearly a prepared speech, but Yoda listened with only half an ear. The Force’s chime had gotten louder, though subtly so. Yes, a good decision, this was, to put together this committee. Good changes, these were. Yoda sat back in his chair, satisfied for now.

Jango would like to ask, yet again, why his vod’ika always seemed to get into these situations. He walked in a prowl that was half a crouch, his HUD sensitivity turned all the way up and his attention firmly fixed on the frankly disturbing number of places that would be good to hide an ambush on this daworir’la planet. He didn’t actually know if it smelled as rank as it looked like it should, but he wasn’t going to take off his helmet to check. He wasn’t his din’la vod. 

So far, they’d encountered no hostiles. Obi-Wan had told them that this area of the planet was likely to be empty except for the ad they were rescuing and ‘hopefully not the Sith who took him.’ It hadn’t really reassured Jango, and his bad feeling got even worse when Obi-Wan went on to warn them about the traps they were likely to find. Not just magic, but magic that was specifically designed to harm them. Sometimes physically, but also mentally and emotionally. He took a second to glance at Arla out of the corner of his visor and saw her moving along in the same way he was. He’d asked if those that are ka’ra’tigaan’a would be more affected, and he’d received the closest Obi-Wan ever got to a grimace, which was a resounding yes. It made him worried for his vod’ika , but even more so for his ori’vod . She’d already been taken from him for years by the Ka’ra , he didn’t think he could handle it if she was taken from him again.

A rock fell several meters away from them, sliding down a small, black hill noisily. He shifted his blaster in that direction instantly and Arla did the same beside him. They had both stopped, poised for an attack, but none came. It was likely the wind, or natural shifting that caused the small rock to fall, but the two of them remained wary, watching for any sign of an enemy before they finally moved on. 

Their job was to find a side or back entrance and meet Obi-Wan and Quinlan in the middle. If they found Maul first, they were to subdue him as carefully as possible and get him back to the ship. If they encountered anyone who was not the zabrak child, they were given strict orders from Obi-Wan not to engage and to retreat as quickly as possible. He had never seen Obi-Wan as serious and commanding as he had been in the briefing for this mission, and Obi-Wan as a chronically serious child. His blue eyes had looked at them with a piercing, unrelenting stare as he drove his point home. There would be no deviations, no rogue actions, and any anomalies were to be reported directly to him. There had been a moment when, looking at Obi-Wan then, he hadn’t seen his much younger sibling. He’d seen a seasoned warrior familiar with command who demanded obedience in the field. Jango hadn’t even thought of arguing.

Now, being on this planet, he thought he might understand the reason for the gravity in Obi-Wan’s voice. If Jango were to put himself on a scale from Force-sensitive Jedi to inanimate object who isn’t aware magic exists, he’d put himself at the lowest end. He trusted the things he could see and feel, not ‘the fabric of the universe which guides us’ or whatever nonsense. Still, even he could tell that this planet was…dark. Not dark like the night to act as cover during a hunt, but the darkness that could swallow you whole and no one would even hear your screams. The darkness that lived in the hearts of those who relished in the pain of innocents and those beneath them. It was the darkness of slavery, of sweeping, senseless evil and suffering. Being here, he could almost imagine what it would be like to hear something beyond the world he could see. If he had a connection to the Ka’ra , he imagined it would be screaming.

Despite that, Arla seemed to be steady enough and he took the cue from her to focus on the mission. So far, they’d seen no other way into the massive stone structure. There were windows, but they were up high enough and built small enough to be problematic even with their jetpacks. They’d seen no other doors, no seams or breaks in the smooth black surface that would indicate a hidden entryway. They kept going. Eventually, they rounded the back of the building and saw Lanni and Njais walking towards them from the other side. A slight bit of tension eased from him at seeing them unharmed. He was relieved that none of them had run into one of those traps Obi-Wan had warned them about, but it simply made him feel like there was a disaster waiting just ahead.

The two groups met in the middle and they looked at each other for a moment before Lanni and Jango turned wordlessly to stand guard while Njais and Arla took a closer look at the back wall. Not having an alternate exit was as foolish as it was unlikely. They’d discussed the possibility that the temple had tunnels that allowed for alternate egress, but that was honestly a worst case scenario. Tunnels would be prime location for traps and hidden combatants. If they couldn’t find a way in this way, they would be forced to either go back toward the front or follow Meis’ jare’la method of free-climbing the damn thing. Jango emphatically did not want to do that.

“Oh,” he heard Arla say softly, and he turned his head to see her hovering her hands above the wall in the vague shape of a door. “Of course.”

Then she did…something, and a rectangle of obsidian sank into the wall, revealing a black metal door locked with a biometric key. It seemed a bit like overkill to him, to require both the Ka’ra and a mechanical lock, but then again, what did he know? He nodded to Lanni.

“Can you slice it?” he asked.

“Does a bantha shit in the sand? ”

Jango just shook his head and gestured for her to get on with it already. That bad feeling was increasing and he had a sudden empathy for Obi-Wan. Was this how he felt all the time? No wonder he sometimes acted like a tired old man.

He waited impatiently for Lanni to do her thing, scanning their surroundings restlessly. There were no animals here, no plants. It was dead. The only things that were active at all were the volcanoes. There were supposedly beings who lived here, on the other side of the planet, but right now, looking at it, he had no idea how. 

The quiet was what was getting to him. With his HUD tuned to the smallest noises, he could hear the rushing of lava as it poured out from under the crust, cooled, and poured on top of the still hot rock. Yet there was little else. The wind. The beeping of Lanni’s work behind him. His own breathing. He almost wished something would happen just to break this terrible tension.

“Got it,” Lanni said softly. The door swung open at her words and Jango signed for himself and Arla to go first and sweep out, followed by the other two. Njais would be in charge of closing the door behind them. The only way out from here was through.

It was dark inside, dark enough that it was hard for his HUD to adjust for a moment and he spent half a breath blind. When his visor switched to night vision, he found there wasn’t much to see. Tall pillars leading up to a taller ceiling, some ugly looking statues, a dry fountain made of the same obsidian as the temple. Mostly, it was an open space, almost as if it were designed for sparring or some other activity that required a lot of room, though the hard, bare floor would make for some unforgiving training sessions.

He signed for them to move forward. They stepped softly, their boots rolling on the ground to quiet their steps, but every sound seemed amplified in here. The susurrus of kute against beskar , the normally inaudible whir of their thermoregulators, even the breaths that were muffled by their helmets echoed in the space. He quickly changed his mind and signed for them to all fall in and move as a pack. It would be better if they were close enough to watch each others’ backs in a place like this.

Still, he heard nothing that was not himself and his ramikade . It should have been a good sign, a sign that they were going to find the ad and get out with no trouble, but he did not believe in trouble-less missions, not when Obi-Wan was involved. So he kept his guard up and pressed on into the darkness.

Obi-Wan had long been taught the importance of one’s lightsaber. It was his life. As often as he had lost it in battle during the Clone Wars, there had always been a part of him that knew it was not truly lost . And then, when the battle was done or when he needed it most, there it was, most often delivered to him by a disgruntled Cody along with a nonverbal reprimand. He had never forgotten its importance, to him personally or as a symbol. He remembered the words spoken at the ceremony during which he had made his first lightsaber:

The crystal is the heart of the blade.

The heart is the crystal of the Jedi.

The Jedi is the crystal of the Force.

The Force is the blade of the heart. All are intertwined: The crystal,The blade,The Jedi.

You are one.

Yet, for all that he had not forgotten, he had not known that a lightsaber could have such a presence of its own. The solari crystal hummed in his hand hard enough to vibrate his skin. It sang loudly, defiantly, in the face of the Darkness that surrounded them. He had felt Quinlan begin to fall into the trap laid by the Sith and for a moment he’d felt helplessly afraid. The well of Darkness was so deep, so complete, and he feared that if he reached for Quinlan he would fall victim as well and then they would truly be lost. Then, his ‘saber had practically leapt into his hand and he ignited it automatically. The blade had been breathtaking when he’d first built it. It was golden like the purest sunlight, yet almost pale in the light of day. Here, it shone a brilliant halcyon gold, so bright it was almost blinding. It lit the room and Obi-Wan found the strength to reach out to his friend and yank him back to the light.

He let Quinlan breathe for a moment, shaking, before continuing onward. Quinlan hadn’t technically done anything wrong; he hadn’t touched anything, hadn’t even gotten that close, yet the trap had been sprung anyway. It was a lesson for both of them and they moved forward cautiously.

It was dangerous to use the Force in a place like this, so he couldn’t simply reach out and locate Maul within its depths. They were having to do this the hard way, searching room by room. Obi-Wan thought it was most likely that Maul was being held in the lower levels, but that depended on how far he’d progressed in his training. It was possible that, as an apprentice, he was given the privilege of an actual room on one of the upper floors. Given his age however, it was more probable that Sidious was still working on breaking him and teaching him his place. Thus, when they came to a set of stairs that led downwards into levels below the surface of the planet, they descended.

Unlike many other planets, it grew hotter as they went down. Obi-Wan was blessed with thermoregulators under his armor, but Quinlan had no such luxury and Obi-Wan could see him begin to sweat. Normally, he could use the Force to help with the discomfort, but he would have to soldier on without it this time. Obi-Wan would keep an eye on him.

The stairs twisted, sometimes branching off in unexpected directions or stopping entirely. It made for slow, uncertain going. They had to backtrack twice at a deadend and three times they had to circumvent a trap that one or the other of them spotted. Obi-Wan was especially grateful that Quinlan had spotted the rather nasty one he nearly walked right into. He recognized it in retrospect as one that would have targeted his worst memories and made him relive them. He didn’t have time for that today.

He wasn’t sure how long it took for them to reach the bottom. Time was difficult to tell in here and he didn’t like the sensory input of a HUD that showed him all of the data that Jango preferred to see at all times, so he didn’t have a chrono readily available. Perhaps he would remedy that after this mission.

“Something is wrong,” Quinlan muttered to him, his voice pitched so low it was barely audible.

Obi-Wan frowned and looked around. They were in a torture room. There were chains and tables with straps for holding down limbs, a weapon case filled with knives and whips, and an entire wall filled with Sith artifacts made for torture. He repressed a shudder as he caught sight of an unfortunately familiar mask. It would be easy to dismiss Quinlan’s words as discomfort with their objectively terrible surroundings, but he trusted his friend’s intuition too much to ignore it.

“I agree,” he replied, equally quiet. He signed, Alert. Quinlan didn’t need the reminder, but he nodded anyway as they crept forward out of the room and into an austere hallway. This one had no statues or disturbing art on the walls, just blank black stone cut at severe ninety degree angles to make a perfect rectangle directly into the massive obsidian block that formed the temple’s foundation. 

There were a handful of rooms along the hallway, but they were just as empty as the rest of the temple, aside from more evidence of torture. Dried blood coated the walls and floors and the stone was scored with slashes and burns. Even with their shields as high as they could make them, both of them retreated quickly after they ensured there was no one inside. Finally they made it to the last door, the one the hallway led to. Obi-Wan took a deep breath before opening the door.

At first, he thought it might be more of the same, just in a much larger space, but then he noticed the details. The walls, floor, and ceiling were more rough hewn here than elsewhere. Tall pillars stretched from floor to ceiling, their polished edges flickering in the firelight from the torches that were burning along the walls. There was still blood coating the floor, but it led in a straight line towards the center of the room, layers and layers of it as though built up over decades, maybe even longer. A macabre carpet of rusty red. The trail led to a throne, cut in severe lines in a way that looked deeply uncomfortable. Dread filled his belly and spread through his veins. His ‘saber’s light wasn’t enough to hold it at bay.

“Quin,” he started to say. He wanted to tell his friend to run, to go back the way they had come and not stop running until he reached the ship, but the door slammed shut behind them before he could form another syllable. A distinct snap-hiss caused him to turn towards the back of the room, behind the throne, his lightsaber held defensively in front of him. The blade that stalked toward them was red.

Chapter Text

The Force did not have consciousness, not the way its Beloveds did. It did not hope or dream or want or hate. It did not adhere to such things as linear time or the laws of matter. It was simply the connection between all things. It bound atoms, it was the space between stars and it was the stars themselves. It was the sunlight upon a leaf and the soul of a living creature and the icy heart of a dead sun. If it were to desire anything, it would only desire balance, an equal push and pull between two things. Its Beloveds saw it as diametrical: Light and Dark. There was some truth to that, of course, when it interacted with the living, but at its heart the Force simply was . 

When the Jedi fell to the onslaught of the Sith’s plans, pain had ripped through the Force in a tidal wave large enough to rip apart a thousand suns. All of those souls had been delivered to it at once, all of them grieving and betrayed and so full of lost dreams. The balance had shifted. The balance had been shifting for quite a while, starting with the end of the wars which had stripped the Jedi of their strength and had wiped out all but two of the Sith. Those Sith had gone quiet as they plotted their revenge and resurgence, but the Darkness of the galaxy had only grown, both despite and because of them. By the end, there was very little Light left.

The Force’s Most Beloved One had been a beacon of that Light. He’d held onto scraps of hope with desperate fingers and cradled that flame in the desert for years. When he was gone, hope was not entirely lost, but his Light was now in its grasp and it did not want to see it subsumed by the Everything and Nothing that existed outside the realm of life. So, it made a choice.

Then, because it had made a choice, it made a few more, to make the path of the Most Beloved One easier. It reached out and touched the heart of one who had not known it before, a young girl whose brother would give life to two million lights, lights which it knew Most Beloved One had loved. It was a small thing, easily done, but it changed things.

Satisfaction was not something familiar to the Force, but it felt it the moment that the young girl reached out to it for help in a crucial moment to shift the tide. Its aid was too much for the young girl to handle, untrained and small as she was, but she was stronger than the Force had given her credit for and she held onto life with a fierceness that befitted her long lineage that marched among the stars. The Force could feel their pride in their child, and it was satisfied.

So, the Force decided to do more. Just a bit more; it couldn’t do as much as it would like to help the Most Beloved One, but it could be the small nudge that dropped a flower petal which led to a storm. The flower petal in question was from a large, particularly lovely rominaria which had bloomed wide in the gentle sunlight of Naboo. It fell innocently in a well groomed garden atop the head of a man resting below. He was a good man, as far as such distinctions went, and his heart was loyal to his people. He looked up at the soft touch at just right the moment to see another man in a place that he should not be. It sparked curiosity in him, and a touch of foreboding, which led him to pay closer attention. He brought his observations to his queen. Thus, the storm began in earnest.

Quinlan was not unaccustomed to fear. He’d felt others’ fear through his telemetry, bone-deep terror that made his childhood experiences of fear at getting in trouble seem like a pale imitation of the emotion. He’d touched objects of those who had been murdered, of survivors, of witnesses. He’d feared for Obi-Wan’s life when he was on Bandomeer, then on Melidaan, then on Dathomir. This fear was something else entirely. It consumed him, turning his limbs to ice and making his heart race so fast he wasn’t sure it was actually beating. He watched that blood red blade step closer to them and his eyes could focus on nothing else.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t believed Obi-Wan. He’d believed him the moment he’d told him about that other life he’d lived and his story had only been confirmed by everything that had happened since. Stepping into this temple had certainly made it impossible to believe that the Sith no longer existed. And yet, he had never imagined what it would be like to face a Sith in person. Cold menace radiated from the being in a steady wave, chilling the boiling hot room to something that would almost be considered a relief if it weren’t so evil. Quinlan found himself shivering, his hands shaking around the hilt of his lightsaber.

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure,” Obi-Wan said. His voice was as calm as the surface of a placid summer lake. Quinlan couldn’t take his gaze off the lightsaber in front of them, but from the corner of his eye he saw that Obi-Wan was standing in the opening stance of Soresu, his posture almost relaxed for all that it looked like he was ready to pounce at any moment. For a split second, Quinlan didn’t see his fourteen year old friend. He saw a man in his thirties, strong in body and in the Force, battle-hardened and fierce beyond all recognition. The Sith took another step forward and the image was lost, replaced by the reality in front of him.

The step brought the Sith into the light of the torches and Quinlan was finally able to see the figure beyond the lightsaber. He was tall and thin, his head elongated beneath the dark hood he wore. A Muun, he guessed. His face was wrinkled and gray, his eyes a blazing orange that seemed lit with a light of their own. They flickered dangerously in the firelight.

“The pleasure of killing you, Mandalorian, shall be mine,” the Sith replied in a deep, grating voice. 

Quinlan couldn’t see Obi-Wan smile beneath his helmet, but he heard it in voice when he said, “If you believe you can, then strike.”

Barely were the words out of Obi-Wan’s mouth when the Sith attacked. He moved furiously, fast even by Force user standards, and he struck hard. Obi-Wan blocked the blow with a tight move of his own ‘saber. The Sith was undeterred and stuck again, just as fast, only to be thwarted again by Obi-Wan’s defense. They circled each other, one attacking, one defending, and Quinlan lost count of the number of blows rained down on his friend. He had never seen Obi-Wan fight like this. Even when they were training together, there was always a sense that he was learning from a master who was patiently slowing down and simplifying their moves so that the learner could see and understand. His spars against fellow Mandalorians were usually hand-to-hand, though occasionally with vibroblades or beskar swords. His spar with Master Tholme was the closest he’d seen to Obi-Wan’s full prowess, but now he guessed that he might have been holding back. He was still small though, even with his armor, and his reach was limited. Quinlan saw him falter slightly once as he had to mentally adjust to the size difference. It wasn’t something he thought anyone else would have picked up on, but he had the unique knowledge necessary to understand what was happening. Unfortunately for Obi-Wan, understanding why he had to adjust his movements did not stop the Sith from being able to exploit the moment of weakness. The next time Obi-Wan had to catch himself from extending too far, his opponent struck and ‘saber met beskar with a searing hiss and Obi-Wan was pushed back. The Sith pressed his advantage and increased the energy of his attack, leaving Obi-Wan on the back foot as he fought desperately.

It was enough to finally galvanize Quinlan into action. He leapt forward and slashed down with his lightsaber at the Sith’s unprotected back. Before he could make contact however, the Sith suddenly spun and sent Quinlan flying with a Force push. Obi-Wan had made him practice this, however, and he was much better now at finding his center of gravity mid-air and landing on his feet rather than slamming headfirst into the wall as the Sith had intended. He straightened to find that at least his action had some positive effect. Obi-Wan had gained the distance necessary to resume his steady Soresu defense and the Sith was growling in frustration at his inability to get past the wall of golden light which was Obi-Wan’s lightsaber.

Quinlan knew better than to try the same attack again. Instead he focused on that which he was best at: stealth. He crept around the room, relying on the shadows and pillars to hide his approach as he came at the two combatants from a different angle. This time, when he attacked, he went low, aiming for the Muun’s legs. The Sith suddenly leapt into the air and flipped backwards to land on his feet a few yards away, his face twisted into a grotesque snarl.

“You are children ,” he hissed.

Quinlan wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Outrage, that children were meeting him toe-to-toe in battle. Offense, that children existed in general. Perhaps he’d simply only just noticed their ages. In any case, he and Obi-Wan both ignored the comment as they settled into ready stances parallel to one another.

He was prepared for another attack similar to the way the Sith had been fighting, so he was caught off guard when instead of launching at them or using the Force to push them around, red lighting instead erupted from his withered hand straight toward Quinlan.

Before he could move, Obi-Wan was suddenly there in front of him. The lightning struck Obi-Wan’s ‘saber and he let the blade absorb the energy before casting it aside where it singed one of the rock pillars. The Sith growled again and sent another wave of lightning toward them, only to have it caught and deflected once more. The Sith howled in rage and flew toward them in a blur of fluttering black robes and burning red plasma. Obi-Wan did not let a single blow land. Quinlan took the opportunity to lash out with his ‘saber, aiming for a knee, but blue light was met by red and his blade was cast aside. He struck again, and was again rebuffed. The three of them began to fall into a kind of rhythm then, with Obi-Wan demanding the majority of the attention as Quinlan sought to be a thorn in the Sith’s side. He was the buzzing gnat, circling and stabbing and slicing, while Obi-Wan was the immovable object that defied the Sith’s every attempt to cut his head from his body.

Obi-Wan was beginning to tire though, Quinlan could tell. His defense was becoming more tightly controlled and his movements more precise. It was one of his tells, though admitted he had few. When he grew tired, his speech became more careful and enunciated and his movements turned disciplined and deliberate. He never slurred, never stumbled, just drew more into himself as though he could prevent any mistakes fatigue might cause. It was useful now, but it wouldn’t last. Obi-Wan might be the best fourteen year old fighter the galaxy had ever seen, but he was still only a young teenager and his body would not stand much longer in the face of such an onslaught. This had to end.

A sudden explosion from above had them all stumbling slightly as the walls around them shook. This time, Obi-Wan was the one to press the advantage of surprise. He launched himself at the Sith with renewed vigor and this time fought with Niman, a blend of all the forms other than Makashi and Vaapad. It required a good deal of improvisation, which Obi-Wan was utilizing now to extreme effectiveness. Quinlan drew back to avoid distracting him or getting in his way, instead moving toward the door through which they had entered. Another explosion shook the ceiling and walls and several of the pillars cracked around them. Despite his shields, he could feel an urgent warning in the Force that indicated they needed to leave now . Except, Obi-Wan was still locked in combat with the Sith. He edged closer to the door as he contemplated what to do. Maybe he could get to the door then use the Force to pull Obi-Wan to him and they could make a run for it? How likely was the Sith to catch up to them? He grimaced. He didn’t like their odds.

Just as he was beginning to despair, one of the cracked pillars crumbled. It was the first domino and as the rubble was still spilling across the floor, another pillar fell, then another and another. The ceiling splintered and large chunks began to crash down, several of them nearly hitting either Obi-Wan or the Sith equally. Quinlan was next to the door now and he glanced down the hallway to make sure it was still intact for them to make a run for it. So far, it was holding. He looked back to see Obi-Wan still on the offensive, but there was another burn against the armor on his thigh. Quinlan readied himself to release his shields enough to either yank Obi-Wan out of the way or catch the parts of the ceiling that were still crumbling. He didn’t have to.

Obi-Wan suddenly lunged forward and shoved the Sith backwards with both his lightsaber and the Force, directly into the path of a chunk of obsidian the size of a speeder. It landed on the Sith with a sick crunch, like the sound of a bug being crushed under a boot. Blood was just beginning to pool around the edges of the jagged stone when Obi-Wan reached his side. He didn’t stop sprinting, just grabbed Quinlan’s wrist and dragged him along until they were both running side by side back the way they had come.

Jango’s bad feeling had only grown stronger the further they traveled into this cursed place. The darkness itself felt heavy around them, pressing in on all sides like an invisible army closing ranks. One glance backward had shown him a room that was filled with an impenetrable lack of light that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He quickly assigned Njais to cover the rear and keep an eye out for an attack from behind. The last thing he wanted was to be caught off guard here.

HUD was able to take a 3D image of the place that helped him orient himself somewhat, though it came through glitchy and strange, as though something was messing with the electronics. Somehow, it seemed like they had entered on a floor above where Obi-Wan and Quinlan had come in. There were stairs leading down to that floor, but he led the squad upwards. Obi-Wan had said there was a fairly high chance that the ad they were looking for would be on one of the upper floors. A privilege of being an acolyte, he’d said grimly. Jango wasn’t holding out hope that the kid would be treated any version of ‘well’ in a place like this. It was one of the main reasons why he was glad Lanni was with them. She was an adept field medic and worked well with ade , even if Maul was as hostile as Obi-Wan warned he might be.

They swept the floor above. There were a few locked doors that they had to slice through, slowing them down, but the zabrak child was not behind any of them. What they found instead was more weirdness. One room was empty except for a raised dais that held a single triangle made of metal and something that glowed an ominous red. Another room held nothing but scrolls and scrolls of flimsi that looked older than the planet itself. Yet another room was filled with weapons of different ages, some of them looking more primitive than anything he’d ever seen except in old holos yet still sharp enough to kill someone. Arla had looked at a few of them with curiosity and a bit of interest, but Jango had chivvied them along before she could do something stupid like touch them. He swore he was the only one who took Obi-Wan’s warnings seriously.

They moved through another floor like this before climbing yet another set of stairs. This time, they got halfway down the long corridor before they heard something. It sounded like an ad in distress. It was a sort of soft crying, like the kid was sobbing desperately yet trying not to be heard. They all quickened their steps at the sound and Jango stopped in front of the door where it sounded like the ad was located. Arla and Lanni went around to the other side, weapons ready and set to stun, while he and Njais stayed on the side near the door’s handle. Jango tried the handle lightly to test if it was locked and the sounds on the other side stopped abruptly. He swore silently, then yanked open the door and took point.

The zabrak child was there. He looked to be about fifteen, if Jango had to guess, though he was thin and obviously malnourished. His teeth were bared in a snarl and a lit jettii’kad was in his hands, burning a fierce red. He swung at Jango, forcing him to duck and roll to the side to avoid the blow. He rolled to his feet and saw that Maul had targeted Arla next. She also avoided being hit by the jettii’kad and did not strike back at him, instead moving to the opposite side of the room as Jango and lifting her blaster to try to get a good shot. The kid was fast. He fought wildly, filled with a kind of desperation that made Jango’s heart ache.

“We’re here to help you,” he tried, but Maul just growled at them and kept attacking. Lanni and Njais were both forced back, nearly out the door they had just entered through, and he could see that Arla was struggling for a clean shot. He lifted his blaster and, the next time Maul took a swing at Njais, he fired. The stun blast hit him center mass and the kid froze mid-swing before collapsing in a snarling heap. His jettii’kad retracted and the hilt hit the floor by his hand. Arla stood from her half crouch and shot the ad one more time, stunning him fully to unconsciousness.

Jango regretted that they couldn’t take the time to talk the kid down and get him to come willingly. Unfortunately, time was not on their side and it would take a lot of it to assure the traumatized zabrak that they weren’t a threat. Ka’ra knew it had taken months to assure Savage of this, and he hadn’t been nearly so abused. Their best option was to get the kid somewhere safe, then work on building trust. And on healing him, Jango added mentally as he looked down on the child’s battered body. None of them had hit him during that brief fight, but his body showed evidence of fist-sized bruises, scars, welts, and burns. And that was just what they could see. He felt more than a little sick, but he pushed past it to order Lanni to carry the kid as they made their way out.

He decided to take the straightest path out. They trotted down the stairs quickly, blasters held ready, fingers on the trigger. So far there had been no sign of any Sith, but he didn’t trust that to last. They entered onto the ground floor and started toward the door.

It seemed even darker now. The air was thick, like it was pushing back against them, and he was glad for the environmental seals on his helmet that kept him from breathing it. Despite their best efforts, they all slowed as they approached the front door. Jango’s body was as tense as a livewire and he felt as jumpy as a spooked tooka. When a sudden sound broke the silence, he whipped around to the source, blaster held high, and the tension in his shoulders threatened to break his spine when he saw that Arla had accidentally kicked a stone in the dark. The stone skidded noisily across the hard floor before clacking against the wall. As though this were a signal of some kind, a sudden presence flew toward them like a mynock. All of them ducked, blasters pointed upward at the creature as it shrieked, high and piercing. It flew above them without making contact and disappeared into the blackness beyond.

“ Regroup! ” Jango cried. “ Lanni to the center, protect the child .”

They moved on his command, still holding their bodies low to the ground as they searched for whatever had attacked them. Another shriek reverberated against the stone and all of them began firing on the source. The air was lit with plasma blasts, but none seemed to hit. The creature swooped down from directly above them and they fired again, but it was like trying to shoot smoke. The shots went right through.

Jango was about to shout for them all to move, to try to make it out of the building, but before he could do more than open his mouth, long, sharp, black claws dug into Njais’ armor and began to pull him into the air. Njais struggled wildly, firing his blaster directly above them with their good arm. One shot seemed to have landed, judging by the unholy sound that it let out, deeper this time in its rage.

A sudden plasma bolt came out of nowhere and hit the creature’s foot, causing it to drop Njais suddenly. If it hadn’t been for Obi-Wan’s training, Jango was sure that the fall would have critically wounded them, but Njais rolled with the impact and came back up onto their feet. They were bleeding from their shoulder, the blood flowing over their armor, but they were standing and immediately resumed shooting with the rest of them. Jango spared a second to search in the direction the helpful shot had come from and saw a glimpse of Meis’ armor. She shifted and shot again, but while it should have been a direct hit, the bolt hit the wall behind it instead.

It can only be hit when it becomes solid enough to hold something, he realized. 

“Hey!” he shouted, pulling away from formation. “Over here, shabuir ! Ni cetar’narir kay’shebs !”

The creature’s head swung around. It was difficult to discern from the shadows around them, but he could just about see it now. It was huge, its wings almost too big to logically allow it to fly even in the large space. It was made of a denser darkness than its surroundings, but there was no other color on its body. Its eyes, fangs, claws, and skin were all black. He wasn’t even sure how many eyes it had, if it had them, but he could feel it looking at him. He could feel the hatred and menace in its gaze and knew the second it targeted him above the others. He braced himself to be grabbed.

“Meis!” he barked over their comms, praying that they were working well enough for her to hear him. “ Get ready to take the shot .”

He ignored the shouts of alarm around him as the creature lunged down and grabbed him. Two limbs wrapped around him and its claws sank past his armor as though it wasn’t there to pierce his flesh. He grunted at the pain, but ignored it in favor of reaching out to grab hold of the thing’s torso. It was like wrestling with mud. His fingers slipped and sank into the flesh, but he was eventually able to hold on.

“ Now! ”

A bolt struck true and the creature screamed as it lodged in its back. A second and a third followed in a tight grouping, aiming for where its heart might be if it had such things. From below, more shots landed on the creatures limbs and Jango felt himself fall rapidly toward the hard ground. He wasn’t as good as Obi-Wan at the tuck-and-roll maneuver, but he was good enough to land on one knee facing the still shrieking creature, blaster primed to continue the assault. It wasn’t necessary. After one more rattling scream, the creature disappeared and they were left shaking and panting.

Meis ran up to them, having climbed down at some point, and Jango struggled to his feet. He nodded wearily to her in thanks and she nodded back.

“ Let’s get out of here ,” he said. No sooner had he said the words than an explosion suddenly rocked the floor beneath their feet, coming from somewhere above and behind them, in the general direction where they had found the ad . Ka’ra , was there no end to this haran ? Jango hoped fervently that his vod’ika wasn’t involved in whatever that was even as he yelled for the squad to run.

They took off toward the front door and another explosion came from just behind them, stronger than before. Lanni stumbled to one knee. Njais was closest to her and hauled her up by the elbow as she kept a firm and gentle grip on Maul. They kept running.

They made it out just as the obsidian began to flake and crumble, bringing the building down in a massive slide of rock. They didn’t stop running until they were out of the blast zone.

“Lanni, Njais, take Maul to the ship. Arla, with me.” He didn’t give anyone a chance to reply before he was running back full tilt toward the pile of rubble. Please, please, be alive vod’ika. Don’t do this to me .

He skidded to a stop by the edge of the ruins and looked at it, suddenly at a loss for where to begin. It was a small mountain of sharp and jagged rock, spreading out far beyond the space the building had originally occupied and still towered above them. Despair flooded him. Arla knocked her pauldron against his.

“It’s Obi-Wan,” she said simply. Jango nodded and tucked his despair away. Obi-Wan was stronger than any fourteen year old had any right to be. Stronger than most adults Jango had met. And he had the Ka’ra . Either he and Quinlan had gotten out, or Obi-Wan had pulled off some miracle and they were alive beneath the rubble. He would believe nothing else.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan ran beside Quinlan, forcing his body to keep moving. Exhaustion weighed heavily upon him, making his limbs feel sluggish and unresponsive, but he pushed on. Every step felt rubbery and imprecise. It required all of his concentration to retain any sense of balance at all and a good deal more than that to maintain a forward momentum. He would have time to be tired later. He would have time to think about what just happened later . Right now, he just needed to make sure the both of them got out.

He wasn’t sure what had caused the explosions. The rest of the squad, maybe, but it seemed unlikely that they would have done so without knowing how it would affect the two of them in another part of the building. The underground level was falling apart fast now, the path behind them completely filled with rubble. The stairs shifted under their feet as they threatened to fall as well. No, he didn’t think Jango and the others would intentionally target the weakest points of the temple until they were assured everyone was out. A trap then, some kind of failsafe. The Sith did love their plans and would do everything in their power to win no matter the cost. Ironic, then, that that very same trap had worked against Darth Plagueis.

Obi-Wan blinked and found that they had made it to the next level. The ceiling was coming down above their heads. He wasn’t sure how he was even still standing. That fight had taken everything he had and then some. The stamina he’d had as an adult simply wasn’t available to him anymore. He’d been training, of course, and he was strong for his age, especially when compared to how he’d been at this point in his last life, but that wasn’t enough to account for a one-on-one battle with a Sith Master. He could feel his body slowing. His wounds throbbed and screamed, his heart felt weak in his chest. His foot slipped. Quinlan grabbed his wrist and dragged him forward. Obi-Wan felt like a dead weight, a cloth doll unable to do more than flop uselessly in one direction or another. Quinlan’s grip kept him upright.

A large chunk of stone landed right in front of them, forcing them to skid to a stop. Obi-Wan reflexively tried to divert it as it fell, but bit back a scream at the agony that seared through him. Force exhaustion then, on top of the physical fatigue already dragging his body down. He was essentially useless right now. He blinked hard again, his head swimming, and let Quinlan guide him around the obstacle. They were headed in a straight path toward the front door, but even in his current state, he could tell that they weren’t going to make it. The temple was falling too quickly. Luckily, Quinlan saw the same thing he did and dragged them beneath one of the massive pillars that had fallen on its side. They could take shelter from the falling debris until the building finished collapsing. Hopefully, they’d be able to dig themselves out afterward.

The temple came down with a deafening, unending series of crashes, engulfing them in darkness as the pieces fell to either side of them. They were soon buried, protected only by the pillar and trapped in a pocket of air. He needed to – he needed – they would have to –

He slipped into unconsciousness as Quinlan screamed his name.

Cuvros came sprinting toward them across the hot black ground, followed closely by Meis. He was holding something in his hand. He shoved it at Jango as soon as he reached them and Jango took it with hands he refused to acknowledge were shaking. It was a bioscanner.

Jango nodded to him in wordless thanks as he turned it on. He was reluctant to walk across the rubble, scared to shift something and make things worse for Obi-Wan and Quinlan beneath it. When he hesitated, Meis darted forward and took the scanner from him before nimbly scurrying upwards. She moved with the grace of a dancer, for all that she was Mando’ad and her armor should have made her footsteps heavier. Her grace was what allowed her to constantly be climbing things and getting into ideal sniper locations. She swept the scanner as she went and Jango waited with baited breath for a ping on the device that told them Quinlan and his vod’ika were still alive under all of this. His ears were ringing. All he could see were shards of black rock and the edges of a blazing red sky. Had he been given enough miracles? His good luck was bound to run out some time. First Arla came back to him, then Jaster. He swallowed thickly and watched the scanner move across the rocks, guided by Meis’ steady hands.

It felt like hours before Meis suddenly shouted, dispelling the ringing in Jango’s head and sending a spark of adrenaline through his veins. She was toward the left of the rubble pile, thankfully not where it was heaviest, and Jango didn’t hesitate this time to scramble to her. Smaller rocks slid beneath his feet but he paid them no mind. 

“ Cuvros, ” he said over comms, “ get a couple hover repulsors from the ship .”

“ Njais is already on their way. ”

Jango began tearing at the rubble with his hands. He was getting really tired of people he loved being trapped under collapsed buildings. Sure, it had only happened twice now, but once was more than enough and he was going to have to talk to Obi-Wan about not making this a habit.

Between the four of them, they had cleared away all of the smaller rock by the time Njais arrived with the repulsors. They were small ones, and they only had five on hand since it wasn’t really something they anticipated using often in the field, but it was enough to do the job. He didn’t have the Ka’ra like Obi-Wan to know if they were making things more unstable the way they were working, but they didn’t have time to consider such things. They kept their heads down and worked.

Eventually, a space cleared enough to hear Quinlan shouting up at them.

“Hey! We’re down here!”

“We hear you, vod ,” Jango replied. “We’re coming.”

“Is Obi-Wan with you?” Arla shouted down. There was a pause that made Jango’s stomach swoop.

“Yes, he’s with me. He’s unconscious.”

Kark. Jango worked faster, shoving the repulsors along. Sooner than he’d feared but slower than he’d hoped, there was a large enough hole to send a rope down and haul them up. Quinlan held onto Obi-Wan and the rope as they dragged them up high enough for him to carefully pass Obi-Wan through to them. Jango took Obi-Wan’s limp body and fought back the anger, frustration, and fear that tried to overwhelm him. They should have brought more verde for this. They’d known it would be dangerous, but they’d let Obi-Wan convince them that one squad would be enough. Obi-Wan didn’t need a squad, he needed a damn army.

Quinlan came out of the rubble shaken and covered in dust, but otherwise fine besides a few bruises and some sluggishly bleeding scrapes. Together their group slid and jumped their way down to the ground. Jango didn’t look back as they finally made their way to the ship. He was damn glad to be off this rock and never return.

Cuvros got them in the air almost as soon as his ass hit the pilot’s seat. Jango brought Obi-Wan straight to medical and laid him down in the second bed next to Maul. Lanni shoved him out of the way as soon as he let go.

“It’s Force exhaustion, mostly,” Quinlan said from where he was leaning in the doorway. They all had to brace as Cuvros left the atmosphere, then Quinlan continued, “And some normal, physical exhaustion. He fought a Sith.”

“ Haar’chak! ”

Quinlan grimaced. “Yeah. I think his armor took the actual blows, so I don’t think he’s actually injured. But it may take him a while to recover.”

“What is a while?” Lanni asked clinically as she continued to check Obi-Wan over. Judging by the grim look on her face, Jango thought Quinlan’s report wasn’t quite accurate so much as optimistic. He could see the marks on his armor where the Sith’s blade had struck. Without armor, he would have died from the one across his chest plate and would have lost his leg without the thigh plate. Jango had never been more grateful to beskar’gam in his life.

“I don’t know,” Quinlan replied tiredly. “He slept for three days the last time, and this was much worse.”

Jango swore again and resisted the urge to punch a wall in frustration. He was going to sit Obi-Wan, Quinlan, and Tholme down as soon as they got back to Manda’yaim – and as soon as Obi’ka woke up – and have a conversation about limits with the Ka’ra . Arla should be there too. And Jas’buir would want to be there, of course. A family meeting then, plus the jettii’se . He would not allow this osik to keep happening.

Lanni began hurriedly stripping Obi-Wan of his armor and Jango jumped in to help. The reason for both Lanni’s speed and her grimace soon became clear. Obi-Wan’s arms were streaked with burn scars, as if he’d been struck by lightning. How he’d encountered lightning while inside of a building on a planet that never rains, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t surprised that if such a thing were possible Obi-Wan would be the one to find out. He heard Quinlan swear under his breath behind him.

“I didn’t know,” he said. His face was pinched tight with guilt. “It looked like Obi-Wan was able to deflect the lightning. I didn’t think it hurt him at all. He never seemed to be in any pain, just tired and focused.”

Sounds about right , Jango thought to himself.

“My scans were able to pick up several wounds beneath the armor,” Lanni said, her voice taking on that detached quality it always got when she was focused on a patient. “The burns are severe, but I’m most worried about his heart. His heartbeat is irregular and weaker than it should be. We don’t have the equipment here to do more than stabilize him. Beyond that, he has a concussion and, of course, the exhaustion caused by the Ka’ra . At this point, it’s difficult to tell if his unconsciousness is caused by the head wound or the Ka’ra . The best I can do for now is treat those burns, do a more thorough head scan, and give him fluids. I don’t want to give him any pain medication at this point, not until we know more.”

Jango let out a tense breath. “How can I help?”

“Report to Jaster,” Lanni said immediately. “Make sure a medical team is ready when we land. See if the jett’ii can be there as well, to check for any damage within the Ka’ra . The ad will also need attention when we arrive.”

Jango’s eyes flicked over to Maul lying beside Obi-Wan. He looked so much smaller now. He had to be around Obi-Wan’s age, maybe younger. The wounds on his skin were stark under the harsh lights of the medbay and Jango felt rage boil up in him again at the thought of all the child had been through. Every time he thought he’d seen the worst that the galaxy had to offer, he was proven wrong. It was enough to leave a seed of bitterness in his heart. He pushed those thoughts aside and nodded stiffly to Lanni before heading out to do as she said.

Chapter Text

The flight back was tense. Lanni monitored both Maul and Obi-Wan constantly throughout the journey and Jango relayed regular updates to Jaster and the medical team he had assembled. Obi-Wan still hadn’t woken up. This was the third time in his life that a member of his family had been comatose. That made it a pattern, right? Perhaps he would be next. Or maybe he was just doomed to sit anxiously at bedsides, waiting with baited breath for someone he loved to open their eyes.

“Jango.”

He glanced at Arla briefly in acknowledgment but didn’t have the energy to talk right now. They were almost home. Hopefully the medical team would know how to help his vod’ika . 

“They are going to be alright,” Arla said gently. “They are strong. They fought an enemy far greater than them and not only lived, but won. They will wake and we will celebrate.”

Jango just nodded. It was hard to think about celebrating as he watched the monitor run its hourly scan of Obi-Wan’s body to check for signs of either improvement or deterioration. So far, there had been neither.

Arla gave up on trying to cheer him up and instead sat with him quietly, listening to the hum of the engine and the steady, slow breathing of their jare’la vod .

The hours passed painfully slowly. On Mandalore, they had a saying: The striil sleeps until it is time to hunt. It was used for a variety of purposes, sometimes to remind a verd to sleep whenever they could because rest wasn’t guaranteed on a hunt, but mostly it meant that much of hunting was remaining still until the time for action sprung upon you. Landing on Manda’yaim was a whirlwind of activity. After the endless hours of waiting, they were all suddenly moving. The baar’ur’e had rushed into the ship and taken Obi-Wan first. Then Maul, who had been kept sedated during the trip, was carried out after him, directly to the hospital. 

Jaster intercepted him and Arla before they could follow Obi-Wan to the hospital. His helmet was on, but Jango could see his body coiled tight with stress. He’d assured care for the two ad’e and now he needed answers as both a buir and as Mand’alor.

“Your description of events was short, son,” he said. His well of patience, deep though it was, had run dry. “What happened? ”

Jango recounted the events from start to finish in exacting detail, right there in the hangar. None of them had the patience to find a more private location to sit and talk. They took care to speak over internal comms, however, so at least there was a possibility that the details of this hunt wouldn’t be all over Mandalore by evening. 

Jaster listened intently without interrupting. When Jango finished, he gave him a curt nod.

“You did well, given the circumstances. We will discuss this more later. For now, go and be with your sibling. I will find Savage and Feral to tell them about Maul.”

Jango and Arla both gave him a brief hug then jumped into a speeder Cuvros had mysteriously procured for them while they had spoken to Jaster. Jango clapped him on the shoulder in thanks, then sped toward the hospital.

Obi-Wan woke slowly. He felt as though he were swimming up from a great depth, the water around him cold and viscous, trying to suck him back under. He swam harder against the dark and it dug its claws into him until he felt that he should be bleeding, though he had no physical body here. He hadn’t had one in a long time, had he? No, that wasn’t quite right. He did, and then he didn’t, and then he did again. A pattern like the rise and fall of waves on Kamino. He struggled against the tendrils holding him down. What power did they hold against the Light? As soon as that thought struck him, he saw a glimmer of light above him. Only a faint white spark, like a far away ember, but it gave him the strength to twist and wrestle his way to freedom. He surged toward the dot of light and it slowly grew to the size of Alderaan’s moon, then larger and larger until eventually he was blinded by it. He squeezed his eyes shut reflexively and felt the odd sensation of eyelids, with lashes crusted with sleep. He blinked. The feeling of drowning was replaced with that of floating, but it wasn’t much less disconcerting than the first. He grunted and tried to move, only to find the action impossible. His body twitched with his efforts, but his limbs were weak and his body felt heavier than the first time he’d worn full durasteel armor. 

“Obi-Wan?”

He blinked again and this time the light was easier to bear. He turned his head, a feat which required a ridiculous amount of effort, and saw a familiar face sitting by his bedside.

“C’dy?” he slurred, but his tongue was as unwieldy as the rest of him and the word was crudely formed. He smacked his lips and tried again, with even poorer results.

“Here.” A straw was pushed against his lips and he managed to latch on and suck small mouthful of cool water. The relief was enormous. He sipped again, then tried his best to drain the cup in one go.

“Woah, slow down.” The straw was pulled away and Obi-Wan grunted in dismay.

A familiar voice chuckled softly. “I know, I know. Just go slow, okay?”

The straw was back and Obi-Wan did his best to follow instructions. He sipped, swallowed, sipped, swallowed. His world had reduced down to this straw and the life saving liquid it delivered. Too soon, the cup was empty and was taken away again.

“Su’cuy gar, vod.” The words were said with a wealth of relief. Obi-Wan blinked some more and his vision cleared enough to see that the man next to him did not have a distinctive scar curling around his left eye. He was younger than Obi-Wan had expected, wearing beskar armor and a concerned frown.

“Jango?”

“Elek,” Jango breathed. A cautious smile broke the frown. “It is good to see you awake.”

What a strange thing to say. Obi-Wan struggled to understand. If Jango was this glad to see him awake, that meant he had been asleep. The sunlight coming through the window to his right indicated that it was late evening. He never slept past sunrise. His sluggish brain worked to put the pieces together. What had he been –

Mustafar. Plagueis.

Obi-Wan gasped and flailed as he tried to sit up again, but Jango’s steady hand pushed his shoulder back to the bed and Obi-Wan didn’t have the strength to fight it.

“Maul?”