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“What are you going to do?”
Silas looked up from the comm he’d been fiddling with. “What do you mean?”
“After…” Obi-Wan gestured vaguely at their shelter. “Do you have a plan?”
Obi-Wan had had another dreamless sleep, and as such, he’d mostly recovered from his Force Exhaustion and had spent the time since he’d woken up organizing his thoughts and trying to figure out his own plans.
He certainly couldn’t go back to the Order – he didn’t know what they did to Fallen Padawans who’d killed a respected Jedi Master, but he doubted it was pleasant – and he wasn’t sure he’d be welcome on Melida/Daan after Cerasi’s death. He couldn’t turn to other Stewjoni for help either- they were notorious among the Order for hating Force Sensitives. Obi-Wan had been lucky to be saved; most Stewjoni Force Sensitives ended up dead before they spoke their first words.
If that wasn’t bad enough, being Stewjoni painted a target on his back for slavers. His kind was highly valued in the slave market for many reasons. They were resilient, for one, able to go longer lengths of time with less food or water than other species, and resistant to most toxins. This, combined with their fangs, quick reflexes, and hunter’s senses, made them perfect for labor camps and fighting rings alike.
Others valued them for their fair skin and vibrant copper hair - not to mention that pure-blooded Stewjoni like Obi-Wan were dualsex - and since they rarely traveled outside their home system, they were considered a rarity and could fetch a high price from collectors and those with a taste for the exotic.
Needless to say, Obi-Wan didn’t have anywhere to go, and going out on his own would more than likely end with him enslaved or dead. He didn’t mind the death part so much, but he’d prefer not to be enslaved again.
Hence, his question. Silas had proven himself to be trustworthy so far, and guessing from his previous attitude about protecting kids, he was likely to be averse to the idea of Obi-Wan going out on his own. So, depending on what his plans were, Obi-Wan hoped he would be allowed to tag along, at least until he was able to figure something else out.
“I didn’t see Jango’s body among the others,” Silas answered after a moment. “He’s the leader of the Haat’ade. Our Mand’alor.”
“You think he’s still alive?”
“Probably,” Silas agreed. “Do you think- would the jetii’se have taken him prisoner?”
Obi-Wan hummed, rubbing his chin. “If he’s the leader, then likely so, if only to turn him in to the local authorities.”
Silas’ shoulders fell, reliefreliefrelief pouring off him. “Jate. That’s good- well, good that he’s alive.”
“You’re going to look for him?”
“Yeah. And get him out of whatever mess he’s found himself in.” There was a flicker of fond sadness in Silas’ Force presence, like a candle, or a ribbon caught in the breeze. Clearly, Jango Fett was more than just Silas’ leader.
Obi-Wan took a moment to search the Force, and when no warnings were given, he offered, “I could help?”
Silas startled, caught off guard. “You wanna come with me?”
“Not like I have anywhere else to go,” Obi-Wan pointed out with a shrug. “I can be useful. I don’t have my ‘saber anymore, but I’m decent with a blaster, and I’m good at reading people-”
“Ad. Obi-Wan,” Silas interrupted with a soft smile. “You don’t have to convince me. You can come with me.”
“Really?” Obi-Wan perked up, relieved. Silas nodded.
“Yeah, ‘course you can.”
“Thank you.”
“No debt, Obi-Wan.”
-
“What do ‘ad’ and ‘ad’ika’ mean? Why do you keep calling me that?”
“They both mean child. ‘Ika is something you add to the end of a word or name to… convey affection, I guess? Like a nickname.”
“Oh.”
Silas tilted his head. “Do you want me to stop calling you that?”
Obi-Wan hummed, then shook his head. “No, it’s alright. I was just curious.”
Silas nodded. “Ya know, if you were Mando’ad, you’d be nearing the age of your verd’goten. That’s a test or ritual that Mando’ade go through to prove themselves as a verd- a warrior. You’d be considered an adult.”
“Really? So young?” Obi-Wan’s eyes were wide. “In the Order, you aren’t truly considered an adult until you become a Knight, and that usually doesn’t happen until around twenty-standard years of age, depending on the species, at least.”
Silas whistled. “That old? Well, still young, I guess, but old in comparison.”
Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes. An interesting cultural difference.”
“You use a lot of big words for someone so young,” Silas chuckled. “Though I guess that makes sense for a jetii’ad.”
Except that Obi-Wan was no longer a Jedi. Silas seemed to realize his mistake and winced. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Obi-Wan waved off the apology. “You’re right, it does make sense. I suppose I should work on altering my dialect. Currently, the way I speak would draw too much attention in this part of the galaxy.”
“Yeah,” Silas agreed. “The accent’ll take time, but if you start practicing the vocabulary now, you should be fine by the time we’re off this icy hell.”
The vocabulary part shouldn’t be too hard, Obi-Wan reasoned. He’d just talk like Quinlan and Nield.
There was a sharp pain in his chest at the thought of his friends that he’d likely never see again. He pushed the grief down, ignoring the burning in his eyes, and scooted closer to the heater for warmth. They'd have to turn it off again soon to conserve the battery. He'd need to soak up as much heat as he could before then.
-
“Have you slept?”
“Huh?”
“I’ll take that as a no.” Obi-Wan’s blue eyes glittered, clearly amused. “You should sleep.”
“Concussion,” Silas gestured at his head. “Not sure if that’s a good idea.”
“It’s healed enough by now.”
“How do you-”
“The Force,” Obi-Wan answered before Silas even had the chance to finish. “Sleep, I’ll keep watch. And I’ll make sure you don’t sleep for too long.”
Silas hesitated for another moment, then sighed and nodded. The ad was right, he needed sleep, and he was exhausted. Hopefully that exhaustion would be enough to hold off the nightmares for now. Silas had never had problems with bad dreams before, at least not more than most beings, but he knew after… everything, nightmares about what he’d seen would be inevitable. The memories already plagued him when he was awake; he dreaded the warped and bloody nightmares his mind would come up with.
“Sleep,” Obi-Wan said again, softer this time. “Here.” He held out the jacket he’d been using as a blanket. Silas shook his head.
“Keep it, ad, I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“‘Lek, yeah.”
“Okay.” Obi-Wan pulled the jacket back around himself. “Sleep.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” Silas huffed, shifting into a more comfortable position. “Seeya when I wake up.”
“Sleep well.”
-
“Would you be willing to teach me Mando’a?”
This question was more hesitant than the previous ones, and Obi-Wan wasn’t looking at Silas when he asked it. He hadn't seen the ad like this before. Was he afraid Silas would say no? Why?
Silas swallowed a bite of his ration bar before answering. “Yeah, sure. Can I ask why?”
“Well- it’d be a good way for us to communicate without having to worry about eavesdroppers,” Obi-Wan reasoned, eyes flicking to, then away from Silas. “And it might help me stand out less- with my accent and all.”
“Makes sense. Yeah, I’ll teach you, but I can’t promise I’m the best teacher,” Silas joked, trying to put the ad at ease. It seemed to work; Obi-Wan perked up and met his eyes.
“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” he assured, eyes bright like an excited puppy. “Can we start now? It’s not like we have anything else to do.”
He was right, they were both still healing and waiting until they were sure the jetii’se were gone. Teaching Obi-Wan Mando'a would both occupy them and distract them from the cold, hunger, and pain. Plus, with the loss of the Haat'ade, there were a lot less Mando'a speakers in the galaxy. So teaching Obi-Wan would help prevent the language from being lost, and keep a piece of the Haat'ade alive.
With a deep breath to push away the aching grief, Silas nodded and wrapped up the remains of his ration bar. “Elek, yes. We can start now.”
-
“Is this the last of the rations?”
Silas winced and nodded. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been holed up in this tiny cave. A few days, at least. They’d tried to stretch their meager rations out for as long as possible (something the ad was surprisingly knowledgeable about, though he’d never said why), but they were bound to run out eventually.
Obi-Wan split the bar, one piece just a bit smaller than the other, and held the larger piece out to Silas.
“No, you eat it,” Silas shook his head. “I’m fine. We’ll be leaving soon, anyways.”
“I can sustain myself on the Force,” Obi-Wan held the piece out farther and wiggled it, trying to get him to take it. “And I don’t need as much food as you. Like you said, we’ll be out soon. Eat.”
“Ad-”
“Either we split it, or neither of us eats.” Obi-Wan left no room for argument. Silas still tried.
“At least keep the bigger piece for yourself, Obi-Wan.”
Obi-Wan watched him for a long moment, then sighed and held the smaller piece out to Silas. Silas took it, knowing that this was the most he’d be able to get from the ad. Obi-Wan watched him until he took a bite, and only then did he take a bite of his own piece.
Silas wanted to pry. Wanted to know what else this ad’ika had been through that had taught him how to properly ration food. Weren't jetii'se supposed to be extremely protective of their ade? Clearly, that wasn't true. Or Obi-Wan was the exception- though Silas couldn't see why he would be; the ad was clever, skilled, and eager to learn.
But it wasn’t his business. So he kept quiet and finished his piece of the ration bar.
-
“Ready to go?”
Silas was back in his armor and Obi-Wan had pulled the too-big shirt and jacket on over his tattered jetii robes to provide as much insulation as possible. It wasn’t much, and Silas was hesitant to bring Obi-Wan back out so soon after he’d recovered from hypothermia, but they were out of rations and their heater’s power could go out at any time. It was a miracle that it’d lasted this long, though Silas supposed that keeping it on low power and shutting it off intermittently had helped prolong the battery life.
“Elek, I’m ready,” Obi-Wan nodded, hood pulled up, bare hands stuffed into his pockets to protect them from the biting cold. “Let’s go. Sooner we leave, sooner we can find civilization.”
“Okay,” Silas nodded back. “Let’s go.”