Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It really spoke volumes about Jaster’s life so far that a campaign gone wrong, being betrayed by one of his best friends, and getting one of his knees blasted to bits did not make this day the worst he had ever had.  It was absolutely terrible, of course, but not the ‘number one most terrible awful day’ he could remember.

He was conscious, for one.  That certainly helped.  Jango was fine, too, if the swearing on comms was any indication, and as long as those two facts didn’t change, there was no way for this to be the worst day ever.

That said, he had the feeling that this should have been his grave - that Montross had fully intended for Tor to kill him, to take over Headhunter Company before bending the knee to his new Mand’alor.  Little gods knew what would have happened to Jango then - there was no way his verd’ika would have stood for that.  He thanked the spirits that he wouldn’t have to find out.  

Then, he thanked them again for the little nudge that had told him to wear his damned sen’tra.  Dusty as the thing was, it still did its job to get Jaster in the air and away from Tor’s new toy - a vicious looking tank Jaster was sure had just come off of the MandalMotors assembly line on Concordia.  He couldn’t help but wonder about the tech attached - did it have shielding? What was the armor like?  What was the fire rate on those turbolasers - but quickly decided these thoughts would have to wait until he was no longer dodging said turbolasers, and he could get what little remained of the company off of this death trap.  He swore he could hear Tor’s enraged shrieking over the flak of laser fire, and could hear the whine of a jetpack engine that said Montross was in pursuit.

In pursuit.  To kill him.  His ver’alor.

That was going to sting for a while.

“Mereel - en route to the extraction point, ETA 2 minutes-” he grimaced as he dodged between Montross’ blasterfire, a burning pain shooting up his leg, “-Gonna be a bad landing, hostile on my six - sitrep, now!”  

“Myles, at the extraction point.  We’ve got twenty verde gathered, and another 10 in need of medical attention.  Engines are warmed up for you, Alor, any update on Vertigo Sq-”

Jango’s voice cut in.  “-I’m going to kill Montross.  He’s dead!  That hut’uunyc dar’manda got his entire squad killed, and is trying to kill Jaster right kriffing now-”  Static crackled across the comms, and for a moment Jaster feared the worst.  A moment later he could hear the whine of another jetpack, approaching from his right, before comms opened again.  “-Silas is en route to extraction point, ETA in five.  I’m in pursuit of the traitor,”  Jango said through gritted teeth.  Craning his neck behind him, Jaster could see the moment Montross knew he was outnumbered, as Jango gained on him.

“Oya,” Myles murmured from their end of the comm, before Jaster could cut in with “-Negative, Jango, we’re leaving-”

He needn’t have worried.  Jango fired one shot, and it rang true enough to cut one of Montross’ engines.  Not enough for it to explode, but Montross spiraled and disappeared below the treeline.  Jaster couldn’t tell if Montross had survived the fall, but his own emotions were too jumbled up to decide if he preferred him alive or not.

A moment later, the dropships came back into view, and Jaster fumbled with the controls on his jetpack before beginning a messy descent.  The rockets petered out just a little early, and Jaster fell the last 10 feet into the hard dirt - he couldn’t help but cry out as the impact sent agony through the bad knee into his spine, and the leg gave way.  Before he could fully hit the ground, one of his verde caught him and lowered him down more gently, calling for a medic all the while.  Jango wasn’t far behind, and the yelp he made watching Jaster go down was audible over the roar of the ship’s engines and Jango’s own jetpack.

“-Jaster!”

“I’m alright, I’m fine-” Jaster interrupted, already trying to get back up on his good leg. 

Myles looked none too pleased. “With all due respect, Alor, the hell you are-” He started saying.

“I’ll be fine, it’s just my knee.  We’ve got to get out of here first - Jango, help me up.”  Jaster continued, as the medic trotted up to their little party outside the dropship.

Jaster couldn’t remember their name off the top of his head - maybe he was a little more rattled than he thought, but he wasn’t about to admit that before they were all safe and not here anymore.  Jango hesitated a moment, looking between Jaster and the medic, who stared for a moment before nodding.  He looped an arm around Jaster and hefted him to his feet, guiding his steps into the ship.  Myles took his other side, and the rest of the verde finished loading up with an efficiency Jaster would have been proud of had he been aware enough to notice.  It was only once he was tossed in a seat that the medic approached again, and Jaster barely registered the sting of the hypo before his eyes started closing.

—

Waking up from sedatives always made Jaster feel vaguely nauseous.  He felt as though he had been drifting in and out of consciousness for a few minutes before he finally blinked awake enough to register where he was - the medbay of The Ghost of Dxun, Headhunter Company’s base of operations.  The smell of antiseptic tinged with the sickly sweet of bacta burned his nose for a moment, and he groaned as sensation seeped back into his heavy limbs.  The painkillers were very clearly doing their job, as he could hardly feel what was sure to be a long-lasting ache in his ruined knee.

His grumbling woke the figure sleeping to his right - Jango sitting up bleary-eyed, curls flattened against his cheek, still smelling of dirt and blaster smoke - though the medic had clearly made him change out of his filthy armor and flight suit.

“Good morning, Jango.”  Jaster spoke softly, as Jango rubbed at his face and stifled a yawn.  A grumbled noise was his only other response out of the exhausted teen for a moment.  “You alright, Jan’ika?” Jaster stifled a laugh as Jango rolled his eyes immediately.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that, old man? I’m fine, just… a little tired.  Bruises.  The usual.”  

Jaster shot him a look, hearing the twinges in Jango’s voice that betrayed just how exhausted and worn the teen really was.  

Jango sighed at Jaster’s suspicious glance. “Look, I'm okay.  Really.  More importantly, uh, this isn’t just a social visit.  I gotta get you caught up, a-and update the others on your status. Okay?”  He nodded once, decisively, as if trying to convince himself of his own words.  Looking around for a moment, Jango seemed to be gathering his thoughts as he bounced one of his legs.  “....Water?”

Jaster accepted the little pouch of water, trying valiantly to drink it without grimacing.  Jango was stalling, and if he was stalling, things were not good - he felt his nausea spike as the water slid down his throat, the worst case scenarios started to flash through his mind.  There was no way for things to have gone well, but he could still hope.  A few more verde making it back to the extraction site, recovery efforts going well, something-

Jango spoke up, cutting Jaster’s spiraling short.

“Everyone who made it to the extraction zone got out, and made it back to the Dxun.” Some relief, then, that none of the ships had been shot down -   “Of the hundred verde sent to Korda, twenty-six came back.  Us included.”  The roiling in Jaster’s stomach reached a fever pitch as Jango continued, “Eighteen are unhurt, minor scrapes - Myles, Skirata, and Vau among them.  Four needed surgery, like you, and the other four are in the bacta tanks.  Two didn’t make it, between landing and surgery.”

Jaster swallowed thickly, leaning back into his cot.  They’d lost three-quarters of the team in, what, a few hours? Twenty-four survivors, out of a hundred.  Dozens of verde who would never make it home.  Loss was to be expected - they were warriors and Mando’ade, after all, but Jaster had never before led so many to their deaths, so many gone in one fell swoop.  His Remembrances would be growing a lot longer tonight.  From the way Jango spoke, at least The Dxun had been untouched - he had been afraid Tor would have coordinated land-and-ground strikes simultaneously, but strategy was never Tor’s strong suit-

“....Recovery? For the bodies?” Jaster tried, voice coming out weaker than he meant as he pulled himself out of the well of memories.  His heart dropped further into his gut when Jango shook his head.

“Me ‘n’ Myles sent down some scouts to try, but between the Kordans and Kyr’tsad, we only got a few.  They’re stripping the bodies and burning them.  Better than leaving them to the carrion, I guess, but who knows what they’ll do with the armor…”  Jango’s voice was flat and toneless as he spoke, but his knee kept bouncing.  “No sign of Montross, either.  Probably slipped off-planet, or holed up with Kyr’tsad.  Vau suggested putting out a bounty on him, but we figured we should wait for your approval….?”  

Jaster was silent for a long moment, trying to absorb everything Jango was telling him.

“...Wait, for now.  Just- send a message around, make sure the other companies know he’s not welcome.  We can talk action later.” 

A soft yes, sir, was Jango’s only response as he stood to leave.

“-Jango.”  Jaster called, and Jango stopped halfway to the door.  “...Get some rest.  Please.”  

Jango nodded, and slipped out the door right as the medic entered.

—

It was only a few hours later when Jango returned, somehow managing to look more exhausted than before.  His eyebrows were drawn together, and the dark circles that had plagued his face since Jaster found him on Concord Dawn had intensified.  At the very least, he’d gotten clean - the acrid smell of blasterfire gone, replaced by fresh soap and that funny saltwater smell that seemed to follow him everywhere.

The medic had pronounced Jaster ‘in good condition’, that he would heal up fairly well provided he stayed in bed for the next few days, and kept weight off of his leg for longer.  He had managed to bribe them into giving him a comm by promising he would stay in medical for an extra day, and that he would turn the thing off during the sleep-cycle hours.  Thankfully, they knew there was no way to keep Jaster from his work, and left him alone after delivering the comm - the sensors stuck to his wrists would notify them if his vitals changed.  In the meantime, Jaster had spent at least the last half hour fielding questions about their plan ahead - where they would go from here, how to contact the families of the lost verde, how command would need to be reorganized - and he was sure he looked just as exhausted as Jango.  

Watching the boy stand awkwardly in the doorway, shifting his weight back and forth, Jaster was reminded just how painfully young Jango was - fourteen, barely a year past his verd’goten, and small to boot. A squad captain already, Jango could inspire loyalty and a fresh fighting spirit if he set his mind to it, and he did have the makings of a leader, but… he was still young.  Fresh and untested.  

Hell, the boy had been running missions with the Company since he’d sworn the creed, but this was his first time leading others into battle.  

Jaster had chosen Jango to command one of the squads on this mission because it was meant to be easy, to let him get used to commanding his peers slowly - not watch their teams get mowed down as soon as they landed.  Manda, Jaster knew the boy would be seeing the mir’jaa’ur a lot more frequently in the coming months.

'Should be easy credits’, Jaster seemed to remember saying at the brief.  What a nightmare.

“Come on in, Jango.  Can’t sleep?”  Jaster beckoned the teen forward, and Jango quickly took the opportunity to slide back into the seat he had occupied earlier.  He avoided Jaster’s gaze for a moment, tucking his knees up into his chest and making himself look even smaller.

“...I keep… I keep thinking about some of the things Montross said, before we left.  That he didn’t trust you to make the right decisions anymore, that you didn’t have a clear head, that he should be in charge-” The words seemed to be tumbling out of Jango with increasing speed, and Jaster didn’t have any time to react before more came out, “- kriffing hells, I should never have let him go with you.  If I had said something, maybe- maybe more people would have-”

“-Jan’ika, stop.” Jaster interrupted, and Jango took a deep breath, pausing before he could continue to grow more frantic.  “It’s not your fault.  It’s not - it wasn’t your responsibility to rein Montross in.  He made his choices.  I don’t think anyone really saw this coming.”  Jaster reached over and put a hand on one of Jango’s knees, but Jango’s face screwed up further as he finished speaking.

“I did.  I saw it coming.  He was so mad when you said I’d be leading one of the squads, and he’d get mad if anyone suggested I’d be next in line when you- retire.  He’d corner me and Silas all the time just to criticize our forms, or how we painted our armor, or whatever he could think of -”  Jaster squeezed his knee slightly, and Jango managed to pause again and settle.  “It’s just- I tried to tell you earlier, I really did.  But, you said - just because we don’t get along doesn’t mean he’s a bad person.  That I’ll have to work with people I don’t like, as a commander.”

Jaster felt like he was tasting something sour.  Jango had come to him with concerns, in the past, but Jaster had brushed it off as the two having a mutual dislike of each other.  He couldn’t expect all of his verde to get along, and had thought it was simple squabbling - Montross teased Jango, sure, but that wasn’t uncommon with the older generation working with the new.  Jango had just hated being teased, he thought.  The last few months, Jango hadn’t complained as much, and Jaster thought he was growing out of it.

“...Ordinarily, yes, that’s still true.  You’ll never get along with all of your squad, but you should still trust them-”

“-That’s just it! I never trusted that- that - hut’uun! It wasn’t just that we argued - hells, I fight with Skirata all the time! But I know he’d never shoot me in the back.”  Despite how worked up Jango was, he hugged his knees closer to his chest than ever. “-Montross was always looking to get rid of me.  I know he was.  There’s no way I was the only one he treated like that, either.  I should have found proof, or fought back, or something.  I should have tried to tell you again-”

“Stop.  I’m sorry, Jango.  I should have listened to you.  I thought- I didn’t think Montross was capable of something like this.  You saw something I didn’t, and I didn’t listen to you.  It’s not your fault.”  Jaster leaned over more, ignoring the twinge in his spine as he stretched.  Unspoken, he thought the fault was mine, instead.

“...I know it's not, Jaster.  I just wish things were different.  I mean-”  He scoffed lightly, but Jaster still spotted the welling of tears as Jango tossed his head, “why would you listen to me.  Some little orphan you took pity on, junior verd fresh out of training.  M’not even a real captain or your clan or anything, so. Why would you bother?”

Ah, thought Jaster, It’s not really about Montross, is it? 

“...Jango.  Jan’ika.  Do you - do you think I don’t want you?  That you aren’t worthy of being my son?  Did Montross tell you that?”  Jango looked up, startled, while Jaster tried to pull his chair a little closer to the bedside, “I’ve always thought of you like a son, Jango.  And even if I didn’t, I should have listened to you.  You’re one of my verde, my alor’ad’ika.”

Jango stared for a moment, dark eyes wide and teary, before he scrubbed violently at his eyes to keep from crying.

“But- if you- you mean it…? You really mean it?  Why- why didn’t you just adopt me, then?” There was a little bite to his words, an unspoken accusation of why’d you make me wait? Why did I have to bear this alone?   

Jaster sighed. “I thought you didn’t want me to.  You told me as much, or so I thought.” 

Jango’s brows knitted together again as Jaster pointedly ignored the tears that were starting to well up in his eyes anyway, despite Jango’s best efforts.

“...I suppose you were too... lost, to remember at the time.  You’d been with us for a few months, maybe four or five?  Not long, and you were still lashing out at your healers and instructors.  Or anyone wearing blue and black, honestly.”  Jaster huffed through his nose in an aborted laugh.  “A little terror, you were, disappearing for hours at a time only to fall out of the ceiling, knife in hand.  Your mir’jaa’ur, and mine, approached me and said they thought you needed a steadier presence in your life.  That being adopted formally into a clan would make you feel more grounded, and that we weren’t going to dump you the next chance we got.”

“So, I went to the Goran be Aliit Mereel to talk about it, and get a besk’aliik made for you so if you said yes you could wear the crest right away.  You must’ve followed me and overheard, because the next thing I know you’re busting into the goran’yaim with a knife, screaming at the top of your lungs that I wasn’t your buire, that I never would be, and that I couldn’t ‘take you away’ from them.”  Jaster’s brow knitted together as well, eyes closing as he seemed to hear the memory, that little voice choked with tears and rage. 

 “...I never wanted to replace your parents, Jango.  Never thought that I could.  Cassius and Sarad were good, good people, and the galaxy is lesser for their loss.  By the Manda, I would never take their memory from you.  So, when we got you settled down, I told you it was alright, that I wasn’t going to adopt you if you didn’t want me to, and that was that.” Jaster chuckled a little.  “You were so tired, after that, that you didn’t even try to fight about going to bed.” 

By this point Jango had unfolded his knees from his chest and was leaning in to hear the story - brows furrowed all the while. “...I don’t remember saying that.  Or doing any of that.”

“There’s a lot you don’t remember from that time, Jango.  You were young, and you’d been through a lot.  Maybe we can get some of the old guard to tell you what you were like, at that age.”  Jaster’s tone was light, but the words left a bitter taste in his mouth - they both knew that half of that ‘old guard’ had just been killed in the disaster on Korda. 

There was a long quiet moment before Jango finally looked back up to meet Jaster’s eyes. “Well, I want you to adopt me now.  If- if it’s okay.”

“Of course, Jan’ika.  Little gods, of course I will.”  For a brief moment, Jaster’s exhaustion seemed to melt away, and even Jango looked a little brighter.  “-Hand me my comm, will you?  On the table there.  Yes, there- we need a witness to the gai bal manda, after all -” 

Jango fumbled with the comm for a minute, lagging behind as things suddenly started to happen very quickly.  Jaster made a call (“Come down to the medbay, would you?  My room - no, it’s not an emergency.  Well, sort of - just get down here-”), and within five minutes there was a very tired Myles in their doorway, trailed by a curious Silas.

“What can I do for you, Alor, at this fine midnight hour?”  Myles drawled, feigning annoyance.  It was obvious though, from his unruffled silver hair and the fact he was only half out of his armor, that Myles hadn’t managed to sleep yet either.

“Ah, thank you for your timely arrival, Myles. We need a witness.”  

Myles lifted one unimpressed eyebrow, golden tattoos wrinkling slightly.  “...A witness, Alor.  Dare I ask what for?”

Jaster shot him a wicked smile, all teeth - one that Jango mirrored easily.

“You’ll know.  Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, Jango Vhett be Aliit Mereel.”  Jaster reached out and ran his fingers through Jango’s curls, Jango leaning into the affectionate touch easily.

Myles’ eyebrows arched even higher, and Silas let out a soft squeaking noise before darting off.  Myles reached out an arm as if to stop him, but was too slow. “-Hey, Silas, where the hell are you going!?”

“Ruusaan owes me fifty credits!”

Jango and Jaster both managed a laugh, and even Myles cracked a smile.

“-Well, Alor, I’d better go make sure you get your cut of the betting pool.  Congratulations on your adoption, Jango.”  And with a lazy salute, Myles disappeared back out the medbay.

With all that said and done, Jaster finally leaned back in the cot - not surprised in the least when Jango shoved him lightly and wriggled into the bed next to him.  He was still small - Jaster bet he always would be somewhat short - and as he closed his eyes, curls spread out haphazardly around his face, the teen looked years younger.  More like the child he had been on Concord Dawn, years ago.

So, yes.  All in all, this was not the worst day Jaster had ever had.  Sure, it wasn’t good - betrayal, death, and failure would do that - but he had also gained a son.  He would go the lengths of the universe if it meant that fact didn’t change.

Chapter Text

Cleaning up and reorganizing Headhunter Company in the two weeks since the Korda Disaster (now officially recorded as such, thanks to Myles) was a daunting task.  Command had to be restructured, bunks reassigned, budgets modified, requisitions made- so on and so forth for all of the things required to run what was a major mercenary company.  Not that they were no longer operational, but with their numbers cut so significantly, the kind of contracts they could take were now… limited.  At least, compared to the other companies under the Ori’ramikade umbrella that Jaster had authority over.

Not to mention they all needed time to rest.  Rest and come to terms with what happened.  But as much as Jaster wanted to give his people more time, they still had to put food on the table.  They had enough in storage for a few months, but it’d be better if they weren’t on the knife’s edge of starving by the time they were ready for more work.

The massive kettle set on the range started whistling, interrupting Jaster’s train of thought.  He moved it off the range and shoved a few bags of behot’shig into it, not caring that the handle was hot to the touch.  Our shig stores are dwindling already, he noted.  Interesting - he’d expected caf to be the more popular choice for those who did not want to sleep, but clearly not.  Perhaps on the medics' orders.

No matter - they’d need proper sleep sooner or later, but Jaster didn’t mind helping them stay awake a little longer.  He typed out a quick message on his comm - Shig in the port galley, first come first serve - and moved to sit down with a mug and his personal datapad, grimacing at the pain shooting through his knee still.  He could have sworn the pain intensified as the first file on his datapad was a half-written response to Mandalore’s rather insistent questions concerning what he had done that landed them with seventy obituaries in their mailbox.  He had informed the families, of course, but Mandalore still had to modify the citizenship registry and inform each family’s local government as well, and they were none too pleased to hear about such a massive loss. 

Who knew death created so much flimsiwork.

Jaster had just started revising his response when the first visitor arrived - Jango, of course.  He hadn’t been far from Jaster since he’d left the medbay, and would still take every opportunity to stay awake longer.  The boy grunted in acknowledgement of Jaster’s presence before pouring himself a cup and sliding into a seat nearby.  Vau wasn’t far behind Jango, but as usual the loner poured himself a mug and left soon after.

A few more verde wandered in and out, but most only exchanged a few words with Jaster or each other before wandering back to their quarters.  It wasn’t yet night-cycle, and yet half of them still looked dead on their feet. 

Sighing, Jaster tapped on his pad, opening a new file to begin listing friendly planets where they could make port for a few days.  Ordo - yes, Krownest - no, Taris - maybe, Concord Dawn - maybe, Mandalore - no way in hell, Bandomeer…

He rubbed at his eyes and suppressed a yawn.  Jaster’s verde weren’t the only ones in need of a break, it seemed.  Picking up his cup only to realize it was empty, he sighed and shifted experimentally - his knee told him very clearly to ‘stay off your feet, please’.

“Jan’ika, would you mind - another cup for me?”  Jaster said, pushing the mug along the countertop towards Jango’s spot a few seats away.  Jango was absorbed by his own datapad, and by the quiet jingling and other noises coming from it, he was playing some kind of game.  He looked up long enough to spot the mug before hopping off of his chair with a grumbled ‘yessir’.  A moment later he stood in front of the kettle, trying valiantly to refill Jaster’s mug without putting the pad down.  Jaster couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.  

On his way back to the counter, however, Jango paused in front of the conservator.  He hesitated a moment, and a moment longer, before backtracking to one of the cabinets and grabbing a fistful of ration bars.  Jaster lost a little of his humor and grimaced at the thought of yet another night of plain rations.

“...Anything else you might want to eat, ad?  You looked thoughtful there, in front of the ‘vator.”  

Jango shrugged and made a noncommittal noise as he handed Jaster his now-filled mug, sitting back down in the seat next to Jaster.  At least he wasn’t immediately ripping open the package - he was probably just as sick of rations as Jaster.

Subtly, Jaster closed his increasingly long list of potential shore leave spots and reopened a much older file, simply titled ‘Things Jango Will Eat’.  He’d started the file hardly a week after they’d picked up the boy, when they were still trying to make sense of his strange habits and make sure he was eating something. A few months later, Jaster had gotten it hooked up to the Dxun’s storage manifests and filtered it so he could see what they had the supplies to make at any given time, coupled with how much of it they could make.  KP had been grateful when they could just pull a tin out of the freezer and reheat it for a picky child.

Browsing the list, there were a few things that were excluded right out of the gate - they didn’t exactly have shatual meat on hand, or the fruit necessary for tal’vhekad. Tiingilar would take too long and wasn’t exactly the best for anxious bellies.  Others, he knew Jango would only eat on occasion, and Jaster had to admit he himself felt a little picky with the painkillers still working their way out of his system.

Vorpan’yai would do.  They had the Concordian veshok for it - frankly, too much veshok to use otherwise.  It was filling, not too spiced to upset nervous stomachs, edible by all of the species currently aboard the Dxun, and could be stretched to feed as many as possible as well.  Sure, it took almost as long as tiingilar to make, but it would do very well all the same.  

“You know, Jango, we have the ingredients for vorpan’yai. And it’s not too complicated.”  

The corners of Jaster’s mouth twitched as Jango looked up suddenly, eyes a little hopeful.

“...Doesn’t it… take a while, though?”  He questioned.  

Jaster simply brushed it off.  “We can cut some corners with a broth cube.  You’re going to have to help me out, though, bringing everything over here to cut, keeping an eye on the pot-”

“Can I finish my game first?”

“Alright, yes, but you know the longer we wait to start, the-”

“The longer it takes to eat, I know- just give me one second, I’m trying to beat Silas’ high score-”

Jaster muffled a snort by taking a sip of his shig.  Thankfully, Jango did not take long to groan and grumble, apparently losing his game.  He pushed off his stool and marched over to the conservator, as Jaster started calling out for ingredients (“Veshok, vorpan’oy - damn, it’s gone bad already? There should be more in the starboard galley-” “Euuuugh, I have to go all the way over there?” “-It’s only 30 meters away! Go on!”)

–

Before long, the atmosphere in the galley was lifted by the good-natured bickering between father and son.  They had enough material to fill two of the largest stock pots - they were so tall, Jango had to begrudgingly get on a stepstool to see over the rim.  Jaster set about chopping up the vegetables from his seat at the counter, and pretended not to see Jango drop a clump of leafy greens on the floor and shove it in the pot anyway.  The boy’s valiant attempts at stirring both pots at once nearly ended in disaster as some of its contents spilled all over the counter, resulting in some undignified shrieking and laughter.  

Soon, the hearty smell of the stew was permeating beyond the ship’s kitchen.  With only a few minutes until the stew was ready to serve, Jaster typed out another quick message on his comm to the other verde on the ship inviting them to eat, and before long the galley was busier than it had been in days - clearly some home cooking was a much more popular treat than the shig.  

The atmosphere stayed light as the verde ribbed at each other and argued over family recipes - Skirata had Myles in a light headlock after Myles refuted the merits of Kyrimorut-style haashun, someone was reheating more shig, and even Vau looked entertained by the younger verde’s antics.  They were all still tired and bruised, but they were starting to march forward.

Jaster’s musings on the scene before him were interrupted by Jango’s comm buzzing, the boy choking on the stew still in his mouth as he read the message.  Jaster was initially concerned by the look of panic in his eyes, until he noticed Jango’s smile had returned to its place.

“...Ad, what has you looking like you caught a krayt?” 

Jango’s smile only grew, all teeth - but before he could respond, Jaster’s own comm was ringing.  On cue, the verde in the room quieted down - Jaster was proud of their discipline, as usual, but he was distracted by the unfamiliar comm code displayed on his wrist - if he was getting a call here, the comm room had to have vetted the caller, at least.  Could be someone asking to hire them, suppliers, a call from one of the other companies-

He accepted the call, shifting into a more authoritative voice.  “Mereel here-”

“Jaster, neyar ad!  Are you free?”  

Jaster almost choked in the same way Jango did, hearing the voice on the other end of the comm. Deep and loud, with the thick accent that marked the speaker as from Concord Dawn, Jaster knew immediately it was Bee Mereel - his clan elder, Armorer, and only remaining family.  Jango looked like he was suppressing laughter; though they’d only met in person once or twice, Bee had a way of bonding with everyone he met, and by now even most of Jaster’s company were calling him Ba’buir.  It had kept them unaware that he was genuinely close to Jaster, assuming that he was sympathetic towards their cause or otherwise owed Jaster a few favors. 

“Yes, Bee, I’m- the verde and I are eating evening meal together. I can talk-”

“Oh, is Myles there? I have his cetar’bur - ah, nevermind that-” There was the distinct clanging of metal together over the comm - apparently, Bee was still in the forge.  “You haven’t called me!  Are you too busy for your baba?  I have to learn you adopted Jango from the paperwork! The family registry! ” 

“Bee, should you be calling when you’re working-”

“Don’t interrupt me, ad!  Two weeks ago, this happens, and you haven’t told me!  I have had that ad’ika’s aliik ready for years, and when it finally happens, you do not tell me!” Bang. “ There are traditions!  Food to make, armor to be given-” Bang. “- I expect you back here by the end of the month.  I have waited long enough - I won’t have his things gathering dust a moment longer.”  

At this point, half of the verde were turning various shades of red (alongside a range of other colors in non-human verde), and Jango finally broke and snorted with suppressed laughter.  Of course, his humor at Jaster’s predicament didn’t last long, as Bee apparently heard him.

“Is that Jan’ika? Bu’ad, you did not tell me either! Are you suddenly inheriting your buir’s bad habits?” BANG.  “You will tell me next time something happens.  You call me when your buir will not, yes?  He never tells me when he breaks something-” A last bang, followed by a long pause.  “Actually, you never tell me either.  One of your verde will tell me, I’m sure.”  

Jaster and Jango both glanced at each other awkwardly, and Jaster couldn’t help but rub his knee slightly.  A few of the gathered verde couldn’t take it anymore and burst out into giggles, while others looked a little pale, clearly understanding that Bee was so far uninformed about what happened at Korda.  

Jaster covered his face with one hand. “Baba, can I call you back later, please-” 

“-Jaster’s knee’s bad, Bee, he’s gonna need new cetar’bur and motun’bur too-”  Jango blurted out, yanking on Jaster’s wrist to make sure he could be heard on the comm.  

Jaster had a moment to look extremely offended, mouthing ‘you traitor’, as Bee’s silence seemed to drag on longer and longer.  The banging stopped. “Bad, you say.  How bad is that, hmm?”

“Bee, I will tell you all about it, alright?” Jaster cut Jango off before the boy could get another word out,  “I should have called earlier, but it’s been- busy.  A busy few weeks.”  

“... Mhmm.  You will call me back, Jaster.  Give me an hour.  And I want the file from your medic!  Jan’ika, you will tell me what you would like for a new piece of armor.  I know you just got your beskar’gam, but you need Mereel steel now.”  

Bee seemed to sigh to himself, the puff audible over comms.

“K’oyacyi, neyar aliit, Rami’kade.”  And with that, the armorer hung up.  

A few of the verde looked like they were trying to catch their breath, holding their sides.  Even as the conversation had drifted towards more serious topics, Bee was able to bring a little joy to the room.   Jaster did his best to level a glare at those still giggling at his misfortune, but the effect was lessened by the flush he was sure had spread to his ears.  Even moreso, Jaster knew he was in trouble when one of the comm techs - a young verd in bright green with matching hair - seemed to make a realization.

“...Wait, wait, wait.  Alor, how come Goran Bee can see your family registry? And, he called you aliit, ”  they said, and half the verde’s eyes whipped around to stare at them - the other half locked eyes with Jaster.  “...Is Bee, like.  Actually your ba’buir?”

Jaster sighed.  It wasn’t a secret, per say, but something about Jaster’s personal armorer being related to him was somewhat… uncomfortable.  Bee had been the one who encouraged Jaster’s love of history, had taken it upon himself to monitor Jaster’s training as a young man, and had answered Jaster’s rather insistent questions when he started working on what would become the Codex.  He didn’t want the others to think Bee only worked with him because they were family, and yet...

Well.  It didn’t really matter that much, did it?

“He’s my uncle.”

And with that, Jaster fully lost control of the room.

–

It took nearly the full hour Bee had mentioned for Jaster to make it out of the galley, as the verde kept giggling at him as they ate.  A few more wandered in and out, seemingly for the express purpose of teasing their Alor.  Evidently, there had been another betting circle about how exactly Bee and Jaster came to know each other, and the news of their relation had spread like wildfire immediately.  Nevertheless, Jaster had roped them into cleaning up and making sure any leftovers were put away properly before he left.

Limping back to his quarters, Jaster tried to gather his thoughts and figure out how to explain what had happened to Bee.  It had been hard enough to break the news to the other companies, and for them he had kept the tone strictly professional.  That wasn’t going to fly with Bee.

Jango followed him a moment after he left the galley, slowing his pace to match Jaster’s limp.  Jaster could feel his gaze boring into him as they walked.  Jaster couldn’t tell if it was in concern for Jaster's wellbeing or burning curiosity of what he and Bee were going to talk about - now that Jango was formally adopted, he would be more curious of his newfound relative than ever.  Of course, he and Bee would get along swimmingly…

But now wasn’t the time.

“Jango.”

“Yessir?”  Jango seemed to jolt a little in Jaster’s periphery.

“I’m going to call Bee from my room.  In private.”

“...Wh- But, why?  Can’t I talk to Bee?”  Jango’s brows furrowed, and Jaster could feel an edge of frustration creeping into his voice.

“‘Course you can talk to Bee, on your own time.  He’d love to hear from you.”  They arrived at the silver and black door to Jaster’s quarters, near the bridge.  Jaster winced as he shifted his weight to punch in the key code.  “-There are just some things I want to talk to Bee about alone.” 

Jango spluttered. “We’re family now, aren’t we? I should be able to hear what you say to him.”  Jango snapped as the door slid open.  Jaster sighed as he walked in, Jango hot on his heels.  “-If it’s about Korda, it’s not like I don’t know what happened-”

“It’s not that, Jango, it’s just…”

“Just what ?”

“Am I not entitled to a little privacy?  Do I listen in on every conversation you have?”

Jango’s mouth snapped shut as Jaster continued.

“We’re family now, yes, but I am as much my own person as you are yours.  Alor, yes, buir, yes, but person, too.  We’ve talked about this before, when you were small.  Do you understand?”

Jango still seemed a little frustrated, but nodded and mumbled another ‘yessir’.  He shifted awkwardly and rubbed his boot along the ragged edge of the rug that was too big for the room.  A moment passed, and Jango’s eyes flitted to the door that had once been his room, before he moved to the other barracks after his verd’goten.

“You don’t have to leave, Jango.  Your room is still set up the same as always, if you’d like to stay.  Just- knock if you need something.  I’ll let you know when we’re finished.”

Without waiting to gauge Jango’s response, Jaster limped into his bunk and locked the door behind him.  He pretended he didn’t almost collapse onto his bed as he massaged his knee.  The baar’ur had done their best, but there was a significant difference between a combat doctor and an orthopedic specialist.  Not to mention there was a difference between taking a blaster shot to the knee and a laser cannon to the knee.  He could only hope time would ease the pain, as he rubbed a little of the analgesic cream he was given into the leg.

He gave himself five minutes to sit and think.  To get his act together before he called Bee.  He tried to think of what all his uncle needed to know - that yes, his knee was injured, he had adopted Jango,  that they had lost half the Company on a bad job, that he’d been betrayed-

Five minutes went by awfully quickly, it turned out.

Not giving himself a moment to hesitate, Jaster punched in Bee’s comm code and waited for it to connect.  If he had to guess, Bee had stayed in the forge and dismissed his apprentices for this conversation, and it would take a moment for the older man to get to the comm unit.

“Su'cuy, Jaster.  You’re free now?”  It was quieter than before, when the forge was still hot, but Jaster could hear the little clicks and clacks that meant Bee was still fiddling with something.

“Yes, Baba.  At home, with Jango in the other room.  I… needed a little privacy for this.”

“Bad, then.”

“Mhmm.”  A small silence began to stretch on, both parties waiting for the other to speak.

“...Your baar’ur sent me a file already.  They are very prompt.  We’ll have to wait and see how you heal to see how much support you’ll need, but this is a common injury.  Easy to modify your beskar’gam to support it.”

That was some relief, at least - Jaster knew logically that a knee injury really was common amongst those in his profession, but he worried about it nonetheless.  Still, he had to heal first.

“That’s good, thank you.  It was - bad.  Still is, really.”

“I could tell - it’s in your voice, ad, that you are in pain.”  

Jaster sighed.  Bee knew all his tells, perhaps better than Jaster himself knew.

“I suppose I should start at the beginning.”  Still, he hesitated a moment as he turned the events of Korda over and over in his mind.

“A job went bad.  Seemed like a standard exfil operation - get in, rescue the security team stuck on the planet, get out.  We were told the locals wouldn’t be putting up much resistance-” Bee scoffed quietly, as Jaster continued, “-but intel was bad.  There were a lot more of them than expected, with heavier equipment, and they’d been trained.  By Kyr’stad.”

The faint clinking noises from Bee’s end of the comm went silent.

“Tor was there - had lured us there in an effort to kill us all, I presume.  Nearly did, between the locals and his shiny new tank.  We- we lost-” Jaster tried in vain to swallow - here, where he did not have to be Mand’alor, the loss struck harder than ever.  “-We lost over seventy verde.  Three-quarters of the ground team.  It was- bad.  I would have been among them, that damn tank staring me down, but…”

“But?”

Jaster shifted on the mattress.  He hated talking about this - confessing that it was a feeling that had saved his life, some little whisper in the back of his mind rather than actual thought or skill.  Bee was far more connected to the Manda than he was, and understood implicitly, but it was something no one else knew of - not even Jango.  It wasn’t something to be embarrassed of, but the others wouldn’t understand, and if they couldn’t understand, they wouldn’t trust him.  So Jaster kept it quiet, so private he could hardly bear to speak of it.

“You know how much I hate using a sen’tra.”

“I do.  You got so sick when you were training with it.”

“Mhm.  Yet, I just… felt like something was telling me to wear mine.  So I did, and… I would have been pinned in front of that tank without it.  They’d gotten my knee, and I would have been stuck if I hadn’t worn the sen’tra.”

Bee hummed thoughtfully for a moment.  “So, the Ka’ra guided you and saved your life.  There is no shame in that - it is a gift.”

“Maybe.  It’s a nice thought.  I just wish they could have saved my verde as well.”

“There is no shame in wishing things were different either, neyar ad.  But that is not what bothers you about this, is it?”

“...No, it’s not.  The reason our intel was bad, that we fell for that trap was- a mole.  An aruetii, right in the middle of my company, right under my nose.  And the Manda didn’t see fit to inform me of that.”  Jaster couldn’t help but let bitterness bleed into his voice.  He had been blind to Montross’ failings, despite the fact that others could see them, and despite the Manda seeing fit to whisper in his ear now and then.  “-If it had, maybe more people would have made it home.”

“Or more may have died.  Or maybe it did tell you, and you didn’t listen.  We will not deal in what-ifs, Jaster.  We Remember, but we do not dwell endlessly in grief.”  Bee stated calmly, and Jaster could picture him sitting at the same stool in the forge he always did, hands steady as he spoke - it was the same voice that had lectured him when he was small, told him stories of their clan, and got him to sleep when the dreams were too much.  Warm and strong, like the forge he worked in.  “So, you have taken a great loss, and been betrayed.  It is not the first time - these things will continue to happen as long as you live, but you will march onwards soon enough.”

“‘Lek, Baba.  I know I will.  It doesn’t take the sting away, but we’ll keep moving.”  

Bee made a slight noise in the affirmative, before there was a beat of silence.  “You say you will move on and yet, you do not tell me who the traitor was.”

Jaster sagged, propping himself up half heartedly with elbows on his thighs.  “Montross.”

“Your ver’alor?”

“Yeah.  It was unexpected, to say the least.  We did a little digging, and it seems like Tor’s been bankrolling him for over a year, and Montross was feeding him intel on our location and forces.  Promised Montross control of the company, if… If I was eliminated.”

“Is he dead, or holed up with the dar’mando’ade?” 

Jaster flinched at the title - it wasn’t inaccurate, but it was an insult with greater venom than he had ever heard Bee use before.

“Holed up, we think.  Kyr’tsad comms have gone pretty dead since then - covering their tracks since their operation was botched, so we don’t have confirmation.”

“Vizsla may have killed him for the failure.  Time will tell.”   

Once again, Bee did not mince words - Jaster knew it was a possibility (or that Jango’s shot to Montross’ sen’tra had killed him), but even with some time to consider it he wasn’t entirely sure which outcome he preferred.  Surely his own justice would be preferable to Tor’s, at the very least.

“If he’s alive, he knows a lot about our patrols, our numbers, strategies…  Plenty he could offer Tor in exchange for his life.”

“That he has not shared already?  That they have not already used to set the trap you escaped?   You are bargaining for the life of a traitor, neyar ad - even if you had him in custody, you know what you would have to do. ”

“I know, I know.  It's just…”  Jaster put his head in his hands, “...Ten years, we worked together.  I thought I knew him.  I thought we were friends.  I still haven’t really wrapped my mind around it - Jango is angrier than I am.”

“That is no surprise.  Jango burns like a flashbang.  You are a bushfire, long-lasting.”

“And you are the forge, Baba.  I’d hate to think what you would do to him.”  

Bee snorted.  “I would throw him in the smelter, but he is hardly worth the slag he would make.”

Jaster managed a chuckle as well.

“Speaking of the forge… I think the company has earned some shore leave.  If nothing else, we could use the space to do some repairs, make camp.”

“And home has plenty of open fields.”   

“I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“Good.  Now, you’ll have to tell me how you ended up adopting Jango - I seem to remember him being very stubborn on the matter…”

–

Well over an hour later, voice a little fried and spirit quite soothed, Jaster stepped back out of his room.  By now, the ship had switched to its night-cycle, and the room was dark except for the warm glow of a lamp on an endtable.  From its light, Jaster could see Jango’s armor piled up next to the sofa, the boy himself curled up fast asleep on its worn cushions.

Jaster longed for the days when he could scoop Jango up in his arms easily and tuck him into bed.  Tonight, he settled for draping a blanket over him and nudging a curl out of his face.

Chapter Text

‘Nervous’ was not often a word used to describe Jango.  Yet, as Jaster watched the boy fiddle with his kom’rk for the thousandth time, bouncing his knees, it was the only word that fit.

Concord Dawn had no port large enough to house the Dxun (and besides that, landing the light cruiser planetside was an ordeal and a half), so they had elected to leave it in orbit as the majority of the company came planetside.  They would rotate out over the course of the next few weeks, to make sure the Dxun would be protected but allow everyone plenty of time off.  That meant those of them who were heading down to the surface first would take their dropships, half of the bay filled with supplies to set up camp.  

Jango had volunteered to go down with the early teams, but then had seemed to change his mind the day before, privately approaching Jaster to ask if he could swap assignments and wait another week before he had to go down to the planet’s surface.  

Jaster had denied the request.  Now, watching Jango practically vibrate in his seat, he began to wonder if perhaps giving the boy another few days before bringing him planetside would have soothed his nerves.  Then again, it might have made things worse as well to leave the teen alone with his thoughts.  No matter the case, Bee had sent a rather firm comm that said he expected them both to be at the family compound as soon as possible - there would be no delaying that meeting even if Jaster wanted to.  He was sure that wasn’t helping Jango’s nerves, but there was more to it than that.  

Jango had only been to Concord Dawn once since his parents had died, and even then it was because he had snuck aboard Jaster’s dropship when he had gone to confer with Bee about the foundling’s adoption.  Which, now that Jaster thought about it, Jango didn’t remember happening - so the last time he had seen Concord Dawn had been the day his home burned, the day he first killed someone, and the day he watched the planet disappear in the Dxun’s viewport.

Jaster shifted so their knees bumped together, and huffed a little sigh through his nose when Jango started.  

“I can hear your gears turning from here, ad.  You going to be alright?”

Jango stared at his boots for a moment, knees still bouncing slightly. 

“...I don’t know.  Not yet.”  He sniffed and gripped his kom’rk again, “Maybe after we get this over with.”

Jaster leaned back against the headrest, considering what might ease the boy’s anxieties.  The mir’jaa’ur helped, but sometimes Jango would just react unexpectedly, especially when he was on edge like this.  A few of the other verde nearby shifted as well, trying to give the pair space while crammed into the small shuttle.

“You know, I think the last time I was in the aliit’yaim was… oh, before you were born.  Fifteen years.”  The dropship rattled slightly as they entered Concord Dawn’s atmosphere. “Could have visited sooner, but I think I’ve been afraid of how different it might be.  Or if it was exactly the same.”

Jaster knew it wouldn’t be.  The last time he had been truly home his mother was still alive, along with his ba’buire, ba’tate and a half a dozen ba’tat’ade. The few times he had visited Concord Dawn since his exile had been overturned, he hadn’t strayed far from Bee’s forge, as much as the older man had tried to convince him to come home.

Jango looked up from his boots, searching Jaster’s face for a moment.  “...The Dxun’ s pretty much home, isn’t it?”  He spoke softly,  “At least for us.  I keep thinking about the old house, out in the fields, but I can’t- remember it very well.  Keep seeing your rug in the karyai, or my bunk instead of my old room.  And I can’t remember how tall the veshok should be this time of year.”

Jaster was a little shocked by how quickly Jango seemed to forget home.  He felt there were some things from his youth he could never forget, seared into his spirit like a brand - sitting by the hearth in the winter with his cousins as the adults teased each other in the kitchen, watching the meteors fly by in the sky every night, and the smell of freshly turned earth during the planting season.  

Then again, he had spent almost three times as long on Concord Dawn as Jango had, even if it had been over a decade ago.  He couldn’t remember which room was his parents’ in the ‘yaim, or his mother’s favorite shig, even though he knew she had one, or what color his own room had been painted.  It wasn’t so unusual for the boy to struggle, especially with the state he left in.

“Well.  The veshok should be about ready to harvest, I think.  Taller than I am,”  He took a breath through his nose,  “And the Mereel’yaim will be a little different, anyway.  Older, for one.  Looks pretty different from a cabur’yaim.  Think of it as someplace new - like anywhere else we’ve set up camp.”  

Jango grunted a little, clearly not convinced, but he made an attempt to settle all the same.  One of the verde sitting nearby (all of whom had been listening in, as much as they pretended otherwise) chirped up in the meantime.

“Hey, Jango, maybe you can get the goran to show you Alor’s baby holos!”  

Jaster tried to pin them with a hard stare even as the other verde stifled sniggers.  Jango seemed a little brighter, and he tried to smother a grin in Jaster’s direction.

“Aw, don’t look like that, Alor!  It’s every child’s duty to make fun of their buire’s baby holos!  Why, I remember the look on my ad’ika’s face when my parents pulled out the old holobook…”

–

They made camp a few klicks away from town, positioned far enough that the local Protectors could have a little breathing room while still being close enough to suit their needs.  These days the Protectors were a lot more amenable to their presence (and his, specifically), but Jaster still didn’t want to push the issue.  More advantageously, the Mereel’yaim was on the closer edge of town, nearer to camp, and Bee’s forge wasn’t far from the house.

For most of the verde it would be an easy walk, but it was still too far for Jaster on his own with his knee still tender.  Thankfully, they had brought a speeder down in one of the dropships for carrying supplies.   A few hours after they had touched down and gotten a mostly functional camp put together - during most of which Jaster had been relegated to ‘management’, sat rather firmly on a crate by the medic - he and Jango took the speeder into town.

The Mereel compound, as it turned out, looked very much like it did in Jaster’s memory, if a little more overgrown.  The duracrete walls surrounding the complex were mostly clean, but vines and grasses were creeping along the base of the structure and through the gate he could see that the grounds were less tame than in his youth.  Still, it wasn’t as bad as Jaster had feared on the late nights alone, gripped with homesickness and wondering how Bee could possibly care for the home by himself.  The fields were surprisingly maintained as well - Bee must have let other families use the land.

Of course, Jango was stiff as a board as Jaster punched in the code Bee had given them for the gate.  He followed dutifully behind his buir nonetheless as the gate slid away to show the complex unobstructed.

The building sat squat and sprawling along the land it occupied, having grown over the years to fill the walls it sat within - strips of rock here and there along the grass showed where the walls had been moved outwards to accommodate additions.  The entire complex was mostly duracrete as well, interspersed with tall, narrow windows in transparisteel - but the entrance defined it as a truly Concordian home, porch-posts made of thick, dark tree trunks and the stairs carved of matching wood.  Dotted near the back of the complex, Jaster knew there were a few large decks made of the same material, to observe the night sky or provide a convenient landing for a sen’tra .

Additions and renovations had been made consistently since Clan Mereel had made their home here nearly seven centuries ago, after the Dral’han had ravaged the major systems in Mandalorian Space, and the floorplan was more than a little convoluted - all the better, if aruetii get lost in our halls, Jaster remembered his mother lecturing him, after a school friend had complained about not being able to find the refresher.  He had thought it a bit silly that his mother would say that about a twelve year old trying to find the bathroom.  

Briefly, he worried if Jango would get lost - but the boy would memorize the layout in no time if they spent more than a day or two here.  Jaster did his best to march forward without hesitation, but finally being in the shadow of the house still gave him pause.  Now, he felt rather like an outsider here.

“Sure is different, you were right.”  Jango muttered, eyes wandering around the facade,  “Bigger than I expected.”

Jaster hummed thoughtfully.  “Built to last, yeah.  Come on, I’m sure Bee knows the gate’s been opened.”

True to Jaster’s word, Bee materialized in the doorway when the pair were halfway up the steps.  

Voice booming as usual, he greeted them with “Verd’ike, you’re late!  It’s almost time for latemeal and- Oh, Jaster, let me help-” before bustling over (and perhaps jostling Jango out of the way) in his quest to support Jaster’s other side as he took the last steps.  As soon as they were back on level ground, Bee wasted no time in pulling Jaster’s head down to his and pressing their heads together in a kov’nyn, eyes shut as they took in each other's warmth.  

Jango shifted awkwardly, gaze dropping to stare at the wood underneath his feet - he felt rather like an intruder or interloper, watching the reunion.  

Of course, Bee didn’t let that go on for long.  A moment later, Jango’s head snapped up as he registered Bee’s boots approaching by the wood creaking - and Bee stood there, a step away, arms open.  It was a position Jaster had taken a million times before, an open invitation.  

Jango took it.  He stepped forward, and Bee cupped his cheeks and kissed his curly hair before pressing their foreheads together as well.

“Yaim’olarom, Jango.  It’s good to see you grown - come in, both of you.  In, in, it’s getting cold out.”

They were ushered inside, greeted by the warm scent of spices and a hearthfire - in fact, Jango’s first thoughts were about just how warm everything looked.  

The lights inside were a soft golden color, and as they exited the entryway they were greeted by rugs and tapestries slung along almost any available surface.  Jango thought the patterns and materials looked familiar - almost the same as the ratty old rug in Jaster’s cabin on the Dxun.  He grimaced a little, realizing he’d probably maligned the rug once a week since he’d moved in without realizing it had come from Jaster’s home.

Other than the colorful rugs, Jango noted that the walls had been painted various rich jewel tones to cover the plain gray of the duracrete, and as they entered the karyai, some had even been covered in wood paneling or woven with veshok stalks.  It gave the room the impression of an old-fashioned hunting lodge rather than a modern stronghold, especially with the fire in the center of the room and an arrangement of mismatched chairs surrounding it.  A pot was bubbling slowly over the firepit.  Bee had apparently elected to cook over the hearthfire rather than in a proper kitchen - Jango assumed the house had a proper kitchen.  At this size, it had to, right?   

For Jaster, it was an almost too familiar scene - Bee, his mother, or his ba’buire had done the same thing hundreds of times, setting a pot over the fire and sitting comfortably in one of the chairs as the younger cousins would elbow each other around and playfully argue over the food.  It smelled the same, the chairs were the same, and even the decorations were almost exactly as he remembered them.  

But it was so quiet.  No boots thundering around upstairs, no chatter from the hallways, not even the creaking of the unoccupied rocking chairs.  If he strained, Jaster thought he could hear the birds outside.  

It stuck more than a knife to the ribs, watching Bee putter around the fire in a room that seemed too big for him.

Jango mostly just seemed fascinated, eyes wandering about, taking in all the sights and totally oblivious to his buir’s plight.  As Jaster sat heavily near the fire, eager to get the weight off his knee, Jango continued to wander - hands running along the wood backs of the seats, looking up at the tapestries, or examining the small pieces of pottery thrown here and there.  He continued wandering until Bee finished fiddling with his pot and called out.

“Jan’ika, come here.  I have things for you - we will look around later, after evening meal.”  Jango hurried over, suddenly looking a little ashy.

“Breathe, ad.  This is just a formality,” Jaster soothed from his seat, as Bee grabbed a carved wooden chest off a nearby table.

“If we were formal about it, we would be doing this in the forge.  But, I didn’t want to wait anymore,” Bee said, as he flipped open the lid of the box.  “First, armor.  Come closer, neyar ad, I don’t bite-”

Bee beckoned him forward, and Jango shuffled up a little closer.  With the deft fingers of long practice, Bee unlatched Jango’s beskar’ta from its place and set it down delicately in the box.  A moment later, he pulled out a very similar piece, unpainted and gleaming in the firelight - a slightly purer beskar alloy than the old one had gone into it, and Jango only had a moment to marvel at the implications before it was snapped into place over his kute.   

“This beskar’ta was forged four centuries ago by our ancestors, worn by many since, and now it is yours.  The last to wear it was Drala Mereel, your ba’buir.  Wear it proudly.”  

Jaster sat up a little straighter, hearing his mother’s name.  Watching Jango stare down at the piece covering his heart, tracing its outline with reverence, brought both grief and pride bubbling to the surface in equal measure.  His son, wearing his mother’s armor.  How time has marched ever onwards, he thought.

Of course, Bee wasn’t finished yet, gently removing and replacing the rest of Jango’s hal’cabur with shining, unpainted beskar.  He had used Jango’s old measurements from his current set to reforge Drala’s pieces, and seemingly made them larger to make room for the boy to grow.  Still, it seemed right, and Jango stood taller as the pieces settled into place.  If Jaster’s eyes got a little misty, well, that was between him and the Manda.  

He tuned back in as Bee presented Jango with a new pair of kneeguards, equipped with micro-rockets.

“I expect you to train with these before you use them, neyar ad.  Even if you have before, you run through the forms again first.”

“Yessir, baba.”  Jango’s eyes sparkled in the way every child’s did when getting a new toy to play with, but underneath it he seemed a little overwhelmed - these had to have been greater gifts than he had imagined, and they hadn’t even shown him his room yet.  Honestly, it was more than Jaster had expected either.

Luckily, the knee rockets seemed to be the last of Bee’s armor gifts.  The final item, Jaster knew, was a small pendant emblazoned with the family crest - a besk’aliik, so that even if his paint had faded or been stripped away, others would know who he was.  The little round disk hung from a leather cord, spinning ever so slightly as Bee pulled it over Jango’s head.  He stared down at it a moment before Bee patted his shoulder and nudged him in Jaster’s direction.

“Go on and show your buir, now.  Food’ll be just a moment.”

Jango did as he was told, and Jaster could have sworn his eyes were a little misty as well - a rare sight on the teen.  His voice was soft as he mumbled a ‘look, buir’ and bent over so Jaster could get a good view at the pendant.

Oh, Bee.

On one side, it was what he expected - the Mereel shield overlaid with their mythosaur skull, sigil almost unchanged since the day they had first settled on Concord Dawn.  On the other side, done with the same care, was the Fett clan sigil, tal, veshok and all.  Bee had made this years ago, when Jango still wasn’t speaking to anyone and the two had never met face to face, but he knew even then what family meant to the boy.

“...You like it?”  Jaster whispered.  

Jango only nodded, before collapsing into the spot next to Jaster and pulling the two together for a hug.  Face pressed into Jango’s shoulder, Jaster rocked the two back and forth a little, as he had done a hundred times, breathing in Jango’s saltwater smell mixed with what he could swear was his mother’s soap.

“...We staying the night?” Jango mumbled, muffled as his cheeks pressed into Jaster’s shoulder.

“I think so, bud.  Your friends will want to see your shiny new armor in the morning, though.”  Jaster stifled a laugh as Jango’s groan rattled his pauldron.  “-You can paint before we go, if you want. There’s an old paint hood and repair station in the back, if I remember right.”

He huffed, and rolled off Jaster’s shoulder to sit more comfortably - knee still bumping Jaster’s.  A moment later, Bee handed them both steaming bowls of tiingilar from the pot he’d been stirring, and set a decanter alongside a few glasses on the short table nearby.  Once he had his own bowl filled, he pulled a chair up and joined their little huddle.  

“Bee, is the old armor station still in the back storeroom?”  Jaster asked, and Bee grunted in affirmative through a mouthful of food.  Jaster tried not to laugh as he started again, “Do you mind if we-?”

Bee swallowed and cut Jaster off, “Of course you can use it - my apprentices and I have been cleaning everything up, so it’d be ready for the company.”

“...The company, Bee?”

“Well, yes, ad.”  Bee seemed almost offended that Jaster had to ask, “I assumed some of your verde would be staying here while you all rested.  Better a soft bed than a field camp, and we have all the utilities one could want.”

Jaster chewed thoughtfully, ignoring the burn when his mouthful seemed to include a particularly spicy pepper.

“...Well, there aren’t enough beds for everyone, even if we doubled up.  And we don’t want to… irritate the local Protectors.”

“Bah! Irritate away.  They are more a nuisance these days than anything, since the Evaarla’ade swept through and cleaned out the rotten nuna-eggs.”  Bee sniffed derisively,  “And besides, they should be answering to you in the first place.”

Jaster sighed, and exchanged his bowl for the decanter and poured himself a measure of the drink - a strong tihaar, if the smell was any indication.

“They haven’t named me their Mand’alor yet, Bee.”

“They will.  Perhaps even before you leave.”

Jaster snorted, taking a sip from his cup, “Doubtful.”  

Bee’s eyes narrowed dangerously, even as he had a mouthful of tiingilar in his mouth.  Once he swallowed, he continued.

“You forget how you are looked at, Jaster.  You may have only come here to rest, recuperate, and bring your child to visit home -” He glanced at Jango, who was listening intently as he ate, eyes wide, “-But that’s not how people will see it.  You’ve made a statement by coming with Headhunter at your back.”

“And you think the Protectors are ready to swear to me? That coming here with forces at my side will convince them? They won’t forget what happened so easily.”

“You were acquitted.”

“No, my sentence was overturned.  And even then, it took ten years and Manda’yaim breathing down their necks, looking at every trial from the last fifty years.  If we waited for them to admit wrongdoing on their own, we’d still be sitting around when Tatooine freezes over.” 

“You’d be surprised how much has changed in the last few years.  Like I said, they are more annoyances now than any actual threat - and they are like that by choice.  Last time I ran into the captain, she just about tripped over herself asking if I could please fix the dent in her cetar’bu, paid double for a rush job, and then reminded me to pay the kriffing business tax before she left.”  

Jango snorted a little at the image as Bee continued, “Most of the Protectors now are your age or younger, Jaster.  They are there because they want to help people, and they would jump at the chance to assist their Mand’alor. ”

Jaster shook his head.  “I can’t believe they could change so much in a few years.”

“You’re one to talk, buir,” Jango half snorted again, talking through a mouthful of food.  “I mean, you always said the Rami’kade were just a bunch of thugs when you joined, and you turned it around in, what, a year?”

Jaster furrowed his brows.  He didn’t want to admit it, but Jango was right - they had been all but a gang at first, until Jaster had ousted the alor and taken his place.  Still, this felt… different.

“Do you really believe they haven’t moved on, or are you the one unwilling to forgive?”  

And, as usual, Bee struck at the heart of the issue.

“I don’t understand why you are willing, Bee.  After everything that’s happened!  They turned a blind eye to Kyr’tsad on your doorstep, if they weren’t marching down here in blue themselves.  They stalked your every step, listened in on every call, ignored pleas for aid - if nothing else, they are complicit in our family’s deaths, if not outright guilty!  They betrayed the people, betrayed us, and you were the one who said a betrayal is not to be forgiven!”

He was halfway through his rant before Jaster realized he had even raised his voice.  Jango had shrunk in his armor, unused to the venom coming from his father.  

Bee was unmoved, steady as stone. “As I’ve been saying, these are not the same people.  Those who are guilty have been punished, as is just.”

“You expect me to believe every single Protector who worked back then is gone, that I wouldn’t recognize a single face if I went up to the office today?”

“You expect them all to be guilty?”

“Yes! ”

“That’s ridiculous, ad.  Not everyone could have known what was going on-”

“It was obvious, Bee! Everyone knew something was wrong, everyone knew who was in on it, and they all turned a blind eye!  They didn’t do anything!”  Jaster gesticulated with the mug in his hand, managing to look accusatory as the tihaar threatened to spill out.

“Not everyone could get away with what you did, Jaster-”

“Get away with it? I was exiled! I was lucky not to be stripped of my armor-!”

“And if any of your comrades had killed a fellow verd in broad daylight, they would have been dead on the spot!” Bee snapped, matching Jaster in volume, “You were lucky to survive!  And the only reason you did was because they wanted to make an example of you, to make sure none of your friends got any ideas of their own!”

Bee sat back in his chair as he finished, tiingilar long forgotten.  Jango was sure if he had taken his gloves off, Jaster’s knuckles would be white on his mug.  He looked fuming, deep creases forming between his brows as he glared at Bee.

Jango resisted the urge to laugh as a long forgotten memory of his mother and father glaring at each other over the kitchen table surfaced.

“...Someone should have done something.  Anything.  We swore an oath to protect the people, Bee.  We swore.”

“They tried, Jaster, I’m sure.  In their own ways, that you couldn’t see, little acts of resistance.  They tried.”

“They broke an oath.”  Jaster’s voice had gotten quiet, like fire sputtering out in the rain.

“Let them uphold their oaths now.  They would answer your call, if you let them.”

Jaster took a deep breath, and his death-grip on the mug relaxed.  Jango couldn’t help but calm a little as well - in some little part of his mind, he agreed with Jaster, that someone should have done something more despite the risks, but....  He supposed the Fetts had paid the price for trying to do something as well.

Bee sighed as well, and went back to his food.

“I just thought it would be nice to give the company a place to stay.”

“I know, Bee.  I’ll… I’ll extend the offer.  I’m sure they’ll appreciate it either way.”  It was a peace offering, a hand meant to soothe over ruffled feathers, and they all knew it.   

Bee didn’t respond, busying himself with his meal.

“...If there’s not enough beds, we could just… move the tents inside the walls?  The grounds seemed pretty big, ‘n it’s more defensible in here.”  Jango suggested, pretending to pick at his meal.  

Jaster did the same, contemplative.  “Not a bad idea, Jan’ika.  I suppose I’d better send a message now, before we get too dug in…”

“No work at the mealtable,”  Bee groused softly, and it startled a laugh out of Jaster - finally, the tension present in the room started to fade.

–

The rest of the meal was a little stilted, but Jaster and Bee both made an effort to cover the awkwardness with chatter about everything and nothing as they had a second bowl of tiingilar steadily draining and more of the decanter.  To be honest, Jango had never seen Jaster drink so much alcohol before, and it was a little strange to see his buir’s eyes get a little glassy as the two older men talked about what had changed in the house.

It wasn’t long before Jango was trying not to yawn, the anxieties and excitement of the day finally catching up to him.  He wanted to stay up and listen to more stories, especially as Bee and Jaster started commiserating about family, but Bee was more observant than he’d given him credit for, even mildly inebriated.  The third time Jango stifled a yawn, he caught Bee staring with an amused look on his face.

“Well, I think that’s enough talk.  Best show Jango around before we fall asleep in here, neyar ad.”  Bee stood and stretched, a few joints popping as he did so.  Jaster followed with almost as much noise.

“...Might go straight to bed, for me.”  Jaster yawned a little himself, wincing as he put too much weight on his knee.  Bee almost winced in sympathy as well.

“Ah.  Yes, fair enough, ad.  Rest for your healing.”  Bee said,  “You remember where your room is upstairs?  Jango and I will be up in a little bit.  Need to show him around a little first.”

Jaster waved Bee off, already wandering towards the staircase.  In the meantime, Jango dutifully trailed his great-uncle as they traipsed around the house, exhaustion fading as Bee started to tell more stories of the house and its history.

-

Jaster found his room easily, almost on autopilot as he walked through the halls upstairs.  The decor was the same as he remembered up here as well, or as well as he could remember through the veil of homemade tihaar.  More tapestries and curtains hung along the walls, alongside faded children’s drawings and holopictures.  The doors were all identical, though, and he did register somewhere in the back of his mind that Bee had taken the nameplates off of most of them.

Still, he knew which room was his immediately, pushing the door open to reveal his room almost exactly as he had left it fifteen years ago.  Even the blanket on the bed was the same as he remembered - a monstrous, lumpy, knitted thing his ba’buir had gifted him as a going-away present when he was going to university.  A few real, paper books sat on top of his wardrobe, and the window was even cracked open slightly to let in the breeze he had always preferred.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took a long look around the room, lingering on a few items of sentimental value - his first knife hung on the wall, a gift from his father, some more drawings his little cousins had given him, and even a little mechanical puzzle Bee had made that Jaster had never had the patience to solve.  It all was clean and clear of dust, to his surprise.  Vaguely he remembered Bee saying his apprentices had been hard at work getting the house cleaned up.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there, staring out the window and listening to the distant rustling of veshok stalks, when there was a little knock on the doorframe.

“Just checking in, Jaster.”  Bee stood in the doorway alone, voice rumbling just above a whisper.  “How’s your room?”

Jaster blinked a little, still coming back down to earth from where his mind had wandered.  “Oh, it’s… good.  I forgot about this blanket until now,” he said, digging his fingers into the holes in the knit.

“You left it behind when you were packing to leave.  Your mother almost ran after you with it.”  Bee said, taking a few steps into the room.  Jaster gave a weak, watery laugh at the thought.

“I’m sure she did.  Everything happened so fast after the trial, I… I left a lot behind.”  He shook his head lightly to clear it.  “Where, uh, did you put Jango?”

Bee’s smile looked sad as Jaster tried to change topics, but he went along with it.  “Across the hall, in your parent’s old room.  Boy looked almost as dead on his feet as you.”

Ah, so that was where his parent’s room was.  How he had forgotten, he didn’t know.  “...And you’re next door, right?”

“Yes, Jaster, on the left.  If you need anything, I’m there, but you should rest.”

He sighed, “Need to send that message to the company first, about moving here.”

“Mhm.  After that, rest, kih’nau.  That’s an order.”

“‘Lek, Baba. I will.”

Bee came another stride closer, kissed the top of Jaster’s head, and said goodnight as he shut the door behind him.  The feeling of comfort and calm washed through Jaster, even as Bee swept out of the room.  Luckily, his message to Headhunter took only a moment to send, and then he set his comm to ‘do-not-disturb’ so the others' thoughts wouldn’t wake him with a comm buzz.

It only took a moment for Jaster to strip down to his kute and crawl under the covers of his bed.  He had expected to be unable to sleep, too anxious about being in his family’s home once more, but surrounded by a sense of calm and comfort and love emanating from the room itself, he dozed off quickly.

Rest, kih’nau.

Chapter Text

To the surprise of no one, the company elected to move camp into the Mereel compound, the allure of proper showers and soft beds proving too much for even hardened verde to resist.  By the time Jango and Jaster woke up the next morning, they each had half a dozen politely worded messages enquiring how soon camp could be moved and a few less politely worded on who should get first dibs on the baths.  

In true Jaster fashion, however, they were barred from beginning the move until Jaster had their word that they had read a set of rules and guidelines he had typed up. Some of those guides were ripped straight from the Codex (one entire chapter of which was chiefly concerned with being gracious guests of an ‘employer’), and some of which were clearly specific to the Mereel house concerning areas that were off-limits, to maintain Bee’s privacy in his own home.  It would take a few hours before they had all read and ratified it.

Jango thought it was just Jaster’s way of making sure he’d have a quiet morning.  

Given the man had apparently gone back to bed for the first time in Jango’s memory after sending it off, he’d say the plan had worked.  Bee had shooed Jango away from Jaster’s door before he could knock, straightened out his armor and kute, and bustled him out of the kitchen when he came looking for something to eat for firstmeal.  It was a little bit like being hit by an affectionate hurricane.

So now, Jango was wandering the yard aimlessly, kicking at weeds as he went.  Unstructured time was unusual, at this point in his life - sure, they all had downtime, but he could always go to the training rooms on the Dxun, or get ready for his next on-shift.  Before his verd’goten, time would have been spent with training or studying.  He didn’t like being left to his own thoughts like this - feeling his mind wander into areas he didn’t want to think about, especially not so early in the morning.

Kneeling down in the dirt, looking at a particularly unruly patch of weeds, Jango thought about… before. He remembered puttering around in his father’s shadow, pulling weeds out from the house’s foundation as Cassius worked in the yard.  He remembered proudly showing off the longest roots he’d pulled, getting his hair ruffled for the effort.  He wasn’t sure if the house was even still there-

No, not going that way.

He sniffed and racked his brain for some actual work to do.  He could paint his armor, he supposed, but he wanted to think a little more about what to put on the plate - not to mention Silas had already been very vocal in commtext about wanting to see it ‘shiny’ first.

A few weeds were ripped out of the ground as he pondered.  There were definitely still education modules he could work on - he had been extremely disappointed when Jaster had insisted on him continuing his modules after his verd’goten, but Jaster was a nerd, so no surprise there.  The idea of reading the lengthy text he knew was waiting for him made Jango’s lips curl though, so no good there.

He could start planning where their tents and housing would be set up, he supposed.  Better to do something physical while he was alone with his thoughts, and it needed to be done if camp was going to be properly set up before nightfall.

The caf tent needed to be set up first, since it was the largest (Bee was touchier than he expected, willing to hug and lay a hand on his shoulders, or pat his hair in a way the Fetts never had.  It was pleasant, but strange), so he picked a spot near a wall that had enough room, and started arranging other pieces from there (Had his father ever hugged him? He couldn’t remember, but he knew he had never straightened out his clothes like Bee had just a few minutes ago).  The storage tent would go next to the caf tent (The house was so different too, so large and empty and centuries older than the cabur’yaim), and the command-and-comms center would be pressed up against one of the walls of the house, where it would be more defensible but still get good sightlines of the yard (He’d had trouble sleeping last night, unsettled just by being somewhere new, and wondering who the last person to sleep in that room had been).  Jango wondered if they might be able to fit something on top of the walls themselves, just to keep an eye out (How had they died? Had they died?  Jaster still hadn’t told him why the Mereel house was so empty, and it gnawed at him as he tried to sleep), but for now he settled for getting the basics under control: the caf tent, command center, latrine, and he even thought he spotted a good place to string up some clotheslines for laundry (After last night, Jango wasn’t sure Jaster would say even if he asked.  And both he and Bee still seemed wounded by it, even if Bee hid it better).

“Ad, what are you doing?”

Jango startled at the sound of Jaster’s voice above him, whipping around to see his buir standing on one of the decks above him, leaning over the railing and stifling a yawn.  He was still in casual clothes, but he’d slipped on his kom’rk and Jango thought he could spy the shadow of a holster at his hip.

“-Just, uh, figuring out how we’re gonna set up camp.  So the others’ll know where to put stuff right away.”

“Good lad.  You’ll have to finish in a bit, firstmeal is ready.  Better not let it go cold.”

–

Evidently Bee was a very good cook who was delighted to be cooking for family again, given the sheer volume of food he seemed to be making.  It gave Jango a convenient excuse not to ask his questions, as he filled his plate twice before wandering back out into the yard to finish his work.  He had only been interrupted once more by one of Bee’s apprentices swinging by, an Echani with braided white hair who had only nodded at Jango before sweeping inside the house like they owned the place, only to come back out twenty minutes later and disappear again.

Thankfully, he managed to finish his plotting not long after, still long before noon.  Jaster had approved his plan for the camp and sent it off to the others without even looking at it (“I trust your judgement, neyar alor’ad’ika-” ) and soon the compound was bustling with activity.  There was the buzzing of laughter and excitement in the air Jango hadn’t felt since before Korda, or even longer - it had been a long time since they’d been planetside outside of a job.  The tents and lodging went up quickly, and it was only mid-afternoon when everything was in functional shape.  Bee had been observing the setup from one of the decks above, bantering with the verde and being especially unhelpful at giving directions for where they should put this or that.  Jaster was sitting nearby on the deck, occasionally snorting at Bee’s antics or outright telling the verde to ignore him as he caught up on flimsiwork.

Jango was grateful all the activity kept him far too busy to think of much else, and eventually he devolved into refereeing an impromptu wrestling match to determine who got to use the showers first.  Jaster had refused to show favoritism when they had first started asking him about it, and frankly, a battle circle was a good way for them all to work out some tension before coming inside the house.  By the time the order was settled, they were all covered in dust and laughing, even as a few of the unlucky ones sulked about having to wait to get clean.  All and all, they were settling in well.

The sun was just starting to set again, a few verde wandering inside to start cooking latemeal, when the peace was disturbed by a buzzing at the compound’s gates.  Jango had barely registered one of the scouts keeping watch hurrying inside a moment earlier, but as the gates slid open and two Protectors entered the property, he thanked the Manda that someone had been paying attention.  

They were both clad in the traditional green, sigils painted in white on one side of the chestplate - Jango was once again reminded how similar the Protector sigil and Vhett’aliik was as he watched them pass, eyes caught on the outline of a veshok stalk.  The shorter of the two had her helmet clipped to her belt, showing dark skin and black, curly hair braided tightly to her skull.  She looked younger than Jaster but had the same aura of authority that followed him around like a shroud.  

The camp got a lot quieter, and several of the company did not attempt to hide their stares.  To their credit, the two Protectors didn’t flinch or miss a step on their march up to the porch where Bee had exited the house to wait for them.

“Need something, alor’ad?”

“Evening, Mr. Mereel.  Not to worry, we’ll be out of your hair in just a moment, I’m sure.”  The shorter woman’s voice rang clearly as Jango crept closer to make sure he could hear every word exchanged,  “Just checking in, since, ah.  It seems you have more guests than anticipated?  When you told us you’d be having guests earlier, you indicated perhaps five or six people, not thirty.”

“My mistake, alor’ad.   Plans changed pretty recently, hadn’t had a chance to inform you yet.”  Bee said, tone lighter than Jango expected.  Of course, Jaster chose that moment to slip out the door behind Bee as well, having apparently taken a moment to slip on his hal’cabur and cloak.  The captain seemed to straighten up a little, and to Jango’s surprise, she gave a careful tip of her head in Jaster’s direction.

He didn’t look impressed.

“Well, Mr. Mereel, it’s alright to have guests, but this many inside the walls… well, it’s a bit of a fire hazard?”  Her voice lilted up at the end, like she was almost unsure of what she was saying - the sense of authority she had worn on the march up to the porch was fading the more she talked, and her eyes kept flicking in Jaster’s direction.  “I counted a half a dozen sen’tra just from the walk up here, and a campfire.  It’s harvest season, as I’m sure you know, and bushfires are a risk-”

“Get to the point already, Gilamar,” Jaster practically snapped, and Bee shot him a look.  Jango filed the name away for later - clearly Jaster recognized the captain, and from the sound of his voice, well. It wasn’t a good look on her part.  

She made a valiant effort not to look perturbed, but she hesitated a moment too long for it to be convincing.

“-Alright, fine.  We’d like to inspect the grounds, make sure everything’s up to code, and then we’ll be out of your way.”  

Jango could see Jaster resisting the urge to roll his eyes, and a few of the other verde close enough to listen in griped a little as well - Jaster never let them slack off when it came to safely setting up camp - they knew everything would be in order, but no one liked strangers poking around in their things.  

“That’s it?  Not gonna check for contraband, or stick your nose in the rest of our business?”  Jaster folded his arms over his chest, and Bee really did roll his eyes at his prickly tone.  

The captain matched Jaster’s tone in kind.

“You’re no smuggler, Alor Mereel.  We know that much.”  She shifted her weight a little side-to-side, glancing at the ramikade who were still staring at the encounter.  “You know the law.  We have to inspect the camp or kick you out, and I’d really rather not do that.  It’s good to see the old house with more life in it.”

Even as she was saying it, Jango knew it was the wrong thing to say - Jaster’s expression darkened, and his lips curled to show teeth. Bee managed to interject before Jaster needled her further.

“Of course, alor’ad, but they’ve only just started setting up - perhaps it would be better to inspect when the camp is complete?”  Bee said as he shot Jaster another meaningful look, “Maybe tomorrow would work better, when they’ve had a chance to settle.”

Gilamar seemed a little tenser than before, even as Jaster bit his tongue.

“Normally people don’t get to choose when they get inspected,” She said, clearing her throat, “but, your logic is sound.  We’ll see you the day after tomorrow.”

“Zhellday it is, alor’ad.  We’ll see you then.”  Bee dipped his head, even as Jaster stayed frozen, and Captain Gilamar returned the gesture to them both.

“Ret’urcye mhi, Goran Mereel, Alor Mereel.”

With that, she turned on her heel and marched away, her companion hot on her heels.  It wasn’t until the gates closed behind her that the gathered verde returned to their work, and the mood began to pick up again.  Jango hesitated, staring at the Mereels a moment longer - his questions about what had happened to the family burning in his mind more than ever.  Jaster took a deep breath and sighed.  

Their eyes met, and Jaster jerked his head towards the door - Jango scurried up to follow the older men inside.

They stopped just inside the door, still able to see a bit of the camp from the windows.  The walls muffled the sound of the camp outside, but did not silence it entirely.  Jaster seemed to be staring out the window without really seeing what was going on outside, gears turning as his brow seemed to furrow further and further.  Jango thought absently that he’d aged about ten years since Korda.

“That wasn’t so bad, Jaster,” Bee said softly, “She gave you more time than I asked for, and she was polite.”

Jaster made a vague grunt of acknowledgement, still staring out the window.  He got like this on occasion - asking to talk to Jango or Myles or someone before he’d actually figured out what to say, and they’d end up sitting there for twenty minutes unless someone poked at him directly.

“Buir,” Jango started, and Jaster’s eyes finally turned away from the window, “You knew her name.  Who is she?”  What did she do?  

“Tani Gilamar.  She was still a junior officer when I left.  Real quiet.  Kept to herself, mostly, did her work on time.”

“Not so meek now, I guess, if she’s alor’ad.”

“Mhm.  Can’t get a bead on her, that’s for sure.”  Jaster worried at his lip, eyes sliding back over to look out the window, “Not who I expected to be Captain.”

“I told you they’d changed, ad.  The Evaarla’ade promoted her when they cleaned house, so she must have been the best of the bunch that were left.”  Bee huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.  

Jaster shook his head. “She was still there , Bee.”

“Oh, for pity’s- we were just over this, we are not doing it again.  If she had so much as sniffed in Kyr’tsad’s direction, Manda’yaim would have been all over her.  She’d been demoted twice before that,”  Bee snipped, and Jaster didn’t seem to respond at all.

“So, she wasn’t, uh… involved, with… all this?”  Jango gestured vaguely around them, at the still-empty rooms that surrounded them.

“No,”  Bee said firmly, even as Jaster opened his mouth to speak.  “-No, Jaster, she wasn’t involved.  You weren’t here when it started, and she tried to help.  I remember, she tried to get a medic when they shot your little cousin Evaa.”

“‘They’?  Who’s ‘they’, the Protectors?”  Jango questioned, and Jaster shook his head minutely. “...I thought- you’re saying Kyr’tsad killed the clan? You said the Protectors did last night.”

“There wasn’t a difference, a lot of the time,” Jaster said, voice very quiet as he stared out the window,  “Tor knew how… disliked I was here.  He leveraged that to get people to follow him.   I recognized a lot of faces in his troupe, and not all of them from his Company.”

“They picked us off in the streets like rats. Getting shot at every time we left the house.  It was… meant to scare us, I assume.  Kyr’tsad likes people to fear them.  I was the only one who could leave the house for weeks.”  Bee rumbled, continuing as Jango raised a curious eyebrow,  “Superstitious coward that he is, Vizsla couldn’t attack an armorer for fear of losing his manda - like he had any left at that point.”

Jango stewed on that for a moment - it was terrifying to think about, imagining being unable to leave home for fear of being killed in the streets.  He wondered how much his parents had known about this when it happened-

“-What about- what about my dad?  He and my mom wouldn’t have just stood by, right?”  He felt the edge of panic slip into his voice, and both Bee and Jaster turned and gave him a gentle look.

“I said before, Jango, your parents were good people.  Cassius-”  Jaster swallowed thickly, “-He tried to warn me not to come home.  He knew Tor was trying to goad me back here, into making a mistake, to rush in for vengeance.  So he sent a message telling us to stay away.”

“Did he?”  Bee seemed thoughtful, apparently unaware of this part of the tale.  “Hm.  Had he not…”

“We would all be dead, I’m sure.”

Jango squirmed a little, at once grateful his parents had tried to do something, but twisted up inside that it hadn’t been enough, with only Bee and Jaster left to tell the tale.  

Jaster wasn’t finished, either.

“...We wouldn’t have found you either, Jango.  If he hadn’t sent that message, we never would have come to the Fetts for help.  And Tor wouldn’t have followed our trail.”  His voice was tight, as it always was when he talked about what happened that day on Concord Dawn - it wasn’t the first time Jaster had apologized for what happened to the Fetts, but it was the first time Jango understood why Jaster had been there in the first place.

“I didn’t realize- you were there because they were killing your family?”

Jaster shrugged slightly.  “I was still exiled then.  It was about the only thing that could have brought me back here, watching that- that video.  Of my mother, staring down the barrel of Tor’s blaster.”  

Jango’s eyes widened.  Jaster had to watch that? Watch her death, at the hands of Kyr’tsad? Of course he had come to Concord Dawn after that, consequences be damned.  Jango had long dreamed of vengeance for his own family, and he hadn’t watched it happen.  He felt a familiar burning in his chest, the light of rage stoked up again.  How dare those dar’manda, cowardly, sleemo, osi’kovide-  

His emotions were close to boiling over when he was brought back to the real world by a light touch against his chestplate.  Bee was brushing his fingers over one spot just to the left of his beskar’ta with a faraway look in his dark eyes.

Jango remembered whose armor he was wearing, and the fire in his chest sputtered out.  Jaster had watched, but he hadn’t been there - not like Bee had.  Not like Bee, burying his sister and reforging her armor - hammering out the shot that had killed her, for Jango’s sake.  Jango’s thoughts briefly flicked to Arla, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight.

Bee’s hand moved to his shoulder, a warm weight he felt through the metal that suddenly seemed too heavy for him.  He took a deep breath.

“...I didn’t realize that it was… That this all happened so recently? We left so quickly-”

Jaster held up a hand, eyes tracking something in the window Jango couldn’t see, before moving and opening the door.  Stood in front of them was one of the commtechs in bright green, hand still raised as if to knock on the door.  

“-Ah, uh, sorry for interrupting, Alor!  There’s a call for you…?”

Jaster raised an eyebrow, and waited.  The verd stumbled a moment before continuing.

“Uh, routed through the Dxun, so it’s been cleared up top.  From, um, Aliit’alor Ulikur?”

“Truuk?”  Bee questioned,  “He wouldn’t be calling for no reason, ad.”

“We don’t have any of his clansmen in Headhunter.  Or any of the companies, I think.”  

“All the more reason to see what he wants.”

Jaster huffed a little, but moved to exit and follow the verd in green to their comm’s center - he hesitated a moment and turned back to Jango.

“I want a report on our defenses and how we can improve them tonight, Jango.  No more surprise visitors.”

With the ring of beskar-on-beskar, Jango’s fist thumped against his chest.  “Yessir, Jaster!”

Chapter Text

Jaster really wished he had taken a moment to put the rest of his armor on before taking this call.  He had only put on his cuirass and gauntlets before Gilamar and her Protector compatriot arrived at the compound, and he hadn’t exactly had a chance to change since. He was halfway to the comm tent when he realized, Right! I’m only half dressed! and by then it was too late to turn back to the house.  

What a great impression this would make. 

Still, he took a deep breath and drew himself up, hands neatly folded behind his back as the holocall connected.  The fuzzy form of Truuk Ulikur, leader of a clan of farmers on one of Concord Dawn’s moons, appeared - he was broad shouldered with a tuft of short pale hair over a remarkably scarred face, but thankfully he appeared mostly unarmored as well.  He’d never met the man before, but he was familiar with the clan.

“S-Su cuy’gar, Mand’alor Mereel, ” Ulikur started, hologram stuttering slightly and distorted by static.

Mand’alor, huh.  He was the first outside of Jaster’s verde or their families to use the title.

“Su’cuy, Alor Ulikur.  What can I do for you?”

“Ah, well.  Rumor has spread f-fast.  You are here, on Concord Dawn?”

“We might be.”

“My niece swears she saw your cruiser in-n orbit.  Anyway, that’s not why I called - I… We need your help.  Please.”  Jaster noted the strain in the other man's voice, evident even as distorted as the holocall was.  Reliable holocomms could be hard to come by, out here on the fringes of the sector.

He certainly didn’t beat around the bush, continuing,  “- It’s almost harvest season, and we’re set to start shipping out our hauls in a fortnight.  We u-usually take on the harvests of our neighbors too, so it’s a lot of freight.”

“But?”

“T-the last few years, we’ve had bandits or pirates raid the shipment before we left the system. Sometimes, before we even get off the ground.  Last year, nothing made it to Manda’yaim, and… if this continues, we’re already in de-ebt just buying the seed.  Don’t know if we have another year in us.”

“Pirates going after farmers seems odd,” Jaster puzzled, frowning.

“We refused to pay t-them protection money.”

“Ah, I see.”  Farming wasn’t easy, Jaster knew, especially in a system like Concord Dawn where you were at risk of raids, drought, or even damned meteor strikes burning your fields down. Pirates were only the icing on the cake for a hard life.  

“Though, you should not have been totally defenseless - have you gone to the Protectors?”

He had to admit, he was curious what Ulikur’s reasoning would be.  Bee acted like things were all fine and dandy these days, but Jaster knew better.  Some little part of his mind hoped Ulikur would mention something Jaster could use to show Bee ‘See? See!? They aren’t as good as they claim!’  

Briefly he noted a thumbs up from the commtech standing nearby, and the static cleared.

“They tried to help, Mand’alor.  Lost two fighters in pursuit the second year, another the next - but the Protectors don’t have any more to give.  Alor’ad Gilamar can barely staff patrols, much less fend off bandits like these.  So, we’ve been on our own.”

That wasn’t what Jaster was expecting to hear.

“They’re that shorthanded?”  He questioned, brows furrowing slightly.  Ulikur just shrugged.

“They weren’t exactly popular before Manda’yaim straightened them out.  Not a lot of new recruits, after that.  Not to mention, not a lot of money to work with if they aren’t taking bribes anymore.”

Jaster shouldn’t have been surprised, but here he was - more than a little shocked by the idea that they didn’t have enough people or money to go around.  Manda knew the commanders had enough credits when he was still with the JPs, and the governor should have been funding them where they could.

“I see.  In that case, you are asking for an escort?  To Manda’yaim?”  

“Out of the system, at least.  They’re just crafty opportunists, lurking around when they know we’re getting ready to ship out, but they should be easy enough for the likes of you to handle.”

“Numbers, armament, organization…?”

“Probably twenty or thirty people, split between two light freighters, a gunship, and two fighters.  Rustbuckets, the lot of them, but we just don’t have the arms to deal with them.  The fighters mostly run interference on our heavy freighter, but the gunship’s the real kick in the shebs. Shoots down anyone who gets in the air.  Thankfully they’re not affiliated with any of the syndicates, as far as we know - I could see if the Protectors could send you their data…? Got a few good scans of what they were flying early on.”

“Please do.  First glance says we should be able to work this out easily, but the data will get us a better picture.”  If their biggest gun was a little puddlejumper gunship, the Dxun would put the fear of the Mando’ade into them.

“I thought as much, Alor.  Thank you.”

“Ah, well.  There is one more thing, as much as I hate to bring it up.”  Jaster genuinely grimaced.

“Payment?”

“I’m afraid so, Alor.  I have my own mouths to feed after all.”

“I understand, but we have little left to give, other than a share of the profits from the harvest.  Or some of the harvest itself, if you would prefer food…?”  

Jaster thought of the crates of freeze-dried veshok already in the Dxun’s storerooms.  No, food would not be necessary just yet, but… 

A thought struck him.

“Does your freighter have room for another harvest?”

“...Well, yes, Alor, but…”

“Clan Mereel’s fields are ready to go as well.  If you can haul our crop to Manda’yaim and sell it, we’ll escort you to Ordo, free of charge.  Perhaps we could even make this a regular agreement.”

“Free- to Ordo, Alor? Forgive me, but, it only adds another day’s journey to go all the way to Manda’yaim. Why not take us all the way there?”

Ulikur was right to question him, of course - in fact, it was more like fourteen hours round-trip between Ordo and Manda’yaim.  Distance wasn’t an issue, of course, but Jaster didn’t particularly feel like explaining ‘well, I just sent off seventy obituaries and another complaint about Tor Vizsla, so they’re not very happy with me right now’.

“Forgive my crudeness, Ulikur, but I’ve already got Manda’yaim crawling up my ass without dropping an armed cruiser at their front door.”

Ulikur snorted, just as Jaster had hoped.  There was nothing a Concordian farmer liked more than making fun of the city-slickers back on the homeworld.

“Fair enough, Mand’alor.  You know, the rumors didn’t say you had a sense of humor…”

–

Jaster ended up talking casually with the Aliit’alor for another twenty minutes, chatting about how things were on Concord Dawn lately, what kind of contracts Headhunter usually took (Jaster learned Truuk had been a ver’verd himself, in his early days), and any other small talk they could think of.  They had only just met, but Jaster felt the man was an honorable sort trying to do some good by his clan.  

As soon as Ulikur disconnected, he called Myles aboard the Dxun and explained the situation.  According to him, the rest of the verde still on board the cruiser would be more than happy to chase down a few pirates rather than just ‘sit on their hands all day, like a bunch of core-worlders’.  

Some things never changed.

He’d have to see the scans of the pirate’s armament before formally accepting the job, and that would have to wait until the Protectors shared the data.  

The rest of that night was quiet - or, as quiet as a camp of verde could be, eating and enjoying each other’s company.  Jango was tucked in a corner with Silas and the rest of his Grunts, arms hooked over each other’s shoulders and teasing each other good-naturedly,  Bee had ingratiated himself with the company’s quartermaster by going off on a long tangent about whistling birds, of all things, and Jaster simply sat by the fire and let the camp bustle around him, content to watch over his verde as they relaxed.

–

In the morning, Jaster managed to sleep in for the second day in a row.  He only woke to Jango knocking on his door to say Bee wanted his help in the kitchen to make firstmeal, and that Jango had already talked to the watch shifts and that nothing was amiss.  He hadn’t expected the Protectors or anyone else to cause trouble so soon, but it was good to hear nonetheless.

His knee hurt bad, though.  A fog had rolled in overnight, leaving the air heavy and humid, and it clung to his aches, old and new alike.

Jaster slipped his kom'rk back on over his casual clothes, too achy to try and change properly, and checked his comms anyway - surprised to see the Protectors had already sent over the scans of the pirate vessels that had been raiding the veshok shipments.  Before he could look them over more thoroughly, Bee himself was knocking on his door.

“Jaster,  neyar ad, are you-“

“- Yes, Bee, I’m coming, I’m coming, for Manda’s sake,” Jaster huffed, limping to the door and swinging it open.  

Bee stood there in his pale yellow armor, as always.  He had one eyebrow raised in silent reproach, and Jaster immediately deflated.

“Sorry, Baba.  Just achy.  Jango said something about making firstmeal?”

“Ah, yes. Jango mentioned he hasn’t had kaji’shun before, so that is what we are having. We’ll need three pairs of hands to make enough for everyone.”  Bee started walking away, moving towards the kitchen.  He at least moved slowly enough that Jaster could keep up with his bad knee, but he still seemed to frown a little at the limp.

“You want to make kaji’shun for the entire company, for firstmeal?”  Jaster grimaced, thinking about all the kneading and, more importantly, standing the spiced flatbread required.

“Well, yes.  It used to be your favorite - is it not anymore…?”

“No, no, Baba, I’d love some, it’s just. It’s long, hard work.  We’ll be in the kitchen until noon.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.  Between the three of us, it shouldn’t take that long.”  

Jaster sighed slightly through his nose.  He didn’t want to seem like he was shying away from work, but… it seemed like all he could think about lately when it came to work was his knee, the pain of it always in the back of his mind like a fog over his thoughts.  It was about as healed as it could be, the medic said, and he was set to start physical therapy in the next few days.

But damn, did it hurt.

Bee noticed his trepidation, of course, and softened a bit at the bottom of the stairs.  “Someone has to make the filling too, you know.  That can certainly be done, ah, sitting.”

“I know, Baba.  I want to help.  It’s… nice, to cook together.”

“It is.  And, we have a lot of family recipes to teach dear Jan’ika!  Fourteen, and you have not made him kaji’shun!  What have you been doing all this time?”  Bee pretended to huff, as if Jaster was failing to teach Jango the most important skills in the galaxy.

“Well, it’s our deepest, darkest, family secret, isn’t it?”  Jaster bumped an elbow against Bee, in markedly better humor already, “It’s need-to-know intel.  Highly classified.”

“Well, now he needs to know, so!”

“Need to know what?”  Jango said as they entered the kitchen - he was standing on one of the counters (thankfully sans boots) and pulling out some ingredients from the cabinets.  For a moment Jaster felt panic rising in his throat at the teenager standing in such a precarious position, but he squashed the feeling quickly.  

“Just the Mereel family recipes.  Very secret stuff, you know,” quipped Bee, without so much as a flinch at his grand-nephew’s complete disregard for safety.

Jango’s face went from concerned to laughter in a fraction of a second.  He passed Bee a few of the ingredients they’d need for the kaji’shun before literally jumping off the counter and landing on the floor.

“You are going to send me into an early grave if you keep doing that, Jan’ika.” Jaster shook his head, and Jango looked unrepentant as he shrugged slightly.

“I couldn’t reach the top shelf.”

“Next time, I will show you where the stepstool is, bu’ad,” Bee said through a lighthearted smile,  “But for now, come - I’ll show you how to make the dough.  That is the easiest part, before we add the fillings.”

Jaster took the moment to slide into the stool at the counter and glance again at his comms, reviewing the Protector’s data on the pirates as Bee and Jango measured out the flour, salt, and put water on the range to come to a boil.

He didn’t like what he saw.  Truuk had made it sound like all of these pirate’s vessels were ancient things, held together by spit and a prayer as they’d been patched up enough times to be barely recognizable - that was what was typical of pirates in the Outer Rim, especially ones willing to stoop so low as to harass farmers.  Instead, he was greeted by a well armed gunship not dissimilar to Headhunter’s own, and some well-maintained but out of production MandalMotors fighters.  Their series of small transports and fighter craft had long been popular with unscrupulous types on the Rim, but it meant they were more of a pain to fight off than he had been expecting.  And the freighter had a full crew, at least from the years old scans.  Jaster didn’t think they would bother boarding the craft, preferring to just destroy it, but thirty pirates was thirty pirates. 

With Headhunter at half-strength, it wouldn’t be easy.  They had maybe sixty or so verde right now, some having left during the break to visit their families around the sector, with thirty planetside and a few more than that on the Dxun waiting their turn for some R&R.  The Dxun itself had an absolute bare minimum, do-or-die skeleton crew of ten.  Manning the guns and maintaining shields would bring that up to thirty, and that would just be for the Dxun.  Manning the five gunships- no, four, one of the gunships would stay behind on Concord Dawn for emergencies - would require another dozen soldiers at least.  Bare minimum, they needed forty-five people for this operation.

He hated to cut someone’s vacation short, but they didn’t have the people otherwise.  If he had to, the entire company could pack up early and get to work, and then they wouldn't be stretched so thin, but.  He didn’t want to go back on his word, after promising them some well-earned rest.

And he’d be damned if he didn’t make sure everyone came out of this one alive.

Sighing deeply, he closed the data report and tuned back into the kitchen around him.  While waiting for the water to boil, Bee and Jango had been chatting absentmindedly as Bee stacked the ingredients for the filling around Jaster - spices, fresh alliums, and a jar of nuna fat. Now that the pot of water was hot, but not boiling, Bee eyeballed the measurement by pouring it directly into his waiting bowl of flour, stirring with his fingers.

“This,” he said as his only direction to Jango, “-is what it should look like when you put the water in.  See how it’s in bits?  Now we’ll keep kneading it until it becomes smooth.  Go on and put the water in, and I’ll show you how to knead.”

Jango did as he was told, doing his best to eyeball the measurements, but recoiled immediately when he started to stir the flour into the water.

“-Ack, it’s hot!”  He shook his hand as if trying to get the water off of it, startled.  Bee only raised an eyebrow and kept kneading, as Jango looked on in awe.  

“...How are you doing that and not getting burnt, Baba?”

Jaster couldn’t help but snort slightly.  He loved Jango, truly, but if it wasn’t warmaking or one of the games he and Silas played, he could be a bit of a di’kut.

“You know who you are talking to, neyar ad?”  Bee stated simply. 

Jango looked puzzled only for a moment.

“-Oh. Goran. That- makes sense.  Uh...”  Jango flushed to the tips of his ears, and turned back to his bowl to mix without complaint.  Bee chuckled a little and nudged Jango’s shoulder, before demonstrating how to knead the dough quickly.  Soon, the two developed a rhythm, and for every ball of dough Jango finished, Bee had two (being a forgemaster meant a certain strength that even a growing verd couldn’t compete with).  Jaster quickly filled his own bowl with the paste that would act as the filling for the flatbread before it was rolled up and squashed.

He watched Jango and Bee nudge each other now and then, even seeing them flick little bits of flour at each other as they worked.

Jango deserved this peace.  If Jaster had to pull verde out of the house to man the farmer’s escort, Jango would stay behind.  He knew it was personal bias on his part, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care - Jango deserved companionship from family, and Jaster wanted Bee protected.  Sure, he trusted his verde to protect the Mereel’yaim and Bee if they had to, but he’d feel better if Jango was here anyway.

Jango wouldn’t like it.  Even if they only went to Ordo,  the week long trip would be the longest he and Jaster had been separated since his verd’goten, since Jaster had picked him up from a veshok field six years ago.

But Jango would want to protect Bee too.  Jango would do anything for people he thought were his, and by now, Bee was firmly in that category.

As they continued making breakfast, Jaster kept turning their staffing issue over in his mind.  A few verde wandered in and out of the kitchen as the dough cooked on the griddle, looking more relaxed than they had in weeks and ribbing each other about the delicious smell of the frybread.  One tried to steal a piece off of the plate as it cooled, only to get their hand whacked by Bee.

Jaster really didn’t want to take them away from their vacation early, but until another option presented itself, he had no choice.

–

Breakfast was delicious, as usual for Bee’s cooking.  Jaster had forgotten how much he missed his favorite foods, and specifically when they were made by the people he loved.  It would be hard to leave again, at the end of this break.

In the afternoon, Jaster informed Bee of his scheme with Ulikur, and together they started hammering out the fine details of a contract with the clan leader to take the Mereel clan’s harvest - Jaster was right, that Bee had allowed other families to use the land, so it was a bit of a complicated situation. The families working the land needed to be informed of the arrangement, and adjust their schedules so the harvest would be completed in time - not to mention the sharing of the profits.

After breakfast, Jaster finally had the chance to review Jango’s security report on the camp’s defenses in case of an emergency.  As usual, the boy was very thorough, if perhaps even going a bit overboard.  It would be best if Jaster held off on some of the defenses Jango had suggested until after the Protectors had come through for their inspection, given the… questionable legality of the boy’s ideas.

–

Which was now today, much to the chagrin of the few verde who had gone out the previous night for the express purpose of getting hammered.  Jaster had nothing against them cutting loose (he and Bee had, perhaps, had more tihaar than they should have that first night), but the night before the Protectors were set to inspect the camp was perhaps a poor choice on their part.

The chorus of groans and offended looks he heard around the house when all of their comms went off for their morning alarm was worth it, though.  Funnier still was the bleary-eyed shuffle they all had as they had to pass him to get to the caf machine.  He sipped on his own steaming cup and tried not to look too smug.

He expected Tani Gilamar to arrive early in the morning, but it wasn’t until after earlymeal outside with his verde that Jaster heard the gate’s buzzer go off again.

In strode Tani in her green armor - looking grouchier than the first time she’d visited, with three other Protectors at her back.  As they approached, Jaster realized why she looked fuming - the three of them were hungover, the same bleary looks in their eyes as Jaster’s own verde.  He raised an eyebrow as one of his verde waved at one, and they waved back before Gilamar smacked their hand.

“Your verd’ike have fun last night, Captain?”  Jaster scraped his face into an approximation of a smile, trying to appear friendly and casual as she groaned and the others stiffened.

“I’ve told them time and time again not to go out the night before a shift, but do they listen?”

“Never.  Mine did the same - should’ve seen them when the alarms went off.”

Tani chanced a smile, just the flash of one. 

“Well, Alor, you ready for us?”  She said, rocking a little on her toes and glancing around the camp.

“Be my guest, Captain.” 

With a quick jerk of her head, the others started methodically going through the camp.  Tani stayed where she was, standing near Jaster and watching the activity in the camp - the verd who had waved earlier jabbed their new friend in the ribs and laughed along with them.

“Could we speak alone for a moment, Jaster?”  Tani said, soft tone pulling his eyes away from the camp with some urgency - this was the first time she had used his name, since they had worked together before his exile.  He scanned her face, suspicious, but all he could see was a little earnest worry.

“This is about as private as we’re going to get around here.”  He said gruffly, taking a few steps back to lean on the side of the house away from camp.

“That’s fine.  Thank you.”  She followed him, but stood straight with her hands clasped behind her back.

“What do you need, Gilamar?”  Just because she used his first name casually, like they were friends, didn’t mean he would give her the same honor.

“It’s… about my verde .  And I mean more than the ones who were out with yours, apparently.”  She said, stiff as a board, “I’ve heard from aliit’alor Ulikur, about your proposition.  I’m glad someone can finally help them, where we… haven’t.”

He only lifted an eyebrow silently, and she swallowed.

“Lots of my verd’ike are frustrated that we haven’t been able to do much.  We haven’t been able to protect people, and that’s our whole job, why most of them signed on in the first place.  They’d give anything to cut those pirate rats off at the head, and you and your company are off to do just that–”  

She turned, and her dark eyes bored into Jaster’s,  “- And, you have a lot of vacancies.”

He stood up off the wall.  “Heard about that, did you?”

Tani stood her ground, still standing ramrod straight.  “Four of those lost were from Concord Dawn.  I was notified when you informed the Governor’s office, so I tracked down the report to Manda’yaim, and found the numbers.  You don’t have the manpower to run your cruiser and fight off those pirates at the same time.”

He huffed a breath through his nose.  She was sharper than he’d given her credit for.

“We’ll manage.”

“Maybe, but a few extra hands wouldn’t hurt either.”

Jaster could feel his brows furrowing further and further.  “So you decided to volunteer your own verde?”

“They volunteered themselves - came to me as soon as we got wind of your plans.  Besides, it wouldn’t be a permanent arrangement, just for this trip to - Ordo, was it?  But perhaps you could use the extra hands we might provide for the journey,  until you can meet up again with your own.  Maybe if some of them work well with your people, they might ask to stay with your company.”

This was not where Jaster had expected this conversation to go.  His first instinct was to say fuck no, get out - but he gave it a moment to mull over. 

“Give me a reason to take your verde on in particular.  Even if we do need the bodies that badly - which we don’t - I could hire on any number of people, or take on one of my other companies.  Why should I let some kid Protectors play mercenary, hm?”

Tani didn’t even twitch.  “Because they’re trained, and loyal to Concord Dawn.  They would give their lives to protect our people.  To protect their livelihoods.  It’s not about the credits - it’s about being able to do our jobs, to uphold our oaths to protect these people.”

Jaster grimaced, as she echoed Bee’s sentiment from a few days earlier - ‘They would uphold their oaths, if you let them, Jaster’ - but she made a good point.  They were trained already - hell, half of his own training regiment was adapted from his time in the Journeymen, and if they were willing to join the mission they had to have some loyalty towards Concord Dawn and her people.  

He couldn’t think of a genuine, rational reason not to let them join for this job.  He certainly didn’t want to work with the Journeymen, but Tani was right that it was their prerogative to protect and care for the people of Concord Dawn.  If they didn’t get involved with this mission, it would damage the Journeymen’s reputation even further and make them seem incompetent, opening Concord Dawn to further attacks.  If Jaster denied them, it would make the ORK seem like crafty opportunists, barely better than a gang asking for protection money, like the pirates they were claiming to fight.

It wasn’t like the two groups would hate each other.  If anything, they got along a little too well, he thought, looking past Tani at the verde still ribbing each other.  

Still, he hesitated.  “And if I refused?”

Tani shrugged.  “Then that’s your decision.  My kids don’t get to fight off those bastards, and you have less hands on deck.  I… I might lose a few staff anyway.  They’re frustrated.”

“And yet, you would let them go, if they wanted to stay with us?”

“I don’t have much choice.  Either they go with you, maybe do some good in the galaxy, or they’d end up with someone without your sense of morals.  I can’t make them stay, if they want to leave.”

Bold of her to assume we do good in the galaxy. We’re a mercenary company, hired guns.  He sighed.  Better than Kyr’tsad, at least - and they’d be looking to recruit a frustrated former Protector like Tani’d be losing.

Jaster really didn’t want to give Tor any more cannon fodder.

“... Room and board only for the work.  I’m not paying any volunteers for this - and I want a list of who wants to come by noon tomorrow.  They’ll have to be vetted and put through their paces, just like everyone else who wants into the company.”

“Of course.”  Tani nodded, and made a few notes on her wristcomm.

“If they do well, and they want to stay…We’ll meet again to talk about it.  I make no promises.”

“Elek, Al’ori’ramikade.”

Chapter Text

The air soon filled with the sound of harvesters buzzing in the fields outside the Mereel house, trawling back and forth and shaving down the veshok plants to stubby stalks.

In the meantime, what part of Headhunter Company remained on Concord Dawn co-opted one of the newly emptied fields around the Mereel house to set up a sort of training grounds, empty storage bins and canisters making up improvised barricades and the natural landscape making up others.  Even at rest, verde needed to be kept active and busy.

And it made an excellent staging ground to test the Journeyman Protector volunteers.

Jango watched idly as they trickled into the compound, in pairs or small groups - just under twenty or so turning up, all in their green armor and standing around waiting for some direction.

“How many do you think are gonna make the cut?”  questioned Silas at Jango’s right, leaning on one of the barricades.

“If Jaster had his way, none of ‘em,” Jango sniffed, “But, I don’t know.  They look prepared.  On time, at least.”

Silas hummed a little as well, looking over the group.  “Well, you know looks aren’t everything.  Remember when Jas’alor would pit the hotshot wannabes against you, to test ‘em?  The looks on their faces when they got wiped by a ten year old–”

“I remember.  Pretty sure I bit Skirata.”

“You bit me too!”

Jango couldn’t help but laugh, elbowing Silas in the ribs,  “You definitely deserved it, brat.”

“Who are you callin’-”

“Verd’ike.”

Jango and Silas both straightened up from what was sure to devolve into wrestling, snapping a quick ‘sorry, Alor,’ and ‘sorry, Jaster’ at the same time as Jaster swept around the compound’s walls, Alor’ad Gilamar following closely behind.  She looked like she was suppressing a smile in their direction, but Jaster looked grim.

He’d looked grim ever since he’d accepted Gilamar’s offer to have her verde fill in.  

Jango understood why, once Jaster and Bee had told him the tale, but he couldn’t quite muster up the same distrust in himself.  When Jaster’d first told him what had happened to the Mereel clan he’d been angry and upset, fully ready to snap at any Protectors that came anywhere near him or his newfound family.  

But those he’d met had been… nice.  Polite, at the very least.  When he and Silas had gone wandering into town a few days ago, a pair on patrol had directed them to the general store where they could get the snacks they were after, sending a map of town to their comms with a wink and saying ‘don’t tell your alor we’ve ruined your supper’.

Jango thought he spotted the pair of them in the crowd, actually.  One with the dark hair and skin typical to Concord Dawn, and one a slightly sunburnt redhead - he hadn’t caught their names.  Most of the others had their helmets off and showed near-human faces, but Jango spotted a few other species among their number.

They all straightened up as Jaster and Gilamar approached.  It was too far from where Jango and Silas were standing to hear what was being said, but from Gilamar’s gesticulation and Jaster’s stance, she was introducing her verde to Jaster.  The redhead stepped forward and saluted with his fist on his chest, heading up most of the volunteers.  Before long, they split into two groups and took positions at opposite ends of the course - one group playing defense, the other offense.  It was a common simulation all verde went through in training, and Jango knew Jaster had started here to get a feel for the group before ramping things up.

Both groups seemed to be doing well enough, as the teens watched them go through the exercise.  Members of Headhunter Company started drifting closer to observe as well, and Jango figured some of them would be mixing in the Protectors in later exercises.

As they watched the offense tag one of the defense patrols outside ‘home base’, both boys suddenly wrinkled their noses as a stench washed over them.

“Whaddya want, Vau?” Jango said, voice coming out squeaky through his pinched nose.

“Nothing, alor’ad.  Mird and I are just waiting our turn in the ring, so to speak,” sniffed Walon Vau, as haughty as ever, hands clasped behind his back.  The strill that followed him everywhere sat on its haunches, leaning against his leg as it too observed the proceedings, totally unaware of the boys huffing and puffing through its stench - or completely aware, and simply unbothered.

Vau wasn’t much older than Myles, perhaps in his mid-to-late twenties, but his frosty attitude and impeccable manners made him seem at least a decade older.  Between the ‘snooty’ demeanor, black armor, and dark hair over fair skin, Jango had always been uncomfortably reminded of Tor Vizsla when dealing with the man.  Thankfully, he was one of the few verde in the company who only did jobs with them when they needed him, the strill alone providing better tracking and hunting skills than the rest of the company combined.

“Jas’alor asked for you?”  Silas asked, muffled.

“And the squad captains.  It is my understanding we are going to be going through different rounds with the Journeymen, mixing groups, different goals and challenges.  Myles will be doing ‘lead by overwatch’, I know.”

Jango’s brows furrowed.  “All of the squad captains?”

“That is my understanding, yes.”

“I wasn’t told.”

Vau only looked down the bridge of his nose, making a noncommittal noise.

Jango continued frowning, gears suddenly turning faster.  Sure, he was youngest of the squad captains by a long shot, and least experienced, but if all of the captains were getting involved, why hadn’t Jaster told him?  They’d sat with each other just that morning, eating firstmeal with Bee.  Jaster’d had plenty of opportunity to give him his assignment, unless he wasn’t getting one.

Silas nudged him lightly, and he snapped back to earth.  Vau gave him an arched look before turning and simply walking away to an emptier spot, the strill hot on his heels.

“I know that look.  It’s probably nothing, Jango, just… letting you take a break?”  Silas tried, sounding only somewhat convinced himself.

Jango huffed a sigh through his nose before turning and marching off in Jaster’s direction without another word.  Behind him, Silas took half a step forward, before thinking better of it.

Skirting the exercise grounds took a while, but Jango certainly knew better than to duck into an active exercise unannounced.  By the time he made it to Jaster’s position, the verde were winding down the exercise, running a sweeping pattern and tying up their ‘prisoners’.  

Jaster was entirely focused on the verde, and Gilamar noticed him first, clearing her throat lightly and mumbling “Jaster, your son-”

"Jaster?”

It still took a moment for Jaster’s eyes to leave the field, landing on Jango as he finally stopped on his march up to them.

“What do you need, Jango?  We’re almost finished with this round.”

“Vau said you were having the other squad captains organize different exercises.”

Jango caught the tiny twitch in Jaster’s upper lip that meant he wasn’t expecting that.

“Yes, they’re testing the volunteers in different specialities.”

“Why didn’t I get an assignment?  I’m a squad captain.”

Jaster puffed a breath out.  “I have a different assignment for you.”

“Then why haven’t you told me?  I could start now.”

There was a distant bang as the Protectors being tested completed the exercise, firing off a little flare to signify victory.

“I’ll tell you later.  This is important.”

“I know, but-”

“Later.”

Jango felt a spike of frustration heat up his cheeks.  “They just finished!  This is the perfect time, you can tell me now!”

“-Don’t take that tone with me, Jango,” Jaster’s eyes narrowed in Jango’s direction, but Jango was uncowed.

“You’re hiding something.  You’d tell me if you weren’t hiding something.”

“I’m not hiding anything, I just-” Jaster sighed more deeply, crossing his arms over his chestplate and his eyes following the Protectors as their figures trotted off the field.

“You’re staying here.”

“...What?”

“That’s your assignment.  While I’m away on mission, you’re staying here.”

Jango felt like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs, like the bottom of his stomach had disappeared.  The heat faded, leaving only the sting of something he couldn’t quite identify as his eyes searched Jaster’s face.

“...Why?  Did- Did I do something wrong?”

“Little gods, Jango, no-” he took a deep breath and seemed to gather himself back together as Tani nudged him gently.

“I’ll give you two some space, debrief my verde before the next round,” she half-whispered, before marching over to her gathered soldiers.

Jaster just rubbed at one of his temples, brows furrowed.

“Just had to do this in front of her, didn’t we,” he mumbled, and Jango felt his heart sink even further.  “-You didn’t do anything wrong.  I just need you here.”

Jango wrapped one hand around his kom'rk and squeezed. “Okay.  Okay.  I still want to know why.  It’s- I’m good enough to go on the mission, right?  You always let me come before and those were more dangerous-”

“Jango, let me speak.”  

Jaster’s exasperated tone didn’t soothe Jango’s fears that Jaster was upset with him.  He clamped his jaw shut and looked at his boots.

“You’re staying because I need someone to be in command of the verde left here, if anything happens.  Someone I trust.  I won’t-”  He paused, looking up into the sky for a moment with his hands on his hips.  “...I won’t leave Bee unguarded anymore, either.  Don’t think I can. ”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.  So there was really no reason to push.”

Jango bit his lip, “...Sorry, buir.  Just… you could’ve told me sooner.  I thought- I dunno.  That you didn’t trust me to watch your back.”

“I do trust you, Jango, I do.  I just need to know that - That you’ll be looking after Bee while I’m gone, that he’s not alone again.”

“Who is watching your back, Jaster?  Up there with all those Protectors?”

“Myles or Kal-”

“Skirata’s gone on break with his wife or whatever, remember?”

“Myles, then.  He’s a good verd, and he’s been taking charge lately.  Grown up since he was your age, starting out with us.”

“You trust him?”

Jaster frowned and gave him a quizzical look,  “I thought you liked Myles.”

“I do, but… Like.  I’m the only one I trust to watch your back right now.”

The hard edges of Jaster’s face softened.  “Myles isn’t Montross, Jango.”

“I know that! I just- I wish I was going with you.”

Finally, Jaster’s shoulders slumped slightly, and he set a heavy hand on Jango’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.  It’s been… tough, thinking about taking on the Protectors, and… who am I kidding.  I was worried you’d be upset I was leaving you here, and I didn’t want to upset you while we’re still figuring out this whole buir and ad thing.”

Jango finally let the fear of disappointing Jaster fade, but he still frowned.  

“I didn’t think there was much to figure out…”

Jaster only huffed a laugh.  “We didn’t have arguments like this before, did we?”

“I guess,” Jango pouted.

“There’s my alor’ad’ika, all grouchy.”  He squeezed Jango’s shoulder slightly, giving him a few pats as he tried for a smile.  It faded just as quickly. “I promise you, Jango, that I do trust you.  That’s why you’ll be looking after Bee, and the house.  It’s important to me that they’re protected now.”

“Okay, buir.  I understand.  I’m- Sorry again.”

“It’s nothing, ad’ika.  I know you’ll do just fine by yourself, but we can talk more later if you need, alright?  I have to get back to the exercises now.”

Jango just nodded a little and scurried away, as Jaster limped towards Gilamar and her verde.

–

The exercises went on with no further hiccups over the next two days, and on the third, the troupe prepared to leave for the Dxun.  The group of Protectors had gone from nineteen to sixteen, but only because one was ill, one twisted their ankle during an exercise the day before, and one’s ikaad was sickly.  Those that remained included the redhead Jango had met before (who he had since learned was Rowan Rau), and the dark haired one who was seemingly the redhead’s partner.  Together the two of them seemed to be in charge of all the rest.

Bee had been… a little clingy in the meantime, Jango thought.  He’d kept insisting on eating with Jango and Jaster both for about every meal, spending every spare minute with them, and had asked Jango if he’d like to visit the forge, looking crushed when Jango said he was busy.

To be honest he wasn’t busy, he just wanted some time to himself, and had tucked himself in his room or hung out with Silas while Bee was away at the forge for the day.

Then again, maybe that’s what family was like - hovering with concern, but always there when you need them.  Jango’s parents had been…somewhat distant, kept busy with keeping the farm running and Protector work, and he had never met his ba’buire.  Silas acted like ba’buire always spoiled their bu’ade, so maybe Bee’s behavior was expected.  Jango knew Bee had been just as clingy with Jaster as well, but that made more sense to him - Jaster was practically his son, and they hadn’t seen each other in over a decade.

Jango was effectively a stranger, but Bee was… fond, nonetheless.  Jango didn’t know what to do with fond.  

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Jaster said, eyes drinking in both Bee and Jango’s faces.  

Bee was first to step forward, pulling Jaster down into a hug tight enough their armor squeaked.  “I expect that’s a promise.  K’oyacyi, neyar ad.”

“It is, Bee, it is.”  Jaster took half a step away, and squeeze Bee where his neck met his shoulder.  A moment later, Jaster pulled Jango in, just as Bee had done to him.

Jango couldn’t find it in himself to speak, but the squeeze of Jaster's arms around him said everything they needed to know.

Bee might’ve been clingy, but Jango was grateful for the hand on his shoulder as they watched the transport zoom off all the same.

–

Finally aboard the Dxun again, Jaster had let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.  He had been glad to be home, to see Bee and get off his feet for a while, but he had never left the ship for so long since he bought the thing, ten or so years ago.  Work was his life now, and the two and a half weeks on Concord Dawn had left him antsy, despite the ache in his knee.

The Dxun being so quiet didn’t soothe his nerves much.  His rooms were a comfort, but even with the Protectors on board, the rest of the ship felt far too empty -especially the barracks and the rec rooms.  They’d get the job done, but he’d feel better when the half of the company left planetside was back aboard.

“Alor on deck,” Myles’ voice echoed over the bridge as Jaster stepped through the doors.  The verde inside straightened up immediately, but none moreso than the two Protectors at the corner stations.

“At ease- Myles, what’s the ETA on the freighter?”

“They’re making their way through the asteroid field now, sir.  Five minutes until they’re clear -  gunships are ready to go, bay doors open.”

Jaster nodded, and sat in the command chair.  “Alright, eyes up - lets see if those pirates are really waiting for us.  Follow at a fifteen-hundred klick berth - they might not notice us coming.”

He could track the freighter making its way through Concord Dawn’s debris field on scanners, but it was almost easier just to see the gleaming, paint-streaked speck through the bridge windows.  It was slow going, with deflector shields barred from the system in case they sent rocks from the shattered moon careening down into the atmosphere, making the ships pick their way through with constantly cycling astrogation charts.

Five minutes later on the dot, Jaster’s console flashed green with the all-clear signal from the freighter.

“In position, Alor, ready to - bogies, port-port bow of the freighter!”

As the verd spoke, Jaster’s console flashed again, red.  Five pings on scans, matching the old ones from the Protector’s initial efforts to repel them.

“Guess they really have been skulking around, eh?”  Myles sniffed, “Shall we close in, sir?”

“Three hundred klicks, and launch the gunships.”

“Aye, sir-  Galaar 1 and 3, on point, Galaar 2, keep pace with us.”

A crackle of comm static and they were off, engines humming through the entire ship as the Dxun closed the distance.  The gunships sped off faster ahead of them, and Jaster could see the moment the pirates knew they were in trouble - the fighters veering off from their attack runs to engage the larger craft.

Galaar 3, which Jaster knew was piloted by the Protector, Rau, fired immediately and left one of the fighters smoking.  The second fighter zipped right on by both gunships, outmaneuvering them easily and strafing the Dxun with a hail of golden laserfire.  The ship rumbled as the energy shields absorbed the impact, but before the gunners could react the fighter had ducked into the asteroid field where they couldn’t risk firing without sending the rock tumbling around.

“Clever brats.  Galaare, priority targets are the light freighters and the gunship - we’re not playing keep-away with these types.”  Jaster knew the gunship would be a tough nut to crack, having apparently taken out most of the Journeyman’s fighters in the previous attempts at defense.

The pilots huffed in affirmative, speeding towards the Concordian freighter currently being jostled about by the gunship.  

As the Dxun moved in, they could see the light freighters moving in position to dock or yank the external crates out from their sockets.  A few well placed shots from the Galaare, and at least one of the freighters was peeling away.

Towards the Dxun, unfortunately.  What is with these pirates and throwing themselves at us?  Jaster thought.

The freighter seemed to realize its mistake a moment too late, slowing down just before the Dxun’s deck guns and gunship escort both fired at once.  The barrage shredded the freighter’s shields and set it spinning in a cloud of fire - straight for the Dxun’s forward deck.

“-Brace,” Jaster said without a hint of emotion, a bare few seconds before the impact made the whole cruiser shudder.  The ship broke apart against their shields, making the lights flicker.  A series of high pitched beeps started just as a secondary explosion went off, setting the flames from orange to a cacophony of rainbow colors.

“-Kriffin’ Sith hells,” Myles swore in Basic, before switching back to Mando’a, “Idiots are either hauling or fueled with rhydonium.  Galaare, proceed with caution-”

“Status report, verd’ika.” 

One of the techs pouring over a series of screens answered as Myles busied himself with updating command orders. “Shields are pretty shot, alor , but most of the damage is superficial.  Sensors on the top deck are burnt out, but the aft ones are still good.”

“How soon can we get shields back up?”  Jaster grimaced underneath his helmet.

She shrugged. “With a rhydonium explosion?  Ten minutes, minimum.  Projector will be too hot to restart right now.”

“Damn.  Maintain distance, but stay opposite the gunship if you can.  Gunners, up the range - I don’t want anyone else getting close.  Keep an eye out for that fighter.”

“Aye, sir-”

Another distant barrage from their gunships sent the damaged fighter into a spiral before breaking apart in a cloud of fire.  Quickly, Galaar 3 rejoined their companion being hounded by the pirate’s gunship, the three ships zipping around the starfield one after the other.  The enemy ship had enough guns to fire on both of Headhunter’s at once, but they were still trapped and taking hits from both sides.

The second freighter had enough, managing to yank free a crate or two while Headhunter was busy with the rest of their group and started to peel off from the battle.

“Galaar 2, catch that freighter.  I don’t want any of these chakaar crawling out of their holes again.”

“'Lek, Alor! ” snapped their pilot, speeding off like they had been waiting for the order.  The deck guns would have to be enough to keep the remaining fighter off their tail.

The pirate’s gunship landed a lucky shot on Galaar 1, leaving one of the engines cut and smoking - they peeled off before the continuing hail of blaster fire could destroy them entirely, but Jaster’s heart jumped into his throat all the same.

I’m not losing anyone else today.

Galaar 3 didn’t let him worry long, herding the enemy ship closer and closer to the Dxun until the deck guns fired in a shower of blue.  It finally turned to dust - but the debris collided with the Dxun all the same, setting off more alarms as it poked holes in their armor.

Myles huffed through his nose again, “Bad luck today-”

“Do not say that, Myles.  Don’t tempt the Manda.  Galaar 1, come in?”

“Galaar 1 here, Alor, we’re alright.  Little bruised.  Not out of the fight yet-”

“Stay back until I say so.  We are not taking chances.”  Jaster snapped, perhaps a little more aggressively than necessary.

“Affirmative, Alor, Galaar 1 ready and waiting.”

The smoking gunship turned and pulled alongside the Dxun, keeping abreast of the bridge just where Jaster could see it in the corner of the bridge’s windows.

“Damage report, verd’ika-”

“Hull’s intact, sir,  Shrapnel took out one of the forward guns - Battery 3, port bow.  Fire risk, closing up the vents now.”

“Good.  Watch your damn fire, gunners.”

Distantly, he saw Galaar 2 firing on the freighter still trying to make a break for it.  Rau and Galaar 3 were on their way to assist, a flicker of blue lasers streaking towards the freighter.  Jaster debated sending out their last gunship, with one of their birds damaged, but with the shields down he’d rather keep it home in case of an evac, if worst came to worst.

There’d be hell to pay if these pirates destroyed his ship.

On cue, the undamaged fighter skidded out from the asteroid field, strafing the Dxun with another hail of fire.  The ship rocked slightly with the impact, little bursts leaving the hull smoking.

“Fire suppressants active on the forward deck - plating took most of the impact,” called the tech as the fighter wheeled around for a second run, or to duck back into the asteroid field.  Galaar 2 swung around to face them from the Dxun’s shadow.

“Check those vacseals, everyone, O2 up - watch your fire, Galaar- ”

Too little, too late - Galaar 2 lit up on the fighter as it swung back around, and the smaller craft went careening in a ball of flames.  Jaster couldn’t see the impact, as it disappeared beneath the top deck, but he could sure as hell feel it, the entire ship rattling and getting shoved meters out of place.  The lights flickered again, and the emergency lighting started flashing along the floors, more alarms going off.  He could hear all the vents shuttering closed even through the klaxon.

“Impact in… the docking bay?  Suppressants on, but cameras and sensors aren’t working-” rattled off the tech, shaking her head a little from the impact.

Myles buzzed on comms to the rest of the ship immediately, “Someone get eyes on the bay, now. Seals on.”

A few affirmatives, and they were off.

In the distance, Jaster could just make out laserfire as the two remaining gunships wheeled around the light freighter.  Like most pirate vessels, it was maneuverable and surprisingly fast, modified in about every way possible, but the Galaare were keeping pace and preventing it from jumping to hyperspace.

“-Got ‘em,” called Rau, intensity audible even through the comm static.  A moment later, there was another distant burst of laserfire, and the freighter broke apart in a ball of rainbow flames.  “Field’s clear, Alor, all hostiles neutralized.  Uh… Tell Alor Ulikur I’m sorry about the lost freight.”

“They look pretty well cooked,”  chirped the other pilot, the two gunships examining the wreckage they had just created, the stolen crates smoking.  “Mmm, fried veshok.”

“Cut the chatter, we’re still dealing with a situation here.”

“Understood, sir!” they both called, snapping back to professionalism.

“Standby for all clear, Galaare.”  Myles was tapping away on his display, bouncing one leg in a way Jaster had learned betrayed his tension when he was a teenager.

“Docking Bay to Bridge, we’ve got eyes on the damage.”

“Go ahead, Bay.”

“The fighter slid into the bay itself.  Looks like it scraped up some of the walls before ramming into Galaar 4 and exploding.  I…don’t think our bird will be flying any time soon.”

Jaster clenched his jaw as they continued.

“Fire’s are pretty much out - we’re waiting for the Galaar’s embers to go cold, but from there it should be safe for the other’s to dock.  Looks like more than we can clean up on our own, though.”

Dammit.

“Do what you can, Bay.”

–

Jaster was absolutely fuming, two hours later when the gunships finally docked and they got organized enough for a debrief.  

Truuk had called an hour earlier to check on the damage, and had cut the call early when he sensed Jaster’s fury with a quick ‘I’ll check in again soon with the continuing contract’.  Jaster at least had managed to confirm they were all alright, just scrapes and bruises, and Truuk shared his people were alright as well before letting Jaster get back to it.

“Who wants to explain that performance to me?”  Jaster growled, arms folded over his chest in the center of the briefing room.  “Three collisions.  Three!  What in the name of the Ka’ra were you all doing? ”

The verde all shifted uncomfortably, turning to one another.

“Three collisions.  Unbelievable. You’re all damn lucky no one ended up dead.”

“With all due respect, Alor, it’s not like we do ship-to-ship combat very often-” One of his younger verde tried.  Jaster’s gaze snapped around to land on them, eyes narrowed.

“You want to argue with me?  You think this is a conversation?”

Their mouth snapped shut.

“Let me go over this again, for those of you that forgot.  Shields out in the first minute, because the deck guns thought it was a brilliant idea to fire on an incoming target, then a second collision.  Debris only , thanks to Rau-”  Jaster spat the thanks with such a grimace that Rau looked like he was still being told off, shoulders hunched, “-then our damaged gunship thinks it’s a good idea to fire on the fighter headed straight for us.  Again.  Just like the gunners, who took out our shields, five minutes earlier."

“Rhydonium or not, that was stupid of you.  You all know better.  I know for a fact that I trained you better than that, not to mention some of you claimed to be pilots before I hired you.  Those of you I didn’t train,  I’m sure Alor’ad Gilamar would love to hear about this.”  Jaster pinched at the bridge of his nose, only to growl again as his comm buzzed. “Thanks to your mediocrity, I’ve got to find a dry dock for repairs.  Dismissed.”

All of the verde looked dour, their ashamed faces filing slowly out of the room without a word.  Jaster chanced a glance at the comm message, figuring it was the contract he expected from Truuk–

And stopped dead in his tracks.

“What in the name of…” was all he could manage, looking at the paperwork for the formation of a House Mereel, and a list of its member clans - a short list to be sure, but a House nonetheless.  Clan Mereel and Ulikur of course - Jaster had to wonder if Truuk had contacted Bee about this ahead of time - but there were several more below that he recognized, all from Concord Dawn.

A House.  A collection of clans, businesses, and land he would have authority over, that would pay him kriffing taxes should he agree and stamp this flimsiwork.

Clans, people, families, who would now rely on Jaster’s leadership, miles and away different than leading verde into battle.  Civilians who would need protecting, guidance, and community - combined with the ORK, it would be hundreds more people than Jaster had ever led before, especially as the news spread to his verde and they and their families joined the House.

Jaster felt a headache coming on as he pinched at the bridge of his nose.  For whatever reason, these people had picked him to put their trust in.  Who was he to tell them otherwise?  

Before he could put any more thought into it, Jaster approved the paperwork, despite the sinking feeling in his gut, and sent a brief message to Truuk declaring they’d need to talk again as soon as possible.

If he wasn’t on Manda’yaim’s radar before, he certainly would be now.

Jaster let out the heftiest sigh yet, hands on his hips and finally tuning back into the briefing room around him.  It was empty except for Myles, his blue skin still tinted faintly purple with embarrassment. 

“Sorry, sir.  I uh.  Made a list of the closest dry-docks I could find.”

Jaster let the tension escape his shoulders, taking a deep breath.  “Thank you, Myles.”

“It’s nothing, sir.  I, uh… well.  I’m sorry for my performance today, I guess.”

“You did just fine, kid.  It’s not you I was upset with,”  Jaster said absentmindedly, still half-focused on the newly formed House Mereel and what he would have to do to get it running properly.

Myles flushed even darker.  “Oh.  Well, I just thought, y’know.  Their performance reflected on my command.”

“There’s only so much you can do with what you're given,” Jaster shrugged, pushing the House to the side for now to support his anxious verd, “Besides, wouldn’t it reflect on my command?  I was in charge of this entire operation.”

“I suppose so.  I keep thinking about what I could have done differently, you know?”

“This wasn’t your first command, was it?  That just means you see your mistakes and know how to fix them.”

Myles shook his head,  “No sir, not my first.  Just… first with you watching.  Made me a little nervous.”

Jaster couldn’t help but suppress a snort.  “You, nervous?  I’ve known you since you were twelve, a fresh little foundling, and I’ve never seen you nervous.”

“Alright, alright, sir, you can tease me later.  I just meant I wanted to do well in front of you.”  Myles huffed, feigning annoyance.  “Far be it from me to want to impress my boss.”

Jaster just clasped a hand on Myles’ shoulder, squeezing lightly.  “I promise, Myles, you did very well.  I’d say ‘take it easy’, but the work’s not done yet.  Let me look at the list you’ve made–”

Myles handed him the datapad, folding his hands behind his back and standing to the side as Jaster leaned against the holoprojector and started reading.

His good humor disappeared quickly.  It was a pretty sorry looking list - Concord Dawn obviously didn’t have a port, and Ordo’s was apparently occupied.  Once again, Jaster wondered about Mandalore’s infrastructure - if half their planets didn’t have proper ports, that was not ideal, to say the least.  If they were ever attacked…

Nevermind that.  The only major docks available were in Sundari. Heart of Mandalore’s government, biggest and most modern city within a hundred parsecs, and also the place Jaster least wanted to be right now. 

Sith hells, he would have at least preferred Keldabe - but with MandalMotor’s headquarters in the city, they had a stranglehold on the docks and required all repairs to be done with their mechanics - charging a damned fortune that Headhunter didn’t have to spare.

Sundari it was.  He gritted his teeth slightly again.

“Looks like we’re taking the freight to Manda’yaim anyway.  Book Sundari, please.”

Myles returned his grimace, but nodded anyway.

“...Say, Myles.  Would you be willing to help me out with some other paperwork?  Not for the company - though I’m sure they’ll find out soon enough - but I could use a different set of eyes on the situation…”

The pantoran raised an eyebrow.  “Sure, sir.  If it’s not company stuff, what is it…?”

“Well, you see, Alor Ulikur seems to have pulled a fast one on me…”

Chapter Text

935 PRR - Twelve years before the Battle of Korda VI

Jaster didn't know how young Myles had even heard of this event, let alone got Jaster into it. 

Sundari’s palace was an impressive, gray edifice ahead of him with a short, glittering queue winding their way towards it.

A queue he had to join, Manda help him. He was comfortable with being Al'ori'ramikade, carried the duty of it, but these were the supposed elite and he'd been told to ‘network, Jaster!’

He let himself into the queue, one of the few without an escort, and walked like he was supposed to be there. He didn't stop to talk to reporters or to give a better view of his outfit, kept himself to the middle of the lane set aside for them, but he nodded in greeting if someone caught his eye.

He got to the door -and, more importantly, the security- before he was quite ready for it. 

"May I see your invite, sir?" One of the smart-dressed doormen asked. He hoped they had some armor under there, and weren't just fodder before the Palace Guard arrived.

He handed it over, pushing back the urge to give an awkward smile as it and he were examined with more scrutiny than the two -three- pairs that the other doorman had let through. 

He'd mostly been expecting to be immediately turned away, regardless of Myles' protestations. The borrowed formalwear didn't help; if worn correctly it sat over his breastplate like he was trying to show off cleavage he didn't possess, but it just looked a mess if he loosened it. 

The doorman waved him in, and he took a last breath of fresh air before he stepped inside.

The stream of people was swept through to a hall big enough to land a few JAS02s in. It reminded him strangely of some early summer nights at home - the susurrus of silk like young veshok in the wind, gently flickering wall lights taking the place of the glow bugs that came to sip water off the tips of the stalks. The lofty ceiling disappeared into darkness, no overhead lights turned on, making it feel enclosed in the way that the night was when heavy with clouds.

It was beautiful, really. He could have done without the rest of the guests.

There was a lot of tittering and genteel remarks, and he only didn't wish that he'd brought Vau with him to field it all because Myles deserved to suffer more.  

–

Some of the guests looked at his armor and talked to each other as though he wouldn't be able to guess they were talking about him. 

He caught one of them say something in Basic about exotic! and decided for the sake of not being exiled from the entire system to find himself somewhere far away from them to 'network'.

–

The newly crowned Duke Kryze swept down the stairs in a pool of light, long sleeves and tails trailing behind him, to what probably passed for uproarious applause. It was a mix of actual, noticeable celebration and what he was sure was polite, Core world nonsense.

There was a slightly less restrained rush to greet him and offer their congratulations and condolences for the death of his late mother.  

Jaster allowed people to flow past him. They might have let him in, but with a mugshot floating around with exile underneath it there was no need to invite the scrutiny that being near the duke would cause, even if it was technically only for Concord Dawn. 

Kryze was also unlikely to be hiring merc companies, so it was pointless. 

Jaster helped himself to some of the food, a little more of the drink -a lot more important to have in his hand to blend in than he had been expecting- and circled for anyone that looked promising.  Most of the crowd was occupied with the duke, or with debriefing companions about having met him. 

Interested in neither, Jaster made his way through the thin spots between groups, amusing himself by trying to avoid brushing any overzealous fabric and guessing at how valuable the jewels dripping from the guests would be. He wasn't much good at it yet, but one of the newer verde, Munin Skirata, had insisted on trying to teach him after a client had wanted to pay in a trunk of gems.

He washed up near a humanoid blond woman an unusual head taller than him, also with her eyes on the throngs of guests. She was older than most of the hopefuls, with an easy body-confidence that spoke to regular training. Despite being dressed more like the others than him, she looked like one of the very few in the crowd that would be able to fight.

He let a pillar take his weight while he tried to decide whether or not to stay. Despite the shit he’d given Myles, there could be a contract or two headed their way from locals and it would be good to get the ORK name out to more people, more systems. This wasn’t the first time he’d shown his face in aid of that, but he was tired of putting on the act this type would buy and this was beyond any of those occasions in sheer scale. He could probably speak to each person for a moment only and still not have enough time for all of them. 

“Quite the showing, isn’t it?” 

The woman had settled her weight a little closer, one hand holding a drink at an angle near her face and the other tucked between that elbow and her body. Her eyes were on someone dressed in a garment with a particularly transparent aim, and her tone wasn’t quite making fun. Her overdress had slipped away from her forearm, revealing a silver cuff that was almost just a slimline vambrace.

“Never seen anything like it,” he agreed truthfully, wry. 

“Well aren’t you lucky,” she said, sounding amused. “Have you been enjoying yourself?”

Jaster floundered a moment for something to say that wasn’t rude. “It’s certainly been an experience.”

She extended her free hand to him. He clasped her forearm briefly, surprised at the gesture and to feel beskar under his fingers.

“Some are decent, but most aren’t worth the breath it takes to talk to them.”

Jaster choked on the sip of his drink he’d chanced, managed to keep it in his mouth. He swiped the back of his glove over it to give himself a moment. He was glad he didn’t sound strangled when he said, “I think I found more of the latter.”

“Ah,” she said, a low, pleasant sound, “my commiserations. You pick up a knack for these things and avoid them when you can, or you develop a reputation that puts them off you.” 

He let the back of his head hit the pillar, rocking to keep eyes on her. “Burc'ya, I don’t know if I want to do this as many times as that would take.”

She watched a delegate from Stewjon pass by, strings of engraved medallions swinging and clinking gently together, then said, very serious despite the spark in her eye, “You don’t enjoy it when they fondle your chestplate?”

He chuckled, surprised, but she went on.

“Or do you prefer when they ask if they can-” she leaned in, dropped her voice into something overly suggestive “-handle your blaster?”

He was very glad he hadn’t taken another sip, his laugh loud and genuine enough to make some bystanders turn to look. 

She waved a hand at them, an expression of overdone don’t mind him on her face that worked to immediately turn their attention away. 

“How did you know?” He asked once she had turned back to him.

“Core-worlders adore a mando’ad in armor,” she said. “As long as they don’t show evidence of working. Tor has made the mistake more than once.”

Her Keldabe accent, subtly different to those he had gotten used to during his time there, seemed suddenly more familiar. “Is that Tor Vizsla?”

She tilted her head, just a little, smooth and amused. He was almost sure it was at his expense, but it didn’t feel malicious. “It is.”

“I’m Jaster Mereel,” he introduced, “I work with Tor.”

She made a charmingly inelegant snort. “I know, Al’ori'ramikade. I’m Tra. Tor is my little brother.”

–

While there were no chronos on the walls, it was late enough that nobody leaving was being made notice of, and Jaster couldn’t face talking to another person who would call his accent provincial or speak to him slowly as though it was a favor. He’d given and gotten enough comm codes that no one would complain and eaten enough posh food that he could make Myles want to come to the next one, where Jaster would find a bedsheet to wrap himself in and pretend to be a particularly lifelike statue and leave the brat to it.

He did look around for Tra on his way towards the door, and saw her through the crowd for a chance moment. Her face was alight and she was gesturing with one hand. Her conversational partner was the duke himself, an expression other than that of polite, irritating disinterest on his face - he was almost smiling at her, close enough that he was looking up a little. 

Perhaps he had some taste after all.

The night air was cool and refreshing on his face as he headed towards where the speeder would pick him up. 

Chapter Text

At least the Dxun wasn’t smoking on reentry.  

–

Repairs, refueling, and restocking was going smoothly, considering Headhunter’s reduced staffing.  The Sundari dockmasters were displeased at their repair crews being denied access to the ship, but the promise of a thorough inspection at the end of repairs and a little friendly conversation on Jaster’s part and they were mollified.

Now, of course, that meant all hands on deck for the repairs.  The faster they were done and loaded up, the faster they could leave before they attracted any unwanted attention.

Which meant Jaster was currently elbow deep in the guts of the gunship the pirates had rammed into, a few verde on either side of him in much the same situation.  Not much they could do for the bird now, but they could at least strip her for parts - parts they could use to fix the damage to the hanger itself, or even just to have some spares on hand for the gunships they had left.

He hoped Jango was doing alright back home with Bee.  They’d exchanged a few comms here and there over the course of the escort, and Jaster could tell Jango had been worried when he heard the Dxun had been damaged.  The boy had seemed tense, but denied anything was wrong when Jaster tried to inquire-

Jaster winced as he his finger got pinched between plating and pipes.  This is what parenting was like, apparently - to worry constantly over your children, even when they were grown.  Jango had passed his verd’goten over a year ago, but he would always be little Jan’ika to Jaster, even if he was grown with his own children.

Hm.  Grandchildren, eh.  Jango’s a little young for that just yet.

Jaster was interrupted from his musing by the flashing light on his HUD that indicated an incoming private comm.  Eyes flicking to it, he answered the call.

“Alor? ”

“Here, Myles. Me’vaar ti gar?”

There was a moment of silence, as Myles hesitated - out of character for him. 

“Myles?”

“...Duke Kryze is here to see you, sir?”

Now it was Jaster’s turn to short-circuit.  He stood up straighter, set his tools down beside him - the verde at his left tilted their helmet in a puzzled manner, and he waved them off even as his mind was suddenly miles away from his body.

“Duke Kryze, Myles?  Here?”

“On the dock, yes sir.  He asked for you by name?”

“...Well, osik. ”  

Myles snorted at the comment.  “Agreed, sir, but maybe you shouldn’t make him wait.”

Jaster started putting the rest of his tools away quickly, and made a vain attempt to wipe the grease off his gloves before deciding to peel them off altogether.  “I’ll be right there, just a moment-”

The verde next to him seemed to realize something was afoot and took over his station as he exited the wreck and marched out to the dock.  He prayed his limp wasn’t too obvious, and tried in vain to straighten out his kute and cloak.   

As he exited the ship’s bay and marched down the ramp to the dock, it was obvious where the Duke was - there was a loose circle of verde a few meters away, and Jaster could spot the distinctive headgear of the Mandalorian Royal Guard.  He thought he also spotted a glimpse of white fabric as well, as he approached and the verde gathered parted for him.  

A moment’s thought, and he removed his helmet and tucked it into the latch at his belt when he was within a few feet of the gathered party.  At least he’d thought to shave this morning.  He was still aware of the scuffs and peeled paint at the edges of his plate, the dirt on his boots.

Duke Adaanai Kryze was a tall, haughty-looking man with a short crop of flaming red hair and steely blue eyes - he wore no obvious armor, but his tunic looked thick enough to be hiding plate underneath.  Two strings of beskar beads (beskar beads! The price of those alone could replace the gunship they’d lost)  held a pristine white coat shut.  Something about his presence gave off the idea that he was permanently bored, eyes partially hooded under arched eyebrows.

The Duke took a step forward upon noticing Jaster’s approach.  Kryze’s guards and Jaster’s verde seemed to form up behind each of them.

“Verd’alor Jaster Mereel, I presume?”

Jaster spread his hands imploringly.  “That would be me, yes.  And you are Neverd’alor Adaanai Kryze?”

“The very same.”  The Duke’s voice was smooth, but bearing a distinctive Kalevalan lilt to it.  There was perhaps even a hint of Coruscanti to it - Jaster resolved to look up the man later, if only to see if he had gone to school in the Core or the like.  

He didn’t like flying in blind, but he had to admit he knew very little about the man.  Something about military service before he’d been crowned, but it was over a decade ago and Jaster hadn’t cared enough at the time to note it.  He did have an idea why the man would want to speak to him, what with the sudden formation of a House Mereel in his name.

“...To what do I owe the pleasure?  I’d have cleaned up a little, if we had known you were coming.”

The Duke’s eyes narrowed a little - perhaps the slight joking in Jaster’s tone was unwelcome.

“I can’t say your arrival was expected either.  Nor can I necessarily say it is a pleasure to have you.”  

Certainly not welcome.  The verde behind Jaster shifted slightly, and Jaster tried to subtly flash a stand-down hand signal.  Of course, the Duke’s eyes flicked to his hands anyway, and he did not seem particularly moved by the action.  

“Sundari does not often play host to mercenaries such as yourself.  Certainly not a group of your size.”  

Jaster felt like his mind was going a mile a minute, heart in his throat.  He’d dealt with powerful clients before, but Kryze was on a whole other level - the ability to exile them all from their homelands or have them jailed with a wave of his hand reminded him altogether too much of his old commanders in the Journeyman Protectors, if on an even more massive scale.  Even if Jaster now had his own House, it paled next to House Kryze - there was a reason he was recognized as the head of the sector rather than any of the other House leaders.

He tried to squash his anxieties, keeping his voice steady to say, “Well, Sundari wasn’t exactly our first choice either.  But our ship needed some… urgent repairs.”

Kryze’s eyes drifted behind Jaster, glancing over the shape of the Dxun behind him with a singular raised eyebrow.  “I can see that.”

Jaster was suddenly struck by the urge to defend the place he’d called home for the last ten years.  He bit his lip, knowing snapping at the Duke would do them no good.  Still, their last mission was at least good for their reputation…

“She took some hits, guarding some of the harvest transports from Concord Dawn.  I’m sure you’re aware of pirates and the like raiding freighters in the area.”

“One would think such a storied institution as the Journeyman Protectors would have no problem dealing with simple pirates.”

“Mhmm.  I’m sure you’re also aware of their reduced manpower.  And budget, for that matter -  it’s my understanding Protector funds are allocated through your office?”

One of the Royal Protectors shifted their weight slightly.  Who’d’ve thought Jaster would be out here defending the Protector’s reputation?  What strange times we live in, he thought.

“-No matter,” Jaster added, noting a subtle flush in Kryze’s ears, “I’m more than happy to help out the homeworld when I can.  Right, verde?”

A soft chorus of ‘yessirs’ , and a bit of elbows nudging each other and Jaster’s soldiers were a little less tense than before - Jaster wasn’t the only one who noticed Kryze’s slight flush.  The Duke didn’t appear to like being critiqued in front of his staff.

“Speaking of your homeworld, Mereel,”  started Kryze, saying Jaster’s name with just enough of an edge to make his verde stand up straight again, “Surely there would be a more… convenient port-of-call for your vessel, closer to Concord Dawn?”

A couple of Jaster’s verde scoffed.

“If you have any suggestions, I would love to hear them.  As far as I was aware, there are only three ports large enough for the Dxun in the entire Sector.  Ordo was occupied, and MandalMotors has a stranglehold on Keldabe.”

“Kalevala’s port is more than suitable for large vessels.”

Jaster raised an eyebrow.  “Would my verde be any more welcome there?”

Kryze’s lips pursed.  “It is the responsibility of a House to construct and maintain such infrastructure.  Should the lack of large ports concern you that much, your House Mereel should step in within your own territory.”

Jaster grimaced.  He had hoped, as unlikely as it was, that the Duke hadn't seen the news of House Mereel forming.  “That’s not your concern.  All we are looking for here is to finish repairs and we’ll be out of your hair in a day.”

“Will you?  I would think House Mereel would want to… make arrangements within government.  Establish yourselves, determine what authority you have.”

“Concord Dawn is our only concern right now.”

“Right now.”

Jaster felt more than sensed his verde shifting behind him again, uneasy.  Kryze didn’t trust him one bit, eyes bright but cold as they stared at each other.

“I have no intention of… of encroaching on anyone’s territory.  A clan war is the last thing I would want - Concord Dawn has seen enough bloodshed.  Mandalore has seen enough bloodshed.”

“Bold words.  We’ll see if they hold.”  The noble said.  “I shall leave you all to it then - have a safe journey home.”

Here’s hoping I didn’t make a fool of myself, Jaster thought as he shoved his helmet back on.  Barely a moment later he realized he had a dozen textcomms from Myles giving a quick rundown on Kryze’s position on various issues, history, and recent news - Good lad, that Myles, even if it is a little late.  One fact caught his eye immediately, and he barely hesitated before calling out to the retreating Duke.

“-One last thing! I believe some congratulations are in order?”

Kryze’s ginger brows furrowed slightly, visible even from their growing distance.

“On the birth of your third child - may they grow strong and make you proud.”

The Duke seemed to relax slightly, and Jaster swore he almost smiled. “I could say the same to you, I believe.  On your recent adoption.”

Jaster shrugged and put his hands on his hips.  “Children are the future.”

To his surprise, Kryze echoed, “This is the way.”

–

Adaanai didn’t quite flop onto his lounge chair, but it was a near thing.  In the relative privacy of his office inside the palace, he could take a moment to slouch, rub at his tired eyes, and after a moment’s hesitation, strip off his silver boots.  The carpet under his feet had been worn thin for years, but it was a fair sight better than the hard tile his mother had favored as he stretched his legs.  

It had been a long day, touring the city and meeting with dignitaries and businessmen who always seemed to think they could monopolize the Duke’s time.  Every time he came back from a brief visit home to Kalevala, it felt as if there were more fires to put out, more demands for his immediate attention-

Like a would-be Mand’alor turning up at their door.  What a mess, he thought as he stretched his spine over the chair with a grumble.

“Tough day?”

Adaanai jumped, startled until he recognized the voice - he turned to face his wife, who was suppressing laughter in an effort not to wake the infant strapped to her chest.

“Manda, Tra, you scared me!”  He said, half-whispering to not wake little Bo-Katan.  Tra’s grin was visible even as she tried to cover her mouth with one hand.

“I could see that, dear,” Tra said as she strode across the office to his seat.  She loomed over him briefly (appearing even taller than usual from his low, cushy seat) before bending and placing a kiss on his hair.  Little Bo’s face might’ve scrunched up slightly at the movement, but she was at the age where almost all she could do was scrunch her nose, so who knew quite what it meant.  Adaanai kissed the top of the ikaad’s head before doing the same to Tra’s cheek.

“Well?”  Tra raised one eyebrow as she looked down at him.  He slouched a little more into the cushions.

“Yes, alright, it has been a long day.  Why I thought of scheduling the Vinter’s Guild and Judicial Branch meetings back to back, I have no idea.”

“I’m sure Justice Rook loved your entourage smelling like wine.”

“I was perfectly sober, thank you.  As much as the Guildmaster tried otherwise.”

Tra snorted, and moved to sit in the second chair across from him,  “Ah, but was the Prime Minister?”

“...No.”

Tra laughed, ignoring Bo-Katan’s gurgle in complaint, and Adaanai couldn’t help but join her.

“Now, I must say…” Tra said once she had recovered, wiping a tear from her eye and gently patting a gurgling Bo, “I’m a bit more interested in your unscheduled excursion today.  Your little trip to the docks will be all over the Keldabe Gazetteer by morning, I guarantee you.”

Adaanai sighed heavily, but resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“What did you hear?”

“Your dear Kex tells me you met with the ‘up-and-coming’ Verd’alor Mereel, and had a rather intriguing conversation.  The press will eat it up.”

Kex Vorpan, Adaanai’s head of security, had been a good friend since they were both young idiots in the Planetary Defense Force, and had befriended Tra soon after Adaanai had married her.  The two of them together could gossip more than a Hutt with a secret kept in strictest confidence.

“What, that I glared at a mercenary for five minutes?  They’ll find some way to spin it, I’m sure, but it’s not like we were shooting at each other.”

“As much as you wanted to?”  Tra’s voice was wry,  “Come on, dear, credit for your thoughts on our new Mand’alor Mereel–” 

He cut her off by flicking a datapad stylus in her direction, but it bounced harmlessly off of Bo’s birikad.

“...That bad?”

“I like him better than your brother.”

“That’s a low bar to beat, love.  Whether Mereel’s accusations are true or not, Tor’s an ass.”

Adaanai took a breath through his nose,  “...That’s the thing.  I really wanted to dislike the man - but Mereel seemed, if nothing else, honest.  Well-spoken, for a farmer.  And- some of the things he said, he was right about.  That I’m not paying enough attention to the rest of the sector, despite it being my job.”

Tra leaned back in her chair, thoughtful.  It was a familiar look, with her green eyes squinting as she stared off into middle-distance.

“Not paying enough attention, eh.  Even after the cleanup of those Protectors?”

Adaanai shrugged.  “He made a point that there now aren’t enough Protectors to do any protecting, apparently.  And that Concord Dawn has no functioning spaceport, despite being our greatest crop producers.”

“That’s not entirely our doing - Concord Dawn and Ordo both are more likely to get the pitchforks than accept help from Manda’yaim.  They can’t have it both ways - either they want to be left alone or they come closer to the fold.”

“It might not be our doing personally, but there’s 700 years of history that says not to trust us.  My mother didn’t exactly make much of an effort.”

“Your mother didn’t have your values, ‘Nai.  Not to mention, you’ve both had plenty to worry about just here on the homeworld.”

Adaanai grimaced.  The squabbling between the clans got worse and worse no matter how hard he tried, consuming more of his time and making his visits home to Kalevala few and far between.

“Which makes the other systems feel ignored in the first place.  I can’t just say ‘there’s more to worry about here’ and leave them to fend for themselves - too many of the clans have already seized power that way.”  Like Mereel, He thought as he scrubbed at his face and heaved a weary sigh.  “...I don’t think Concord Dawn even has representation in Parliament.  Might just be grouped in with Vorpaya for some manda-forsaken reason.”

“The Houses consolidating power?  Neither of them are under a House’s jurisdiction…”

He scoffed,  “Until now, apparently.  Did I tell you about the newly-formed House Mereel? ”

Now she grimaced.  “There’s been unrest out on the fringes of the sector already - if Mereel’s reports of my brother attacking farms and villages are true, they’d jump at the chance for one of their own to protect them.”

“They’ve already started calling it a ‘civil war’.  The other clans and houses will come for his throat if he tries anything - especially with his verde calling him Mand’alor.”

Bo-Katan made another gurgling noise in her birikad, yawning and burying her little head into her mother’s chest.  Tra was silent a moment longer, her face twisting as she looked down at their baby.

“...Let’s not speak of war.  Not right now.”

Adaanai sighed and slouched further in his chair.  “I know.”

“Wishful thinking, but…It could all just fizzle out in the end.  Some of the aliit’alore are all bark and no bite, you know that.”

“I think Mereel is more than capable of backing up his words.  But he said he wanted to keep bloodshed away from Concord Dawn, at least.”

“A mercenary in the peacemaking business?”  Tra huffed,  “Seems out of place.  Though - you know he was a Journeyman Protector?  Tor used to complain about how by-the-book he was, before we stopped talking.”

Adaanai frowned. “I wouldn’t call murdering a coworker ‘by the book’.  His exile is what started that investigation into the Protectors, if I remember right.”

Tra shrugged, flattening out a stray swirl of gingery hair on Bo-Katan’s tiny head.  “If they were corrupt and he wasn’t, I could see it.  Tor acted like he was quite the traditionalist - backed into a corner, he’d kill to do what was right.  Concord Dawn could do worse than that.”

“A traditionalist.  Good grief, I really don’t know anything about the man.  All I had was the legal record.”

“Couldn’t hurt to look him up, dear.  I’m sure there’s another public record of him, maybe on Concord Dawn?”

In a flash, he was typing away on a datapad, sending a message to one of his aides to expand their search terms for Mereel to the entire sector, and include non-legal or unofficial records.  Once he was finished, he set the pad down and slouched further into his seat.  It would take a while for them to collate any results they got, pare it down to something useful-

As soon as he closed his eyes a moment, he heard voices outside the office door a moment before the hiss of it opening.

“Papa!!” squeaked little Satine, tottling in on stubby legs, arms already reaching out for him.  

His oldest child and only son, Taraan, was hurrying along behind her in what was clearly a vain attempt to slow her down, trying to whisper “Papa’s busy, Sat’ika-”

“It’s alright, Taraan, I’m taking a break.  I missed you too, Satine.”  Adaanai said, immediately leaning forward to scoop the little four year old into his lap. Tra chuckled, especially as Taraan sheepishly greeted them both.

“I think Satine has decided work is over for the day, ‘Nai.”

Satine helpfully squeaked a “Yeah! Do my hair, Papa.”

He tried to suppress a laugh, though a smile broke through.  “Now, Sat’ika, how do we ask for things?”

Her brow furrowed just a bit before turning big blue eyes on her father.

“Please?”

“Good.  Did you bring-”  She shoved a blue bow and hairtie into his hands as soon as he spoke, and squirmed in his lap until she was in her usual spot for him to do her hair.  “Okay, dear.  Sit still now-”

Thankfully she was young enough he didn’t have to do much, her patience making her squirm before long as he tied a little bun on top of her head with the bow.  As soon as he finished, she hopped down and scurried up to Tra instead.

“Look, mama!”

“I see, ad’ika.  Very pretty.”

She gave a happy little wiggle and squirmed her way into Tra’s lap, curling up alongside the birikad with her baby sister in it.

Taraan, for his part, had stood and shuffled awkwardly as Adaanai did his little sister’s hair, and continued to shift once she had tucked herself into Tra’s lap.

Adaanai softened further.  He knew what Taraan wanted.

“Come here, T’ika.  You’re next.”

The ten year old hesitated a moment.  Adaanai could see the moment where he finally caved, before sitting carefully in his father’s lap - he was getting to be too large for it, but Adaanai had yet to admit Taraan was quickly becoming a teenager rather than his little boy.

Satine chattered away to her mother about everything and nothing, as Adaanai plaited Taraan’s long ginger hair.  He kissed the side of Taraan’s head as he tied off the braid.

The more the clans fought with each other, the less he would get to see his children, his family like this.

–

As much as Jaster wanted to get a move on, he had to admit they all needed a good night's rest after spending the last eighteen hours or so fixing the Dxun .  It was late, both local time in Sundari and back at home in Concord Dawn, when they completed all their repairs and got the all-clear from the dock mechanics.  Most of his verde had gone to bed as soon as it was done.

Jaster really wished he could stumble into bed immediately.  But the alore of the other ORK companies would only be between jobs and available to meet for the next twelve hours or so.  Jaster knew if he went to bed he’d sleep for longer.

So.  He yawned and scrubbed at his face, sitting heavily in front of the holoprojector on the Dxun’s bridge - mostly empty aside for the one or two techs who were running software checks.

It had been a while since the alore had met - since before Korda, and they desperately needed to.  Jaster had long since made it a habit to check in with them regularly - he didn’t want another Kyr’tsad growing amongst the company - but he had delayed this meeting for as long as possible.  They all knew what had happened at Korda, of course, but he didn’t want to ask them to send some of their own verde over to Headhunter unless he really knew they needed it.  After all, no verd liked to be shuffled around when they had gotten used to their coworkers - but it did keep them all aware of each other and kept the companies transparent.

And after spending nearly twenty hours fixing the damage done to the Ghost of Dxun in a ten minute firefight, Jaster knew they needed it.

He sat forward and fiddled with the holoprojector controls, making sure it would be arranged so he could see all 8 or so figures that would be present, before making the call.

He was suddenly grateful for Sundari’s industrial infrastructure when the holoconnection snapped into place quickly, and figures began appearing with crystal clarity.  They were quiet for the most part, a few nods and greetings at each other, until the last appeared.

“Su’cuy gar, Mand’alor,” said Hawfinch, intelligence specialist, and, for lack of a better term, the ORK’s legal team’s alor.  The mikkian’s tendrils fanned out behind him, undulating like they were underwater - even Bee had yet to come up with a helmet that would suit him.

The other alore echoed him - most were somewhere between fully armored and helmeted and wearing the bare minimum of plate.

“Su’cuy , alore.  Injury report?”

“Hale and healthy, sir.”  Chirped Noah Kad, chief of logistics and procurement for the ORK as a whole.  They knew the state of the group as a whole more often than not, all having to go through them to request armor, new weaponry, and medical supplies.  “Though we’ve all been worried about Headhunter back here.”

He sighed a little.  “I’m sure.  You’ve all seen the Korda Disaster report.”

A few mumblings of agreement, and Jaster knew Hawfinch would be pulling it up again to reference.

“We have no additional loss of manpower, though the Dxun took some hits escorting a freighter to Concord Dawn - all fixed up now, with parts to spare.  Lost one of the gunships, but I see no need to replace it right now.  But the escort operation made it clear that Headhunter can’t operate at this capacity anymore.”

Noah had started mumbling to their assistant just off screen, before turning back to Jaster, “How many verde do you need?”

“The Dxun needs about forty, forty-five to operate smoothly, which leaves about twenty for ground operations. I’d like that number to be at least equal, so, twenty.”

Many of the alore shifted and huffed slightly in their seats.  Most of the companies were fully staffed, but none were as large as Headhunter and would feel the loss of a single verd.  They would share resources without question, but it would still sting.

“You know the drill.  Make your lists of verde who could do the job and send them to me,” Hawfinch sniffed.  All verde were thoroughly looked into before being accepted into the ORK, but Hawfinch always looked them over again when they moved between companies - again, Kyr’tsad’s stunt leaving years ago had made them all a little paranoid.

“It’s still far less than we had before Korda, so we shouldn’t need additional supplies or anything yet - especially given the Concord Dawn escort means we have some credits coming in,”  Jaster sighed, trying not to let the ache of Korda’s loss hit him again.

Noah nodded again, but continued mumbling to their assistant.

“That’s Headhunter’s situation.  Anyone else need support-?”

“Hold on a minute, Jas’alor,” huffed Jekai, alor of Te’Roya company, specializing in animal hunting.  “You still don't have a ver’alor, but even beyond that, what’s all this House Mereel business about?  Came a bit out of left field, and I think I can speak for all of us when I say we’re scratching our heads here.”

Jaster desperately wanted to slide out of his chair and into the floor.  In all of three days, this House Mereel … stuff had already given him a headache.  More clans were signing up on Concord Dawn, and he had noticed a few of his verde’s clans from elsewhere.  Still he tried to maintain composure, but the loud sigh he gave made a few of the alore chuckle.

“Started with that damn escort.  The aliit’alor we were working with paid the company by selling of my clan’s crop on Concord Dawn.  We had agreed that if all went well, we might make it something of a regular arrangement.  I expected some kind of recurring contract, that he pays a small fee and sells the Mereel crop and we escort them once a year or so, and instead…”

“Instead, he formed a House in your name?”

Jaster shrugged sheepishly.

“You know, you didn’t have to agree to that, Jas’alor.”  Jekai said, tone serious even as she tried to stifle a chuckle, “It is so very like you though.”

“I can see it causing problems in the future, though.  A lot of our verde joined up to get away from House politics,” Noah grimaced, brow furrowed - Jaster seemed to remember them leaving Keldabe after their buire’s business was bought out by a House Vizsla competitor.

“I know, and I share those concerns.  I want to say they’d be kept separately, that House business and ORK business wouldn’t mix, but…”

“We all know that doesn’t work - especially with you at the helm of both,” sighed Hawfinch.

“Would there be any expectation to join?”

“Manda, no.  Your clans are welcome to, of course but-”  Jaster sighed heavily again, “-it should wait until I’ve had the chance to write up some guidelines or the like.  You know I want everyone to know exactly what they would be getting into.  And I know at the very least the funds would be kept separately.”

“I believe you, Mand’alor,” said one of the others.

“If it all falls in line with your Codex, alor , I can’t see why we wouldn’t join,” Jekai mused, thoughtful.  

Jaster frowned. “No one is required to.  If anyone chooses not to join, they’ll be treated just the same as anyone who is - I want to make that very clear.  You know my stance on clan feuds, and that includes House feuds too.”

Hawfinch put down the pad in his hands and crossed his arms.  “I hope it sticks, alor.  To anyone else, this House business will look like the start of a bid for the throne.  A lot of verde joined to get away from House politics, but I know more that joined because we call you Mand’alor.”

“And,” Noah added, “It wouldn’t be the first time a business has been used to fund House politics.  We know that hut’uun Vizsla uses MandalMotors to funnel money into Kyr’tsad, and Kryze owns something like half the sector’s alcohol production and textiles.”

“I still don’t get how Vizsla gets away with that,” grumbled another.

“Money laundering.  Has enough shell corporations to put the Trade Federation to shame, and we don’t have enough evidence otherwise to take it to court,” said Hawfinch immediately.  Jaster knew he spent every spare minute trying to track down proof of Tor’s misdeeds - even more fervently so since Korda.  Accusing a House leader of anything was extremely difficult, as it turned out.

“Speaking of House Kryze, though…” Jaster grimaced, as all the leaders’ attention turned back on him,  “We made port in Sundari to make repairs, after the escort.  The Duke had also heard about this House Mereel business, and came looking for me.  Personally.”

Hawfinch swore. “And you were planning on telling me this when?  Spirits, what’d he say?  You didn’t say anything, did you-”

“Hawfinch, calm down.  I did not make a fool of myself.  He seemed more concerned that we were a mercenary company in his picturesque Evaarla’ade city than anything else.  Wanted to make sure we’d be out of here as soon as possible.”

Hawfinch frowned and squinted at him, tendrils moving more agitatedly.

“You will send me a report as soon as possible, sir.”

“Stars, I will! I haven’t slept in twenty-two hours, Hawfinch, I will write it later.”  Jaster groused, dragging his hands down his face.

“Anything else we should know from Kryze, sir, before we tuck you into bed?”

“Oh, watch it, Jekai, I’m still your boss.”

She stifled a laugh anyway.

“And, no, not really.  Like I said, he just wanted to know why we were there , and got a little grouchy when I pointed out Concord Dawn doesn’t have a proper port.”

“Could be a project for your House.”

“Ka’ra , that’s what he said.  I’ll think about it later.  Last order of business - you mentioned the ver’alor position still being open.  I’ve made a decision, barring any objections.”

They all sat up a little straighter.  They had been equally surprised by Montross’ betrayal, and had waited patiently for Jaster to make a decision.  Ver’alor would affect all of them, their point of contact in case Jaster was unavailable, and would take command should he fall on the field.

Jaster chewed on his lip a moment longer, glancing at Hawfinch - who only raised an eyebrow in return.

“You all remember Myles.”

“Myles? As in, Myles Kovaroya, our dorky little blue foundling?”

“Yes.  He’s taken charge since Korda, been doing remarkably well at managing all this mess - he wrote the report, you know,”  Jaster said firmly,  “He’s young, but.  I think it’s what we need.

Myles had been adopted into the company when it was still young and small, fresh off Pantora, and almost all the alore present had known him as a little boy.  They used to call the pudgy twelve year old the ‘company mascot’, but none of them had adopted him.  None, except…

He looked at Hawfinch again, who looked a little dumbfounded.

“...My Myles?  Ver’alor?”

Jaster suppressed a laugh alongside a few of the others.  “Yes, Hawfinch, your ad.  He’s got your head for the legalities, and he’s charming enough to deal with clients.  Are there any objections?”

No one spoke up, and a few even smiled and looked approving.

“Good.  I’ll tell him officially tomorrow, after I’ve slept.  Hawfinch, you better not tell the rest of Myl’ika’s buire.  I know how Clem gets - half of Manda’yaim would know in a day.”

Hawfinch squeaked a weak “yessir!” as the rest of the alore laughed.

“Now, if that’s all our business.  I will go tuck myself into bed, thank you.”

Jaster closed the call to the sound of chuckles, feeling buoyed despite the day’s adventures.

Chapter Text

After the meeting with the other company alor’e, after sleeping for a solid fifteen hours, and after the Dxun had left Sundari far behind, Jaster finally felt more like a human being and less like some organic mush inside the shell of his armor.  

A good thing, considering the first messages on his holopad concerned half of the clans represented in the ORK expressing an interest in joining House Mereel.  He had yet to write the sort of expectations or statement of purpose for the House yet, but it didn’t seem to slow anyone down.  He hoped it would be slowing down before long, or else the other Houses would come gunning for them immediately, with his estimated headcount nearing… over two thousand.  Within a week.  Double the size of the ORK immediately.

He felt a headache blooming behind his eyes again that had little to do with dehydration.  

One step at a time, Mereel, whispered a voice in his mind that sounded strangely like one of his University professors, coaching him through his first article in Basic.  The memory smoothed out the ache behind his eyes, and faded completely as he swung his legs out of his bunk to get ready for the day.  

He made a list of objectives absentmindedly over the pot of porridge in his tiny kitchenette - one of the few vanities he allowed himself in the ‘captain’s quarters’ of the Dxun.  

Top of today’s priorities was Myles.  Promotions weren’t usually done in private, but ver’alor of the company was another matter.  Myles was young and social, but anyone would feel the pressure to accept a position if they were asked in front of a dozen of their friends.

He put together a second bowl of porridge, before sending out a message for Myles to meet him in his quarters for firstmeal.

–

“You wanted to see me, Jas’alor?”  Myles said, standing steady with his arms clasped behind his back.

It wouldn’t do either of them any good to beat around the bush. “Yes, Myles.  I wanted to talk to you about a promotion - if you’d take it.”  

Myles blinked rapidly a few times, on the verge of shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  They’d have to work on that self-confidence, if he were to be a better leader.

“...A promotion, sir?  Uh, to- to what position?”

“Sit, first.  Your firstmeal will go cold.”

Jaster could see the moment of confusion and hesitation, before Myles sat in one of the plush chairs in his living quarters and cup the warm bowl in his hands.

“I want to make you ver’alor of the ORK, Myles.  Of the House too, if you’ll take it.”

Myles’ eyes widened, and he stared blankly at Jaster for a long moment.

“The- the entire House, sir?  I know- I mean, I kind of expected getting some more responsibility here with Headhunter, but- the entire Ori'ramikade, and our clans?” He seemed stunned, but not overly distressed by the idea that Jaster could see, which boded well. “It's a lot to consider.  I don't know if I'm the most qualified for this.  I like the administrative stuff, but…”

“I'll tell you what I told your buir yesterday,”  Jaster said, between mouthfuls of porridge, “You've got a head for the legalities and data work required to run the company, and the social skills to deal with clients and mediate with the verde.   You've been a squad leader for a few years now.  Most of the company already know you and respect you.  If that's not qualified, Myles, I don't know what is.”

“Oh.  Well.  When you put it like that, sir…”  Myles said sheepishly, cheeks and ears dusted purple as he fiddled absently with his bowl of food.

“I don't mean to say you have to accept, but you were my first choice.”  Jaster sat back in his chair.  “...You don't have to decide right this instant, but…”

“I won't keep you waiting, sir, just- I'll eat my firstmeal and decide.”

“Fine by me, M'ika,” Jaster said, softening with the nickname they had used for Myles since he was small.

The rest of the meal was quiet, but companionable. Jaster had to stifle a chuckle as Myles ate slowly, pausing for long moments lost in thought before remembering there was food in front of him.  Only about halfway through his food, he seemed to come to a decision and hurried through the rest of his meal.

Jaster rinsed out the dishes before tossing them in his tiny sonic washer, and when he turned back, Myles was stood by his seat with his hands clasped behind his back.

“...It'd be an honor to serve as ver'alor, sir.  I accept the duty, haat, ijaa, haa’it.”

Jaster crossed the room to clasp Myles’ forearm and clap him on the shoulder.  “It's my honor to serve with you, ver'alor.   I look forward to it.  Go on and tell your friends.”

Jaster good-naturedly shoved Myles toward the door, and a few minutes later and even through three sealed doors, he could hear the delighted whooping and cheers as the verde congratulated Myles.

–

Bee was rather amused by how seriously Jan’ika was taking his duties to protect the house.  The boy had put the verde to work on patrols, errands, and even some home maintenance Bee couldn’t have managed on his own.  He didn’t work them hard enough that anyone complained about their missing time off, but many rolled their eyes at their alor’ad’ika’s antics, especially as the small teenager lectured verde twice his size and age.

He was less amused at Jan’ika assigning him a guard rotation that would follow him to and from the forge - a few at least had given him plenty of breathing room, following orders only to appease Jango.  Others had followed him both inside and out of the forge the entire day.  His two apprentices, Sanis and Pasha, had merrily teased him when they walked out by themselves, as Bee was followed by a verd on either side.  

He’d tried to convince Jango that Jaster hadn’t meant it quite so literally when he said ‘your duty is to protect Bee and the house’, to little avail.  Jaster himself had been no help, only saying Jango preferred to be kept busy and being ‘on the job’ was best for him when Bee had cornered him into a holocall a few hours before the Dxun reached Sundari.

Bee didn’t want Alor’ad Fett, he wanted his bu’ad Jango.  But Jango never assigned himself on Bee’s rotation, and would scurry off as soon as he finished his food when they ate together.

Bee had dealt with a lot of youngsters Jango’s age over the years - children getting their first sets of armor, teenagers adjusting their kit after their verd’gotene as they grew, or sheepishly getting pieces fixed after roughhousing with friends.  Jango was proving to be much more of a puzzle than the usual grumpy teen.

Young Silas Itera was much more like the teenagers Bee was used to.  When it was his turn to escort Bee to the forge, he chattered away all the way there, asking if Bee knew his clan’s armorer (he did - one of his former apprentices), if Bee had ever left Concord Dawn (to Keldabe and back, when the armorers gathered and when he was a student at the Keldabe Great Forge), and what Jaster was like at his age (Bee couldn't answer honestly, that Jaster was either struggling with his father’s death or away at university.  He only told Silas that Jaster always had his nose in his books).

An hour into his watch, and Silas had started spinning in the chair Bee had provided as he worked on the prototypes for Jaster's knee brace and the attached armor.  At least he was quiet, trying not to be a distraction, even if his occasional puffs of a sigh and the creaking of the chair threatened to make Bee laugh.

Piecing together the metal strips, screws, and padding that made up the brace was mostly mindless work, with all the pieces already forged, and despite the occasional sigh Bee liked the teen.  After a moment's consideration, he broke the silence.

"Silas, ad,"  Bee said without looking up.  He felt an upward tug at his lips as he heard the soft noise of Silas scrambling to sit up straighter, startled.

"-Yessir, Baba Goran?"

“You and Jan’ika are good friends, yes?”

“Oh, yeah!  We trained together and stuff, when my buire were in Headhunter doing mechanics.”

"Ah- and you stayed with the company? When you passed you verd'goten? Speaks to your skill, ad."

Bee saw him squirm in the corner of his eye under the praise.  "Thank you, sir."

"It's the truth. You and Jan'ika are the only youngsters I have seen - for good reason.  It's good to have a burc’ya to push you further."

Silas laughed, still shifting slightly in his seat.  "It was hard enough to keep up with him even when he was so much smaller than me.  He used to- well, he probably wouldn't want me to say."

Bee had to admire the teen trying to protect his friend's pride, despite Silas' talkative nature.  As badly as Bee wanted to know Jan'ika better, he didn't want to put Silas in an awkward spot.

"That's alright - there are a few stories I am sure our dear Mand'alor wouldn't want me to tell you either."

"Aw.  I wanted to see Jas'alor's baby holos."

Bee stifled a laugh, briefly losing traction on the pin he was putting in place.  "There are still a few I can share, and some stories I know he wouldn't mind me telling."

Silas started spinning in his chair a little again, back and forth motion that made Bee a little dizzy just looking at him out of the corner of his eye.  

"I guess Jas'alor isn't… like, he isn't worried about impressing anybody.  Jango wants to look cool and smart in front of you and stuff still."

"...Oh?"  

"Yeah, he doesn't get how ba'buire work yet. Ba’buire like it when you, like, are silly with them and stuff right?  He just doesn't know what to do with family stuff.  He always looks at me funny talking about getting pinched by my ba'buire.  And, he still calls Jas’alor ‘Jaster’ instead of buir or anything."

Bee felt Jango wouldn't like Silas talking about this either, but he didn’t quite have the heart to tell him to stop. 

“He hasn’t had family in a while.  It’s normal, from what I know.”

“Yeah.”  Silas huffed,  “It just… kind of stinks.  Having a clan is great!  It’d be good for him - like you said having a bur’cya to push you was good.  He can’t be working all the time.”

Well, his buir isn’t setting the best example on that front, Bee thought to himself.  Jango and Jaster were similar that way - always busy, always working on something .

Maybe that was the key.  Bee had long come to accept Jaster’s eccentricities, and learned to work around them.  If he could catch Jango working on something, he could help, and they’d be ‘productive’ sitting together.

“What does he work on when he is not on patrol?  Or organizing them?”

“Blaster training.  Or education modules. Oh! And he’s been getting really grouchy - like, extra grouchy- trying to decide how to paint his armor.  He’s been stuck on it for aaaages.”

Perfect.

–

It wasn’t long until the prototype brace was put together, temporary armor plates attached and ready for Jaster to test upon his return.  With it squared away, Bee packed up his tools and left the forge to his apprentices, returning home with young Silas in tow.  Jango met them at the gate, exchanging a few words with Silas (the deep sigh of ‘nothing to report, sir’ threatened to break Bee’s composure) before they went inside.

“Jan’ika, ad.”

Unlike Silas, Jango didn’t start, only turned to look at Bee.

“Yes, Baba?”

“Have you decided how to paint your armor?”

Jango grimaced.

“I will take that as a ‘no’.”  He made a show of furrowing his brow and thinking for a moment before continuing.

“Well, come along then.  The armor station in the back should be open, and it is my job to guide you on such matters.”

“It’s your job to help me pick paint colors? ”  Jango scrunched his nose slightly and tried not to sound too incredulous.

“If you don’t know what you want to say about yourself with it, of course.  You’ve been thinking about it, I’m sure.”

Jango grew quiet again, and Bee interpreted it as another agreement.

“Come.  I have some of my own painting to do - it’s no trouble, and I’m sure your buir would like to see it done before he returns from Sundari.”

Bee didn't wait to see if Jango would follow, only started walking towards the workbench as he explained the traditional color meanings.

“I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but green is traditional for duty…”

–

Jango looked a lot more settled into his own skin, after the paint had dried and he had donned his armor again.

“...Do you think…”

“Jaster will be very proud, yes.  Good choice, ad’ika,” Bee said, clapping a firm hand on Jango’s shoulder.  Jango only nodded and stood a little straighter, proud.

“I’ll- come with you to the forge tomorrow, if that’s alright.”

Bee smiled. 

–

Bee couldn’t help but feel buoyed by his grandson’s company in the forge the next day, even as Silas and Jango bickered about whether or not they both needed to be there.  Silas argued that if Jango was there, Bee didn’t need another guard, but Jango insisted he was ‘off duty’.

(Bee was pleased that Jango didn’t see coming to the forge with him as ‘work’, even if Bee doubted Jango wouldn’t be on guard.)

Now well settled into work on a new knife for the town butcher, Bee was entertained by the two continuing to bicker playfully on random topics, lightly shoving each other far enough away from the forge equipment to be safe.  They’d apparently settled on the upcoming meshgeroya tournament.

“I’m telling you, Jango, Ord Mantell is gonna take Alderaan in the semi-finals like they did last year-”

“Last year Ord Mantell had J’nee Wilks, and he’s moved to Kubindi.  There’s no way they’ll take the Cup this year-”

“Well Alderaan won’t beat Kubindi then-”

The bell attached to the front door jingled softly, and the boys' mouths snapped shut as they were suddenly on high alert.  In the door was a familiar figure in Protector green.

“-It’s alright, boys, it’s just Alor’ad Gilamar. Su’cuy, alor’ad.”

“Su’cuy, Goran Mereel.  Sorry to keep dropping in on you, but-”

“I figured there’d be some dents and scrapes from the training earlier.  Mind if we talk after I finish this up?”

She nodded minutely, walking closer to the waiting area with the boys occupying it.  “Your son really worked my verde over, that’s for sure.  Take as long as you need, sir.”

Silas looked mostly unperturbed, but Jango was frowning again.  Bee sighed - he was certainly devoted to Jaster, and seemed to mirror his buir when it came to what he thought of people.  Silas, chipper soul that he was, reached out to shake hands with the Captain.

“Hello, alor’ad.  I’m Silas Itera, with Headhunter.  This is Jango-”

“Jango Fett, Clan Mereel.”

Bee saw her eyebrows lift slightly, before he decided to get back to work.  The block of metal had cooled far more than he intended.  Still, he added “-Jaster’s adopted him recently,” as he turned back to the forge.

“Ah, I see.  Congratulations on your adoption then, verd’ika.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jango responded, voice still clipped.  Bee could hear the captain shuffle a little awkwardly in response, as a moment of silence began to stretch on.

“I, uh.  It’s a bit late, but I’m sorry for your loss, Jango.  I knew your father from work,”  She tried a bit hesitantly.

“He never mentioned you.”

Oh boy, this will go sour fast, Bee thought, as the block reached red hot in the forge and he moved it back to the anvil.  Jango, as it turned out, was at least as prickly as Jaster when it came to talking about what had happened.

The captain sounded flummoxed when she replied, “I’m sorry…?  I had just been out of training, not on the job long, when…”  

“When Death Watch murdered him? And my mother n’ sister?”

“Jango,” Silas hissed.

BANG.  

Bee swore.  The metal had slipped along the anvil further than he meant, as he listened intently to the growing tension, and he had managed to whack himself quite hard on the side of his hand.  Instinctively he dropped the hot metal and hammer and clutched at his - surely broken - fingers.  Not a moment later, Bee was surrounded by worried faces.

“Baba Goran-” “Bee, are you-” “ Goran Mereel-”  

“Back up, one at a time-” he snapped through gritted teeth.  He knew it would hurt the most right after the damage, but it still hurt.  

“I’m sorry, Bee, I’m sorry-”  Jango sounded shrill with worry.

“It’s alright, ad’ika, accidents- accidents happen.  I’m okay.”

“Goran Mereel, that didn’t sound ‘okay.’  Let me see your hand, please.”

Bee heaved a sigh, adrenaline starting to fade and the pain in his hand receding into a burning ache.  “I broke a finger, alor’ad, I can feel that much.  K’atini, it will heal.”

She leveled him with a worried stare.

“We have a proper doctor now, remember?  Let's go see him, get you sorted quicker.”

–

Mij had to admit, operating his own practice was not what he had expected it to be.

Then again, he hadn’t expected to be working out of the backwoods of Mandalorian Space either.  He’d always thought he’d end up settled in one of the galaxy’s many ecumenopoli - they always needed doctors and nurses and any kind of medical professional, with populations booming beyond what the infrastructure could handle.  He’d hated Coruscant, but Taris wasn’t so bad.  The rakghouls made things interesting.

Of course, he hadn’t planned on getting thrown out of Taris’ Upper City hospital for tearing some noble a new one either.  It was leave, or have his license revoked.

The Mandalorian government hadn’t asked too many questions.  All they did was confirm his license was legit, and told him to bugger off and practice wherever he’d like.  Concord Dawn was out of the way enough to keep under the radar, and had it’s own special brand of illnesses to keep him occupied. Karatos wasn’t the Rakghoul plague, but it was something to break up the monotony of patching up kid’s bruised knees and the rare poorly farmer.

The kids at least, mostly spoke some basic.  The farmers?  Unintelligible.  Even the smattering of mando’a he’d picked up didn’t help.  Captain Gilamar had found some education modules, but they were for standard mando’a, not the dialect of Concord Dawn.

He thumbed through the modules idly anyway.  Some language would be better than knowing none, and Tani - the Captain - had offered to help him learn.

Speak of the devil and she shall appear, Mij thought, as Captain Gilamar marched into the front door of the clinic.  His brows raised further when he realized she had three others in tow - two armored teenagers and one much older that he recognized as Mr. Mereel.  Tani had introduced them a week or so after his arrival on the planet a few months ago, and had played translator while Mr. Mereel had tried to express how good it would be to have a proper doctor nearby.  Just that brief conversation had led Mij to believe Mr. Mereel was more so in charge of the community than the governor who had greeted him when he first landed.

One of the teenagers was probably his charge, and was probably the one hurt.  The Captain probably caught some roughhousing - it wasn’t unusual for one of the Protectors to haul in a bruised teenager after breaking up a fight.

“Hey, Mij.”

“Captain.  Who’s hurt?”  Mij stood from behind his desk to survey the group more closely - the two teenagers looked a little shaken up, but they weren’t bruised or limping at first glance.

Captain Gilamar reached an arm behind her, patting Mr. Mereel’s shoulder.  “Goran Mereel’s had a bit of an accident in the forge.  Hammer slipped and hit his fingers.”

Mij felt himself scowl.  Damage to the bones and ligaments in the fingers could be tricky to fix, and not in a fun way.  He still wasn’t entirely sure what a goran did, but anything involving the forge required full use of your hands.

Mr. Mereel said something he couldn’t parse, mouth forming around the words far differently than his education packet did.  One of the teenagers responded in kind, plaintive tone and clear accent making it obvious they were refuting Mr. Mereel’s statement.

“Let me guess - he says he’s fine?”

Captain Gilamar sighed and gave Mij an apologetic smile.  “You guessed it.  Probably wouldn’t have come in if I hadn’t been in the forge to see it happen.”

“-I would have brought him!”  the shorter of the two teenagers snapped, dark eyes somewhere between upset and angry.

Mij watched Tani restrain a sigh.

“I’m sure you would have brought him to your company’s baar’ur -” that one, Mij knew, as his own title, “-but we have a proper doctor now.  Mij will get your ba’buir -” didn’t know that one, something to do with parents? “-patched up in no time.  Back in the forge by the end of the week.”

He tried not to frown again.  Bedside manner still wasn’t his strong suit.

“Before we go making promises, let me look at him.  This way, Mr. Mereel-”

He wasn’t surprised when the entire group followed along, Tani murmuring to keep the older gentleman apprised of what was going on.

“Can you take your glove off?”

Tani translated, and Mereel began tugging experimentally at the fingers of the glove - face wincing and contorting as he did so.  The glove hadn’t budged much by the time Mij butted back in.

“-Alright, sir, you don’t need to pull it off if it hurts.  I can cut it off.”

He turned to grab one of the trays of clean tools kept in the back room - it was amazing how often he needed trauma tools in a farming community - and Tani spoke to Mr. Mereel again.  He couldn’t tell what was being said, only catching a few words here and there that didn’t give much context, but it seemed like she was having to convince the man to let Mij cut the glove off.  He supposed a blacksmith could get attached to their tools now and then, and it’d been a tight few seasons for everyone.

“He’s not happy about it, but alright.”

“It’s for the best, I promise.  Hand up here please.”

Reluctantly the older gentleman set his hand on the small tray.  Mij gently slid his shears between the glove and the man's wrist, snipping away until he could pull the pieces of the glove away from his hand.

The hand certainly didn't look good, pinky finger already swelling dramatically and twisted at an unnatural angle.  The taller of the two teens hissed in sympathy, and the short grumpy one's frown deepened.  Mij was mostly just glad the pinky seemed to be the only one affected.  The scanner would know for sure (even if the thing was ancient- it had come with the clinic and ran out of battery every ten minutes when it wasn't plugged in).

The scanner swept over Mr. Mereel’s hand a few times before beeping unhappily.  Mij pulled up the scan on the dataport and frowned as well -  his pinky finger and the bone in his hand in were fractured in three places, but only one of the fractures seemed to need reset.  The man had been lucky it wasn’t far worse, but it was still a nasty injury.  He chose to ignore the four healed fractures in the man’s hand the scanner had been unhappy about.

Meanwhile, the shorter and grumpier teenager had deflated, brows going from angry to concerned for the older man, eyes wide.

“Is he gonna be okay?”

Mij resisted the urge to snort.  Kids were kids everywhere, all bluster until someone got hurt.

“He’ll be alright.  You or the Captain, tell him there’s three fractures, and I need to set one of them.  I’ll give him something for the pain and the swelling, and then we’ll reset it.  Should heal pretty quick with a bacta shot, but I’m going to splint it for a few days just in case.”

Tani said something to the boy that seemed vaguely reassuring before turning and repeating Mij’s direction to Mr. Mereel.

The actual treatment didn’t take long, thankfully - Mr. Mereel was a model patient, even as the two boys squirmed slightly at the noise of the bone clicking back into place.  He even reached out and patted the shorter boy’s cheek, saying something Mij was sure meant ‘See, not so bad!’

“Before you go, Tani- could you ask him if injuries are… a regular thing, in the forge?”

“It’s hard work, Mij, accidents happen.”

“I know, I’d just like to know how often I might expect to see him.”

“Fair enough. Goran–”  

She asked him the question, and to Mij’s surprise, the man laughed as he spoke.

And then held up his other hand.

Which was missing a finger.

Mij could not restrain the defeated sigh he gave out, which only made Mr. Mereel laugh again.

“He said-”

“I can guess what he said, Captain.”

Now it was her turn to laugh.  “He said it happens more with apprentices.  He has two right now, but they’re his twentieth set.”

“Ah.  Explains the healed fractures. And the finger.”

“Sure does.  I’ll take him and the lads home, if you don’t mind.  See you around?”

“See you around, Captain.”

If his ears felt a little hot, well.  That was his business.

Chapter Text

It still felt surreal to come home, after so many years in exile.  Jaster's heart felt battered as he watched Concord Dawn - then, the Mereel house proper - grow in his shuttle’s viewport.  It was good to be home, but he felt at a remove from the feeling, the fifteen years away a gap he wasn’t sure would ever be filled.

“Looks like we've got a bit of a welcoming committee, alor,”  Rau said, from the pilot’s seat of the shuttle and shifting Jaster out of his melancholy mood.  “Twenty or so people at the LZ.  Families, I’m guessing.”

Jaster didn't have to imagine the hopeful tinge to Rau’s voice - he could see the man’s grin from his passenger seat in the cockpit.  “I’m not surprised - Tani tells me you’ve all been terribly missed already.”

Rau snorted slightly.  “Probably been knockin’ on her door for updates every half hour.  I can think of a few people who’d be the nosy type.”

“Your family included?” Jaster teased, peering through the viewport into the dusty fields below.  Reaching back into his childhood, he could remember a few members of clan Rau bartering with his ba’buir - and it wasn’t uncommon for neighbors to share in hard times.  Rau was a fairly small clan, he thought, on the far side of the northern cliffs from the Mereel homestead.

Another soft snort as Rau smoothly banked the shuttle towards the clearing outside the Mereel house, “Thankfully, no.  My riduur’s clan, on the other hand…”

Jaster laughed, remembering how his family had done much the same for his father, despite Teo having been born into another clan. He also knew both Bee and Jango would have been pestering the Captain just like Rau’s riduur, had they not been able to call Jaster directly.  He’d gotten a call from Bee once a day, and a textcomm from Jango every few hours.  They would most certainly be waiting at the LZ.

The Galaar buffeted the dust and bits of dried veshok stalks away as it landed, the second gunship-turned-shuttle not far behind.  Jaster could see a few people waving outside, but they at least kept a safe distance as the ships ran through their final checks and let the ramps roll down to the dry, rusty red dirt.  Rau and Jaster both elected to use the pilot’s door instead, avoiding the small throng of people forming at the back of the ship as their verde exited.  Happy reunions after campaigns were nothing new, but usually it wasn’t half the verde meeting their families at once.

Before Jaster could search for Bee and Jango in the crowd,  he was distracted by a tiny blur of movement on course to collide with Rau.  Rau dropped to one knee and scooped up a tiny child with a fond “Well, hello there, little Fenn-”

The child - barely more than an ikaad and shockingly like his father with a streak of gingery blond hair - was already in tears and clinging to Rau’s armor without a word.  A fair haired woman followed not far behind, smiling broadly.

“I know, verd’ika, I was gone so long, I’m sorry-” Rau continued to coo, before turning to Jaster with his pale face flushed red, “It’s my first time away from home since he was born-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Rowan, I get it.  I’ll leave you to your son - best find my own.”  Jaster clapped Rau on the shoulder as Rowan’s flush deepened, despite his pleased smile.

Bee was easy to spot in the huddle of families, sunshine-yellow armor glinting in the afternoon sun.  It took longer for Jaster to realize the figure next to him in a deep ocean blue, framed by familiar red kom’rke, was Jango, both of them on their toes to peer over the crowd.

Reliability.  It suited Jango well.

He noticed Jaster a second later, tugging Bee away from the rear ramp and around the increasingly raucous families reuniting.  They met in the middle, three sets of armor clanking in a tight hug before three foreheads thunked together as well.

“I like your new paint, alor’ad’ika,” Jaster rumbled, pulling away to push Jango’s curls out of his face with a gloved hand.  

Jango’s cheeks went faintly ruddy in turn even as he leaned into Jaster’s touch. “Bee helped me figure out what I wanted.  What I wanted to say with it.”

Jaster could feel Bee puff up with pride where their arms were still around each other.  “You had it figured out already, ad’ika, you just needed a little nudge.”

Jango looked down at his boots, still pink, but with a faint smile playing at his lips.  It seemed the time spent with Bee had done him some good - as it did for most people Jaster knew.  Bee also reached out and patted Jango’s shoulder - and Jaster realized he had a splint on his hand, bacta bandages peeking out from underneath.

“Bee, what’d you do to your hand?”

Jango’s smile disappeared even as Bee sighed dramatically.

“I slipped in the forge is all!  Arasuum’s Hand, both of you are such worrywarts.  It’s not the first time, nor will it be the last-”

“S’my fault, Jaster,” Jango mumbled, interrupting Bee with his brows furrowed, “Alor’ad Gilamar came into the forge, and I got into an argument with her and distracted Baba Goran.”  

Before Jaster could open his mouth to answer, Bee butted in with “-Accidents happen, and it is no one’s fault.  I’ll be fine in a few days - we went to see the new baar’ur, and he got me fixed up good.  No harm done.”

Jango still looked ashamed, scuffing a boot in the dirt like when he expected a dressing down for failing a mission objective.

Jaster sighed, realizing he probably felt he had, that Jaster had ordered him to protect Bee and he’d ended up hurt.  Bee had fussed over Jango’s behavior plenty during their calls, and it was only then that Jaster had realized how Jango would have interpreted his ‘orders’.  He’d thought it was settled when Bee had delightedly told him Jango was in the forge with him, but-

For now, Jaster just smoothed over Jango’s curls again and asked “We have a proper doctor now?  Not just the rustbucket medroid?”

Jaster’s heart ached to see Jango look up with such surprise that he wasn’t being told off immediately.  Had he truly been so hard on the boy in training, that this is what he expected of any perceived failure?

Something Jaster would have to talk to Bee about as well.  And Jango himself.

“Yep - and an aruetii doctor at that.  He arrived a few months ago, from Taris I think.”  Bee paused for a moment, considering.  “...Do you want him to look at your knee?  Get another opinion?  He did decent with this,” he said, wiggling his fingers.

Jaster had to admit curiosity.  His knee was well-healed by now, at least as much as it could be without state-of-the-art equipment he was sure this frontier doctor didn’t have, but…  It’d be worth meeting the man, if the company stayed a while longer.  Or if Concord Dawn became the base for his new House Mereel, as he was beginning to suspect would be the case.

“I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm…”

“Good! I need a translator when I get my splint off tomorrow, and Jan’ika’s already had his turn-”

Jaster just chuckled as Bee chattered away, the three of them arm in arm as they walked home.

–

From the outside, the ‘clinic’ hadn’t changed much since Jaster was young.  It was the same tiny, prefabricated metal building on the outskirts of the town proper it had been, now with the addition of more plants growing up the sides.  It hadn’t rusted, at least, and Jaster thought the plants might’ve been left to grow intentionally, with how they had framed the windows with tiny specks of yellow flowers.  It didn’t quite look charming , but an attempt had been made.

Bee hummed a bouncy tune as he led Jaster through the door, in good spirits at the prospect of getting his splint removed.

“Give me a minute!” a voice called in Basic, from the back room.  

Jaster limped over to one of the seemingly new chairs in the waiting area, Bee following close behind.  The interior had changed more than the exterior, with a fresh coat of paint to cover the walls alongside the new chairs and desk.  The old medical droid had barely had a datapad to sign in on, and dust always gathered in the corners of the room during harvest season.

“Must be busy!” Bee said, chipper as ever.  

Jaster snorted a little.  “When are baar’ure not busy, Bee?”

A moment later a family meandered out, their gaggle of small children all with little bandages on their shoulders.  Bee smiled and waved at each little face, their buire offering polite greetings to the Goran and ushering their little ones home.  

Jaster was glad to see the children getting vaccinated - some of the diseases on Concord Dawn were unusually deadly, he’d learned from being out and about in the galaxy.  Karatos could take down a Wookie in a day.

It took another few minutes for the baar’ur to appear.  “Ah, Mr. Mereel.  Here for the splint?” 

“Got it in one, doctor.  I’m here to play translator,” Jaster nodded, heaving himself back out of the chair with a wince to follow Bee to the exam room.  

He was met immediately with a frown from the baar’ur.  “Am I looking at that knee too?”  

Jaster had to resist the urge to laugh.  “I guess you are, baar’ur.  It’s about healed though, not much you can do for it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.  First, let’s get Mr. Mereel sorted.”

Jaster actually laughed a little, leading Bee to the back.  “That doesn’t narrow it down, I’m afraid.  I’m Jaster Mereel - Bee here is my uncle.”  

“Ah.  I can see it.  Call me Mij - I’ll start with him anyway.  Hand up here, please. Mr. Mereel.”

It didn’t require much translating on Jaster’s part - Bee recognized the scanner and set his hand in position.  Apparently satisfied with what he saw, Mij removed the splint with ease, and Bee immediately clasped his hand, beaming with gratitude.

Mij coughed a little and pulled away quickly, turning to Jaster with a faint flush across his sun-darkened cheeks.  “He’s healed up now, for the most part.  The bone will be a little tender for another few days, and - well.  I don’t think I have to remind you that it’s at a higher risk of breaking again for the next month or so. I know I can’t convince him to take it easy, but…” 

Jaster snorted again, “Of course not, Bee loves his work.  He’s broken fingers before, though - he knows the drill and how to look after it.”  Still, Jaster passed on the message to Bee, who merely nodded, hopped out of his seat, and patted the cushion.

“Your turn, Jas’ika!”  He said, looking positively pleased with himself now that he’d been cleared to work again.

Jaster hobbled over to the patient’s seat with a grimace, and by the time he sat down Mij’s face had contorted again with displeasure.  Before he could speak, Jaster tried to head him off as he popped the magnetic latches on his bes’lovik and tadun’bur . “I don’t know how much you can do, Doctor.  I was shot by a tank, a month or so ago. My medics did some kind of corrective surgery, had me on bedrest for a week before starting physical therapy.  They say it’s about as healed as it’s gonna get.”

To Mij’s credit, he didn’t balk at the idea of being shot - a few aruetiise doctors had acted appalled when the company’s injured had to visit their offices.  “No bacta dip?”

“We had many more severely injured, they were in the tanks - it was a few days before any opened up.  Had a few bacta shots and bandages were changed pretty frequently though.”

Jaster’s estimation of the doctor went up slightly when Mij simply nodded.  “That’s typical for mass casualty protocol.  I’ll take a few scans, make sure there’s no lingering swelling or infection in the bone.” 

Blaster wounds could leave nasty surprises that way.  They wouldn’t shatter bone or shred tissue the same way a slugthrower would, but could leave dead tissue that was easy to miss and could become necrotic even some time after the fact.  Jaster’s were the best mandalorian medics he could find, though - and there was little a working baar’ur knew better than blaster wounds.

Jaster set his leg up on the low exam table, letting the baar’ur scan his injured leg, and couldn’t help but smile wryly as the baar’ur grumbled and sighed.

“Clipped the femur, looks like… Is this kneecap fully synthetic now?”

“And the joint itself, is my understanding.”

“Damn.” He frowned, hands on his hips as he stared down at the scans.  “It's a bit of a slapdash job, but I don’t have the parts or space to correct it out here.  You’ll want to see a ortho specialist in a couple years, I think - you’ll keep having some level of pain with this thin of a joint cavity, and the ligaments having to be stretched so tight.”

“K’atini - it’s only pain,” Jaster explained, at the slightly blank expression on the doctor’s face.  

Mij’s eyebrows drew downwards and he crossed his arms over his chest, scanner in one hand. “And when that pain slows you down?  When you hurt bad enough you can’t work? Or when it puts the rest of your men in danger?  I’ve been hearing about Mandalorian stubbornness for years on Taris, but if I have to hear one more of you act like pain relief is cowardly…”

Jaster blinked.  “Woah, baar’ur , you’ve made your point.  I meant only I can bear it until then.”

The doctor flushed much darker, up to the tips of his ears.  He turned around, set the scanner down on the table, and took a deep breath.  Jaster couldn’t help but snort as he swore he heard the man mumbling about ‘putting his foot in his damn mouth again’ - he liked this aruetii doctor and his brash talk.

“Are we free to go then, Doctor?”

“Yes, yes - find a specialist at some point.  Whenever.  It’s- fine.  If you want pain relief- uh.  Come back.”

Jaster huffed a laugh.  “I promise I will.”

–

One source of pain and irritation dealt with, onto the one Jaster had been dreading.

Myles, bless his soul, had been fielding the less urgent questions relating to the new House Mereel, but had forwarded the rest to Jaster’s mailbox, with a helpful list of who he thought was most pressing or could be a valuable asset.  Montross had-

His previous second had been good at organizing operations and strike teams, but the social aspect had totally failed him.  Jaster had been worried Myles would be the opposite - popular but ineffectual - but he’d known the kid long enough to know he took after his Haw’buir.   If Myles had followed Hawfinch’s footsteps into law school, he’d’ve made a terrifying politician.

He still might, if House Mereel could get the ground under their feet.

But, for now, Jaster had a few phone calls to make.  The list of urgent or high priority contacts was blessedly short, but the top of the list still made him groan.  The Governor of Concord Dawn had never, in all the years he could remember, been someone he liked.  Governor Shoy wasn’t one he was familiar with - likely an offworlder appointed to the position, after the previous one had been ousted by Jaster’s acquittal.  Bee hadn’t mentioned anything about her since they’d been here, but that could go either way.

She didn’t make him wait long, at least, only on hold with her office for a minute or two before her hologram flickered to life on his desk.

“Alor Mereel.  What a busy few days you’ve had.”

He didn’t have to listen hard to hear the acid in her voice.  He hadn’t quite expected that venom right out of the gate. “Just putting you through your paces, neverd’alor . I apologize for the fire in your skies.” 

"The sudden firefight above my planet is, unfortunately, the least of my worries right now, Mereel.  What I’m less thrilled to hear is half a dozen of my Protectors ready to quit in favor of working for you, and a new House forming in your name.”

Jaster bit his tongue on saying that half a dozen was less than he expected. “I have no intention of taking them from you, Governor.  Would you believe me if I said the formation of a House wasn’t my choice?”

“Frankly, no.”

He had to bite his tongue harder not to laugh - he couldn’t blame her for that. “Well, it wasn’t.  Regardless, House Mereel has been… picking up speed more quickly than I anticipated.  I presume that is your primary concern.”

She sat rock-steady in her chair, fingers laced in front of her.  “It is - Protectors leaving is worrisome, but there has never been a House centered here.  Concord Dawn has long avoided House politics, and there are many who would like to keep it that way.  You already have a track record of leading violence and unrest here, and Manda’yaim has made it very clear that I am to ensure no other conflict arises.”

Jaster’s good humor faded.  “It would never be my intention to harm Concord Dawn or its people.”

“And I’m sure other Houses won’t give a damn about your intentions.  Our… obscurity has kept us safe, but it won’t last with your House based here.”  She frowned, arms crossed in the fuzzy hologram even as her voice softened, “...I think I believe that you don’t want to hurt your homeworld, but… The last time you were here, a Protector was shot, a village became a warzone, and the wildfires destroyed a hundred hectares.  Trouble follows you, whether you like it or not.”

Jaster felt a hot burst of anger, acrid on his tongue.  He knew very well the consequences of his last visit.  “You go too far, neverd’alor.  Cassius was a friend - Sarad was a friend.  I think about them every time I look at my son’s face.”

“And without you, they’d still be here.  It’s my job to look after-”

He cut her off, closing the holocomm entirely with an angry jab.  She disappeared in a halo of blue static.

Shoy was right, of course.  They’d still be alive, if Jaster hadn’t gone to Cassius for help when they’d crash-landed on the planet, years ago.  But he and his verde would be dead in turn, Death Watch left unchallenged to run rampant through the sector.

He sighed and scrubbed at his face, gloves catching slightly on his stubble.  Perhaps he’d been a little rash, shutting the holocomm entirely - but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it much either.  He was, suddenly, absolutely certain her only real concern was maintaining what little power she had here.  The head of a House would supersede her authority over the planet, if most of its residents were members.  House Mereel hadn’t hit that measure yet, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

Jaster allowed himself another few moments to himself, breathing methodically and letting the snap of anger fade away, before looking back Myles’ list.

Most of the pressing calls he had to make were of the ‘can we join your House’ variety, asking questions and fielding concerns about expectations even after Jaster had written up the House charter. 

One name stuck out to him though - with a note that said they weren’t interested in joining the House, but wanted to make a deal with them - Ordo. More than a few of Jaster’s verde had come from Ordo over the years.  In fact, this one - Tegris Ordo - was one Jaster had worked with quite a few times, before they had returned home to look after family.

Jaster had to admit curiosity.  He dialed the holocomm provided, and waited for an answer.

“Ah - Su cuy’gar, Mereel.  You look like shit.”

Jaster snorted, startled by their bluntness - it was a welcome reprieve after his brief talk with the Governor.  “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.  You’re no beau yourself, Tegris.”

They laughed in turn, dimpling a cheek.  “Well, I hear you’ve been busy - and given how busy you always are, that’s saying something, bur’cya.”

“What can I say? Idle hands are Arasuum’s playground.”

“I’ll drink to that.  Shall we?”

They grabbed a small bottle of something and poured it into their glass - a tradition for negotiations between clans was to drink together, before beginning to talk business.  Jaster flushed that he had to scramble for a clean cup, before they both drank.

“So - trade is what you’re interested in, Tegris?  With the clans within my House?”

“With who else?”

“You know what I mean - most of my clans are farmers by trade, or other craftsmen.”

“And that’s what I want.  Food and clothing, without having to go through Manda’yaim‘s taxation to get it. You know we can’t produce enough on our own.”

Jaster did.  The planet that gave the Ordos their name was more inhospitable than Concord Dawn, nothing but vast swathes of frozen desert and scrubland.  The clan was spread across the planet, the only spaceport run down and dusty on the one occasion Jaster had been there.  

Ordo was, however, a name with a lot of weight.  It had been settled before the Taung had died out, thousands and thousands of years ago, and boasted a long and storied history - arguably the most popular Mandalore of the modern day, te Taylir, the Preserver, had been born an Ordo.  The spaceport was run down because it was old.   In comparison, Concord Dawn had only been settled after the Dral’han had blown up the only fort in the system and turned its moon to dust.

Tegris Ordo was a warrior by nature, as were most of his clan. Their warriors could be a huge boon to the defense of Jaster’s people, when the Company couldn’t be spared.  Even just a minor trade agreement would boost the Houses’ legitimacy.

“What do you have to trade with?”

“We pay credits to Manda’yaim - we can do the same with Mereel.”

Jaster took a drink to buy himself a moment to think.  “I’ll need to run it past the alore , but I have a proposition. We’ll sell you the goods you need at cost, plus a wage for my people, and you give us your word that if my House needs defending, your warriors will be there.”

“This would have been a very different call if I was going to swear Ordo to your House, bur’cya.”

Jaster hid his grimace at the idea of having so many more people and an entire planet under his purview overnight, and what the Governor might have to say about it. “I’m not asking you to, just to come to our aid if it’s needed. No other obligations or debts between us.”  

Tegris nursed their glass for a moment, before gesturing an affirmative with it. “I’ll agree to that.”

Jaster straightened up to make a quick note. “I’ll speak to my alore about the exact prices and quantities they can provide, then either I or my ver’alor will contact you. Deal?”

“A deal. Ret’urcye mhi.”

“Ret’urcye mhi.”

Jaster pulled Myles’ list towards himself, noting the ones - mostly smaller local clans, though there were a couple that surprised him - that Myles had already marked as handled, and readied himself for the next call. 

–

A long day of calls and negotiations with other clan leaders later, Jaster was thrilled to simply sit and enjoy the sounds of Bee’s forge.  He’d been sitting comfortably on Bee’s ancient sofa for half an hour or so, Jango on his left side, when the hammering paused a moment.

“Jas’ika, come here - I have a present for you!”  Bee beamed, carrying the bundle in one hand and waving Jaster over with the other.  

Jaster had to heft himself off the sofa with a great, grumbling groan of effort and into the Forge itself, Jango following close behind.  The blast of heat tickled his cheeks as he meandered over to his uncle, “What is it, B’ika?  You’ve been busy lately.”

“Your new armor.  Or, the first version of it, rather.  I’ll want to make adjustments, see what’s working or where you need support later, but let me see how it fits-”

Bee didn’t have to direct Jaster where to sit - he went over to the bench next to the tool rack by habit and started unclasping his leg armor.  Bee was humming as he unwrapped the pieces - he’d created a brace that would fuse the upper leg, knee, and lower leg armor together, but allowed for movement with a pivot.  He’d seen similar with other verde , especially those who favored heavy armor, but it was a lot slimmer than the other ones he’d seen.  A master goran’s work, he supposed, could be a lot less bulky - Bee knew Jaster’s armor well enough that his plates could clip straight into the brace, no extra measurement or reforging of the plate needed.  As always, he couldn’t help but be a little in awe of the goran’s skill.

It was a little awkward to slip on, though, forced over the boot Jaster was wearing before being tightened into the proper position.

“Go on, then, take a few steps.  Feel alright?”

Jaster stretched out, reaching for his toes, squatting, a few kicks - anything he could think of to test the range of motion.  It already felt more comfortable, taking some of the weight off the joint and allowing him to move further before a spike of pain shot through him.

“Pretty good, I think.  I’ll have to see how it performs in combat, but-”

Bee beamed and clapped him on the back. “Come now, neyar ad.  I'd rather test my work myself.”

Jaster still felt stiff from his day sitting and talking, wanted to ease his aches with the heat of the forge and the walk home and the easy company of his family, but Bee looked excited at the prospect. It had been a very, very long time since he and Bee had sparred last. He sighed. The brace did need more realistic testing sometime, and it would do Jaster some good - even if it hurt - to move.  

Bee broke into a delighted smile before he even spoke. 

“Alright, alright, Bee, we can spar. Everyone can watch my old man kick me around.”

Jaster caught the movement as Jango straightened up, looking eager. 

-

Jango hadn’t realized that ba’Bee could set foot in the ring, but - of course he could. Gorane were mando’ade, like everyone else, and the last line of defence for a community. As Jango understood it, all gorane had to complete their verd’gotene before they could even begin their apprenticeships. 

Bee looked absolutely ecstatic, beaming from his ready position in the center of the impromptu sparring ring he’d scuffed into the red dirt outside the forge. He kept turning, keeping his eyes on Jaster as he circled Bee looking for an opening or weakness.

Jango was already fascinated.  Jaster usually didn’t take so long to examine an opponent - strike fast and hard was his motto, whether it was a spar like this or a difficult campaign.  It paid to know your opponent, of course, but it usually seemed like the better Jaster knew someone the faster he’d strike.  Jango certainly never had much breathing room.

Jaster still circled the older man.  

Bee still smiled.

In a blink, Jaster closed in for a strike against Bee's briefly exposed side-

Blocked with the familiar clang of armor on armor.  Jango hadn't noticed Bee move, but all he'd had to do was twist just slightly to take the hit on plate.

Jaster retreated again, shaking out his hand.

“Come on, Jas’ika, you know better!  Try again, try again.”

Jaster huffed a breath of a laugh, dropping back into his ready-crouch.  “I’m not twelve anymore, Bee, I know what I’m doing.”

“Prove it, then!”

That got a real laugh out of Jaster before he closed back in quickly to grapple. They collided with another clang, and it became much more difficult to follow what was happening in the ring as they wrestled each other.  

Jango did see the moment Bee managed to get a proper hold on Jaster’s leg and toss him into the dirt.  Thanks to the new brace, he managed to scrabble back upright before Bee could press his advantage - another moment though, another clang, and both of them tumbled back into the dust.

They were giggling like little kids, all smiles and scrubbing dirt into each other’s hair, before they flopped over and caught their breath.

Jango approached, looking down on his dust-covered aliit with his hands on his hips.  “That didn’t take long.”

The comment set Bee off into another fit of giggling. 

Jaster slowly sat up, a teasing grin still playing on his lips.  “Well, Jan’ika, why don’t you tell me why I lost, then.”

Jango rocked on his heels a moment, reviewing what he saw in his mind.  “Baba’s a lot stronger than you, so you tried to counter with speed.  But you know each other really well, so Baba knew you would do that - you anticipated each other.”

“Just like I know you, ad.   Very good. Intel is important, but you’ve got to-” Jaster took another second to catch his breath, “-account for your enemy having intelligence on you as well.”

–

Jaster did not know Governor Shoy nearly as well as she knew him, it seemed.  

It rankled and set his teeth on edge - but at the same time, he knew enough to think she had a spine.  After all, she had never apologized for what she had said about the Fett’s deaths in the week since they last spoke, but she had requested to see him again.  This time, she had at least mentioned a point to the meeting: discussing the new trade that would be coming through the system.  He hadn’t told her about it, and yet, someone had.

As much as he knew the House was important work, Jaster was itching to get off planet and find more work for the Company.  It had been long enough that winter was setting in, and the verde were getting antsy.  Once he’d dealt comfortably with the Governor, they would pick up a contract and leave.

It was dealing with her that was the hard part.

The central planetary hall hadn’t changed overmuch, since Jaster had last seen it.  They had, at least, torn down the more ornamental decor, down to something plainer that better suited Concord Dawn and her people.

Appearances could be deceiving, though.

At the very least, the two Protectors on duty didn’t fuss over his armor, allowing him into the governor’s office so long as he left his blaster pistol at the front.  He wasn’t thrilled about being disarmed, but he had to admit it was a reasonable precaution, despite the weaponry his armor itself housed.

Shoy was expecting him when he got to her open door, already standing behind her desk with her arms clasped behind her.

“Olarom, Mereel.  I’m glad you came so quickly.”  She gestured at the seat in front of her desk, and he sat.  In front of her were a pair of glasses and a rustic tihaar decanter that she poured from before she sat.  It smelt strongly of starberries - the wild fruit popular for homebrewing, despite the brambles it grew in.  Bee still had a few bottles of starberry tihaar ba’buir had made in a cupboard.

Jaster took the offered glass before sitting back. “I heard that you have concerns about my deal with Ordo.” 

“Yes. You are within your rights to negotiate trade within your House, of course,” she said, voice already tight and even, “but families who are not part of it will be affected by this as well. I wanted to bring their concerns to your attention.”

“I’ll hear them, but I won’t go back on a deal that’s already been struck.” The House was too new to be reneging on deals, and Ordo wasn’t abandoning one set of people from Concord Dawn for House Mereel, just distributors from Manda’yaim. “Our reputation is on the line.”

Jaster could see her biting back a reaction to that. She took a sip of her drink and mulled over her words carefully, instead. “...Reputation aside. There are many families concerned that they didn’t get a choice in this deal being struck, and are now saddled with the consequences.”

“Why would they get a choice? It’s not for the entirety of Concord Dawn - just the people of my House.”

“It still affects their bottom line - if your portion are selling to Ordo for cheap, the other farmers’ trade partners will expect them to lower their prices, too. They aren’t happy about that, when people are already struggling. You don’t have the right to make choices for them.”

He sighed. “Houses are meant to benefit the clans within them. That is my job, as their alor. If people don’t want to join, that’s their choice, but there are consequences.” He didn’t feel the need to explain that he hadn’t taken any trade deals from anyone on Concord Dawn; she should have already known that.

“Consequences? They were already afraid of being forced to join you at gunpoint!” She set her glass down hard. “This looks like you’re going to have them join you or be pushed into poverty!”

Jaster hardly knew where to begin. “At gunpoint?”  

She scoffed, and downed the rest of her drink in one gulp. “Why not? You’re a ver’verd with a mercenary company that outnumbers the peacekeepers on-planet. As much as I loathe to bring it up, your reputation has them scared, exile.”

Jaster kept a careful hold on the flare of his temper. “I was acquitted. My verde and I have done nothing wrong. We have the right to be here. I’m taking care of my people. Maybe you should be paying more attention to yours instead of whatever rumours you heard.”

"Acquitted," she scoffed, as though it was a filthy word. "You're still a murderer. I can't accept a criminal as an alor here, and they shouldn’t have to either!”

Jaster’s lip curled.  Steady, he leaned forward and rested his hands on her desk. “I want to make something clear, governor.  What I’m about to say is not a threat, or manipulation, or something I say with an ounce of anger: you don’t have a choice.  I was chosen by my people here.”

She spluttered, but leant forward as well.  “Just because you say it isn’t a threat, doesn’t make you an honest man.  How many of the poor clans who’ve signed on with you know what you’ve done?  What will they think when they find out you murdered someone - a Protector - in cold blood?”

“If they don’t, I’ll tell them myself: that I murdered a corrupt lawman because he was doing unspeakable things and knew he could get away with it.  You can’t threaten me with something I would do again, governor.  You can’t threaten me with something the damn Duke knows about - I say again, you don’t have a choice.  I am alor here, whether you like it or not.”

Her face contorted, frustration and anger twisting her lips into a grimace. “You’re right. You’ve taken the choice from me, and the clans that haven’t signed on with you. I urge you to think about them , the next time you go making trade deals on behalf of your House.  Who will be left behind?”

Jaster felt his face twist in a way very similar to hers. “My first priority has to be my people, Shoy.  Who counts among my people is up to them.”

He finished his drink, placing the glass back on her desk with enough force to make the bottle wobble. “I won’t be going back on my word to Ordo.  In the meantime - my verde have a job.  We’ll be out of your hair for a bit - and then we will come home.” 

–

The only decent job Jaster managed to find on such short notice was, genuinely, easy credits, though he wasn’t going to risk saying it out loud.  Acting security for a trade caravan for a few weeks was easy enough, and despite their boredom, Jaster could tell the verde were glad for the credits lining their pockets.  More importantly, it got them out of Shoy’s hair for a few weeks.

He could also tell, though, that Jango already missed Bee terribly.  He’d started getting surly, despite young Silas’ best efforts, getting more and more clipped with his peers.  Luckily, Jaster had already decided - despite the governor’s hostilities - that Concord Dawn would remain home base.

Less than a month after they had left, they were back home.  Shoy hadn’t made an appearance, yet, and from what Bee said, trade was growing on Concord Dawn.  Ordo had already come to pick up a few things, and the extra credits from their visits were already being well spent, freshening up the paint on the town shops, increasing stock, and more.

Jaster had plenty of worries, but it eased his mind to know he and his House had already done some good for the people.  The increased traffic to the system meant more meteors being knocked out of orbit, the meteor showers lighting up the skies every night now.  He knew many cultures across the galaxy considered ‘shooting stars’ good luck to those who saw him, and the thought buoyed him and eased the anxiety knotting in his chest.

It was still there, every night he looked out his window, but it was easy to forget with Bee’s cooking heavy in his belly and Jango snoring peacefully next door.