Chapter Text
On the outskirts of Sundari, near enough to the capital to bring in patrons but not the beskar gaze of the Duchess, Ben Kenobi enters a cantina. Weapons are openly carried here, Mando'a casually used, friendly brawls are had. From the small intel Ben gathered, the person she's looking for stops here often enough.
"Skirata? Kal?" Her quiet words cut the ambient chatter and drinking, everything falls silent, and though Ben doesn't feel any danger in the force she remains on edge.
They wouldn't hurt a pregnant woman, right?
She's… noticeable, but often not until her stomach is on obvious display.
While a healthy mix of Mandalorians and the general scum of the galaxy are both drunk, Skirata appears stone cold sober, allowing him to rake in all the chips and credits his counterparts are unfortunate enough to lose in the gamble. He doesn't seem too interested in his winnings.
He's noticed her, of course he has, how could he not? His armor doesn't betray his emotions though and he doesn't pause in collecting his winnings from the game table.
"Ne shab'rud'ni…" He mumbles calmly and quietly, the vocoder in his helmet lends it a staticky tone. While his demeanor and words were calm the tension in the force thickened as other cantina patrons caught on.
This definitely was a bad idea, she should've studied harder with her Mando'a, should've grilled Satine and rummaged through the Duchess' library on any more texts regarding the language. She isn't dumb. She knows the basics.
"Uh—" This is not the time to coward out now, Ben has come too far and sacrificed too much to stop now.
This is for her baby.
Make herself appear vulnerable.
"S-Su'cuy!" She sputters out, earning herself a few chuckles but the man she's seeked out sighs tiredly— or irritatedly.
He signals something— another topic Ben needs to work on, Mandalorian military signs, and most of the surrounding Mandalorians either return to their previous activities or scatter from the two. She takes it as a good sign.
His T visor roams her form from top to bottom— to her belly, then to her face again.
His words are sharp and to the point, "Your accent is atrocious. What do you want?" Jeez, Ben can't say this is going great but surprisingly it's better than how she imagined.
"You are Kal Skirata, correct?" He waves his hand impatiently to hurry up. Kriff. "I'm looking for someone who can teach me the way of the True Mandalorians." Ben says hastily.
That makes him still. "Why?" Suddenly hyper aware of all the eyes on her, Ben shifts nervously.
"Is there perhaps a way we can speak privately—"
"Here or not at all, time is precious, aruetii." Skirata crosses his arms and leans back into his chair.
Ben mentally curses. She knows what aruetii means, and it doesn't bode well for her— but, she's with child and children are the future, especially to Haat Mando'ade.
She'll tell the truth and no one will hurt her. She'll make sure no one hurts her. She takes a gamble, knowing the force won't be able to assist her this time.
"I'm… not Mandalorian," Ben hears a few scoffs, "..but my child is of Mandalore origins." His interest is peaked, she knows just by watching with trained eyes as his casual facade stiffens at the mention of children.
Skirata clarifies, "Ad?" That's another one she knows and she confirms by lacing her fingers together under her slight belly, framing it self consciously but lovingly. “Adiik.” He corrects himself.
She can't see his eyes but Ben knows that they track down to her linked hands.
"It is.. Only me, and I don't want to deprive my child of their culture."
Skirata scoffs this time, using some choice words in Mando'a that don't sound pleasant and are hopefully not directed at her.
He shifts, "You look like you'd be more partial to the culture killers than Haat Mando'ade," Skirata's body loses its tension again, "..and just run the other way if you see the blue and gray armor. Kyr'tsad scum." He spits bitterly. Quiet agreements ring around his table.
Ben cringes at both the assumption of her character and the name calling but this is exactly why she wants to raise her baby with True Mandalorian values.
She loves Satine as a best friend, a sister even, but they can agree on little to nothing meaning she can't condone the New Mandalorians agenda. She's a— was a peacekeeper— not a pacifist, there's a difference Satine refuses to see.
The culture— Haat Mando'ade culture is something she's grown fond of in her time here.
Without blinking or backing down Ben says, "I think I'm partial to a faction that can teach my child to be a strong warrior with honorable values, rather than New Mandalorian pacifists or a terrorist organization." Sporadic drunken cheers echo at her words.
"How old are you?" Ben just smiles back at his question, not answering. "Do you even know what you're asking for?" She shrugs.
"No, that's the point— I just need some pointers, some guidance." She rocks on her feet. Who better than a seasoned True Mandalorian warrior himself.
He sighs.
"If it's just you aruetii, just go and raise the ad of your culture." That stung, and Skirata doesn't even know how much that stung.
Ben tires of this and forces her hands to stay unclenched and not tremble. "I have no culture, I have no home. And I appreciate True Mandalorian culture." She speaks quietly as her eyes meet his T visor head on and the cantina only seems to get quieter even though it's impossible.
Skirata wanted to do this here or not at all so Ben will make him regret not hearing her out privately.
"If I must, I will find another who will help me." Ben's skin crawls as she notices a handful of patrons perk up at the mentioned opportunity to get close to her, but she remains firm in her posture.
He remains silent and unmoving and she sighs, looking around to the now vacated spots surrounding Skirata. "Well.. I apologize for interrupting your fruitful evening, thank you for listening, I'll leave you to it." Her honeyed words feel sick in her mouth, reminding her of her apprenticeship with Master Jinn. She involuntarily cringes at the thought, her reaction visible for a split second.
She forces herself not to bow as she retreats and turns her back, ready to leave and already spotting the hungry and predatory gazes of other patrons who listened in on their conversation.
"Parer— Wait." Skirata calls after her. It sounds like an order, but Ben can sense a hint of worry in his voice.
Gotcha.
She turns back around, with a hopeful expression. "What's your name, ad'ika."
"Ben Kenobi." It's clear he doesn't believe her but doesn't press in front of their audience.
Skirata huffs and stands, expecting her to follow. "I have a ship." And Ben smiles, assumingly they can finally speak privately.
She does follow, aware of the gazes she's receiving and also the closeness of Skirata. Whatever she did she did it right, appealing to the more protective and parental side to the man. His eye is always on her and any potential threat.
"How old are you, ad'ika?" Skirata asks once again now that they're in the safety of his ship.
Ben sees no reason to lie. "I'm fifteen." She smiles but it twists more into a grimace. "And I'm five months along." His visor zeroes in on her hidden stomach.
"Rayshe'a? Five?" His disbelieving tone understandable.
"I'm— Stewjoni. We are small in stature, even the babies." Skirata twitches unhappily.
"You're telling me a fifteen year old pregnant Stewjonian walked into that cantina filled with the galaxy's scum? Do you even have a weapon on you?" She doesn't but she would've made use of any common item in defense.
Skirata bristles in her silence. "I had faith that I would be protected by a Haat Mando'ade warrior." Skirata grunts at her smile.
"Not good enough, nice try though." His words are harsh but he still herds her to a chair for her to rest.
"You don't need to house or feed me." Ben clarifies, "I truly need guidance. The New Mandalorians history section of their libraries… well…" she doesn't want to say they're culture killers, but Skirata seems pleased that she agrees with him.
"And what is your culture?" Ben pauses, fully aware of the bad blood between Jedi and Mandalorians.
But she's not a Jedi anymore, never really was. She's not anything. "I—Am Stewjoni."
"Yes but you didn't live there. Your pretty, young face would be caught and sold before you would be able to blink." Ben stares, caught in her deflection. "So." Skirata prompts.
"I… was a Jedi Padawan." A sharp flare of anger emanates from Skirata, and panic reluctantly builds in her. "I was.. given the choice to give up my baby and stay," a quiet, sharp inhale from Skirata is barely audible through his vocoder, "Or keep my baby and leave." Skirata's posture stiffens in barely concealed anger, and his visor tips down to her belly.
"I left."
"Though the Jetii were celibate, or did they not teach you sex ed in their fancy castle." Ben is not going to have a sex talk with this man, but by the Force she will make him uncomfortable.
"I was attacked." Ben doesn't elaborate. Doesn't need to because Skirata's body language speaks volumes.
"On Mandalore?" His voice rises in anger. "You're an ad." She's truly not, she's a little past the age they consider ade adults.
Ben pauses before giving her answer, though they both already seem to know. "Death Watch." She can see his gut reaction to the implication that Death Watch are Mando'ade. "But they're not Mandalorians, they're.. Monsters." Skirata nods. "I.. Was a peacekeeper, not a pacifist.. I do love Mandalorian culture, I would prefer to raise my baby with True Mandalorian ideals."
Skirata sighs. "I'm either on jobs that require me off planet inappropriate for a pregnant ad, or I'm elsewhere on planet also inappropriate for a pregnant ad."
Ben understands his hesitation, truly, but just because she's not originally Mandalorian doesn't automatically mean she's defenseless.
The echo of a collective death rattle rings in her ears.
"I lived fourteen and a half years in care of the Jedi, training. I'm not weak and I can take care of—"
"Take care of yourself? How did this happen then." He motions to her belly and Ben's throat tightens and her face reddens. This is not her fault.
"I was protecting someone. I am here, and those who hurt me are not."
Skirata hums in acknowledgment. "How." He crosses his arms.
"I— my lightsaber and the force." Skirata nods, apparently already expecting it as an answer.
"You know hand to hand?" A little? At Ben's silence he nods again, "..what about close combat?" Ben frowns at him.
"I don't understand how this is relevant to—"
"You're fifteen and with an adiik. I will go easier on you than anyone I have before." He continues as if he hadn't heard her.
"Excuse me, I don't—"
"This will be your first lesson in Haat Mando'ade culture, if you're serious." Ben sputters as Skirata circles around her, "You're behind with your verd'goten but there's no harm in training with self defense first." He continues, ignoring her protests, "Training that doesn't allow your Jetii magic or a jetii'kad."
"I'll teach you hand to hand, close quarters, and to work with a blade." Ben glares, "After that we can work on blasters—"
"I already know—"
Skirata's gaze snaps to her, "You know your way around a blaster." She can't tell if it's a confirmation of her statement or a question. She nods anyway. "We'll see." Skirata nods back. She bristles. She turned thirteen fighting— and helped win a civil war that wasn't even hers. She knows her way around a blaster. If she ignores the pit that settles in her stomach when she handles it.
She doesn't need him to go easy, if she's to learn properly, and she says as much about the sturdiness of Stewjoni pregnancies. He waves her off, either disbelieving or disregarding her. "An ad is an ad. Children are precious, they are the future, this is the way. I'm not putting ade through unnecessary danger." Against her will warmth blooms in her chest at the words. Words she wished Master Jinn or Master Yoda had said.
She doesn't have a rebuttal, not that Skirata expects one.
"I'll be busy during the next tenday, we will start after that." It works for her, not that she's doing anything particularly exciting or time sensitive with Satine. Except for studying. Skirata grabs a comm and hands it to her. "Preprogrammed with my comm code, and other emergency codes. Only use it when you need to." Ben stares at it, baffled. What? Does this man usually have ready to go comms like this? Strange, but the force heeds her no warning.
"Whenever we meet my ship will be here, if you don't see my ship, do not come. Do not come at any time I did not tell you."
Ben doesn't have more to add onto that, instead she nods. "Vor Entye." She says, genuinely smiling.
His sigh is loud enough to be picked up by his vocoder, he shakes his head and mumbles something about accents again.