Chapter Text
The Temple was already everything Korkie had imagined and more, and so far he’d only stood at the outside of it.
The younger Mandalorians, his fellow cadets, used to tell stories about the Temple when they were all younger. It was all myth and legend to them at the time, the sort of thing they’d discuss late at night away from the prying ears of the adults who detested the Jedi for reasons Korkie never did quite understand, who would chastise them for even bringing the Temple up.
Satine was different. Satine never spoke ill of the Jedi. In fact, there was one she always spoke very fondly of as Korkie grew up. He’d heard countless stories and anecdotes, even occasional passing comments about her Jedi. And if Korkie was lucky, he was about to meet him. His stomach flipped at the thought. A part of him had wanted this his whole life. But he wanted, needed it now more than ever.
First, of course, he had to find his way into the Temple. He thought that the hardest part of his journey was done - escaping his Aunt Bo-Katan, stealing a ship, flying over with no training whatsoever, even landing without detection - but no, he had failed to consider how difficult getting into the Temple would be.
Hidden around the corner, he watched as Jedi passed in and out of the Temple, waiting for a break so that he could sneak himself in. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Once he was in the Temple, how did he even plan on finding the man he was looking for? He realised he didn’t even know where to start. He didn’t know the layout of the Temple, he didn’t know where anything was, he didn’t know where the man would be. He was clueless.
A Jedi looked in his direction, and maybe caught sight of him, but Korkie vanished around the corner before anything further could happen. He found himself suddenly grateful to Satine for forcing him to keep such a low profile as he grew. If it hadn’t been for her insistence on the matter, some of these Jedi - like the one, who Korkie was sure wasn’t the first, that had just caught sight of him - would’ve recognised him by now for sure, as the nephew of the late Duchess of Mandalore. It has been a title he held with honour, but now he understood the benefits of keeping it away from the knowledge of non-Mandalorians.
Especially now he knew that he was more than just the nephew of the late Duchess, anyway.
“Need any help?”
The voice shocked him out of what he hadn’t realised was such a deep thought. Blast, he thought, I’m busted. He’d been making a bad habit of getting caught lately. He looked over his shoulder cautiously, expecting to be faced with some Jedi knight who would undoubtedly turn him in, and—
Oh.
It was just Ahsoka, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her chest with a raised brow. He knew Ahsoka, and she him. Korkie allowed himself to relax. Ahsoka knew he wasn’t a threat. He thought, honestly, that Ahsoka might know the truth about him that he’d recently discovered. If true, that could serve to help him here.
“Ahsoka!” He grinned as he greeted her, perhaps one of his first real smiles since… well, since the thing that brought him here, that he couldn’t quite bring himself to think about, happened. The smile he got back from her was almost a perfect mirror of his own. Though they’d only met once or twice, there was a shared understanding between them. An unspoken bond, perhaps.
“Korkie. What’re you doing here?” Her question had a weighty answer. Korkie wasn’t sure how to answer it. He had to be honest, and he was sure she knew… but if she didn’t, could he tell her? Would that not leave him, and the man he hoped to visit, in potential danger? He knew all of this was dangerous anyway, he’d been told as much; it had just been a risk he was willing to take. But faced with potential danger now, doubt and uncertainty sat like a stone in the pit of his stomach.
“I… I wanted to speak with General Kenobi.”
There. That wasn’t a lie. If Ahsoka knew, she would just accept this. If she didn’t, and questioned him, he could perhaps play it off as wanting to speak with the man who was with his “Aunt” when she died. He could claim curiosity as to what had happened, and a lack of answer from Bo-Katan. That, of course, would be a lie. Auntie Bo had spared no details for Korkie, at his request. He appreciated her honesty. She was the only other adult, apart from Satine, who treated him as though he could handle things.
There was a glimmer of something in Ahsoka’s eyes - perhaps sympathy? or understanding? Korkie wasn’t sure - and her expression shifted to something a little more serious. She studied him for a moment and nodded.
“Okay. Come with me, I’ll take you to him.”
“Won’t we draw attention to ourselves?”
Ahsoka had already started to walk towards the Temple. She turned around at Korkie’s question and flashed him an almost mischievous smile.
“I doubt anyone will question us. When it comes to me, they tend to be a little scared to question what I’m doing and who I’m doing it with.”
Unsurprising.
Taking her words as comfort, Korkie caught up with her, and allowed her to lead him into the Temple. She was right, it seemed - they did pass a couple of Jedi, but they barely seemed to acknowledge or even notice Korkie at all. Some greeted Ahsoka, some passed by with no acknowledgment at all. The two walked for a good moment in silence, before Ahsoka finally broke it.
“I’m… sorry about Satine.” Korkie noticed she only used her name. She didn’t bother with the formality of ‘Duchess’, for which Korkie was grateful. Satine often felt that people only cared for her because of her title; Korkie took this as proof of the opposite. She also, he noticed, didn’t refer to her as Korkie’s ‘Aunt’. His surety that she knew only grew at that. “She was… an amazing ruler. And person. She didn’t deserve that.”
“No. She didn’t.” Korkie looked down at the ground. The Temple felt a little on the ordinary side now. The magic of it all was fading away, and he could only really bring himself to stare at the ground. “But thank you. It’s been… it’s been rough.”
“Mandalore has suffered, hasn’t it?” Korkie only nodded in response. “I wish we could help more. But that’s…”
“Complicated, I know.”
Another silence fell between the two. Ahsoka led him through a door, and down another corridor.
“I’d ask how you were but I’m sure you’re sick of answering that.” He felt Ahsoka’s eyes bore into him as she spoke. He just shrugged. Was that an answer to how he was, or a response to her general statement? He didn’t know, and didn’t expect her to either. “Well… how are things besides the obvious? How are your… parents?”
Korkie breathed out a small chuckle and looked up to her.
“Biological or adopted? Because I think you and I both know that you can answer one of those better than I.”
Silence once again as the two regarded each other. Ahsoka didn’t say anything. But she didn’t have to. Korkie returned to looking at the floor, resisting the urge to kick at it. “I wouldn’t know. I’m not in contact with them anymore.
“Oh?” Curiosity tinted Ahsoka’s voice. “How come?”
If it had been anyone else, Korkie would’ve thought this too forward. But she wasn’t just anyone, she was a friend, someone he trusted.
“They spoke ill of her.” He said eventually. His voice hitched on her . He cleared his throat. “Mu— Auntie Satine. They said awful things about her. They were supposed to be her friends .” He sniffed and took a deep inhale. “I couldn’t take it. Not after everything she’d done for them, for Mandalore, for me. ”
He hadn’t spoken of the people who raised him since he’d turned up at his Auntie Bo’s home. Thinking about them brought a feeling of rage and betrayal to him so intense it scared him. Again, he rested the urge to kick the floor.
“… I’m so sorry Korkie. That was unfair of them.”
“I had to leave.” He caught a stray tear that slipped out of his eye with his hand, hoping Ahsoka wasn’t looking over at him. “I’ve been staying with my Auntie Bo instead.”
“Wait - Auntie Bo?” Ahsoka stopped in her tracks. Korkie did the same, and turned to face her, confused. “As in, Bo-Katan? AS IN DEATH WATCH BO-KATAN?” Ah. Right. Korkie had forgotten about Ahsoka’s run-in with the group. “Your Aunt is Death Watch? And you’re staying with her? Is that even safe?”
“She… was Death Watch. She left, though. When she realised the plan was to…” he sighed. “She never wanted to see her sister dead. Only the old ways restored. She came to find me to break Satine out.”
He was cruel to his Aunt when Satine first died. He couldn’t bring himself to admit that to Ahsoka. But he was. He was cruel, and unkind, and all the things Satine never wanted him to be. He was angry, and he’d blamed her, because she was easy to blame. But she blamed herself more, and he knew that. And she gave him a place to stay, when she didn’t have to. She was nothing like he’d led himself to believe - she had a good heart, really, she was kind and once she knew you, loving. People said she was nothing like her sister, but Korkie disagreed. They weren’t the same. But he could definitely see Satine in her, in small ways, like in the way she would hug him, or how she’d comfort him after a nightmare, which he was having a lot of lately. He had nothing but admiration and a growing love for his Aunt now; he regretted the way he’d spoken to her in the early grips of grief.
“I see. And she’s good to you?”
“She’s given me a home and comfort when I wouldn’t have had either otherwise. I owe a lot to her.”
“Hm. I suppose people can change.”
That comfortable silence fell yet another time as they began to walk together again. Korkie was absolutely burning with a question, and maybe Ahsoka could pick up on it, because suddenly, she had the answer. “He’s… not been good.”
Like Korkie said, Ahsoka could answer the question of how his remaining biological parent was better than he could.
“He hasn’t?”
“I’ve never seen him like this. I’ve seen him upset at stuff, you know, when we lose someone in a fight or someone close to him gets hurt or something, but nothing like this. He hasn’t been out of his room in weeks. He isn’t even turning up to Council meetings in person. That’s a big deal. He’s always at Council meetings.”
Korkie frowned. It sounded just a little bit too much like what he’d watched Satine go through some months prior. Something about that stung.
“Oh.”
“It’s… unsettling.” Ahsoka sighed. “Honestly, I haven’t even heard him crack a joke in… I don’t know how long.”
“He jokes a lot?” That sounded more like the man he’d heard so much about growing up. It was a similarity he always thought they’d shared.
“All the time, usually. Not so much now. It’s hard to see. I think he’s just… really struggling with what happened.”
They come to a door, and Ahsoka pauses. “This is him.”
Korkie’s stomach flipped over. He was wrong earlier. This was the hardest part. What if Obi-Wan didn’t want to know him? Worse, what if he’d known all this time, and didn’t care? What if he took the news badly, and it put him in a worse state than Ahsoka had already outlined him to be in?
“I should warn you,” Ahsoka’s voice again pulled him out of his thoughts, “he hasn’t been answering the door. Not even to me or Anakin.”
A sudden confidence overtook Korkie. He straightened up, pushing his shoulders back, as he’d been taught to do so growing up. Sure, that was for important meetings or when greeting guests to the Palace. But he always found that the stance made him feel stronger than he was. And as always, it worked.
“Then I’m just going to knock until he has no choice but to answer.”
“Well, I certainly see the resemblance.” Ahsoka muttered under her breath. Korkie looked over his shoulder at her and smirked, before he stepped up to the door and knocked.
“Go away.” A voice came through the door. A thick, shaking voice that broke off into what Korkie thought was a sob. Again, he thought back to Satine, just months ago, saying that exact thing in that exact way when he’d knocked at her door. So, as he’d done with her, he knocked again. “ Please .” The voice was quieter and more desperate now. Korkie exchanged a glance with Ahsoka. Then he knocked again. No answer this time. So he knocked again. And again. And again. And—
The door flew open, and Korkie took a step back.
“Would you please lea—”
The voice that came through the door belonged to a face now. A face that Korkie couldn’t help but think reminded him of his own. The hair that was so similar to his natural hair, the eyes that, while red and puffy, seemed to match his perfectly. The man looked exhausted, though.
He didn’t continue his sentence. He just stood, one hand on his door, staring at Korkie as if he’d seen a ghost. And perhaps he had. Korkie cleared his throat.
“Hello.” He greeted the man. He could feel Ahsoka looking between the two of them like this was some intense sports game. “You’re Obi-Wan Kenobi, correct?”
The man frowned.
“Depends who’s asking.” His voice was still shaky, Korkie noticed, but he seemed to be trying his best to hide that. The boy straightened again and held out his hand.
“I’m Korkie Kryze.”
A flash of recognition sparked in the man’s eyes. He seemed to almost fall, just barely catching himself by clinging to the doorframe tighter. He blinked a few times.
“K— Korkie… what now ?”
No handshake, then. Korkie lowered his hand.
“Kryze. Of Mandalore.” As if that detail was necessary. Of course Obi-Wan knew where he was from. If his name wasn’t a dead giveaway, certain features of his certainly were. He brushed off the slight awkwardness of the moment, and thought it best to just jump right into things, avoiding further formalities. “Duchess Satine was my Au— no. My mother. She was my mother.”
Obi-Wan flinched a little at the mention of Satine’s name, and when his eyes met Korkie’s again he was clearly fighting back tears. He was at a loss for words, Korkie sensed. Maybe he needed a little push. “… And I… I believe you’re my—”
Obi-Wan hushed him, waving the arm he wasn’t using to support himself.
“Quiet. If you’re going to say what I think you’re about to say, at least come in. Do you have any idea how dangerous this could be?”
There was a directness to his tone that reminded Korkie more of the man he’d grown up hearing about than the broken shell in front of him now. He resisted the urge to smirk at having brought that side of him out.
“Yes, Sir. Of course.”
“Come in.” Obi-Wan stood aside, and Korkie stepped into the room. From the looks of things, the Jedi had only just gotten out of bed to answer the door. “Not you too Ahsoka—” Korkie turned back to the door as he heard Obi-Wan sigh, catching sight of Ahsoka also walking through the door. “ Fine . Everyone in, I guess. You know enough already.”
Ahsoka situated herself cross-legged on a countertop. Obi-Wan gestured to a set of chairs, offering Korkie a seat, and Korkie took it. “So… you’re Satine’s son?"
Korkie had never heard such softness as when this man spoke his mother’s name. His heart melted a little at it.
“Yes. And I believe - no, I know… that you’re my father.”
Obi-Wan - his father - stood still for a moment, as if taking in and considering the fact given to him. Korkie found himself holding his breath. This was the moment he’d been so afraid of.
“I…” Korkie felt his heart hammer in his chest as his father began to speak. “I need to sit down.” Almost immediately, the man practically collapsed into a seat across from Korkie. Not quite the reaction Korkie was expecting. But it wasn’t what he feared, either. He realised that his father was shaking, staring at his hands. Maybe this was too much. After what felt like an eternity, the Jedi finally spoke again. “Have you… always known?”
“No.” It was Korkie’s turn for his voice to shake. He reached into the bag he was holding, his fingers brushing over the letters inside. “I found a letter from Auntie… from… from Mum, after she… well, anyway, it explained everything. I had to come here at once.”
“You know, I really can see the resemblance.” Korkie had almost forgotten Ahsoka’s presence until she piped up with that.
“Not the time, Ahsoka.” Obi-Wan didn’t even look up to address her. Ahsoka grimaced.
“Sorry, Master.”
“You can read the letter, if you like.” Korkie offered. The letter to him from his mother was separate to the others he carried with him. It would be easy enough to pass to his father. “You don’t have to take my word for it.”
“No… it‘s okay. I believe you.” Obi-Wan’s tone had become softer. “Your mother’s words to you should only be to you. And I have to admit… there certainly is a resemblance. Not just to me.” He laughed a watery laugh. “And no one would be so foolish as to claim to be the illegitimate child of a Jedi if they truly weren’t one.”
“So… you believe me?”
For the first time since he’d revealed the truth, Korkie’s father’s eyes met his.
“I do.”
It was like the emotions were practically radiating from Obi-Wan. Korkie had always been good at reading others and their emotions, ever since he was little. It was how he always knew when his mother needed extra support. It was how he knew he could trust his Aunt. Now it was how he knew that his father was struggling . Not with the news exactly, but struggling all the same.
“Are you alright?” His own voice had softened too, he noticed. It was like the truth being out in the open had put them both at ease, solidified them as a family already.
“I… I suppose.” A lie, but Korkie thought he’d let it slide, given the circumstances. “It’s just… Satine— your mother—” Obi-Wan sighed again, and half looked in the general direction of Ahsoka. “Ahsoka, would you mind giving us a moment?”
“Uhh… sure.” Ahsoka jumped down from the countertop, and without hesitation headed out of the room. Obi-Wan waited until the door closed behind her to continue.
“Your mother… she meant a good deal to me. That’s an understatement, honestly. And she… still does.” That softness was back in his voice when he spoke of her again. Korkie’s heart melted further.
“You were with her when she died, weren’t you?” Korkie was careful, gentle in broaching this subject. He was sure it hurt his father as much as it did him. “Auntie Bo told me you were, at least.”
“I was with her.” The man’s voice was just above a whisper now. Laced with the grief Korkie was all too familiar with. “I… I held her.”
There was comfort in that confirmation, for Korkie at least. He couldn’t imagine it was too comforting for Obi-Wan, though.
“I’m so sorry. That must’ve… hurt.” His father only nodded. “But at least… at least she died comforted. Knowing she was loved.”
“Oh, she was so loved.”
“I know. She still is.”
Obi-Wan smiled sadly and nodded.
“She always will be.” His voice hitched, as if saying that pained him more than anything else so far. He looked away, bringing a hand to his mouth, clearly suppressing a sob. Korkie regarded him for a moment, and allowed him to have a moment, before speaking again.
“She talked about you, you know.”
That got his attention. He looked back to Korkie again.
“She did?”
“I mean, she never used your name. She was too smart for that. But she often talked about… I guess the way to phrase it would be, the man she loved. It could’ve only been you.”
“… Oh.”
“It was never direct or obvious. I used to spend so much time with her growing up. I preferred staying with her to staying with the people who were supposed to be raising me. So I spent a lot of time with her. In a way, I suppose she did raise me. But I used to have really bad nightmares, and I’d have trouble getting to sleep because of it. So she used to tell me stories to help me sleep. And they were always about her shining Jedi knight. She’d tell me stories of what they got up to back when they were able to be together, or stories of what she’d heard or imagined he might be up to now. She didn’t use your name, though. She always called him Ben.”
A sob did shake Obi-Wan’s shoulders hearing that. He composed himself to the best of his ability, though Korkie could tell it was taking every ounce of his energy not to break down completely.
“She always called me Ben. It was her nickname for me.” A fond smile crossed Obi-Wan’s lips. “She misheard my name when we were first introduced. Thought I was called Ben. The nickname just sort of… stuck.”
That was sweet , Korkie thought. His hand gripped onto the stack of letters in his bag. He must’ve looked thoughtful, because his father looked back to him with a raised eyebrow. “You look like you have more to say.”
“Yes. Well.” He pulled the stack of letters out, and looked down at them in his hands. “When I found Mum’s letter to me, I found these too. They’re all addressed to Ben, so I suppose that means they were meant for you. Did you want them?”
Obi-Wan froze in place across from him. Korkie chewed his lip. A nervous habit, one he got from his mother. “I’d understand if you didn’t. I can imagine this is hard. It’s probably a lot to process.”
It was a while before Obi-Wan spoke, but Korkie sensed it was a silence he should not fill. Eventually, his father’s attention turned to the letters in Korkie’s hand.
“Can I see them?”
Nodding, Korkie handed the stack over to his father. Obi-Wan studied them, running his fingers across them. “Oh, darling…” the specific softness Satine brought out in him was back. “You know, it’s strange.” He was addressing Korkie now. “I did the same thing.”
“Wait… what?”
“I wrote a lot of letters to her. When I wanted to talk to her about something, or had some news, or… just when I missed her.”
Korkie felt tears prick his eyes. The thought that both of his parents, all these years, had been writing to each other, but unable to send any correspondence at all, pained him.
“You did?” His voice betrayed the threat of sobs. He swallowed and blinked the tears back.
“Well, to Tina. That’s what I always called her.” Obi-Wan was as close to tears as Korkie was. That made him feel a little better for almost blubbering at his father’s confession. “My Tina.”
“That’s… that’s really cute.” Cute felt like it didn’t quite cover it. But on the other hand, it felt like the perfect word to describe the way he’d seen his father be about his mother so far. Obi-Wan smiled a little.
“I suppose it is.”
A quiet befell the two of them. But it wasn’t awkward or heavy. It just felt like what it was - a father and son, sitting together, both silently thinking of the woman they had in common. The woman they both loved , if differently to each other.
It was the father, eventually, who broke the silence, as a realisation hit him. “Wait. Does your Aunt even know you’re here? Or did you just take off without telling her?”
Later, Korkie would realise he never questioned how Obi-Wan knew he was staying with his Aunt. In the moment, though, the thought of doing so never even crossed his mind. Instead, he smirked a little.
“I… may have just taken off without telling her?”
“… And flew yourself over here?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Do you even have any training in that?”
“No, Sir.”
Obi-Wan sighed, leaned back in his chair, and then… laughed. Almost a real laugh. The sound took Korkie by surprise.
“Oh, you really are my son.”
Hearing those words - my son - made Korkie’s stomach flip. He’d hoped that his father would at least believe him. But being accepted, even referred to, as his son, was something he never allowed himself to imagine. After the initial shock wore off, he was laughing with his father, and it felt so easy .
“She’s going to send a whole fleet out looking for you once she realises you’re missing.” Obi-Wan was only half-joking, and Korkie knew it.
“Probably.” He chuckled.
“Does that worry you?”
“Not as much as it worries her.”
They laughed again. Korkie thought back to how Ahsoka said Obi-Wan hadn’t cracked a joke in weeks. And yet, here he was, at least attempting to joke with his son. He felt a flash of relief, and made a mental note to inform his friend of it.
“Well, you should probably get home to Mandalore before she realises you’re missing. I wouldn’t like to see that woman angry.”
Well, he was right about that. Angry Bo-Katan was possibly the only person who ever scared Korkie as much as his mother used to when she was angry. Which was rare, of course, but it certainly happened, and it was terrifying when it did.
“Yes, you’re probably right.” Korkie thought for a moment. Then he smirked. “But, you know… I really shouldn’t have flown all the way here by myself. Someone who knows what he’s doing should probably fly me back. You know, for safety.”
Obi-Wan looked at him and narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he was looking right through Korkie’s extremely cunning plot to spend more time with him. Korkie didn’t care, as long as the plan worked.
“What are you suggesting?” The almost playful accusation lacing Obi-Wan’s voice made Korkie’s smirk spread even more. He leant forward in his chair, and put on his most convincingly innocent pleading face.
“I might need a pilot.”