Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"So Sifo is in a sordid love affair with the current Mand'alor?," Jocasta glanced up over her folded hands. The steep angle with which she held her eyebrows said it all.

Yan slung one leg over the other. "Not exactly, no. He wishes he was."

The eyebrows hitched even higher.

At the same time, Sifo, who currently was trying to become one with Jocasta's couch, let out a downright miserable groan.

"And he has been moping about it for the last month ," Yan added, with a quick glance towards the other man.

"Oh, so that's what that was about," Jo murmured. Then, she looked up, "And you are telling me this, why exactly?"

Yan's lips split into a thin, but benevolent smile. The kind of smile he used when he was talking to politicians of the Republic Senate and lured them into making concessions they didn't want to make.

"Wouldn't this be a prime opportunity to better relations with Mandalore in official capacity as well?  What Sifo told me about Mand'alor Mereel lets me believe that the man is not only sensible, reliable and graced with great foresight, but also very open to look past our Order's and his peoples' past grievances."

"Yan," Jocasta set her hands down and stared at him with deep suspicion, "You sound like a matchmaker trying to sell me a particularly shapely husband right now. What do you want ?"

The tall Jedi sighed and leaned back. "Sifo got drunk and sent a message to the Haat Mando'ade government. Via the Council's official channels."

He watched her head snap over to the suddenly very still form of Sy. 

" What ," her voice was positively glacial, "Did you say , Sy?"

"Now, I haven't seen the message," Yan continued, unperturbed, "But I have been told that it might have looked roughly like something that a rejected Padawan sent their first crush. Typos and all." He laced his fingers together in his lap. "Now, as the Councillor currently responsible for Outward Communications, we simply wanted to warn you."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time, okay," Sifo mumbled into the polster.

Jocasta didn't even dignify that with as much as a glance. Everyone in the room knew that it was a flimsy excuse at most.

…

Half a galaxy away, far far outside the Core, where the influence of the Republic long had ended, two mando'ade stood in front of a comm terminal. And frowned.

"This has to be a really weird and incredibly stupid attempt at a phishing message, right?," Myles looked up from the screen.

Standing right next to him with crossed arms and fingers tapping away impatiently on his vambrace, Silas shook his head. "I triple-checked the frequency. That is the official channel of the jetii high council."

"Any chance they were sliced?"

Silas stood silent for a moment. "Probably," he said, eventually. "But that's the jetiise's problem." He turned and waved the younger mando'ad off. "Just delete it, we've got enough on our hands without having to care for their osik too."

" Lek ," Myles shrugged and deleted the message from the terminal.

Effectively (and unknowingly) foiling all of Sifo-Dyas' drunk plans.

…

Sifo-Dyas on his part eventually realized that his plans (no matter how stupid and spur-of-the-moment they had been) had been foiled by someone.

Yes, he still had had some misplaced hopes that his drunk message was going to be the thing that got him a piece of fine mand'alorly ass. Yes he might have written it like that in the message he had sent. No, he was sure that this would not at all affect the credibility of the entire Jedi Order.

At least he hoped so.

And so far there had been no response. At all.

It had been weeks .

Sifo felt like weeping.

(Was he getting unnecessarily hung-up on getting Jaster in his bed again? Maybe. But most of it was pure spite towards everyone who said that he should just move on. No, Sifo was not going to move one from this, please and thank you. He was going to get this Mand'alor. They would see.)

(No, he was not telling his mind-healer about this.)

Now, the traditional channels all had forsaken him.

But! There was still one - tried and provenl - method he could put his hopes in. And that was Sprintr. (He had , after all, left a glowing review for the site, expressing his deep gratitude to the developers for essentially making his continued survival possible.)

If it could save a life in general, it for sure could also save his love life.

Thus, Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas re-downloaded Sprintr on his new comm. Only that this time, he put in his profile, under 'preferences', a particular fondness for armour, as well as an admiration for men in powerful positions.

Both criterias that Jaster checked.

This simply had to work.

And it did, from a certain perspective.

The only problem was, that Jaster seemed to have forgotten to mention that there were others that claimed the title of Mand'alor too. Others, that, just looking at written criteria, could very easily be confused for him. Approximate age? Check. Species? Human, so a check. Affiliation? Mandalorian, check. Occupation? Mand'alor !

Sifo had been so sure the stranger he'd been chatting with was Jaster, that he had completely forgone any double-checking.

Turns out, that had been a mistake.

As had trying to surprise this 'Jaster'.

"You're not Jaster," Sifo said accusingly, mood dropping by the second.

" How dare you ," spat the unfamiliar Mandalorian in dark armor.

And then he did something very unwise. He attacked Sifo-Dyas.

Now, Sifo wasn't the best fighter in the Order, far from it. That title belonged to Yan, Jocasta or maybe also Master Utrila. Now that he was thinking about it, Knight Drallig could also be a contestant - the man was on the best path to becoming a Battlemaster after all. Well, point in case. Many people were better at fighting than Sy. But that didn't mean that he was a pushover.

Even without his saber.

(Another casualty to the crash. Yet maybe that had been for the best, Sy had felt that his resonance with the crystal had been dwindling anyways - although maybe he should go about recovering it at some point. Just leaving it on that moon probably wasn't the best show of gratitude for the years it had served him.)

But that was something he would have to go about after dealing with the unnecessarily irate Mamdalorian in front of him. A Mandalorian who had just drawn a sizable vibroblade on him.

A ha! That , Sy could do as well!

Yan wouldn't have let him leave the Temple without any means of self defense after all!

Sifo drew his own vibroblade.

"Hey!," he called out as he parried the other man's first blow, "This is a misunderstanding!"

The man responded with a string of snarled words that probably were insults. 

"I'm really sorry I mistook you for someone else," Sy tried again, ducking out of the way of a few more large swings, "It's an honest mistake! I didn't know there were multiple claimants to the title Mand'alor!"

"There aren't !," spittle flew out of the Mandalorians mouth. "What connections do you have with Mereel, aruetii!?"

Ah, Sy knew that last word. And thus he recognized the insult.

This wouldn't do. "What's your problem with Jaster?," he asked, almost colloquially. Compared to Yan, the man's hits were sluggishly slow, which made them easy to avoid. 

The other guy evidently did not take the perceived ease with which Sy countered his attacks well. Or maybe it was the mention of Jaster's name. Well, whatever the reason for it was, his murderous intent practically doubled and Sifo only had a quick warning flare in the Force to thank for not getting hit by a salve of small projectiles that exploded against the garden wall behind him.

Oops.

For a moment, Sifo dazedly looked at the falling debris and charred vegetation.

Then, he turned back. "Hey!" There was open accusation in his voice. "What the fuck was that, you lunatic?"

" Die , aruetii !"

It then dawned on Sifo that this Mandalorian was very much set on killing him over this misunderstanding. Or maybe because of Jaster, he did seem to have personal problems with him. Not something Sy would have cared for normally, everyone was entitled to some blood feuds - Jocasta had enough of them going on after all -, but he was still trying to get his Mand'alor into his bed. So this rando killing or trying to kill Jaster was simply out of the question. 

It seemed that, to protect the future of his sex life, Sifo would have to take this fight seriously.

With a deep sigh, he parried another blow (and then caught with his off-hand the additional dagger the Mando was trying to shank him with), before finally starting his counteroffensive. Adapting Niman to a vibroblade was a bit of a challenge, and using it offensively against an armoured opponent even more so. It was no wonder then, that Sifo did get some scrapes and bruises - his adversary was still Mandalorian after all. 

But Sifo had no desire to lose .

Metal scraped over metal as he twisted his blade and with an outraged cry, the other man was disarmed.

It followed an, admittedly Force-assisted, kick to his chest, and he tumbled back into a shrubbery that had taken some collateral damage from their fight.

Swinging the vibroblade loosely in his hand, Sifo stepped up to the glaring man. "Again," he started, "This was an honest mistake. And I do not particularely feel like killing you, so why don't we-"

" ALOR !" A new voice suddenly cried out, accompanied by the wooshing of an engaged jetpack.

Sifo's head snapped up towards the sound - just in time to see the danger end of a blaster trained on him. 

He stumbled back. A quick barrage of blasterfire hit the ground where he just had stood only moment before.

" Stop !," the first Mandalorian snarled, taking Sifo by surprise, "He is my opponent. Don't you dare interrupt our fight!"

Sifo could feel the misplaced pride, saturated with quite a bit of anger and the desire for revenge, rolling of the man. He seemed awfully set on continuing something Sifo had considered done.

The second Mandalorian seemed equally taken aback.

"Mand'alor-," they started, but the first one sprung up and socked them right in the side , where a bit of a gap between the armour plates was. Eyes wide, Sifo watched the second Mandalorian hunch over, undoubtedly because of the sudden hit.

The man that Sy was definitely not considering a date anymore, grabbed them by the throat and hissed, "You dare defy your Mand'alor ?"

"I have committed a crime worthy of death," the other wheezed out, sinking to their knees. "I will accept your punishment, Mand'alor."

"That's what I thought." He tossed their head back and then turned to face Sifo again.

His face was a bloodshot mask of pure rage.

Sifo meanwhile had settled into an eerie calm.

Jaster had mentioned something. A mandalorian extremist group - terrorists that cared neither for their own nor for other's lives. Led by a lunatic who wanted nothing more than to bring forth an age of bloody war for their people. (What Jaster hadn't mentioned was the fact that said lunatic claimed the same title as him. Really, the man just wanted misunderstandings like this to happen, didn't he?) 

A Jedi's mission was to further peace and understanding in the galaxy.

And something told him that there was very little understanding to be had with this guy.

Reaching into the Force to sharpen his senses, Sifo settled in a Niman battle stance - only this time he meant it. No more games. 

The lunatic in front of him let out a manic laugh and then fletched his teeth. "I will enjoy destroying you," he spat (completely ignoring that even before Sy was taking this fight earnestly, he hadn't stood much of a chance?. "Warmed Mereel's bed, have you? Let's see that hutuun 's face when I present him with your flayed skin." 

Sifo felt the need to sigh. What was it with these guys and their need to make absolutely uninspired threats?

"I'll have you know," Sy said, feeling snippy, "That I actually haven't . At least not in the way you think." With an almost wistful tone, he added, "I wish though. I wish…"

As he was standing there, getting slightly distracted by the vague memory of Jaster's soft little kisses against his hair, the man janked something out from behind his back.

Wait.

Was that a-

Absolutely flabbergasted, Sifo watched this madman ignite a karking lightsaber . 

Or at least he thought it had to be one. It sure looked different though.

"Where did you get that?," he whispered, unable to tear away his gaze from the weapon. It didn't feel dark - the crystal didn't scream like a bled one would - but it sure as hell didn't seem happy either. The Force warped weirdly around it, in a constant flux between light and dark and all the shades of gray.

He should have anticipated that this mandalorian wouldn't be gracing him with an answer.

The next few moments passed Sy like a trance.

Probably because he fell into one.

All he could think about was that this saber could not be allowed to remain in this man's hands, no matter the price. The taste of blood filled his mouth and his nose and he felt himself almost - almost - tipping over into another vision, Force whipping around them angrily.

And then it was over.

Blinking, Sifo stood.

His gaze fell down.

The Mandalorian's motionless form lay beneath him, his head a few meters off. The still humming blade in Sy's hand sent thrums up his arm, the resonance of a kyber, an incredibly strong one, filling his ears, his heart, his head.

" Oh ," he said softly.

His brain felt like fog. Numbly, he raised his hand, staring at the humming weapon. It felt… pleased.

Sated?

No. It didn't desire blood like some Sith weapons did.

All Sifo felt was a quiet settling of the saber's resonance against his presence, two rhythms falling into a steady resonance.

" Oh ," he said again.

Then. "This is weird."

He shook himself out of his stupor, dreary exhaustion immediately clinging to his bones. He had been way too close to a vision just now, this didn't bode well.

Taking a deep breath, he disengaged the saber's blade and took a step away from the fresh corpse (kriff, he hadn't even felt the loss of life, just how far gone had he been? ). 

There was a rustle behind him.

Right, the second Mandalorian! He whipped around, only to find them still kneeling. 

Though now they had pulled their helmet off, baring a painfully young face and giant blue eyes that were staring at him with a mixture of fear and awe. The fear was a lot stronger though. Suddenly realizing that they were meeting his gaze head on, they flinched violently and immediately lowered their head, a few ratty strands of blonde hair halfway flattened by the helmet falling over it.

"You d-"

"Mand'alor!," they proclaimed loudly. 

Sifo couldn't help but notice the tremors in ther shoulders.

Then, he frowned. And looked around. Mand'alor? But there was no one else around, apart from the aforementioned corpse of the previous claimant to this title. And his head, should one choose to count them separately (Sifo knew there were cultures that did that).

He turned back to the young Mandalorian, many questions on the back of his throat.

They all died down though as he saw that they were back at staring at him, almost expectantly.

"Mand'alor," they said again, with much more conviction this time around.

Sifo blinked. Then he pointed to himself. "Who? Me ?"

" Elek ." The gaze was lowered again.

The soft thrum from the saber hilt in his hand seemed much louder all of the sudden. And its rhythm resembled a rumbling laugh with eery accuracy. 

…

Reva Saxon stared at the man who had killed Tor. Killed him with nothing more than a standard vibroblade - not even a particularly well maintained one.

She had seen others fight against him. Spars or challenges, even as much as getting a hit in when he'd wielded the Dha'kad had been difficult. 

And now they were telling her that this beanstalk of a man with long, soft hair and a stupidly gentle smile had killed Tor within seconds ?

Unbelievable. 

She could not believe it.

And others were saying the same. Tor had ruled with a beskar hand and a bloody knife, those who dared to challenge him steadily grown less - mostly because he killed them all. But now she could feel those with desires for power stir again, greed shone from their eyes and they all were trained on the frail human who was standing obliviously in a den of hungry loth wolves. Reva would lie if she said that she herself did not also have those thoughts.

The Vhett whelp, Tor's personal pet project, was the only one standing next to their new 'Mand'alor'. 

Well, Reva guessed she had to, being the one to have witnessed the duel between Tor and this stranger herself.

"He's an aruetii !," someone called out, feeling particularely brave, "He has no right to wield the Dha'kad !"

The Vhett whelp flinched and Reva looked who it had been. To her surprise, one of her own cousins stepped forward - Roy had always had more brawn than brain though, so it was well within his character.

"I'm told it was a fair challenge," the aruetii said, voice deceptively soft and yet it carried over the general clamor easily.

"Ha!," Roy, that idiot, spat. "Fair challenge my ass. You definitely cheated, aruetii ."

"Now, now," the stranger smiled - actually smiled - and it sent a shiver down Reva's back, "There is no need to be crude. By the laws of your people I won the weapon, and the title I guess, fair and square. Do you take issue with that?"

Reva's eyes widened and even the Vhett whelp seemed to be surprised by the ease with which the aruetii welcomed another challenge. 

Any Roy? Roy had licked blood. "You better have the skill to back those words up, Mand'alor ," he declared and drew his beskad . "Because I, Roy Saxon, Clan Saxon, House Vizsla hereby challenge you for the title of Mand'alor and the right to wield the Dha'kad ."

Weirdly enough, a genuine smile appeared on the aruetii's face.

"Then I shall accept," he declared with a karking bow .

The man's gaunt face turned around, scanning the crowd and the large entrance hall they had bassembled in. He seemed to think.

"Do you… wish to duel here?," he asked, eliciting quite a few surprised murmurs from the onlookers. A brief moment of genuine insecurity flitted over him seemingly. "I'm still quite new to this, so I am not sure if the collateral damage is accounted for in such duels or if there normally is a specific venue one would head for."

In Reva's head the gears turned. And she was by far not the only one.

This man had been injured in whatever fight he and Tor had had, that much was visible. No one knew the extent of his injuries, but they all had expected him to stall for time anyways - maybe claiming time needed for recovery, but maybe also simply demanding to have the customary preparation time for such a duel. Ka'ra knew, Tor always had made a big spectacle out of 'training' for such occasions.

Well, usually. 

There had been times where he'd been too irate by the challenge to wait, but no one would have expected the aruetii to pull a similar move.

Especially since he seemed both weak and unnaturally calm.

(Maybe he was on drugs? That seemed to be the only explanation for his behavior.)

Roy on the other hand, blessed be his simple brain, did not clock any of those red flags and proudly declared that all he needed was the ground to stand on and a weapon to fight.

The stranger nodded and drew his vibroblade.

Thus, the challenge stood.

And for the next minute-and-a-half or so, Reva watched her cousin be thoroughly trashed by a man more than a head shorter than him, with no armour and the apparent muscle mass of a newborn eopie.

She shouldn't be calling it eye-opening, but that was what it had been.

Their new Mand'alor then proceeded to wipe the floor with two more challengers after that - barely any pause between them and only ever utilizing his vibroblade whilst accepting his opponents using everything they had at their disposal.

Of course he didn't stay unharmed during it.

Ars Wren, the second challenger, had pulled a blaster on him and gotten a clean shot to the man's thigh, yet that seemed to only minutely hinder the stranger's ability to strike her down.

Reva's drug theory gained ground by the second.

Null Riast, the third to brave the challenge, tried to use the objectively bad looking wound to her advantage - with moderate success. The woman got a solid few hits more in than anyone before her, including, but not limited to, a fist to the stranger's face that split his upper lip.

Yet in the end she too was defeated as the man dipped under her and, in a blur, grabbed her weapon arm, twisted it and threw her over his shoulder. Going by the dry crack and the scream of pain that followed, he had broken Riast's arm.

That was the moment Reva decided it had been enough.

Before anyone could do something, she stepped forward (and for the first time, she saw something akin to wariness in the new Mand'alor's eyes - so the wounds were catching up to him and he knew it, interesting) and shot a few bolts up into the ceiling. 

With a raised voice, she declared, "I think we have all seen enough of the Mand'alor's fighting prowess for the day. I, Reva Saxon, Alor be Saxon acknowledge his skill and the validity of his claim." She made a point to salute sharply to the man. " Oya , Mand'alor!"

" Oya, Mand'alor! ," voices all around her echoed.

Notedly, not all, but surprisingly many. It made her grin, simple minds, the whole lot of them.

She pivoted on her heel and pocketed her blaster. "Anyone still desiring a challenge can come back tomorrow!"

Because there was no way they'd just give up after only this much. It would give them pause, sure, but stop them?

A true mando'ad never stopped.

Now they would simply have to see if this new Mand'alor of theirs could keep up.

…

Sifo regarded this new Mandalorian in front of him with a healthy dose of suspicion. 

The Force had seemed ambivalent about her and Arla immediately had submitted to her (the poor girl was more than traumatized, all thanks to that asshole he'd killed a few days ago).

Reva Saxon, as she had introduced herself, was a woman that very much embodied what he'd learned about Mandalorians in the Temple. Ruthless, efficient, loyal and more than capable of killing someone within seconds.

Too bad for her that Sifo shared those criteria with her.

Well, most of them.

She was high-ranking, that much he had clocked as well. She'd mentioned something that had sounded like a title when she'd addressed the rest of the assembled terrorists, but Sy had been too preoccupied by keeping his leg from failing, that he hadn't remembered. He'd just ask Arla afterwards.

"Mand'alor," Reva said, her voice sporting a bit of a harsh accent. Just a touch though.

(If he weren't trying to keep himself from keeling over from pain, he'd probably find it very attractive.)

"I'd recommend spending the night in a bacta tank." Her steely eyes flitted to his bad leg.

Sifo bit out a smile - it probably looked less effortless than he would have wished though. "What are the chances that someone will spike the bacta while I'm in it?," he countered.

Just because he acted naive most of the time that didn't mean he actually was .

Behind him, Arla bristled.

Surprisingly, this Reva woman simply laughed, a raspy, short thing. "After this fight? Less than you'd think." She shook her head. "You proved to be a kriffing strong opponent and killing you in anything but  an open fight would not be honorable. Pretty sure everyone who'd try for a challenge has enough of an ego to not want be labeled a hutuun ."

Well, that was reassuring.

"But if you want make sure," she continued, "Why not have someone guard you?"

Sifo's eyebrow climbed. "And who would do that?"

She shrugged. "I'm sure you'd find someone."

"Is this you offering?," he couldn't resist to quip back, holding her gaze.

" Please ," she leaned forward as well, mockery easy on her face, "My bedside manner is atrocious . You'd be better off without someone in that case."

Was that a veiled threat? A hint that she would try to do something?

(Well, whatever it was, it was kriffing attractive.)

He could formally feel Yan's disappointed stare. But hey, if he was becoming the leader of a de-facto terrorist group by accident, he was allowed to have some fun with it.

"I'm sure we can could find you something to do," he teased back. Me, for example , he thought to himself.

She must have caught his drift, because she hacked out another laugh. "Oh sweetie," she showed a row of pointier-than-normal teeth, "You're not equipped to handle me."

Ignoring the little noise of offense from Arla, Sifo chuckled. "I can assure you, good lady, I am more than capable." Usually. He didn't have any conclusive data on how he'd do in a Mandalorian's bed (which was a certain someone's fault), so maybe that would be where Sifo-Dyas' win streak ended. But something told him that shouldn't be the case. "Alas, your loss," he flicked his hair back in playful theatrics, "I have my eyes set on greener pastures anyways."

She snorted, and something in her presence shifted. 

Finally.

She looked back up at him and nodded first to Sifo and then towards Arla (who seemed genuinely surprised by it). "I shall organize something with the baar'ur'e , Mand'alor, verd'ika." She thumped her hand against her chestpiece. "Let me accompany you to your quarters."

"After you, then," Sy made a sweeping gesture.

…

Not everyone took the news of his takeover of Deathwatch - or Kyr'tsad as they called themselves - as well as Alor Saxon. In the late afternoon, after Sy had gotten himself patched up as good as possible and dosed with enough painkillers to tranq a bantha, she cheerily informed him that already three outposts had rebelled against him and that they had lost all contact with them.

Sy could feel the headache forming already. Even through the drugs.

"How dare they," Arla hissed, "How dare they rebel against their Mand'alor?!"

He shot the teen a complicated glance. Sure, he was happy that she accepted him so wholeheartedly, but it did not seem to stem from a healthy place. And Sifo should know, he'd done many things that left his mind healer reaching for their off-brand corellian whiskey.

Speaking of which, did they have mind healers here? Somehow he doubted it.

And yet it seemed like just the thing needed for many of the people here. They were loud in the Force, and what they projected out let Sifo shudder. There was a reason why cult infiltration usually was Shadow stuff - it took quite a bit of a toll, being surrounded by so many twisted minds.

Hmm, yep. His own mind healer was going to have a field day with him when he got back.

"How likely is it that they will come here, guns blazing?," Sifo asked tiredly.

Reva smiled. "Very. But rest assured, the closest one is a full three-day journey away, if they use the common hyperlanes. Longer if they don't." He could feel her eyes boring into him.

She was waiting for him to make a decision.

Ugh.

Jocasta was the decision making guy in his friend group. Not him. Sifo wasn't designed for that.

(Too many options, too many possibilities for things to go wrong, to go right, to go off the road.)

As if on instinct, his hand found the hilt of the saber. They had called it the Darksaber.

The same Darksaber Sifo had heard about in history class? He hoped not. Because surely that would only bring complications.

The laughter-like thrum was back.

Grimacing, he dragged his attention away from the blade. "If you can muster enough people that you're reasonably sure won't also defect," he decided, "Have them patrol the lanes. If not, have them on standby around the planet and behind the moon."

They were on an outpost themselves here, a jungle world just at the cusp of mandalorian space - uninhabited save for Sifo's merry band of terrorists apparently.

He could feel quiet approval from Reva and a more aggressive one from Arla.

"It will be done, Mand'alor," the woman saluted again and was about to turn and leave him be to prepare for his stay in a bacta tube, when she hesitated. Sy could feel she had remembered something just now and that she was not sure she should tell him.

Not that he was going to give her the option.

"What is on your mind?," he asked, smile easy, but eyes trained on her every move.

She took a breath, then turned her face halfways to him. Weirdly enough, her eyes then wandered over to Arla, as she contemplated.

"You aren't mando'ad ," she eventually said, a statement, a fact. "You know nothing of our culture. Or you shouldn't . Yet from how you acted so far, I assume that you have some knowledge on what it means to be one of us, am I right?"

If one counted the things Jaster had told him about during their cuddle sessions, sure.

Meanwhile, Arla seemed to have taken issue with the tone of the older Mandalorian. There was a spike of dislike, and then Sy heard the tell-tale sound of a blaster safety being disengaged.

"You disrespect -"

" Arla ," Sifo stopped her before the girl could do something stupid. He looked at her gently, reaching out ever so slightly to smooth over the instinctive spike of panic that followed. Evidently, she thought he was going to punish her for her insubordination. "Peace, child," she still was so delicate, "Take your weapons down, Alor Saxon is not our enemy. She has done or said nothing that necessitates me threatening her."

" But… ," and now there were tears brimming in her eyes. The hand around her blaster tightened, until her knuckles contrasted bright against her tan skin.

With a deep sigh, Sifo pushed himself off the corner of the sickbed he'd been sitting on. Ignoring the stab of discomfort that lanced up his left leg, he stepped up to the now hyperventilating child. Her pupils were blown wide and she shivered all over.

"This is why I hate having to make decisions," he murmured to himself, before looking back at the expressionlessly observing Alor Saxon on the other end of the bed. 

"Indeed. I am not Mandalorian - mando'ad . You are also correct in that someone taught me about you, about what a Mandalorian could be." He paused. "Apart from a hereditary enemy."

Taking a gamble, Sy turned back to face Arla and then reached out, gently waving his hand in front of her wide-blown eyes. "Sleep," he said, voice laced with a strong, but unintrusive Force-suggestion.

Her form sagged like a pupped whose strings had been cut and he caught her in one arm. Pulling back the cover of his bed with the other, he laid the girl down, careful to not get her hair caught under her.

As he eighted himself back up again, he looked back over to Reva.

She still was observing him like a shriek-hawk, only now her hand lay ready over her blaster. There was tension in her frame.

Sifo chuckled a bit. "I take it that you would like an explanation?"

"You presume I would let you talk , jetii ."

He shrugged and pulled a chair over with a wave of his hand. (Yes, he was posturing a bit, but who wouldn't.) "The fact that you haven't shot me yet speaks for itself, my dear." He leaned back, taking the weight off his injured leg. "Plus, I know yours is a curious people."

At least if you took Jaster as the gold standard.

Which, maybe one shouldn't.

Eh, who cared.

"You put a lot of faith in second-rate intelligence and my personal ability to stay my hand." Her tone was frosty. "What did you do to her?"

Sifo looked over at the gently breathing form of Arla. "A sleeping suggestion," he explained readily, "It's no different from a hypo or another sleeping aid. It is no bigger of an intrusion on her mind than the brainwashing you people put her through."

"I would never ," Reva shot out with sudden vitriol, before blinking as if surprised at her outburst.

"No, I guess you wouldn't," Sifo said with sad indifference, "You didn't have to. Others were already doing it." Rarely was it that people high up in the ranks dirtied their hands directly after all.

"I don't hurt children!"

"And yet," Sifo pulled out the saber that immediately started humming contentedly at the touch, "Neither did you stop those who did. Looking the other way is so easy , isn't it?"

He could hear her teeth grinding. "I have a Clan to look out for," she defended herself, "I had to protect our children first."

"Then why stay with Kyr'tsad ?" Sifo genuinely wanted to know, to understand her reasoning. Because it didn't make sense .

"It is not Kyr'tsad that is important, jetii ," she nodded to the hilt, "It is the sword. Whoever carries it is the Mand'alor, and Vizsla was strong . He defended his right time and time again."

"And yet the weapon didn't want him," Sy said sardonically, "What an irony."

Genuine surprise rolled out from Reva. "What?"

Sy tossed her the hilt, which she scrambled to catch but then immediately looked supremely uncomfortable with holding.

"Lightsabers," he explained, "are, to a degree, sentient. Especially those that are as old as this one." Jo and Yan would be so jealous. "They are powered by special crystals, usually kyber. No two are the same, and neither will they work for everyone to the same degree. Lightsabers can have opinions on their wielder." He thought back to the memorable moment where Yan had tried to use Vokara Che's saber once. He still had a small scar from the starks it had produced while short-circuiting. "It's the same with this one. I know not nearly enough about it, but it was Master Tarre Vizsla's, yes?"

He didn't wait for a response, it didn't seem like one was coming anyways. "Good man, great Jedi. I've worked with one of his holocrons once, he'll be happy to hear the saber has been found again." He mused. "What he won't be so happy about is his descendant - I assume Tor was - being a terrorist and using his weapon and power to hurt children."

"You have… spoken to Mand'alor Vizsla?," Reva's voice suddenly was very quiet.

Ah, how to explain the concept of an advanced holocron to someone who knew nothing. "Not him, no. But a… recording of his spirit, so to speak? It carries its own sort of sentience." He waved it off. "But that isn't important now."

He folded his hands. "You say the saber is what's important. Very well, I carry it now. A Jedi carries the weapon you claim makes or breaks the loyalty you hold - a loyalty that made you forgo one of the most important duties a Mandalorian has: to protect children." Jaster had been very clear on that. Children over everything. Children were the future.

And Sifo agreed, Younglings were precious.

"So, what will you do?"

He could feel her tense even more, but at the same time, her mind was racing. There was anger, confusion, denial - yet what stood out most prominently was the guilt. She positively reeked of it.

Not that he was going to comment on it.

A few more, tense moments passed.

Then, she took a deep breath and righted herself. In a few, clipped steps, Reva stood before him. Her eyes flitted over to Arla once again, and then she met Sifo's gaze head on.

"Take your weapon," she said, " Mand'alor ."

Not breaking eye contact, Sy took the Darksaber from her open hand. "Thank you, Alor Saxon."

Jaw squared, she saluted.

"What you were before doesn't matter," she declared (and sounded only a little forced), "The Dha'kad has chosen you and you have proven worthy of it. And… you seem to be a better man than many of the alternatives. Even if you are a jetii ."

Sy felt the urge to roll his eyes. "Comon, you did so well in the first part," he grumbled.

She ignored him. "You have Clan Saxon's loyalty, Mand'alor. I swear."

He gave her a final once-over. She seemed earnest enough. "I accept," he nodded.

" Vor'e ," she murmured and saluted again.

Then, she seemed to remember something. "You cherish children?"

That took Sifo a bit by surprise. "Of course," he answered honestly, "I know what the rumors say, but most Jedi put a great amount of care and importance on the safety and wellbeing of younglings."

"There is a child," Reva said and there was a great deal of raw pain in her eyes, "That Tor took."

Dread settled in Sifo's stomach.

"That he took ?"

She nodded and there was a degree of helplessness to her that he hadn't thought possible for the sharp Mandalorian. "As his successor. He was his sister's. She… she tried to run, when she found out she was pregnant. Tor caught her." Her voice turned bitter. "He let her live long enough to give birth."

" Force ," Sifo suddenly was doubly glad he had rid the galaxy of such a stain.

" No on e was comfortable with that," she assured him, "But it was a Clan issue, and as such there was nothing we could do. There were challenges, but…"

Yes, Sifo could guess the outcome of those. 

"No one knows where he was keeping him. Well, except maybe for…" She nodded towards Arla. 

He frowned. "Why Arla?"

"She… was his other project," Reva admitted, "A weapon specifically designed to hurt Mereel."

"Jaster?," Sifo's full attention was on her, "What has she to do with Jaster?"

If Reva wondered why he was on first-name basis with the other claimant to the Mand'alor title, she didn't show it. "She's the pendant to the boy Mereeel adopted. The sister to his heir. He was planning to make her into a mindless assassin and have her kill her brother."

Sifo cursed .

"He always kept her close, but never quite managed to break her."

Judging from Reva's tone, that wasn't as much of a happy thing as it sounded at first.

"So you think she might have seen where he brought the kid?," Sifo concluded.

Reva nodded. "It is our best bet." Then, a little quieter, she added, "I hope she knows, otherwise there is no guarantee that the boy survives."

"I will ask her, once she has slept and calmed down," Sifo said. He'd have to tread carefully though, whatever hole Tor Vizsla had kept his stolen heir at probably was not a place of fond memories for Arla. "And if she doesn't know…," he twirled the hilt of the Darksaber in his hand, "There are… other ways. Less direct ones, but ways."

The Mandalorian's eyes narrowed a tic. "Are you saying your… jetii space magic can lead you to a lost child?"

"I am saying ," Sy corrected her, "That there are more ways than one and that the Force can show them to those who know how to listen."

Not that that seemed to convince her, but Sifo would say that she simply would have to deal with it. After all, he was her Mand'alor now and she'd sworn fealty to him, so really, what grounds had she to criticize him?

(Maybe he should hold this over the rest of the High Council. Those stuck-up asscracks thought themselves oh so high and mighty, but which one of them could lay claim to rulership over their hereditary enemies? Not one , that was all Sifo, baby.)

(Ugh, probably another thing he'd have to tell his mind healer about. He should start a list.)

"Anyways," he clipped the Darksaber back to his belt, "That will have to happen tomorrow. Because this Mand'alor," and he, with a groan like an old man, stood up from his chair, "Is gonna take a skinny dip in some kriffing bacta now."

"Ah, of course," Reva said hastily, as she suddenly seemed to realize that he too was wounded right now. "I will… lead the way."

"Don't bother," he waved her off, "I'm confident I can find the way alone, I was told it isn't far off, after all." Which was true, the baar'ur that had patched him up before had given him the directions. He nodded at Reva. "I'd much rather have you keep an eye on Arla. Keep her safe. You're probably not the only one to suspect she knows where Vizsla's heir is - and others might not be as well-intentioned as us."

She grimaced a little at that, but nodded. " Elek , Mand'alor. I wish you a speedy recovery."

"Thanks," Sy said, with a small smile, "And thank you for not straight out shooting me. That would have made things awkward."

She regarded him with a blank expression. "You're not a jetii anymore, I have no reason to shoot you. You're the Mand'alor."

For a moment, he felt the need to correct her. One didn't just stop being a Jedi.

But something told him that that might actually be counterproductive to his continued survival, so he let it be.

"Whatever," He waved over his shoulder as he turned, "I'll be off now. Don't kill anyone who doesn't deserve it while I'm out."

Ge could hear the low thump of another salute.

Yeah, explaining all of this to the High Council would be interesting .

But that was a problem for future Sifo.

Chapter Text

Yan stared at the letter.

It could have come from anyone. 

And yet.

And yet.

[Slight change of plans. Might be away longer than expected. Don't worry tho :)]

[PS. Found some stolen stuff while I was at it. Have fun!]

Yeah, that was Sifo's handwriting alright.

He looked up sharply at the more than skittish human who had been the one to deliver this piece of news. As well as the several large crates that had accompanied them and were currently being stacked into a corner of the hangars by a few helpful hands from the Ace Corps. 

“Who sent you?,” Yan asked.

The man - probably a pirate by the looks of it. Stars, he really hoped Sy had not sent a karking pirate to the Temple as an errand boy - did a weird little wiggle. His presence in the Force all but screamed his discomfort. “I’m-,” he did not meet Yan’s eyes, “I’m not a- allowed to say that.”

The Jedi’s eyes narrowed.

"Oh, really ?" He moved a bit closer to loom over the probably-pirate. “Then where did you come from?”

There was a small noise, something between a weep and a hiccup. “I- I’m not allowed to say that either, I-”

“Then what’s in the crates?,” Jocasta interrupted brusquely, even though Yan could already guess where this was going.

“I’m really sorry, but I’m also not allowed to say that I really know nothing please believe me all I was told to do was to deliver the wares and the message safely-” , the rest of the man’s hysterical ramblings dissolved into further sobs.

Stars , just what had Sifo done to this man?

Before Yan could finish his deep sigh and move to calm him, a small shadow jumped down from the tower of crates.

It was the young weequay who had accompanied the man (for reasons that went above Yan’s head). Or, well, judging from the two’s personalities, it might also have been the other way around.

(The kid reminded Yan way too much of Rael in his younger years. Which was, even though he loved his first Padawan dearly, not at all a credit to the weequay’s character.)

“Don’t worry about him,” the kid - barely more than a teenager really - proclaimed and strutted towards Yan as if he owned the place, “That one’s still trying to get over your long haired friend, I hope he’s your friend, and his armored lady friend being all menacing and hijacking his ship, you know.” He made a dismissive little wave at the guy, who violently flinched.

Yan’s steely gaze wandered towards the youth. “A long-haired man and an armored woman? Where did you meet them?”

The teen grimaced. “Ah,” he said, “You see, that I couldn’t tell you, even if I really wanted. Because, you see, at the time of the hijacking - that by the way was executed by a lot more armored people, would you believe that - I was locked away in the cargo bay with the other slaves.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, Yan deeply, deeply regretted not preventing any of the many successive events that had led to this very interaction.

“ Slaves ?,” he asked pointedly, after having collected himself sufficiently, “You were a slave ?”

Yet this baffling young man simply waved him off. “Sure, wasn’t the first time. Was the first time I got rescued by a bunch of Mandos though, that was interesting.” He tapped his chin, as if in thought. “Curious people, really. Their leader especially.” For some reason Yan’s heart sank at those words. The Force seemed ripe with anticipation - which never was a good sign. “I wasn’t aware that the Jedi and the Mandos got along again,” the teen continued, blissfully unaware of the dread his words elicited, “Fun things!”

“They don’t,” Yan said tonelessly.

“What?”

“The Order and the Mandalorians. We do not get along.”

Not unless one counted Sifo’s personal achievements. But the letter had implied that he hadn’t yet reached his goal (the Mand’alor’s bed), so that wasn’t an option.

Which made the words that followed even worse.

“Oh really?” The young weequay blinked. “So their boss man lied?”

Did Yan even want to know?

(The Force indicated that yes, he did. Much to his chagrin.)

“I fear to ask, but what ‘boss guy’?”

The small head tilted to the side, eyeing him up and down as if to gauge wether Yan was fucking with the kid or not. “Their boss guy,” he replied, “Your friend. Or said he was. Standard size for a human, tan, a bit on the gaunt side. Has one of those nice smiles that make you forget you’re talking to someone dangerous until they have their knife in your guts?”

Dread pooled at the bottom of Yan’s stomach. 

“Did… did he perchance mention his name?”

“Hmm,” said the teen, pursing his lips theatrically, “I think he did. Ky? Cy?-”

“Sy?,” Yan asked, voice laced with pain.

He already knew the answer before it came.

“Sy! Yes,” the weequay clapped into his hands, “That’s it! So he is your friend!”

Yand grimaced. “Regrettably, yes.”

How the kark had Sifo become the ‘boss guy’ of several Mandalorians? And why had that been part of that mysterious change of plans of his?!

…

As he stepped into the room, he held the scraggly little kid aloft. “Found him!,” he declared, immediately prompting the several mando’ade that had been sitting around a tactical map of their controlled hyperlanes to jump.

Luckily none of them shot at him (and the kid) - a vast improvement to how they had reacted only just a week ago to his little surprise entrances.

“Mand’alor!,” Reva called out and stood to attention. The others followed her example, saluting. That was something Sifo hadn’t yet managed to uninstall from their collectively brainwashed minds, but he was working on it. It was a process, but a rewarding one. He hadn’t had such a vibrant social life since his early Crèche days! If Yan could see him now, he would have been so proud.

Probably.

Anyways, Sifo moved little Pre back into a proper child-carrying-position. 

“Hello Reva, hello Roy,” he smiled and nodded at the round, “Hello other people whom I don’t yet know but am pleased to make the acquaintance of. I come bearing good news and a previously missing Vizsla heir.” 

Said heir made an unhappy little noise and burrowed his face in Sifo’s chest as the combined attention of seven kyr’tsadiise immediately turned towards him. Such a sweet boy, Sy almost couldn’t believe that the first thing he’d done when he had found the kid had been trying to stab him with the sharpened end of a spoon. (Which was, so he had been informed by Arla, a very mandokarla thing to do and had immediately and definitely made the girl a big fan of the kid. Now, Sifo was pretty sure she was projecting on him, seeing as she had lost her brother, but once again, just because he had been at the mind healers’ almost weekly didn’t mean that he was one.)

“You found him.” Reva’s voice cut through the heavy silence that had descended upon the room. Slowly her eyes wandered from the gaunt form of the kid back up to Sy’s face. “By the Stars, you truly found him.”

There was no need for the Force for Sy to know that her relief was genuine.

“What,” he shifted Pre’s weight from one arm onto the other, “Did you doubt my abilities?” 

The mando’ade in the room tensed, but he only laughed a little and then reached into a pocket. “Relax, I’m not going to eat you. Here,” he expertly flicked Reva a small, folded piece of flimsi, “That’s the coordinates and a rough schematic of the holdout. I want you to put together a team to properly clean it up and sort through all the stuff Tol holed up there - I’m pretty sure there's some beskar’gam’e there that should go back to their Clans.”

The woman immediately straightened, a quiick expression of deep seated distaste flitting over her face. “ Elek , Mand’alor. It will be done.” There was a brief hesitation as she unfolded the flimsi and read it through. “If we find beskar’gam’e of a Clan that is not kyr’tsad… ”

Sy looked at her sternly. “Even then I will expect you to find a way to get it back to its rightful owners.”

She saluted.

Gratified, Sy looked around and then stepped closer to the table, scanning over what they had looked at before he’d crashed their little tactical meeting. He pointed at one of the red dots. “Oh, you can change that to our colors, Krownest and I found an accord.”

One of the him unfamiliar mando’ade made a surprised noise. “The Wrens accepted you as their Mand’alor? Mand’alor,” they quickly added, lowering their gaze.

Sy’s smile widened. “Something like that,” he allowed languidly, “Let’s say that there’s many ways to forge a good relationship between two or more parties and they were very receptive to my most favorite method.”

All of the Mandalorians murmured their low assent and nodded respectfully - except for Reva, who stared at him with a knowing frown.

Ah, she was becoming more like Yan by the day.

Sy sent her his patented I-did-nothing-wrong smile and carried on.

“Anyways, gentlepeople,” he gave a small wink to one of his henchmen-that-weren’t-actually-henchmen-because-jedi-didn’t-do-that, “It’s safe to say that Clan Wren is back on our side again, which is why I asked the Count to have some of his people guard Tor’s little hideout. We already had a little incursion with pirates on the way there and I’d hate for that to repeat itself. So don’t shoot our allies, yes?”

A chorus of “ Lek , Alor ”s resounded all around him and he nodded. “Now, I trust you will continue doing a marvelous job here, so I will be taking little Pre to the baar’ur’e now, yes?”

Another round of salutes and nods later, he truly was on his way to the medics’.

Pre in his arms had started wiggling and radiating unhappiness the moment that the word ‘baar’ur’ had fallen, which wasn’t a good sign (although understandable, Sifo wasn't much of a fan of those kinds of visits either). So instead of heading there straight away , the part-time Mand’alor and full-time Jedi (no matter what certain other voices would claim, this was how he saw his job situation) took his newfound charge to the refectory to get the kid his first ever ice cream. All the while he himself wondered if this was what it felt like to have a Padawan.

“I wonder if Yan and Jocasta got my present already,” he said, to no one in particular, while wiping off some of the splatters of ice cream around Pre’s mouth and nose. The kid grimaced and tried to wiggle out of his hold, but Sifo was already used to that. 

“Do you think they did?”

The boy turned his head and frowned up at Sy. Then he said something in what Sifo assumed to be mando’a , alas he did not yet speak the language to a degree where he could make sense of a five-year-old’s babbling.

Nonetheless he nodded. “Ah yes, I too trust in our new friends to have made the trip to Coruscant on the quickest route possible. You are right, Pre. I guess that means we should soon hear from them, no? A thanks for such a generous gift would be very nice.”

The kid said some more things and Sifo thought he heard the word ‘di’kut’ , but chose to ignore that.

“Now,” he took Pre’s empty bowl away, “Let’s get you all checked up at the medics’, shall we?”

Immediately, the boy’s scowl was back.

…

“They are authentic,” Jocasta looked up from where a small gaggle of Archivists were radiating razor sharp excitement and concentration over a small sample of the mystery boxes. Only they weren’t much more of a mystery anymore. She stood up, energetically flattening out her tabards. “This is the real deal, Yan, look” she thrust her holopad towards him, “It’s all there. Every last of those pieces is one that has been marked as missing after the Sacking.”

Yan, who dearly had hoped that he had been wrong with his suspicions, groaned.

Jocasta’s piercing stare narrowed. “Yan.” Her voice was dangerously calm. “What has Sifo been doing ?”

He silently prayed to the Force.

Because, by the Stars, he truly did not know. The last thing their friend had said had been that he was going to ‘finally get that piece of Mand’alorly ass’ he’d been vying for (Sifo’s words, not his). 

“I have no clue,” he said, regret audible, “But I now think I should not have left him to go off alone.”

“No you shouldn’t have,” she crossed her arms, “Last time he crashed on a moon and almost died. This time all evidence points towards him somehow having managed to take over a mandalorian clan, and while I decidedly am not mad about him returning several tons of stolen goods to us, I am mad about us having to explain this situation to the rest of the Council.”

“Yeah,” Yan murmured, momentarily sidetracked by one of the Archivists letting out a piercing shriek and holding aloft something that looked an awful lot like Grandmaster Nomi Sunrider’s lightsaber, “Me too, Jo, me too.”

They probably should do something against this getting out of hand even further.

…

Sadly, Sifo-Dyas happy fun times taking over an active terrorist group and getting himself a Padawan-substitute (or two) could not last. 

Or rather, it could not last being so easy riding as it had been.

Because there existed something called the Force. Which brought something called visions with it. And Sifo-Dyas was very receptive to those gifts.

Which resulted in him folding like a lawnchair in the middle of a tactical meeting with most of his commanders present, sending them all - especially Arla who had made herself his personal bodyguard by the skin of her teeth - into a panicked flurry. Not that Sy got wind of any of that, he was incredibly occupied with once again being shown all the horrible ways everyone who was dear to him and quite a few others dying (or falling) in the most horrific of ways possible.

He truly, truly hated those kinds of visions. And there was no reason for the Force to show them to him! There never was any indication of how he could prevent them, as if the future they predicted were set in karking stone.

Thus, Sy was appropriately low in spirits when he finally woke up again - hooked up to yet another IV, yey for him. The baar’ur who had been guarding his bedside like a convor mother her nest had immediately started questioning him to the moons and back aout what had happened and if he had a medical condition they should have known about.

Sifo had no scruples about mind-tricking her.

There were things he simply did not want to talk about after such visions, least of all with someone he barely knew. (For the first time of this weird misadventure of his he really missed having Yan close. He would have understood . He always did. And he didn’t make Sy talk or explain, he just accepted and was a good pillow).

Fuck.

His mind was still in that weird space between reality and not that clung to him after the really bad visions and he simply wandered through the corridors of the stronghold, not really processing anything. Eventually, he was grabbed by the shoulders by a pair of strong hands and even through the fog of his mind, there was a name that popped up as belonging to the weirdly concerned looking face staring at him.

“Hi Reva,” Sifo murmured, “Fancy meeting you here.”

“ Mand’alor ,” her voice was simultaneously way too loud and too silent, “Why the kark are you not in the osik’la medbay anymore?! You -”

He swatted one of her hands away and tried to turn. “‘S no use anyways,” he said dismissively, “They can’t help. No one can.” A bit of hysterical laughter escaped him, that turned into a cough because apparently he’d been unconscious for long enough that his throat felt like sandpaper. 

She grabbed him again and maneuvered him into a chair that had mysteriously appeared out of nowhere. Had she brought that with her? Had the woman the ability to manifest chairs out of thin air? Sifo would never know.

That was the moment he world started dancing rodian ballet and he had to close his eyes for a second.

“-d’alor? Mand’alor?” Reva’s voice brought him back to reality. It was funny, almost, seeing the honest and open concern on her face. Cute.

He grinned a bit, even though his face felt like rubber. “See? You do like me,” Sifo croaked out, before accepting a small cup with some sort of lukewarm brew in it.

“Mand’alor,” the woman’s voice was low but earnest, “Is there anything you need? Medication, supplements, something else…?”

He shook his head lightly.

“Then what was that? Stars, baar’ur Ni’is said that your blood pressure was critically low and that they had never seen someone burn through their own body’s resources that quickly.”

“As I said,” Sy lowered the cup from his lips with shaky hands, “It’s not something you can help with.”

“I’m sure the-”

“No. The Healers at the Temple couldn’t do anything about it and neither will your people. I’m tired of having to explain myself.”

Reva’s mouth snapped closed, but from the way that the muscles in her jaws continued working, it was evident that she still had things to say. Sifo sighed.

“If you must know… it’s visions.”

She seemed startled, but actually had the decency to not let out a single peep. Better than most.

“Visions,” he continued explaining, staring at the swirling liquid in the cup, “Gazes of the future. Prophecies. Whatever you want to call them. I get them and they suck .” He raised the cup back up and drained the rest in one big gulp that left him coughing once again.

Still without a peep, Reva took the cup from his hands and waited until his breathing had normalized. The gaze in her gray eyes was complicated.

Sy slumped against the backrest and waved his hand slightly. “Go on, you can ask.”

“This… is a Jedi problem, isn’t it?”

He nodded jankily. Technically no, it was a Sith problem - specifically a stupid-Padawans-touching-cursed-Sith-objects one - but getting into the minutiae of it was the least he wanted to do right now.

So he’d leave it at ‘Jedi problem’.

Turns out he rather should not have done that.

Because somehow, in the wondrous mind of Reva Saxon, hearing ‘Jedi problem’ - even with him saying explicitly that the Temple Healers hadn’t been able to do anything about it - translated to ‘if there’s a Jedi problem there will be a Jedi solution’. Which in turn apparently had prompted her to promise a sizable reward to the verd who would bring her a living Jedi.

Which was why he now - a few days later - was in a very awkward situation in one of their holding cells.

“Master Sy?!,” the incredulous (and slightly punched looking) face of Rael Averross stared up at him.

“Hello Rael,” Sifo replied, before turning his head slowly, veeery slowly towards Reva standing at the door. “ Alor Saxon?,” he gave her a smile that did not reach his eyes, “ Why do I see the pseudo-son of my best friend caught and bound on the floor of our holding cell?"

The mandalorian woman did not look apologetic in the slightest. She pointed at Sy. "Jedi problem," she said, before moving her hand over to point at the blankly staring Rael, "Jedi solution."

Sifo grimaced.

“Master Sy? What’s going on?” Rael wiggled a bit in his corner - probably already had loosened his cuffs, good boy. The soft tap against Sifo’s shields confirmed that suspicion, their old, almost dormant bond flaring back to life.

Master Sifo, have you been caught by them as well? Do you need help breaking out? Yan said something about you going missing again, but-

Sifo laughed out loud a bit and waved his hand, using the Force to hoist the young Knight up and towards him. “You can talk out loud, Rael, they are friendly.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Well, mostly.” He shrugged.

That earned the both of them a suspicious glance from Reva, who made a quick sign in front of her chest and murmured something in mando’a . Sifo rolled his eyes at her superstitious fussing, but didn’t let that stop him from taking the indeed already opened cuffs from Rael.

“Rael, this is Alor Reva Saxon,” he introduced the two of them properly, “My second-in-command so to speak.” She nodded once, a dry greeting. “Reva, this young man you kidnapped is Jedi Knight Rael Averross, former Padawan of my best friend, who undoubtedly will mobilize heaven and hells now. Great job.”

The absolutely insufferable woman (it’s been barely a month, but somehow she’d already lost all fear and respect for him, damn) simply saluted with a barely concealed grin. “Thank you. Mand’alor, your praise flatters me. Glad to s-”

“ Mand’alor ?” Rael’s voice interrupted her. 

And suddenly Sifo found himself at the receiving end of one of those judgmental, green-eyed stares Yan had always lamented about.

“Mmh,” was all he said, turning his head away in a futile attempt to stove off this particular conversation until later. When he hopefully had come up with a better explanation of the current situation than ‘I tried to fuck the Mand’alor, turns out there were multiple claimants to that title and I mistook a terrorist for Jaster, then proceeded to kill said terrorist in a duel which now makes me the new owner of his claim to title and power haha fun times’.

Sadly Rael wasn’t going to give him that. The smaller man grabbed his arm and prevented him from turning away. “Master, what the absolute kark is going on? Why is this woman calling you Mand’alor? Isn’t that-”

“The ruler of the mandalorian people? Yes. It’s complicated, okay?” Sy wiggled out of Rael’s grip and gave Reva the stink eye. “But please know that I did never ask for any Jedi to be kidnapped.”

“Ookay?” Rael did not seem any less confused than a minute ago.

For some reason, the Alor be Saxon took this as her cue. She stepped forward into the room and out of the exit. “The Mand’alor has visions,” she stated bluntly, “Which he said is a jetii problem, he fell unconscious once already, so getting one of his former people for more information seemed like the best course of action. Also, he seemed down, so I figured you can cheer him up in your jetii ways.” She waved her hand between the both of them. “If you already know each other, even better. I’ll inform the stronghold to not kill your friend - your ad ? - , Mand’alor. Yes?

Sifo sighed. “...yes, Reva, that would be preferable. And I guess announce him as my ad , the less people get funny ideas the better.”

“Great,” she saluted and turned, but not without giving him a triumphant smile over her shoulder, “Have fun catching up.”

“I should never have told her about the thing with the bucket full of worms,” Sy murmured to himself, “Now she’s lost all respect.”

He could feel the burning stare of Rael at the back of his head.

…

“So what is the story about the thing with the bucket full of worms?,” Rael, patiently enduring the very physical inspection Pre and Arla were submitting him to, asked.

“Ah,” Sifo wiggled his finger at the younger Jedi, “Not making that mistake again. It’s bad enough that Reva’s lost all respect for me.”

As if she were a bloodhound, Arla immediately snapped up at those words, hand wandering to one of the many sheathed knives the young woman had strapped to her body. “Does she need a reminder of who her Mand’alor is?,” she hissed, not in the slightest perturbed by the deeply concerned look Rael was shooting her.

Sifo, already way too used to this, waved her off. “No, Arl’ika, she knows very well, I think. Which is why she does the things she does in the first place.”

Even if those ‘things’ were kidnapping him a Jedi-buddy for Jedi-enrichment. Because that was essentially what this had been, and Sifo was not at all sure what to think of it. 

“ Lek , Mand’alor,” the girl sounded almost disappointed as she re-sheathed her blade. Yeah, this was a problem he should tackle at some point. But weirdly enough there were surprisingly little trustable professionals who wanted to apply for the position of mind healer for a mandalorian terrorist group. Sifo couldn’t imagine why.

Rael in the meantime expertly twisted his lightsaber out of the reach of young Pre, who looked supremely put out by this turn of events. “No, little one,” Sifo’s all-but-step-Padawan told the boy as his lip started quivering, “That’s a dangerous weapon and not a toy for young kids.”

Pre, rather predictably, scowled and retorted something snippy in mando’a - most of which Sifo would not repeat.

Rael looked at him and the request to translate was openly visible on his face.

“I think you got the gist off his tone and his…,” he vaguely gestured towards the kid, “Vibes. It does not merit repeating.”

The other Jedi raised his eyebrows, but Sy had long lost any shame, so he simply met his stare head on. “What? I’ve only had him for a few weeks, it’s not my fault that the asshat who stole him knew exactly zilch about proper child rearing.”

“Oh and you’re any better?,” Rael quipped back, without any real heat.

Had this comment come from any other person, Sy would have been inclined to have some words with them, but this was Rael . Who knew exactly how much he regretted not being able to take on a Padawan and who had experienced first-hand how traumatizing getting dragged into one of his visions could be. Thus, Sy just snorted and used the Force to grab Pre and float the small child over into his arms.

“Yes, Rael, I am,” he said, while fishing out the small plastiknife someone in the keep had gifted Pre out from between the polsters of the sofa he lounged on, “And I have proof.” He gave the knife to its very enthusiastic young owner.

“Oh? Pray tell.” Rael leaned forward, shooting him and the child with a knife another skeptical look.

Sifo smiled brightly. “ You .”

…

Introducing the jetii into their stronghold had gone surprisingly smoothly.

It probably had helped that the man had graciously accepted and won several spars. Slowly but surely Reva was feeling like the accounts of the jetiise’s fighting prowess had been understated in their records. Or maybe they had gotten a lot better in the last few centuries? Who knew.

She also was more than awed by the adaptability of their people. They did not at all act like the rigid, cold monks the stories had made them out to be. Very much the opposite actually.

(Or maybe it was just those two? Reva wasn't sure. It had been more than the Ka'ra's luck that the Mand'alor and the jetii already knew each other - and even were buir and ad ? Or ba'vodu and aliit ? Something like it. The Mand’alor had kept vague and Reva thought it rude to ask, which was why she didn't know the specifics. But there were many similarities between the two.)

(Mostly their incredibly flirtatious personalities.)

The new jetii , Rael, had tried his luck with many of her verd'e already - to her unending horror not always without success.

Though she had to give it to him, his flirtatiousness had been what had allowed for his capture in the first place, so… Reva knew how to count her victories. And this was definitely one of them, the Mand’alor already looked a lot happier again. And a happy Mand’alor was a happy Arla, which was about 75% less stabbing-attempts, which resulted in a hell of a lot fewer formal complaints issued against the verd’ika, which ultimately meant that Reva didn’t have to spend half a day processing those alone.

So really, a win on all ends.

(Unless one was called Yan Dooku and had just gotten the news that, only weeks after one’s chronically ill best friend, one’s former Padawan also had gone missing. And close to Mandalorian Space at that.)