Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the end it was almost insultingly easy. The expiration date for the Ruusan Reformation came and went without even a whisper or glance from the Senate. The shadow of reality that had grown and grown every decade suddenly vanished, like a ghost in the night.

But no one in the Temple sighed in relief when the morning came. Instead, they rolled their shoulders and set their plan in motion.

It was slow. A whisper that grew into one final, unheard goodbye. A gentle flurry that gained more and more speed and strength until the Temple stood abandoned and no one could remember when exactly they last saw a Jedi on Coruscant.

Sometimes Jaster dreamed of meeting a real-life Jedi.

Not to give them over to the Republic—though sometimes those bounties were tempting, honestly, but some of those pucks were willing to shell out half a million credits for children and working man or not Jaster had to have limits—but just to talk to them. Ask them why they left. What they had to leave behind. What they took with them.

Sometimes he’d stare out of the window of his home, watching the lights reflect off of the surface of the biodome and think of leaving. Tor was stirring up shit again, and Jaster was still barely scraping by most months.

It didn’t help that every month more and more Mando’ade—all of them good and reliable verde—appeared at the entrance of the biodome. Sometimes they were looking for support and stability. Somewhere safe to raise their ade. Somewhere they could get work without worrying about betrayal. Sometimes they just wanted to be away from the constant tug-of-war between a call for total conquest and a call to drop their arms.

All of them looked towards him for leadership.

Jaster tapped a finger against the hilt of his blaster. He had killed his own superior officer, corrupt as they were. Got exiled from his own birthplace for his efforts. He had the acumen and skill to get a job done. But he could barely get food on the table and replace his blasters before ba’vodu Kya left Concord Dawn to hunt him down to support him.

Sometimes he envied Adonai. It’s been a few years since Adonai had hung up his beskar’gam, but he didn’t need to worry about supporting his children. Not when Clan Kryze was historically one of the richest clans in Mandalore. Not when he had the skillset and the resume to work peaceful jobs.  

Jaster never had that chance. Clan Mereel was historically made of armorers and Protectors. And then he went and got himself exiled from Concord Dawn, cut off from his aliit. Sometimes fighting felt like the only skill he had.

He sighed, reaching over his chest to rub at his shoulder. They could never leave Mandalore. Not when Tor was doing his damned best to fling them back to more archaic times, and more and more of Adonai’s group refused to grab a blaster to even protect their own. There were people that needed him, be they his own or not. Mandalore needed a shield of sorts.

Ba’vodu Kya snorted the first time Jaster said so out loud. “That’s what the Jedi did, Jaja. Be mindful of who you’re protecting, and make sure your boundaries hold.”

Sometimes Jaster wondered if Ba’vodu Kya had met Jedi before they vanished from public view. They would just give Jaster a Look—something Jaster was still trying to replicate with Jango whenever he was being particularly teenager-ish.

He was pretty sure he was getting there.

“Daydreaming about the Jetiise again, alor?”

Jaster turned slightly to his right. Mij had snuck up on him again, watching as the officials from Offworld and some of Bandomeer’s lawmen tried to get the Freed into some semblance of order. He turned back to the crowd, watching as they swayed like waves in the ocean.

“Thinking about if we’re getting paid or not,” Jaster muttered.

They had arrived on planet with the promise of easy work. The actual job posting was vague, to put it lightly. Requests for reconnaissance and some snooping, maybe a potshot or two if needed. He had been willing to put it down as a scam, but the client was more than willing to talk to them face to buy’ce if he took the job. And the amount of money on the table was astronomical. They’d finally be able to fix the broken irrigation system in the biodome, maybe even replace the water recycler on the ship.

But when no one from airspace responded to their request Myles—the plucky little thing—took it upon himself to land their ship anyways. Hopefully they wouldn’t get fined, Jaster wasn’t sure if their finances could withstand that sort of blow. Not that he really expected it considering the state of, well, everything.

It was supposed to be an easy job. Easy. That was the whole reason he brought Jango with him. How he convinced Mij to drag Myles along too.

The two boys only had a few scratches on their beskar’gam. Easy work would be the best way to ease them into things.

Of course nothing in the galaxy could be easy. Even flimsiwork was the bane of his existence some days. Jaster sighed again, dropping his hands to his sides once more. “Have you seen Jango?”

Not even two seconds later Jango and Silas popped out of the crowd, following a Twi’lek in a singed uniform that read "OFFWORLD" on the breast pocket.

“Ser,” the Twi’lek greeted, rubbering her hand over her forehead. “If you two would follow me, the Boss would like to speak with you.”

The client then. Jaster nodded and adjusted his gloves, moving quickly. Jango slowed so they were shoulder to shoulder, and Jaster easily bumped their sides together. The Twi’lek lead them around the Freed to one of the many crumbled buildings. The windows were blown in and the door was missing. The entire building was leaning heavily to the right.

Sitting inside the main room were three humanoid males. One with dark hair and the other two brunet. Jaster pause for a second when all three of them turned towards him, three pairs of blue eyes watching him warily. The Twi’lek official threw one of her lek over her shoulder.

“These were all of the Mandalorians I could find in the general vicinity, Ser Xanatos,” she said. Which wasn’t true. Myles and Montross were nowhere in sight. Jaster opened the tracking interface on his HUD, and their little dots pinged from closer to the ship.

The black haired human—a teenager who looked like he was maybe three years older than Jango—waved her away. He was Xanatos then.

“Thank you, Arda,” he said. His voice was higher than Jaster would have expected for his age. The Twi’lek bowed her head before quickly leaving them, her lekku swaying. Xanatos waved them all closer.

“Sit,” he said, “Anywhere. Sorry it’s all rubble.”

The three boys were sitting side by side so that the entrance was still in sight. Jaster picked his way through the damaged building before settling down on a chunk of what was probably the ceiling. Jango sat down beside him, scooching so he was just behind Jaster. Mij and Silas moved to stand by the wall behind them.

Jaster watched as Xanatos dragged a hand over his hair, pushing back locks of hair that had fallen loose from the messy nerftail. Despite the darkness Jaster could see the thin cuts on his face through the layer of dirt and ash. Xanatos rolled his eyes when the man beside him—probably closer to Jaster and Mij’s age than Silas’s—prodded at his calf with the toe of his boot. The two of them stared at one another, seemingly partaking in a battle of wills as Jaster sat in the awkward silence.

“Who’re you?” the boy in the middle asked. He looked to be Jango’s age.

“Beanie,” Xanatos clucked disapprovingly. “Beanie” wrinkled his nose and glared at Xanatos. The still unnamed brunet man gently combed his fingers through Beanie’s hair.

“I’m Jaster Mereel, ad’ika,” Jaster replied softly. All three of the boys before him looked battered. Their clothes were singed and dusty, though the fact that they had clothes in the first place indicated that they weren’t Freed themselves. Beanie kicked at Xanatos and they scowled at one another.

Xanatos muttered something under his breath before pinching his nose and inhaling deeply. He held his breath for a moment before letting his hand drop and turning to Jaster. “Hello Ser Mereel. I’m assuming you’re the Mereel that replied to the job posting?”

Jaster tipped his chin up. “Indeed. Though at this point I see a lot has changed.”

Xanatos groaned. “Don’t tell me about it. I wanted you to look into the rumors of Offworld owning and using slaves for the mines, but the revolt happened literally today. And now here we are.”

Really. Here they were. Xanatos waved a hand flippantly, eyes still screwed shut.

“Anyways, apparently some of the officials on Bandomeer spotted you helping. I wanted to compensate you for coming, even though the job’s all null and void at this point. It’s not easy getting all the way to Bandomeer.”

That was honestly more than Jaster was expecting. He had had clients refuse to pay him for less. And Xanatos wasn’t wrong, even if Bandomeer was practically next to Mandalore, fuel was fucking expensive right now.

“How much would you be willing to pay?” Jaster asked. Xanatos was a teenager. Who even knew how much money he had? Enough to comfortably hire a group of Mandalorian mercenaries at least, but still. He was willing to weigh more in the kid’s favor if he had to. From the looks of it, he might have been in the midst of the revolt too.

Xanatos just shrugged. He turned to the brunet man, eyebrows furrowing. There was another silent battle of wills before Xanatos hummed.

“Uh, I guess just the original listed wage?”

Mij’s voice crackled through the internal comms immediately. “That’s daylight robbery.”

But Xanatos was still talking. “I mean, honestly, Feemie says I should give it all to support the Freed but I don’t think they want the money the Slavers took from them, y’know? I’m more than willing to take my own money to support them instead. So you can have a chunk of all of that and I don’t need to deal with it anymore.”

“Xanatos,” the older man—Feemie? —said softly, “You’ve lost them.”

Xanatos blinked a few times and focused back on Jaster, squinting suspiciously at him. He leaned back against the wall, seemingly pouting. “All I’m saying, Ser Mereel, is that I’m more than willing to pay you in full to compensate for your time. More, if you’re willing to take another job.”

“Another job?” Jaster repeated weakly. Xanatos sat up again and motioned to Feemie and Beanie.

“This is my brother Feemie, and this is his kid. Unfortunately their ship’s gone, ah, rouge?”

“Missing,” Beanie said.

“Stolen,” Feemie stated with a roll of his eyes.

“Anyways they need a ride off the planet seeing that I’ll be stuck here for the foreseeable future,” Xanatos finished, flapping his hand around again. Jango shifted behind Jaster and Jaster leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

“And they can’t stay here?” Jaster asked. He blinked in surprise when all three of them pinned him a heavy look.

“No.”

Three different voices, spoken in perfect synchronization. Jaster tilted his head to the side, waiting to see if Silas or Mij had anything to say. The comms buzzed to life again.

“Honestly, alor? It’ll depend on where they need to go,” Silas stated, “We have enough fuel to get back to Manda’yaim, but not much further. Not to mention that The Waybreaker’s a small ship.”

“I need to drop by a Medi-Sun locations anyways, Jas’alor,” Mij said, “There’s one Palso, but that might be a little overrun with the Freed from here. Next closest would be Sumrook.”

“Where do they need to go?” Jaster asked. Beanie and Feemie glanced at one another. What was with this family and silent conversations? At least he and Jango had the excuse of having their buy’ces. Though Mij mastered the art of subtle facial expressions with Myles.

“Lots of places,” Beanie said, shifting in his head. “Like Ossus. And Ledeve.”

“A clinic might be a good idea first,” Feemie stated. Beanie looked down at his hands and nodded. Mij spoke up again.

“The Medi-Sun location on Sumrook’s only two standard hours away.”

“We can take you to a Medi-Sun location. We have business there,” Jaster said. He felt Jango press against him. But when Jango didn’t open any private comm channels Jaster let him be. He could see the subtle way Feemie’s and Xanatos’s shoulders relaxed. Like this was a best case scenario answer. Were they that injured that they needed a more official clinic to look at them?

Jaster focused back on Xanatos when the teen reached into his jacket. He pulled out a small metal disk, and then slid a pin out from his hair. He poked the pin into the disk in his hand. A smaller credit chip slid out from the rim of the disk.

“Here,” Xanatos said, sliding the disk into his palm while simultaneously pulling the credit chip out with his fingers. Oddly dexterous. The teen was becoming more and more of a mystery with every passing minute. Jaster reached out and took it. “That’s for the original job. And this—” he pulled another credit chip out from his jacket. “—is for getting Feemie and Beanie here off planet.”

He grabbed Jaster’s wrist when Jaster reached out again, his grip surprisingly strong even though his fingers didn’t quite reach around the circumference of Jaster’s vambrace.

“Don’t let people know you’ve seen them,” Xanatos whispered. Just for him, even if Jaster’s mic was sending the message to everyone else. The kid didn’t know that though.

Xanatos stared at him, his blue eyes almost black in the dark room. After a moment he let go and stood up. Feemie quickly followed, dragging Beanie up with him by the scruff.

Ka’ra, Feemie was fucking tall.

Jaster was taller than all of his human male agemates throughout his time on Concord Dawn, but humans on Concord Dawn weren’t known for being tall in the first place. He glanced at Jango.

Case in point.

Jango turned towards him, as if he could read Jaster’s mind if he tried hard enough.

“Off you get,” Xanatos demanded, all but kicking at Feemie’s knees. “I don’t want to see you for the next four standard months. Get the fuck out of here.”

Feemie reached over and knocked the backside of Xanatos’s head, making the teen sputter. Beanie huffed a laugh, leaning away from his buir and ba’vodu and meandering out of the building.  

While tussling Feemie finally grabbed the back of Xanato’s jacket and threw him towards the door. Xanatos easily ducked and rolled when he landed. He stood smoothly, brushing off his shirt but otherwise looking remarkably unruffled. He turned up his nose and practically swanned outside.

Correction. Feemie was tall and strong. Jaster muted his buy’ce and sighed once again. The Manda gave the toughest battles to him sometimes.

Once they were all outside again Jaster held back for a moment, watching as the little family leaned in close, whispering to one another with subtle urgency written in the curve of their shoulders. In the daylight Jaster could finally see their clothes. Rough woven, but sturdy looking fabric, all of them in varying neutral tones. Beanie seemed to be wearing two layers of shirts, and all of them had sturdy leather belts on. Simple leggings, even simpler boots, with their outfits topped off with varying dark coats. Xanatos’s was the most austere, made of either synthleather or genuine leather.

Finally Xanatos dipped his head, whispered something else, and left without another word. Jaster frowned at the odd bump he could see by Xanatos’s hip. A weapon, but it didn’t look like the kid had a holster of any sorts. What could it be?

“Feemie?” Jaster asked carefully. Feemie snorted and pressed his thumb to his temple for just a second.

“Ah, it’s Feemor, Ser Mereel,” he corrected with a tired smile, “And this is Obi-Wan. Xanatos still stubbornly calls me by an old nickname.”

Jaster nodded slowly. The pipeline from Feemor to Feemie made sense, but how in the stars did Xanatos go from Obi-Wan to Beanie? Jaster tucked that question away as he led Feemor and Obi-Wan back to their ship.

Myles and Montross greeted them, watching Feemor and Obi-Wan curiously as they boarded. Jaster waved them away and left to get a datapad and a scanner. He had to check exactly how much Xanatos had paid them in total and update the council back on Manda’yaim. Make plans with how to invest everything.

Two hours later—after Jaster had a very adult and respectable freakout over the sheer amount of money Xanatos had handed over to them for doing little to nothing and then called the council— Jaster practically stomped around The Waybreaker in hopes of finding Feemor to throttle him for answers about his younger brother.

But they had already landed dirtside, their cargo hold open so Mij could load up on supplies.

Jaster couldn’t find Feemor or Obi-Wan in the area.

Half an hour later Jango would find Jaster, his fist held close to his chest, and ask if he had seen Obi-Wan. When Jaster shook his head Jango would frown down at his hand as if it had offended him.

When Jaster leaned in, curiosity pinging, Jango showed him a leather bracelet. Thin strips of leather were braided together, and a few of the knots had colorful thread wound underneath them. The braided strap was looped through a small wire setting, cradling an impossibly tiny crystal within it.

Sometimes Jaster dreamed of meeting a real-life Jedi.

“Ba’vodu,” Jaster said seriously, “How do I know if I met a Jedi?”

Kya just laughed at him and told him to come home.

Chapter Text

Jaster thought about many things over the year. About lost chances. About people who vanished like ghosts. About a whole organization that dispersed so slowly no one realized that they were leaving until they were gone.

Jango kept the crystal close.

He didn’t wear it. The leather chord was soft, but a little too small for his wrist. And the crystal wouldn’t fit under his vambrace or gloves. Instead he tucked it into the tiny compartment in his left breastplate where his tracker was supposed to go. Jaster only stopped threatening the boy with getting Kya to permanently install one in his beskar’gam once Jango showed him the tracker, tucked unceremoniously in his vambrace.

Sometimes Jaster would find Jango just sitting with the crystal cradled in his hands. A lot of the time, actually. Usually in their backyard, sat in the grass or on one of their ratty bath towels, breathing deeply as the sun set behind the dunes beyond their little dome.

Whenever Jaster saw him afterwards Jango always seemed more centered, in a way. Over the year it was like watching Jango’s temper slowly tempering itself.

Jaster had asked once, a couple months after the job on Bandomeer. Jango simply shrugged and idly tapped at his left chest plate.

“Sometimes I hear things when I’m holding it,” Jango said, “Like whispers. Or, like, singing. It’s too muffled to really tell. It’s easier to hear when I calm down though. Happier too, I think.”

Jaster had so many questions, and absolutely no one had any answers. Not even ba’vodu Kya. Except, perhaps, the boy who dropped the crystal in the first place and his buir. That would mean that Xanatos might have answers too, but Jaster hadn’t spoken to the teen since Bandomeer, though he seemed to be doing well for himself as the governor of Telos IV.

Instead he packed his questions away, ruffled Jango’s hair, and let the topic lie for a later date.

Montross was pushing for a job on Korda 6. He claimed it was easy money. The Korda Defense Squad was looking to outsource a rescue attempt to those with more equipment. The planet itself was practically next door too, truly a one and done.

Still, Jaster held his tongue and let the rest of the job council argue, counting down the minutes until he could dismiss everyone for latemeal.

When the time came, he clapped his hands together. Everyone at the table immediately stood at attention, buy’ces and eyes focused on him. Jaster leaned onto the conference table.

“We’re clearly not coming to a decision tonight. For now we’re still secure and don’t need to take a large job. If anyone is truly itching to get off planet, I won’t stop you from picking up a bounty or two. But I am stopping discussions now. Go have latemeal with your aliit.”

Some grumbling—and a distinctly sour look from Montross that he wiped from his face the moment he realized Jaster was watching—and a few salutes, and the room emptied out. Jaster pinched the bridge off his nose before he picked up one of his datapads. He set a timer for five minutes.

The holonet was filled with dozens of sites and forum boards. After the disappearance of the Jedi, dozens of boards specifically made to discuss “possible Jedi sightings” popped up before all of them were coalesced onto a single site.

Jaster hadn’t gone so far to make an account yet. But he did find himself scrolling through the threads more often than not nowadays.

Not all of the pages were anonymous. Actually, most of them were very public about the user’s location, mostly with the users themselves loudly broadcasting their planet. Sometimes Jaster sat back, amazed that he could connect to these pages at all from Mandalore. But with how everyone in the galaxy seemed to flock to the holonet to squabble about whether or not this Human-Kiffar pair spotted on Ryloth were actually a Jedi Master with their Padawan, maybe it wasn’t so surprising.

He opened up one of his bookmarked threads. Dated one year ago, dedicated to the rumored sightings of three Jedi on Bandomeer. Most of the users were Freed that had since relocated and were doing well for themselves. Jaster had even caught a few comments of Freed reconnecting to other former slaves they knew.

Still, he focused on the sparse descriptions of the three rumored Jedi.

A trio of humanoids, most likely male. Dressed in a simulacrum of their typical tunic and robes, but wielding blades of light. One green, one blue, and one orange. The humanoid wielding a double bladed orange kad’au was the tallest, with the smallest being the blue bladed one. It was the blue bladed Jedi that led most of the Free to the surface, avoiding cave ins and explosions with ease. The green bladed one was spotted beheading slavers.

Jaster tapped the side of his datapad. Three humanoids, all Jedi.

Did the colors of their kad’au mean anything specific? A traditional Mando’ad painted their armor with purpose. To project a message, their true self. There were some new verde from Adonai’s group that just received their armor, and most of them painted their armor for enjoyment. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, it was still a projection of their self.

Green, blue, and orange. Green for duty, blue for reliability, and orange for lust for life.

Could Jedi change the color of their kad’au? Was the color something they chose themselves? Or a color assigned to them?

Fuck, Jaster wished he could have spoken to Feemor and Obi-Wan before they had disappeared. Or that he was still conversing with Xanatos. But the teen was very clearly busy with cleaning out both Offworld and his home planet of corruption. It reminded Jaster of a similar corruption scandal going on in Galidraan as well.

Were Jedi also behind that? Could Jaster even say Jedi were behind anything? Xanatos had clearly been searching for alternative methods to sniff the slavers on Bandomeer. He even mentioned that the revolt started the day of. He probably wasn’t the instigator.

What was it that Xanatos told him? Whispered like a threat and a prayer.

“Don’t let people know you’ve seen them.”

Jaster started when the timer went off, screaming at him. He quickly flicked it off and closed all of the tabs. Standing, Jaster stretched his arms above his head before tucking his datapads under his arms. It was Jango’s turn to make latemeal. Another step in the slow process of making sure Jaster’s Foundling knew how to take care of himself. Something that was incredibly important, seeing how Jango was turning more and more to the solitary life of a beroya instead of the communal life of a verde.

Jaster didn’t want to strap Jango down into the role of his heir. His Foundling was just his Foundling after all, not his ad for all that Jango felt like it most days. He’d still teach Jango how to lead—just in case something dire happened, which felt more and more unavoidable as Death Watch made more noise—but for now he’d let Jango wander away from home.

The door to their home closed behind him and Jaster blinked at the sight before him. Jango was sitting on the floor of the karyai, a holoprojector set in the middle of the veritable sea of his slicing materials. There was a cup of shig by his knee. Jango was almost stubbornly trying to gain a taste for shig despite the fact that he hated behot with a burning passion.

Jango cursed loudly, using one of those prissy Core curse words that made Jaster’s eyebrows reach his hairline.

“Jana?” he asked carefully. After a year of Jango tempering on his temper, suddenly being faced with it felt like facing down a bomb. Jango groaned, shifting so Jaster could sit on the floor beside him.

“Jaster,” Jango greeted. He glared at the holoprojector, reaching out and swiping so all of the materials on the screen went flying to the top. “You need to see this.”

There was another cushion on the floor, and Jango swiped the comm unit and stray datasticks off of it so Jaster could sit. He sat carefully, balancing his own datapads on his knee. “What’s all this?”

“Montross is an aruetyc hut'uun,” Jango growled out. He pressed a few more buttons before a whole collection of comm messages popped up. “He’s been working with Vizsla for the past half year. They want us on Korda Six to kill us, or at least kill you.”

Jango had tempered his temper. Jaster could do the same.

“And how did you find this?” Jaster asked. Slow and steady breaths, like staring down the barrel of a rifle. He turned back to the holoprojector and reached out to swipe through all of the files. A recorded holocall popped up. Montross’s face grinned at him, sharp toothed and predatory. Another swipe and this time Vizsla stared back. Jaster let out another slow breath.

Jango shifted in his seat, crossing his legs over one another. He carefully pulled out the bracelet from the breast pocket of his tunic, moving to cradle it in his palm.

“Do you remember how I said I hear things sometimes if I hold this?” Jango asked carefully. His voice had gone soft. Jaster nodded once, forcing himself to turn away from all the evidence and focus on his Foundling instead.

“For the past few months, it’s been screaming at Montross whenever I saw him. In a sense of the word. It still only whispers to me.” Jango stared down at the crystal. It almost seemed to be glowing, a soft and gentle blue that pooled in his palm like water. But maybe it was just dispersing the light from the projector. Like a focusing lens.

“Jaster.” Jaster took in Jango’s furrowed brow. “Are there crystals that can amplify the Manda?”

Not that he knew of. But the Jedi were famous for their kad’au. And there are dozens of academic papers written by outsiders, dozens of theories, and even more rumors about their weapons being powered by crystals imbued with their mythical Force.

“Not in Mandalorian tradition, no. But more than enough people in the galaxy are convinced that a Jetii’kad has a special crystal powering it,” Jaster replied.

“Is anyone sure though? You said that everyone’s attempts to pry one open ended up with the entire thing exploding,” Jango hummed. That was the truth, at least in Mandalorian history. Before they went missing at the start of Death Watch’s attacks, all of the remnant lightsabers from the old Mandalorian-Jedi wars in the Keldabe Museum were kept in a restricted area. There were too many stories of curious armorers and foolish verde attempting to disassemble them getting blown up.

“No, I don’t think anyone except a Jedi is truly sure. But considering we can’t ask them, I think theory is enough for now,” Jaster said. He reached out and knocked his knuckles against Jango’s forehead affectionately. Then he glared back at the holoprojector.

Where did he even start with the investigation? The proof sat right in front of him, glowing softly. It felt like a mockery and like waking up disoriented in medbay.

“What’re you going to do now?” Jango asked. He was fiddling with the crystal, rolling it back and forth between two fingers. Jaster scrolled down further, and Vizsla’s face stared back at them.

Finally Jaster broke the silence. “Your ba’buir Kya is joining us for latemeal. We’ll bring it up to her, and then we’ll summon Adonai and bring him into the loop.”

“But—” Jango bit his tongue and grit his teeth.

“But?” Jaster prodded.

“But what about Montross?”

Jaster knocked his knuckles against Jango once more. “We haven’t agreed on taking a large job. As it stands, I’ve opened up availabilities to let verde take a solo job or two if they’re really in need of credits. We can get off planet for that bounty you’ve been researching if you want. It’s a rescue job, right?”

Jango grasped he bracelet, wrapping both hands around it. Desperate. Searching. Jaster wasn’t sure. But still, he nodded.

“Okay,” he huffed. Then he moved to stand, all the tension gone from his shoulders. “I made ayallak for latemeal.”

Despite not taking the job on Korda 6, Jaster and Jango still found themselves orbiting the planet. Jaster stared down at Korda 6. It was a beautiful planet, mostly blue with some greens and yellows painting the atmosphere. Underdeveloped though. The natives were apparently still using slugthrowers according to Montross’s research.

The thought of his second struck Jaster like a knife in the back. Adonai had commed him two days into Jango’s hunt that Montross was being investigated. And while Jaster would kill to be back on Manda’yaim for it, he was supporting Jango like a good mentor did.

Jaster settled in the co-pilot’s seat, content to watch his Foundling find his footing in his element. He would put all the pride curling in his chest to words if there was anyone else other than Jango on the ship. He could always comm Kya later. They would sympathize with Jaster, even if they laughed at him Jaster knew Kya held pride for their aliit like a forge held fire.

Smiling, Jaster continued to take the scene in. Soon Jango would be skilled enough to leave for jobs on his own.

Jango hissed a quiet sigh of relief when another ship came into view. He pressed a few buttons on the control panel and the comms buzzed before they connected. “This is Jango Fett on The Legacy. You’re here for pickup?”

“Legacy we read you on the pickup. Give the—ah, yeah the Captain I guess. Give the Captain a moment, he’s making sure we have your payment ready. Feel free to start boarding procedures at your leisure,” the other pilot replied, voice staticky.

The slip up could be telling. But the puck was for a thief who had stolen old artifacts. ‘Family herilooms’ as the puck had stated. The thief was long dead. Tripping down a cliff would do that. But the missing artifacts—old clay tablets with low relief images and writing carved into them—were still in one piece. Jaster wished he could read them, but despite being written in Aurebesh none of them made sense. It could have been code, or an ancient language, or even an ancient code.  

He really wished he had the time to examine the artifacts fully. But this wasn’t the time nor the place to ask.

“Prepare for boarding,” Jango stated. He cut the comms off before starting the ship’s boarding procedures. Jaster unbuckled himself, letting his hand fall to Jango’s shoulder as he stood. Jango hummed, still focused on his ship’s controls though his head tilted in Jaster’s direction. Gripping Jango’s shoulder tightly once, Jaster left the cockpit to grab the crate in question.

Hefting the crate onto a hovercart Jaster led it towards the entrance. Jango was already standing by the entrance control panel.  

Jaster slid his buy’ce on as well. “Ready to board?”

Jango nodded. “I was just waiting for you.” And with that he opened up the entrance. The other ship was already open and waiting. Standing in the center of the entryway was a tall humanoid with a head of blond hair and a set of familiar blue eyes.

“Ah, Mando, thank you for the prompt delivery. Obi-Wan can take the crate from you.”

Obi-Wan? Like Beanie, from Bandomeer?

Almost as if he was summoned, a teenage boy rounded the corner. His auburn hair was longer than it was a year ago, pulled into a low nerftail. He was still wearing tunic and leggings made from rough woven materials, but now they were all tan and beige. But a large red shawl was wrapped around his shoulders.

The blond man couldn’t be Xanatos. Kid was doing his job on Telos IV. So this could only be—

“You’re blond?”

Jaster was going to punch himself. Jango’s visor snapped back towards him. Feemor blinked a few times. Obi-Wan stiffed a laugh behind his hand.

“That’s what you’re caught up about?” Feemor chuffed. The corners of his eyes crinkled into sweet crow’s feet, the slope of his shoulders softening until he looked smaller. His gaze seemed to catch Jaster’s through his visor. And Jaster could see how Feemor’s pupils were thin slits instead of circles. Yet his face still felt inviting and warm under the harsh light of the ship.

Jaster wanted to groan. He did not. But he did grouse, “Your hair was brown when I met you.”

“I suppose it was.” Feemor nodded. He shifted, gently dismissing Jaster to focus on Jango instead. “I’d like to thank you again for picking everything up. May I ask about the thief in question?”

“He fell down a cliff. Watched one of the local predators get the jump on them while they were down,” Jango stated. Feemor hummed, neither discontent nor discomforted.

“Then this would be for you.” He held out a credit chip. Jango took it.

“Want to help me bring the crate into cargo?” Obi-Wan asked. He wasn’t looking at Jango but it was clear that the question was targeted towards him. Jango straightened his shoulders, perking up like a strill at a whistle.

“’Lek. I think I have something to return to you,” Jango said. He followed after Obi-Wan as they meandered into the ship proper, leaving Jaster in the metaphorical dust.

Feemor snorted once they were gone from sight. He seemed comfortable with letting the silence settle around them, the entrance of the ship still wide open behind Jaster.

Jaster sucked on his cheek. He was Mando’ad. He had stared down exile and leadership and his nearly finished codex. He delt with unruly Clan heads and his own growing son and now a traitor in their midst. Patience was a virtue, but Mando’ade were known for their decisiveness. He had a question, and finally there was someone who had answers.

Probably.

He could bite the bolt.

“Are you Jedi?”

Feemor blinked, focusing on Jaster. His eyes seemed to burn through him, brighter than they ever seemed before. Maybe he was the one with the blue kad’au back on Bandomeer? Jaster felt a shudder race down his spine. Still, he braced his shoulders. He had questions, he wanted answers, and there was someone who could answer them standing not even a meter away.

Feemor sighed, fainter than a breeze. Then he smiled, subtle and secretive and barely there. He tilted his head to the side. “Now, why would you say that? No one’s seen a Jedi in years.”

Behind him Obi-Wan raced around the corner, dragging Jango along.  

“Feemor!” Obi-Wan exclaimed. He held out his wrist where his bracelet was resting against his pulse. The crystal seemed to glitter and pulse excitedly. “Jango had my bracelet!”

“Just like we assumed,” Feemor snorted, turning to face their children instead of pinning Jaster down with the inexplicable weight of his gaze. Jaster let out a slow, shuddering breath. It was quiet enough that his vocoder didn’t make a sound. Obi-Wan held his hand up to the ceiling, staring at the crystal with a faraway look in his eyes.

“It’s really happy,” he stated. Like a fact, not an opinion.

“What do you mean it’s happy?” Jango asked. He started to cross his arms but stopped when he realized that Obi-Wan was still holding onto his wrist. Instead, his hands fell limp at his sides, his free hand coming to rest on his buy’ce which hung at his hip.

Obi-Wan just smiled, his two front teeth peeking out. Subtle and secretive and barely there. “Exactly what I said. It’s very happy, as am I. Thank you for taking such good care of it.”

Jango sputtered. “Well what else was I supposed to do with it?”

“Most people would sell it to the highest bidder.” Feemor shrugged. But there was a line between his brows and he stared off into the middle distance. Obi-Wan nodded, humming low in his throat as he brought his hand to his chest.

“They would. But you haven’t. So again, thank you.”

Jango blinked rapidly, a flush slowly crawling up his neck. Jaster snorted. His Foundling was clearly floundering for his words. He could throw Jango a bone this once. Clearing his throat, Jaster made a series of quick hand signals. Jango ducked his head and carefully pulled out of Obi-Wan’s grasp. He escaped to hide half a step behind Jaster. Jango would become a great beroya, no doubt, but for now he was still a teenage boy.

Once Jango practically slammed his buy’ce back on Jaster opened up their personal comm line. “Did you check the credit chip?”

Jango shuffled further behind him to do just that. Immediately Jango stiffened, leaning close to Jaster’s back.

“Jaster, they paid us double,” Jango hissed.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said suddenly, “I wanted to ask—are any of your people stationed down on Korda Six?”

Jaster quickly pushed the issue of Jango’s payment to the side. He shook his head. The jobs council had barred work on Korda 6 for the time being, the motion made official with Montross’s detainment. But he didn’t need to tell these most-likely-Jedi that. Nor why that was the case. Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose and turned to Feemor.

They stared at one another, and Jaster was thrown back to the dark building on Bandomeer and this family’s proclivity to silent conversations.

“I’ll comm them now,” Obi-Wan said, turning on his toes. He vanished back into the ship. But just before he disappeared he threw over his shoulder, “Don’t worry about Korda Six, we’ll have it handled for you.”

Jaster wanted to ask, but the words got stuck behind his teeth. So instead he turned to Feemor. “Jango says that the payment is too high.”

“Part payment for the job and part payment for secrecy.” Feemor shrugged. He smiled again, but this time he squinted suspiciously and the pale light of the ship made his face look like a clay mask. There was something chilling, and it wasn’t the open expanse of space behind them. “My family is in a precarious situation. Even a single glance in the wrong direction may bring down a furious blade upon us.”

Jango shifted. He tapped a quick pattern on Jaster’s backplate. Let lie. Retreat.

A tactical retreat. Jaster could manage that much. Still, he had to ask.

“What are the tablets exactly?”

Feemor snorted. “A belated Life Day gift for an archivist I know. She’s very close to my lineage.”

He waved them away, reminiscent of Xanatos flapping his hand. “Well, it was nice seeing you two again. Thank you for taking such good care of Obi-Wan’s crystal, Jango. I hope you two stay well.”

And maybe Jaster was just imagining the way Feemor seemed to mouth a final statement to himself because he was so, so certain that these two were Jedi. But Jango gave Feemor a jaunty salute and a surprisingly polite request to give Obi-Wan his farewell before tugging Jaster back onto The Legacy.

IthinkILY (OP) - 16 hours ago

What was it that Jedi usually say? Like instead of goodbye

fTheRepublic– 1 hour ago

"may the Force be with you"

Continue this thread >

Chapter Text

Pain.

A deep, burning sensation that pulsed under his skin like pulled joints and bruised knuckles.

Jango wanted to groan, but his throat burned when he tried.

The sound of movement to his left, and a straw was pressed against his lips.

“Here, drink,” said a gentle voice. There would be no use poisoning him, not when his arms refused to move on command. So he drank, sipping until the straw was pulled out of his mouth. Jango whined, low in his throat.

“I’m sorry, but Bant said you can’t have too much. You’ll get sick otherwise.”

Jango wanted to open his eyes to stare and frown at whoever was refusing him water. There were still some particularly pitiful expressions that still worked on Jaster—though his buir was getting better at refusing them.

The voice didn’t sound like Jaster though. It was too high and crisp without the familiar, chest deep rumble Jaster spoke with.

“Oh, falling asleep again? Don’t worry, I’ll be here.”

Pain.

Tender and hot like sore muscles and a crick in his neck.

Jango groaned, wishing he could roll over. His whole body felt stiff and cold. As he blinked awake, he found himself staring at a ceiling that had a star map painted on it. The lights in the room were a soft, dull yellow. Easy on the eyes as he continued to squint through the blur. There was movement to his left, and someone was leaning close.

“Good morning.” Spoken softly. Cold fingertips pressed against his wrist and Jango could barely stifle the noise of complaint.

“Sorry, but I need to press this button to call the healers.”

The voice was familiar, but the hospital room wasn’t. Jango continued to stare at the star map, trying to figure out what sector he was looking at. He didn’t really realize it when he fell back asleep.

Pain.

A dull thrum that Jango could ignore, and the faintest echoes of something sickly sweet stuck in the back of his throat and in his nose. Was that bacta?

He grunted as he pushed himself up, only for a cold hand to appear from the left to hold him still.

Jango squinted through the blur and stared up at a set of familiar blue eyes.

“Obi-Wan?” Jango rasped. Obi-Wan clicked his tongue and moved to sit Jango up. Once he was leaning against his pillow Jango watched as Obi-Wan grabbed a bottle of water and a straw and press the straw to his lips. Jango drank, washing away the sweet taste of bacta. After a few sips, Obi-Wan pulled the straw away.

Jango continued to watch him, mind buzzing as he tried to piece his memories together. Obi-Wan carefully pushed aside his arm and grabbed the call button attached to the cot.

Suddenly, Jango’s heart lurched in his chest.

The job. Fucking pirates—the job had gone south and. Jaster. Where was—

“Jaster—”

Obi-Wan held his shoulder again, taking a moment to watch Jango. His fingers were cold, leeching heat out of Jango. Yet the sensation was soothing. Like a coldpack pressed to a tender injury. Something hard was pressing into the meat of Jango’s shoulder, a spot of warmth that seemed to beat against him.

“Breathe,” Obi-Wan commanded. “In, two, three. And out, two, three. In again, two, three. And out.”

Jango breathed. Breath hitching until it smoothed out under Obi-Wan’s smooth voice. Obi-Wan shifted to perch on the edge of his bed, his fingers trailing against Jango’s shoulder before falling onto the bed between them. There, pressed into Obi-Wan’s palm, was his crystal. The braided chord was wrapped around his palm. His fingers were curled and the gentle reliable blue glow looked like water cupped in his hand. Jango continued to breath, finally hearing the faintest whisper of a song above his heart hammering in his throat.

“Feemor’s looking for Jaster. He started looking before we even arrived here,” Obi-Wan stated, voice gentling softer and softer. Impossibly soft, almost as quiet as the singing in Jango’s ears.

Jango nodded, swallowing harshly. Obi-Wan continued to watch him, deigning to turn when the door opened.

“Hello, Bant,” Obi-Wan greeted, still watching Jango with piercing blue eyes. Blue like bacta. Blue like reliability.

A Mon Cala in teal scrubs walked over to the right side of the bed. On the breast pocket was the deep red, eight-pointed sun of Medi-Sun. The top and bottom most points stretched to either end of the pocket. A thin chain of metal beads was hanging beside the medscanner on their belt, crystals of different colors interspersed between the beads.

“Hi Obi-Wan. I’m glad that you’re finally awake with us, Jango. I’m Junior Healer Bant Eerin, she/her. Do you want me to start with information, or with your checkup?”

Information sounded good. He wouldn’t die yet. He frowned when Bant made a low gurling noise. But when he looked towards her, she was just typing on a datapad.

“Okay. Currently you’re in the Medi-Sun clinic on Ossus, right by Galidraan where Obi-Wan and Feemor found you. You’re doing fine physically, though some of the senior healers had to sedate you when you started panicking and hurting yourself. You probably tasted bacta in your mouth. That’s because you bit your tongue. Healer Allie is in charge of your case, but I’ve been given permission to check on you. Can you tell us how you got to Galidraan?”

Jango worked his throat. “Jaster, my buir—my, mentor. We were finishing a job on Felucia for the Commerce Guild. We were attacked by pirates while leaving. I managed to get into one of the escape pods on the pirate’s ship, but I don’t know where Jaster went.”

He hoped Jaster was still alive. He had to be, Jaster was full of mandokar, burning brighter than the sun. It didn’t matter that Jaster never called himself Mand’alor, there were more than enough Mando’ade following them that used the title for him.

Bant and Obi-Wan glanced at one another. Then Bant turned back to Jango.

“Feemor updated us an hour ago that he found your mentor. Jaster, right?” Bant said, “He’s ‘surprisingly uninjured,’ according to Feemor, but he will be getting checked into the clinic as well. We’ll make sure he comes to this room to pick you up, as long as he actually is ‘surprisingly uninjured’ like Feemor said.”

Obi-Wan carefully brushed his fingers against Jango’s. He moved to link them together when Jango didn’t flinch away from the touch or the cold. “Is this the first time a job’s gone south for you two?”

Not really. Jango stared at their hands. “We’ve had other close calls. This is the first time we’ve been separated by one.”

“It can be incredibly difficult when it happens.” Obi-Wan nodded. “All we can do is trust that we’ve learned everything we could from them to survive. And live with the knowledge that our teachers would burn through the galaxy to find us again. Feemor would. I know Tahl would for Bant. I don’t doubt that Jaster would for you.”

“Isn’t Feemor your buir?” Jango asked, a frown settling heavy on his face.

“Buir?” Obi-Wan repeated, tilting his head slightly.

“Your parent.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, Feemor’s my teacher. He’s my legal guardian and my primary caretaker. But he’s ultimately my teacher, and I don’t mind using that word for him. To have him as my Master means so much more to me than Feemor being my father.”

“Oh,” Jango said. “He’s sort of like Jaster then.”

Teacher, mentor, they were the same word, weren’t they? They were synonyms in Basic, even if there weren’t synonyms for mentor in Mando’a. Emotionally, buir came close though.

Maybe it was a good thing that Jaster never called himself Mand’alor. The Mand’alor belonged to the people, but ever since Jango declared he wanted to be a beroya instead Jaster had dedicated himself to Jango so that one day Jango could go off into the galaxy by himself.

Wait. Master? “So you are a Jedi?”

Obi-Wan laughed, sharp but soothing. Even Bant snorted, pulling her medscanner off of her belt and messing with the settings. The movement made her beaded chain sway, the beads and crystals tinkling together in a sound achingly similar to rain.

“I thought it was obvious with the crystals and all,” Obi-Wan said. Jango pursed his lips, dragging his thumb over Obi-Wan’s surprisingly knobbly knuckles.

“There isn’t much information about Jedi available in Mandalore. Most of it is from back during the old Empire and Jaster doesn’t trust that information as it stands. And we can’t access most of the holonet from Mandalorian space,” Jango grumbled. Both Obi-Wan and Bant hummed, though Bant’s hum was much bubblier. Like sea foam fizzing away. In comparison Obi-Wan’s was smooth, like water running over stones.  

“Is that an issue for him?” Obi-Wan asked. Jango shrugged. How could he even begin to explain the theory board in their karyai about what Jedi teachings really were? No one on the holonet really seemed to know.

Bant and Obi-Wan peered at one another. Yet another silent conversation.

Then Bant lifted her medscanner. “Are you ready for your checkup, then?”

Jaster didn’t know where Feemor had appeared from, and quite honestly he was a little afraid to ask.

The other man had simply appeared, clearing his throat to catch Jaster’s attention while he opened the ramp of The Legacy. Then he had gently placed his hand in front of the barrel of Jaster’s blaster as if Jaster hadn’t been a single hand twitch away from shooting him. Ba’vodu Kya would be proud of his trigger discipline.

“Hello,” Feemor greeted. His smile was sharp toothed, and his complexion was wan. “You’re a surprisingly difficult man to find. But I do believe you should come with me.”

And then he pushed past Jaster onto the ship.

Jaster blinked a few times under the safety of his buy’ce. Feemor leaned out of the ship.

“Ser Mereel?”

Flicking the safety on his blaster back, Jaster spun it around his finger before tucking it back into his holster. He turned on his heel and marched into the ship. Feemor was nowhere in sight when Jaster closed the ramp. He peered into the galley before making his way into the cockpit.

Feemor was already strapped into the pilot’s seat, inputting the coordinates to a nearby sector. Jaster sat down in the co-pilot’s seat, for lack of anything else to do, and watched as Feemor smoothly flew their ship out of the spaceport and into hyperspace.

The bright lights of hyperspace made Feemor’s skin even grayer. Still, Jaster had just, so many questions. He pulled his buy’ce off and balanced it on his knee.

“Talk,” Jaster commanded. Feemor lifted a brow. His hair was greasy and the skin on his face looked thin. His pupils were thin, barely there slits that pierced into Jaster smoother than any vibroblade. Jaster swallowed, but didn’t back down. After a moment Feemor just snorted and leaned back, twisting his shoulder until it popped.

“Obi-Wan and I were called in to help the emergency response team on Galidraan extract an escape pod from a cliffside not too far from our family estate. As it so happens, Jango was inside the crashed escape pod. He’s fine, all things considered, according to the healers. Woke up on the way to the clinic and has a clean bill of health now. He’s just waiting for you, hence why I’m here.” Feemor finished his explanation by waving a hand around the cockpit.

Jaster let out a slow breath. His chest lightened around his heart. “He’s fine?”

“Yes that’s what I said, Ser Mereel. No head injury, no broken bones. A little shaken up from his rough landing, but it seems that his armor protected him from the worst of it. Honestly he was most affected mentally. But with a mind healer and Obi-Wan he’s been doing okay. I take it that this is the first time you two have been split on a job?”

“We’ve had close calls before,” Jaster stated. He turned back to the viewport. “We’ve been blessed by the Manda considering how well most of the jobs we take have gone.”

Feemor hummed, low and smooth. “It can be difficult to have your student separated from you. To not know where they’ve gone, if they’re safe, if they’re whole. All we have is the trust that we’ve taught them enough to keep themselves safe until we find them again.”

Jaster turned back to Feemor and immediately wished he hadn’t. Feemor’s face was softer now, his shoulders sloped like exhaustion dripped from his skin, eyes downcast at his own hands and his lips pressed thin. He was fiddling with a ring on his middle finger—a thick twisted wire with an orange crystal set in it. Jaster coughed.

“You’re the first person to call Jango my student.”

Feemor hummed again. This one was high, almost like a chirr. “Is he not? Jango mentioned that you were his mentor, not his, ah… boo-ir?”

“Boo-eer,” Jaster corrected gently. “The stress is on the second syllable. It means—”

“Parent,” Feemor finished. He nodded and leaned back in his seat, the back of his head bumping against the headrest. Jaster glanced at him, then to the navigation. Ossus. He didn’t know much about that planet other than that there was a Medi-Sun location there.

Suddenly, Feemor spoke. “Master and Padawan. For most Jedi it’s the most important relationship you’ll have. A Master-Padawan bond is the most intimate of them all.”

Jaster blinked at him a few times. Feemor was staring at the viewport. Not quite beyond it. His mind and eyes were stuck somewhere in the middle distance.

“Most in the galaxy would compare it to a bond between a child and their parent. And that’s not incorrect, in a sense. But it also doesn’t quite hit the mark. I’m his legal guardian, his primary caretaker, his main teacher. To many in the galaxy, that makes me his dad. But I’m not.”

Feemor sighed. “That doesn’t mean that the relationship I have with him isn’t soul bending sometimes. I love him to bits. How can’t I? He’s mine to teach and to guide.”

His chest hurt. Jaster clenched his fists and turned to the viewport as well, focusing on his reflection in the glass rather than the lights flashing past them. Slowly, gently, he unfurled his fingers and laid them across his knees.

“Jango didn’t want me to adopt him,” Jaster admitted. “And I didn’t either. At first it was just because I knew his buire. They were my friends, and they died protecting me and mine. I thought it’d be… offensive. Rude to their memory, I guess. But I took him in because in a way it was my fault they were dead, and if I didn’t then there would be no one else to watch over him. To make sure he grew up at all.”

He grit his teeth and swallowed. “Nowadays I think I was just scared. I was barely managing to take care of myself. How could I take care of Jango? Being his mentor instead of his buir, it lightened the severity of the situation in my mind. As if the fact that this ad was my student and not my son meant that the weight of my duty to him weighed less on me.”

“You’re from a culture that emphasizes family above all. I’m from one that doesn’t have a traditional family, and the majority of the galaxy looks down on us for it,” Feemor stated. He sounded—not bitter. Tired, perhaps. His eyes were closed and he was taking deep, even breaths.

“And now I know better,” Jaster stated. “Just because Jango isn’t my ad, because I never did the gai bal manda with him, doesn’t mean he’s not mine.”

Feemor laughed once. High and breathless. He crossed his legs and turned to Jaster, his cheek pressed into his shoulder and lids low. Despite his thin pupils his gaze was no longer piercing. “Yes, I can see that. He asked for his boo-eer when he first woke up, you know. Was very frantic when he realized he didn’t know if you escaped.”

Jaster’s heart dropped. His ribs felt tender like all of the air was squeezed out of his lungs. Still, he glared at Feemor. This conversation kept spinning in directions he couldn’t predict.

“I thought we were talking about how you don’t need to be your ad’s buir for your relationship to matter,” he huffed, just barely keeping himself from stuttering.

“I already know that. It’s my whole culture Ser Mereel.” Feemor flapped his hand around. He twisted to lean closer to Jaster. “But like I said, you’re from a culture that places family above all. I can’t ignore the fact that your son calling your ‘buir’ will mean more to you than Obi-Wan calling me ‘dad’ or ‘brother’.”

For a moment Jaster wished his chest wasn’t filled with gentle burning fire. Warm like a forge was built into his heart. Otherwise he’d have leaned over to slap Feemor. Feemor just snorted and flicked his ring at Jaster’s head. It smacked him in the middle of his forehead.

Jaster grumbled as he swiped to catch it. He rubbed at his forehead and stared down at the orange crystal.

It was surprisingly small. Circular with smooth facets, about the size of Jaster’s pinky nail. If he remembered right the crystal on Obi-Wan’s bracelet was twice its size, and the blue crystal hadn’t been especially large either. It twinkled in his palm like Jaster plucked a star from the sky—old childhood dreams suddenly whizzing through his mind at dizzying speeds. Jaster shook his head, breathing deep to root himself out of the sudden lightheadedness.

He rolled the ring between his fingers. “Does the size of the crystal mean anything?”

“Rather scandalous topic you’re choosing, Ser Mereel,” Feemor ooh-ed. Jaster hurled the ring back to Feemor, who caught it with an unfairly smooth swipe.

“Is there?” Jaster repeated. Feemor glanced at him from the corner of his eyes as he pulled them out of hyperspace. The entirety of the viewport was taken up by a giant, blue and green planet. Ossus was a marble looking glass of a planet.

“Size matters not,” Feemor stated. It sounded like he was repeating an old adage. He eased The Legacy into the planet’s atmosphere and flew the ship towards the Medi-Sun clinic. “There’re ways to amplify its strength, but with the current galactic climate it’s not the first thing I’d gravitate to to protect me and mine. Anyways, you have an appointment with one of the healers once we arrive.”

Jaster twisted to squint at him. “What?” When had that been decided?

Feemor landed the ship and unbuckle himself. “It was decided the moment we found Jango. If he was in an escape pod we didn’t trust the situation you’d be in. And the chest pain you’ve been feeling is nothing to overlook. Come on now, the Healers are waiting.”

Jango was crossed legged on his bed, the very tips of his fingers gently linked with Obi-Wan’s. Obi-Wan was whispering to him, their heads bent so their temples were pressed together. Jaster couldn’t hear them, but it looked like Obi-Wan was guiding Jango through a sort of breathing exercise.

Jaster started when Feemor bumped into him.

“Ah, my apologies,” Feemor murmured. He straightened to peer over Jaster’s head, a couple of his joints popping loudly enough for Jaster to hear. Jaster twisted slightly to eye him.

Feemor was busy watching their students with a soft sort of air around him.

“Bant Eerin, mentioned that those two have been meditating together regularly,” Medic Allie whispered. “Ser Fett is very good at it, from what I’ve seen.”

Feemor chuckled. “Yes. Obi-Wan’s crystal resonates surprisingly well with him. Just from what we could tell Jango was meditating with it regularly when it was in his possession. It still resonates well with Obi-Wan too.”

Medic Allie and Feemor shared a look Jaster didn’t understand. He looked back at his son. Maybe he was starting to, though.

“He was.” Jaster nodded. He paused and tapped a finger against the edge of his thigh plate. He continued slowly, “Actually, I think it helped us out one time. Jango mentioned being able to hear things when he had Obi-Wan’s bracelet. He described it as whispers, or muffled singing. But it started screaming against—well, someone. Turned out he was a traitor who wanted to destabilize us.”

Feemor turned to him, blinking once. “If it isn’t imprudent of me to ask, have you and yours been doing well?”

Jaster chewed the inside of his cheek. There were so many ways to approach the topic. The truth was complicated. A careful bending of the demands of tradition with the necessities of the future. A path led by a codex Jaster was still carefully combing through and working on, even after declaring it complete.

A singe draft didn’t make a work complete. Especially not a creed, a guideline, like his Supercommando Codex.

“My vod, Adonai Kryze, is the current head of government on Manda’yaim. Mandalore the planet. He’s got the head and training for it. I understand the theory behind politics, but there’s no denying that Adonai’s the one out of the two of us that understands it on a deeper level,” Jaster explained cautiously. “I’m head of state, and most of our people call me the Mand’alor because I’m the one rallying the warriors. But Adonai and I work together on what we think the future for Mandalore should be. We’re a Diarchy, the two of us. But we do have our councils.”

“Jaster’s the head of security on Manda’yaim,” Jango’s voice cut in. He was leaned over, resting comfortably against Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan frowned at him.

“So like, a military general?” Obi-Wan asked. Jango wrinkled his nose, and the two of them quickly turned inquisitive eyes to Jaster. Jaster rolled his shoulders before stepping towards the medical bed.

“If we ever need to fully militarize, then yes. I’d be the General of the army as the Mand’alor. For now, all I’m in charge of is making sure the jobs everyone’s taking fall in line with our laws, and that Jango’s doing well on his own pucks,” Jaster said. He watched as Obi-Wan slid off of the bed, slipping away to speak with Feemor. Jaster reached out and cupped the back of Jango’s head, pressing their foreheads together. “Su cuy'gar, ner ad.”

Jango seemed to purr. “Su cuy'gar, Jaster. Were you checked by the healers?”

“Medic Allie gave me a once over when Feemor and I arrived. You’re well?”

“Physically, yeah. I think the healers here want to double check on how I’m doing emotionally before I leave though.” Jango wrinkled his nose again before shifting to lay his head on Jaster’s shoulder pauldron. His knee was shaking. Jaster tapped his arm.

Jango sighed. “Apparently they knocked me out once after I was admitted because I wouldn’t calm down. But after I woke up again I was pretty clam. The mir’baar’ur’s been in and out though.”

Jaster rubbed wide circles on Jango’s back, carefully picking apart the options ahead of him. “How about we set up a time to talk to Baar’ur Doran when we get back too? Make sure we talk this out.” Jaster didn’t want Jango thinking he was upset or, fucking hells, disappointed in him for the mess their job had crumbled into. Verd’goten and a few scratches in his armor aside, Jango wasn’t even twenty yet.

“I’m glad you’re safe, Jana,” Jaster said. Jango breathed out, slow and careful.

“I’m glad you’re safe too, Jas’buir.”

Chapter Text

Jango fiddled with his datapad in the short hours before they were in hyperspace on the way home from the Medi-Sun clinic on Ossus. When Jaster prodded him curiously, Jango quickly showed him a comm message channel. Jaster ruffled his hair and said, “Tell Myles to tell Mij that we’ll be home soon.”

And Jango did, but not until after they left hyperspace. Because he wasn’t texting Myles in the first place.

Jango

This is Obi-Wan right?

Bant gave me your comm code before I was let out.

Cause you left before we did

UNKNOWN NUMBER

Ah, hello there Jango

Yes this is Obi-Wan. I’m sorry for leaving without a goodbye. My teacher and I received a job notice and we had to leave immediately

Jango

It’s okay. I just wanted to thank you for everything

Jaster and I talked a bit, but we’re waiting until we have our mir’baar’ur to help mediate

Obi-Wan

I don’t believe I did much, but I’m glad for the two of you.

We’ll be entering hyperspace soon. Feel free to keep this comm code

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: The following message has been encrypted]

[Run decryption protocol?]

Obi-Wan

May the Force be with you, Jango

Jango quickly glanced towards Jaster, who was working on his own datapad. No doubt going through the newest comments on his codex for the next round of editing.

After a second Jaster shifted. When their eyes met, Jaster smiled. His hair was greasy, and the shadows on his face were severe. But when he grinned—crooked and squinting—Jango felt safe. Suddenly and totally secure in the knowledge that Jaster would burn through the galaxy to find him. Jango smiled back before typing out his reply.

Jango

Ret'urcye mhi

They messaged on and off. Sometimes Jango went offline for jobs, but more often than not it was Obi-Wan dropping off the face of the galaxy for months at a time. And just when the fear that maybe the galaxy really had done Obi-Wan in, Jango would find a new comm message waiting for him on his comm.

Anything from Do you have any Mandalorian language modules to Can I sell these blasters without getting arrested to a simple I’m back. How have you been?

It was comforting, in a way. The consistency that was the presence of Obi-Wan in his life. There wasn’t an even beat to his arrival and disappearances—nothing like the constant hammering from Ba’buir Kya’s forge—but rather it was like the ocean lapping at the shore or Jaster typing away. Here and gone again.

But not forever.

His comm was shrieking. Jango buried his face into his pillow, willing the caller away with the power of his mind.

His comm continued to ring.

It was worth a shot. But it wasn’t like Jango was a Jedi. If he let it keep ringing he’d wake everyone in the house up. And he was nearly thirty now, he couldn’t take waking up in the middle of the night as well as he could at fifteen.

Groaning, Jango groped around his bed for his comm, rising onto his elbows and squinting against the bright blue light of the call.

“Hello?” he asked, throat clicking. Who was calling him via his personal comm in the middle of the night? Anyone else would either knock on his door or send an emergency level message.

Quiet, gasping breaths. Ragged and fluttering. “Jango?”

Jango was standing before he could even see.

“Obi-Wan?”

Jango was pacing around the ship, quiet footsteps beating evenly against the floor. The rhythm would be calming if not for the context surrounding the entire trip. Jaster pinched the bridge of his nose, carefully massaging away the strain in his eyes.

“Jana,” Jaster called out. The door to their shared room was closed, but even still it opened near immediately and Jango stepped inside. He blinked a few times.

“Sorry, Jaster. Did I wake you up?”

Jaster shook his head, “Haven’t been able to sleep.”

He’d be surprised if anyone on the ship ended up getting much sleep. Tension was running through his own body like his blood, just as high as they were two hours ago when Jango crashed into Jaster’s room all wild eyed and frenzied.

“We have to go to Naboo,” Jango gasped. Then he ran off before Jaster could even see properly through the sleep blurring his eyes. Twenty minutes later he got a comm from Mij asking just what Jango was making such a fuss about. Jaster had no clue—and would continue to have no clue until he, Mij, Kya, and Jango were jettisoning off across the galaxy to Naboo in their fastest ship.

Jaster and Kya managed to pin Jango down in the galley with a cup of shig—full of cinnamon and nutmeg and milk—and all Jango did was stare at his comm like he could blow it up by will alone. Mij had raised a brow and gone to check on the medbay.

“Jana,” Kya clucked their tongue. Jango just continued to stare at his comm.

“Obi-Wan and Feemor are on Naboo,” Jango said, “Obi-Wan commed me that Feemor’s in critical condition. None of his friends or aliit are in the sector, and they can’t come over. He doesn’t have anyone to help.”

Jaster would ask Jango how in the stars he got a Jedi’s fucking comm code later.

There were bigger things to focus on.

It had been ten years since Jaster saw Obi-Wan or Feemor. He was fairly certain that it hadn’t been ten years since he saw a Jedi in general, but every time he might have met one he felt as if a windstorm had passed by. It seemed that even if at least two—two! —Jedi found him personable, the rest were wary of him.

Not that Jaster could truly blame them. The Jedi have always been hesitant around Mando’ade. The sheer amount of fragments laying around the museums and libraries on Manda’yaim bemoaning how Jedi acted like skittish tookas was astounding some days.

Right now though Obi-Wan didn’t look skittish or nervous. He looked exhausted. Wan and thin and barely awake as he sat, curled up, in a chair in a quiet corner of the hospital lobby.

He was a lot taller than the teenager Jaster recalled on Ossus. Fully grown despite the way he was curling in on himself. Suddenly, he was glad that Mij and Kya offered to stay back to ready their ship for Feemor. Obi-Wan looked like he needed space and security simultaneously. And better two not-really-strangers than a group of four.

Jango just hurried over to Obi-Wan before hesitating suddenly, his hands floating in front of him without reaching out.

“Obi-Wan?” Jango whispered. Obi-Wan hummed, barely moving. His forehead was pressed to his knees and his hands were covered in bandages. For burns, maybe. Either that or the bandages were a temporary bracing from strain.

What happened?

“Obi-Wan,” Jango repeated, his voice stronger. This time Obi-Wan stirred. His shoulders tightened and his fingers curled before he slowly lifted his head. He blinked a few times.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said. “You have a new scar.”

Jango just snorted. “It’s been ten years and that’s all you have to say?” He paused and stared at Obi-Wan’s face. “You surprisingly don’t have any scars.”

“Mine are easy to hide. Scars can be identifiers,” Obi-Wan said. He moved again, leaning back while stretching his legs out in front of him. He trapped one of Jango’s legs between his ankles. His boots were scuffed at the heels. Jaster titled his head when Obi-Wan leaned over to look at him.

“Su’cuy, Obi-Wan,” Jaster greeted. He moved to stand beside Jango. “Are you holding up well?”

“Well enough,” Obi-Wan sighed. He dragged a hand through his hair, brushing it out of his face, before standing slowly. His shoulder and something low in his back popped as he did so, but he didn’t wince. “Feemor’s room is a bit of a walk. It’s easier for us to heal when we’re in non-specialist hospitals if we’re separated from the general patient population.”

“I’m surprised that there isn’t a Medi-Sun clinic on Naboo,” Jaster said conversationally. Obi-Wan glanced at him, and his expression relaxed just a smidge.

Jaster wasn’t sure what Obi-Wan saw in him in that single moment.

“We’re still in the process of lobbying for one. However, the current Senator of Naboo has apparently been at odds with the Queen on this matter. A friend of mine has been mediating, though we were called on planet for a different issue.”

Jango turned to Jaster. “What was the senator’s name? Pal-something, right, Jaster?”

“Not sure, Jana,” Jaster replied, “The Queen is Padmé Amidala though. Fourteen standard.”

“The Naboo elect their Queens young,” Obi-Wan hummed. It didn’t sound like something he expected a response to, so Jaster continued to follow him down the halls. The hospital itself was quiet and quaint. Fairly empty from the looks of it outside of the staff and meddroids occasionally going down the halls. Nearly all of them greeted Obi-Wan, who greeted them back with a quiet little head tilt.

“How long have you two been here?” Jaster asked. Obi-Wan’s hair was flat, but not greasy.

“A tenday,” Obi-Wan replied. “Feemor was removed from bacta three days ago. Apparently I went into a ‘coma’ for two days after we were found. The Queen herself helped us in regards to medical care. Seeing that the closest Medi-Sun clinic is on Devaron, neither of us would have made it. But I’d prefer it if we left the planet as soon as possible.”

He paused, stopping between two doorways. It looked like he was chewing something over in his mind, carefully lining up his words.

“Thank you for coming for us.”

Jaster shook his head. “I’m glad we could come. I do wonder how Jango had your comm code though.”

“One of Obi-Wan’s friends gave it to me before we left Ossus. She was a junior medic assigned to me.”

Which meant that Jango had Obi-Wan’s comm code for ten years. Was his Foundling holding out on him? Then again, children were allowed secrets from their parents. And keeping his Jedi contact a secret was better than something like joining a gang like Adonai’s youngest daughter.

Obi-Wan kept walking. Turning a corner, Jaster was faced with sudden and unnerving silence. Even the beating of his heart echoed like boots marching in his ears. Obi-Wan stepped into a room.

In the room machines were beeping. The sound breaking through the silence that encased the rest of the hallway like ice.

Jaster and Jango held back as Obi-Wan moved to stand at the side of the bed, reaching out even before he stopped. He wrapped his hands around Feemor’s, cupping them together as he stood there and breathed slow and steady breaths. When he laid Feemor’s hands down again Jaster could see a long leather braid wrapped around Feemor’s palms. Obi-Wan’s bracelet was cradled in his hands.

“He’s woken up a few times in the past few days,” Obi-Wan said softly. Then he cleared his throat. “If you brought a medic, it might be best if they came and spoke to the doctors to make sure Feemor can be moved out safely.”

“Where do you need to go?” Jaster asked. A question that no one in their ship had an answer to. Where did Jedi go to when they disappeared from sight? Where did they go after the Ruusan Reformation expired? What sort of place did Jedi find safe? Jaster and Jango glanced at one another.

What could they do to make sure Obi-Wan—and Feemor—felt safe?

Obi-Wan turned to examine the monitors. “I’m not sure. A Medi-Sun clinic would be good for Feemor, and I’ve contacted the clinic on Devaron but…”

The lines of his back were tense as the machines continued to beep in even beats.

Jango took a step forward, moving so his boots purposefully made a noise against the tile floor. Obi-Wan straightened, turning to face them. He blinked a few times, the blurry look in his eyes clearing away.

“If it isn’t too much of a bother, could you take us back to Mandalore with you? I can call a Healer and ask her to come meet us there. But if it’s too much of a bother—”

“We can take you,” Jango cut in, “Right, Jaster?”

Jaster just sighed. “We can. The ship was prepared with the possibility that we’d bring you two back to Manda’yaim with us in mind. Once the doctors here give us the okay—and if you can get a Medi-Sun medic to arrive on Manda’yaim around the time we do—we can bring you. Otherwise we’ll have to drop you two off on Devaron for your own safety.”

“If you must, then it must be done,” Obi-Wan said. He wrung his hands together. “But, if you do drop us off on Devaron, would we be able to come to Mandalore after we’re healed?”

What was there on Manda’yaim that Obi-Wan needed to see? Jaster wanted to ask, but he bit his tongue. They’d have a long flight no matter what, there would be time to ask.

“Let’s go get Mij,” Jaster stated, “Go call up a medic, alright, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan settled in the medbay, dragging a chair along to sit by Feemor’s bed. Jaster could hear Mij lecturing him all the way from the galley. Jango grimaced as he finished preparing a kettle of shig.

“What’s he going on about this time?” Kya asked. Jango wrinkled his nose and placed a cup of shig in front of Kya and Jaster.

“Obi-Wan keeps sleeping in a chair in the medbay instead of a bunk. Mij is trying to get him to at least sleep in a cot if he won’t leave the room,” Jango replied.

Kya raised a brow. “Any specific reason why he won’t leave the medbay?”

“It’s better for the both of them, apparently.”

The three of them sat in the relative silence. Then Kya pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed explosively.

“Force osik,” they muttered before taking a log sip of shig. Jaster just shrugged before squinting at Jango, recollection striking him like a blaster bolt.

“In other news,” Jaster drawled. He watched as Jango drew up, shoulders set straight and chin high. “What was this about you and Obi-Wan being comm buddies for ten years, Jana? Have you been holding out on me?”

“No I haven’t!” Jango argued. “I gave you links to the Jedi Archives site! And all the other source material stuff for when you rewrote the foreward for your Codex was from Obi-Wan too.”

Jaster and Kya glanced at one another.

“All of the source materials?” Kya repeated slowly. Jango chewed on his cheek as he wrapped his fingers around his mug.

“Yeah. Obi-Wan sends me things he thinks that Manda’yaim would appreciate having back. The armor is apparently stuff they found, and the datasticks have information relevant to our own history,” Jango said. “I’m pretty sure it’s his way of telling me that he’s still alive whenever he goes missing.”

Kya tapped their fingers against the galley table. “Well, that’s information. I can see why you didn’t tell us, but Jango, we’re aliit.”

“I know,” Jango groaned. He sat heavily in an empty seat. “But he started sending stuff pretty soon after Ossus, and after a few years it was a little awkward to say anything… And Obi-Wan never marked the packages with his name.”

“They were always from different archives,” Jaster muttered. All of them belonged to a larger private university that had very little information about it on the holonet.

It was also one of the few large institutions that didn’t have I. Ps from the Mandalore Sector blocked for security reasons. Jaster could complain about the unnecessary anxiety the Republic had over Mandalore if there wasn’t a modicum of truth in their slicing abilities. Myles was getting so good at it; he had almost made it into the Republic’s files about the Jedi before being booted out a few years ago.

Jaster shook his head. “I’m going to go check on Mij. We have a while of traveling, we can’t have Obi-Wan being startled away when we promised them passage to Manda’yaim.”

“Why do they want to visit Manda’yaim anyways?” Kya asked. Jaster only shrugged. He grabbed his mug of shig and chugged the rest of it down, grimacing when he burnt his tongue on the first sip. He dropped the mug back onto the table and waved, turning on his heel and disappearing into the ship on silent feet.

Jango slowly drank down his shig. He wrinkled his nose at the sharp sting of behot.

“Jana,” Kya said. She had moved her mug off to the side, hands resting together on the table. And suddenly, Jango felt a strike of tension tighten his shoulders.

“I need to talk to you, ad’ika.”

Chapter Text

“Jana,” Kya said. She had moved her mug off to the side, hands resting together on the table. And suddenly, Jango felt a strike of tension tighten his shoulders.

“I need to talk to you, ad’ika.”

“What?” Jango asked. He screwed his eyes shut and bit his tongue. He was going to hit himself. “Sorry, ba’buir. About what?”

Kya snorted. “It’s nothing bad, Jana. I want to talk to you about Obi-Wan.”

“What about him?”

Kya watched Jango, their gaze even and focused. It was the same expression they had as they watched the forge, carefully heating up metal with steady hands.

“Do you love him?”

Mando’ade married young and Jango was nearly thirty. They swore the riduur’ok the moment they were old enough or once they found someone—a friend or a lover—they would entrust their lives to.

Jango blinked. Then he squinted at Kya. “Ba’buir, this is the first time I’ve seen him in ten years.”

To be Mando’ade historically meant to fight and to be prepared to die at a moment’s notice. And while that wasn’t so much the case anymore, they still bonded young. Whether due to habit or tradition, Kya didn’t know. To be riduur’e wasn’t inherently romantic after all. Kya had known people who swore the riduur’ok like marriage vows, but later shifted to vod in arms. Jaster’s buir’e were one such pair.

To love a Mando’ade though, was violent. The Manda would always crash against their hearts and fill it with teeth. Even Adonai had described loving his riduur as, “A wound on my heart that would never close.”

Love wasn’t easy feat.

“Do you think you can?” Kya asked.

It required effort. Dedication.

Jango looked away. His fingers were drumming on a bouncing knee. He was far from the spitfire child Jaster had to drag away from those burning fields, but he was still Jango. A touch more patient—better suited for waiting behind the blaster of a rifle than explosives work like Silas—but still loyal and thoughtful.

“I think I can,” Jango said, “I can see myself trying.”

Kya hummed. “It isn’t easy to love a Mando’ad. It’s doubly so for aruetiise.” They all knew what happened between Skirata and his ex-wife.

Jango tilted his head. “It won’t be easy to love a Jedi either.”

At that, Kya snorted. Jango was willing to wade into undocumented, if not uncharted, waters, and still he matched Kya’s gaze with the same determination Kya remembered seeing on his much younger face. The same scrunch of his brow, the same wrinkle on his nose, and the same set of his jaw.

“Of that, Jana, I had no doubts,” Kya said.

It wasn’t “running away”. Ba’vodu Kya had simply asked for a moment of privacy to speak to Jango. So Jaster wasn’t running away. Besides, it was late enough in the night cycle that Mij was probably asleep, and someone should probably make sure that Obi-Wan was actually sleeping instead of holding vigil by Feemor’s bed.

Obi-Wan had agreed to going to bed, but Jaster knew better than to trust a stubborn child. Even if Obi-Wan an adult.

The medbay was dim, a lamp that most certainly didn’t belong in the medbay glowing very gently. It washed the room in soft gold. From the doorway Jaster could see Obi-Wan, still sat in his chair though he was slumped over with his head resting on the bed. Feemor had a hand on top of Obi-Wan’s head, not petting but simply resting.

Jaster didn’t realize that Feemor was awake.

“I had a Dream,” Feemor said. Jaster started. He should have realized that Feemor knew he was there.

“A dream?” Jaster asked, carefully breaching the quiet space. It was like stepping into a bubble. He couldn’t even hear the rumble of the engines of the buzzing of the oxygen recyclers. Feemor nodded slowly, combing his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair.

“A Dream,” he repeated, “Or, almost. Obi-Wan has very specific strengths in the Force. That strength bleeds into me sometimes, so I Dream.”

Jaster could practically hear the capital letters in Feemor’s voice. But—

“What did you Dream of?”

Feemor hummed again, like the low purr of an engine.

“Nothing important. Or, nothing we didn’t already know. It makes me confident in going to Mandalore though. There’re questions that need answering, and the answers lie beneath your feet there.” Feemor moved his hand to rest on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He gently moved Obi-Wan so his arms weren’t pinned uncomfortably under his chin.

Jaster stood at the foot of Feemor’s bed. Just watching. Obi-Wan’s breathing deepened once Feemor stopped rearranging him.

“To love as a Jedi means to love without attachment.”

Jaster blinked a few times at the sudden change in topic. Feemor’s gaze was still focused on Obi-Wan, his hand moving to rest on his back now. His hand rose and fell with every breath Obi-Wan took.

“What?”

Jaster was going to hit himself.

Feemor replied, unbothered. “Did you know that a Master-Padawan bond is the strongest, most intimate bond a Jedi will ever forge?”

Jaster nodded. Feemor had something of the like the last time they met.

“And yet, it is an apprenticeship. Your student will not remain with you forever, because at some point you’ll have to let them go. Let them develop and become their own person outside of you. You raise this child, seeing them either as your sibling, or even your child depending, and you reconcile with the fact that they will leave you. It is as all children do. They’ll leave the nest, because they need to grow.”

Obi-Wan whined, shoulders tensing for a single breath stopping moment, before he relaxed once more. Jaster watched as Feemor kept his hand on the side of Obi-Wan’s throat, right by his pulse point.

“So, to love as a Jedi means to learn to love without attachments. You must be able to let go, for your sake and for theirs.”

Jaster bounced his fingers against his thighs, rolling the words over like a credit chip in his fingers. But before he could say anything Feemor continued, moving to brush his fingers against the long, braided bracelet Obi-Wan still wore.

“I can’t hold onto him forever. This bond that binds us together will be broken soon. He’ll leave to seek his wants, and he can rest assured that I’ll always welcome him back with warmth.” Feemor smiled and laid his hand on top of Obi-Wan’s. “Trust and love, they’re synonyms to me. To trust someone to return when there’s nothing truly binding them down.”

“Why’re you telling me this?” Jaster asked. Feemor took a deep breath, before blowing it all out explosively.

The silence stretched on. But Jaster could wait.

“Obi-Wan has all the seeds sown to love him. The next steps are what matters most now,” Feemor sighed. He thumped against his pillow as he leaned back, dragging a hand through his hair. Still blond, and now hanging in a curtain around his face. “Obi-Wan and I spoke about it. And he’s still my Padawan, so I still want to guide him in this. Honestly it might be one of the last lessons I get to teach him as his Master. And it might be selfish of me, but this is a lesson I want to teach both to my own student, and to yours.”

Him. Jango. Of course.

Jaster snorted. “The trip might be a great time for that then. My ba’vodu—or, my aunt—she’s having a talk with Jango about this sort of stuff and what it means for a Mando’ad.”

Feemor turned to stare at him, blinking once. Then twice. Then he clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. He froze when Obi-Wan shifted and settled again. Even in the dim light Jaster could see Feemor pressing his lips together into a thin line, his cheeks puffed out just a little bit.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Jaster whispered. He waited until Feemor was facing him again. The dim light seemed to make the scars across his face glow. Swallowing Jaster asked, “What were you two doing on Naboo?”

Obi-Wan continued to breathe evenly. Feemor fiddled with the edge of his sleeve. “It was a personal request. One of my friends sensed something on Naboo while on a layover, so we asked the Queen if we could do a search. She approved so we’ve been prodding around the planet for the past month.”

Jaster crossed his arms. “Did you find anything?”

Feemor smiled at him, eyes crinkling. And yet his teeth were sharp and his pupils thin. “Well, I didn’t nearly die for nothing, my friend.”

The talk went well, all things considered. Jango had sputtered in embarrassment but hunkered down for the conversation anyways and Obi-Wan just sat through it all wide eyed and probably bewildered, seeing that he only just woke up.

Obi-Wan blinked slowly. He furrowed his brows and turned to Feemor. Feemor tilted his head as if he was listening to something.

Force osik. Jaster shook his head and gripped Jango’s shoulder.

“Did Kya go to sleep?” Jaster asked. Jango nodded slowly, changing an occasional glance back towards the two Jedi.

“Yeah, they went to bed right after we were done talking.”

Humming Jaster turned his gaze to where Obi-Wan and Feemor were staring down one another. “So what will you do now, Jana?”

Jango shrugged, and Jaster let his hand be pushed away. “Wait and see what happens. Like we said this is the first time we’re spending an extended period of time together. There’s still a lot we don’t know about one another.”

Finally Feemor chuckled and reached out to cup the side of Obi-Wan’s neck. They still hadn’t spoken a word. Jango’s eyes crinkled in a way that meant happiness.

“I’m excited to learn though,” he whispered, like a secret. Jaster could only knock his knuckles against Jango’s temple. He couldn’t wait to see what the future held for them either.

The trip to Mandalore, Obi-Wan decided, could have been quieter. He’s certain that Mij would have preferred it if Feemor was given more time to rest in peace—Healer Che liked it when rooms were quieter just so it was easier for patients to enter healing meditations. Feemor was healing surprisingly quickly for a man who had nearly died though.

“I don’t think it’s too bad. The Force isn’t giving me any blaring warning signs,” Feemor said as he did a few basic warmup stretches. Obi-Wan frowned as he followed along.

“Let’s see what Healer Che says when she arrives on Mandalore,” he stated. Feemor glared at him, pursing his lips in a pout and moved to the next position. Obi-Wan just rolled his eyes. “Master, you were—”

“I know, Obi-Wan,” Feemor said, “This is not an injury I will walk off. I may be doing well now, but I don’t doubt that on some level the Force is supporting me even at this very moment. If Healer Che arrives and I suddenly collapse, dying, that won’t surprise me. But I don’t want to leave you so suddenly, not when I know I still have a fighting chance.”

“Not when we still have to go to Mandalore,” Obi-Wan muttered. Feemor nodded and let out a slow breath, coming to a standstill.

“Not when we still have to go to Mandalore,” Feemor repeated.

The gentle pull towards Mandalore had grown in Obi-Wan over the past year. Or maybe it had grown over many, with the first hook sinking into him with the very first message Jango had sent him. Though Obi-Wan had only became conscious of the tugging after Jango finally texted him Tor Vizsla is dead.

Obi-Wan settled on the floor and pulled his comm out from his pocket. He opened up his message history with Jango and scrolled.

Jango

Tor Vizsla is dead

Obi-Wan

Who’s Tor Vizsla?

Jango

The leader of Death Watch

We think his son is going to try and take control now though

But with the power vacuum Jaster and Adonai are doing what they can to bring the traditionalists to our side

Speaking of which, do you know anything about a Tarre Vizsla

Obi-Wan

Not immediately

Let me ask my teacher

Why do you ask?

Jango

Tor Vizsla carried around something he called a darksaber. Apparently his Clan stole it from the Jedi centuries ago

He claims that it gives him rightful leadership as Mand’alor

But Jaster and the gorane can’t find any records of a Mand’alor Vizsla

Obi-Wan

I don’t believe that would do much to convince some of Death Watch to leave

Jango

No it wouldn’t

Fucking brainwashing

Obi-Wan

I’ll go ask him now. Sit tight

Jango

Vor’e

Feemor hadn’t known anything, but their mission roster was empty due to Obi-Wan’s shoulder injury at the time. So Feemor had packed Obi-Wan up and shipped them off to one of the Pathfinder University archives. Under the strict guidance of Master Nu, the two of them dug up as much information as they could on Tarre Vizsla.

There hadn’t been much. A few fragments of writing, a handful of visual depictions that were inconsistent with one another, and a half completed set of armor that reminded Obi-Wan of the Temple Guards from his childhood.

“Are there still Temple Guards?” Obi-Wan asked as he packed away an ancient set of Mandalorian armor. Feemor sealed the package closed.

“In a way. After all, someone needs to keep the Creche Clans and their Masters safe.”

When the door to the medbay opened Mij squinted at Obi-Wan suspiciously. Obi-Wan just waved at him cheerfully from the floor.

“I’m not even going to ask,” Mij sighed, “I know you’ve been standing.”

Feemor smiled pleasantly. “Indeed. I understand that healing for us is a little outside of your realm of believability, but thank you for trusting me so far.”

“A doctor is useless if they don’t believe their patient,” Mij stated. “We’ll be arriving on Manda’yaim soon, so this is just a final checkup so we can safely transfer your off the ship. Do ether of you have any updates on that Medi-Sun medic of yours?”

“Medic Che is approximately an hour behind us. Depending on how long it takes for her to get permission to land she should be with us shortly,” Obi-Wan said, staring at his comm again. Feemor nodded in his direction. Mij sighed once more, staring up at the ceiling as if it’d give him strength.

“Alright. I’ll get on Jaster to make sure Medic Che can land without a hitch.”

“Thank you, Medic Gilamar,” Feemor said, still smiling. Mij nodded once and left the medbay, but not without checking Feemor’s vitals one final time.

Obi-Wan stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back.

“Do you think we’ll find what we’re looking for on Mandalore?” he asked. Feemor raised a brow.

“Doubting yourself this far in, are you, Padawan?”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips. “No, it’s not—”

He cut himself off and pressed his cheek to his shoulder. “I guess I’m afraid that we’re not going to find what we want, or that we’ll be left wanting.”

“With how little we know about Tarre Vizsla as a whole I think that any information will make the galaxy seem brand new, Padawan mine.”

A point. Still, Obi-Wan was ready to be underwhelmed.

“Are you excited to go to Mandalore though?” Feemor asked. Obi-Wan grinned, emotion bubbling gently in his chest like sea foam.

“I am.” Jango spoke dearly of his home. Though most of it was limited to the biodomes of Mandalore or the occasional reference to Concord Dawn. Still, it was enough to pique Obi-Wan’s interest. He couldn’t wait to finally experience it himself.

Feemor smiled back at him, and Obi-Wan felt safe.

The Force on Mandalore rang in his head like a steady drumbeat. Feemor couldn’t even begin to imagine the tapestry that was weaving itself in Obi-Wan’s mind. The biodomes whistled in his ears, and beyond it was a low drone that came from the desert.

Obi-Wan was staring off into the distance, beyond the walls of the biodome.

“It’s out there,” he whispered. He reached out and held Feemor’s elbow. “Feemor, it’s—it’s out there.”

Feemor closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to focus in on the sound Obi-Wan was seeing in the Force. Beyond the beating drum, the sweet whistling, and low drones, was something else. Deep and chanting, rustling like a creature prowling through low leaves or wings flapping hard.

“Oh,” Feemor mumbled. Oh.

What a gorgeous sound. Life. Living. Undeniably there.

They were moving before they really knew what was happening. Feemor would berate himself on his sudden lack of control later, but right now there was something calling out to him that he had to see instead of hear.

“Hey, hold up!” Jango yelled out.

Their Jedi were running off somewhere. Where, exactly, they were going was beyond Jango seeing that—as far as he knew—no Jedi has been on Manda’yaim since the old wars. Still, he raced after them as they practically burst out of the biodome.

He’d call Jaster later, this was practically a hunt.

“Jango!” Obi-Wan yelled out, “Are there any valleys in the desert around here?”

What a fucking non-sequitur. Why in the little gods did Jango like this man? Still, Jango pointed towards the east. Obi-Wan and Feemor immediately began that direction.

There weren’t any mountains on Manda’yaim anymore. The Dral’han didn’t just glass the planet, it leveled the earth into a single flat plain. Still, there were craigs and valleys on the planet’s surface. Jango had read some articles by scientists hypothesizing that they were old cave systems or beskar mines that collapsed under the immense pressure of the Dral’han. They carved deep scars into the planet’s surface.

Most of them were mapped and recorded for general safety. Though there were no earthquakes on Manda’yaim the valleys could create issues when setting up new biodomes. And Jango had lived in the biodome by Keldabe long enough to know where the major valleys were.

So where the hell did the valley in front of him appear from?

He came to a stumbling stop at the edge of the cliff. Obi-Wan and Feemor jumped into it without fear.

“Oh what the fuck?” Jango muttered. He turned his jetpack on and jumped in after them.

It was so green.

“What the fuck? What the fuck?” Jango frantically flipped through the filters of his HUD to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. He began to record his HUD feed and began to dial for Jaster and Kya as he spotted Obi-Wan vanishing into a tree line. Because there was a tree line and grass and a whole forest growing here, in the scars of Manda’yaim.

“Jango!” Feemor peeked out from around a tree, “This way!”

What else could Jango do but follow?

He followed after Feemor, staring up towards the—the sky? The roof of the cave? He didn’t even know. The further they marched into the forest, the hotter in became. Sticky with humidity even in the dark. And yet, in the distance, something was shining.

Obi-Wan came crashing through the forest, and Jango was going to have a heart attack the longer he stayed around the Jedi.

“Is that a shriekhawk?”

The bird in question was resting comfortably on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan waved him away but was practically bouncing on his toes.

“Did you find it?” Feemor asked. Obi-Wan nodded.

“It’s just this way, and it’s full of kyber. I think there might have been a kyber mine here before!”

“What’s up there?” Jango asked, still watching the shriekhawk in wonder.

Obi-Wan grinned, wild and full of glee. “I think it’s Tarre Vizsla’s house.”