Chapter Text
To say he was surprised when a figure dressed in shiny metals, including an, by all likeliness, already overheating bucket stepped out of the burning wreck, that had been his home, would be an understatement.
The cut of the amor was familiar, but not so much its guarded presence in the Force.
This was not just plastoid or durasteel. That on its own implied something far worse than he had anticipated, when he had seen the ship heading for his little cave. There were no clan colours, nothing Ben recognised.
A rogue Mandalorian.
Fantastic.
As if the sandstorms over the past weeks had not been bad enough.
At least if they had to fight, Ben would have the home advantage. The desert was not kind to anyone, but he was familiar with the heavy lose ground and the burning twin suns above.
He just hoped that the precise location of the crash meant that they were here for him and did not know about Luke. Or maybe it truly had been an accident? How often did people manage to crash land in the middle of a Dune Sea only to collide with the sole existing domicile for kilometres?
If he was lucky, at least once- “Jedi,” the Mandalorian said with a modulated, but clear voice, stalking closer.
Not so lucky then. Kriff.
“There is no Jedi here,” he tried to put weight into his voice, the Force was flowing through him, but hesitantly. Something terrible was going on.
“You will return to where you came from. There is no Jedi here.” He waved his hand, focus strong, forcing unwaveringly calm despite the loss of his home and the irking of danger. The stranger stopped for a second and Ben nearly permitted himself a sigh of relief, when suddenly the figure stalked forward again.
“Jedi,” he repeated, this time nuanced with a new degree of certainty. Was his armour that high in beskar? Was he of some species unaffected by Force compulsion? Impossibly strong willed?
“You are a Jedi,” he said.
Now he was close enough that Ben could recognise the weapons attached to the armour. What he saw was worse than mere blasters: Rocket launchers, a sniper rifle, a spear and on his hip, there hang what could be the hilt of a lightsaber. If the man had already killed one of his brothers and sisters then he was not to be underestimated. Ben wanted to weep, to act on vengeance, but there was no place here for any of that, only serenity.
“I did not know the Inquisitors hired bounty hunters.”
The man stopped again; his head tilted. Was he surprised? The Force was unclear.
“What’s an Inquisitor?”
“What’s… Who are you?” Ben frowned. Even the hermits and nomads outside of Mos Eisley knew of the Inquisitors. It was difficult not to, with all the havoc and destruction they had caused on their hunts, when they implemented their arbitrary rules, when they sought to punish a mere whisper of Force sensitives even between the slaves in the houses of the Hutts.
“I am not here as a bounty hunter.” The man had decided to ignore his question.
“I am here for the child,” he stated and Ben felt all life leave him.
Anger and desperation spiralling and overthrowing shock until they transitioned into cold calm control. There is no emotion, there is peace.
“Who told you of the boy?” he demanded in his best General Kenobi voice. He would not fail Luke, like he failed his father.
The presence of his kyber vibrated in the Force. It was ready to fight, but he would not pull out the lightsaber just yet. To rely on such a weapon when all of the Empire was on the look out for it could be a devastating tactical failure. It could lead not only to the discovery of him, but also of Luke.
“A boy?”
Had he given something away?
“Who hired you?”
“I-“ the man stopped. Something was moving on his back. With one hand, helmet still pointed at Ben’s direction he pulled out something from behind his back. A moving bundle of cloth, that seemed to twist more eagerly now that it was freed.
“Alright,” the man spoke to it, “but stay close.”
The little thing, a child, that’s what it was, freed itself and waddled towards Ben. Big dark eyes, green skin, floppy enormous ears. That was… Well, it was not Master Yoda and definitely not Master Yaddle, but something else, something familiar. It reached out, both with tiny arms and across the Force, entirely ignoring the Mandalorian’s advice.
“Little one,” he said still guarded.
The child stopped right in front of him. It was tiny, and yet so unmistakably bright. A shine he had not fully experienced since Anakin’s fall and handing over Luke to Owen.
The child cooed.
Was this how the Mandalorian had killed other Jedi, by lulling them into safety through the presence of an innocent youngling? No, the child radiated trust, the Force did not shout in alarm and most importantly, the Empire would never allow an uninfluenced Force sensitive youngling to roam freely only guided by a lone bounty hunter.
The child cooed again, growing impatient at Ben’s perplexed staring. In the distance he heard the Mandalorian sigh through his vocaliser. It was an exasperated, fatherly sound.
“Hello there,” Ben chocked out. Kneeing down in the hot sand and watching with astonishment as the tiny child jumped into his arms, wrapping his tiny limbs around his neck, before filling the Force around him with “happy, safe, trust”.
“Are you well?” he sent back.
That question was more important than 'who are you' and 'where are you from'. But the child seemed to perceive them anyways.
“Buir said to find you. To be with my people. To train.” And then insistently: “Do not want to leave buir.” Buir. Father. The child recognised the Mandalorian as its caregiver. Whatever their arrangement was, it was not too recent.
Ben mustered the man sceptically. He doubted that the suit was hiding Yoda-sized ears and tiny limbs. A rogue Mandalorian who adopted a Jedi youngling then. How peculiar.
“I needed to bring the child to its people.”
“Yes, he said.”
“You can speak with him?” the man asked. “Yes, although it is not the same as speaking in the common sense.” Stepping closer, close enough to reach out, the Mandalorian stopped again.
“What does he say?”
Ben smiled, looking into the adorable face of the youngling, who was still engulfing him with a seemingly endless projection of joy and love.
“That he does not wish to leave you.”
“Oh.”
“And that you are his buir,” Ben enunciated. It had been years since he had had any conversations in Mando’a, even longer possibly, if one discounted talking to oneself.
“Oh,” he said again, quieter, as if in awe.
The innocence of it all broke Ben’s heart.
“And it is not safe here for him. It is nowhere safe for the Jedi, but here especially. The Empire has been hunting me down for many years and while I can hide my Force signature, I don’t think anything I can do, will hide his as well.” -Not while he still had Luke to worry about.
“But you are his people,” the Mandalorian declared and Ben suspected that if there had been no amor he would have felt anger emanating from him like a sand storm.
“I am only a man, not a people. And the Empire is making sure it stays that way. He will have a better chance separate from me.”
“The Empire is no more, the remnants are weak and Moff Gideon is taken care off.”
Ben was fairly sure he would be aware of that, even this far away from everything else.
Also, who was Moff Gideon?
Ben eyed the little one.
Oh.
Oh no.
“Mandalorian, what year do you think it is?”
“9 ABY,” the man shrugged. That did not help. There were many ways to measure time in the galaxy and just because he was unfamiliar with this one did not mean his dreadful suspicion was correct. “Little one, what did you do to get here?”
“Go to a Master, a Jedi.”
“Yes,” Ben was not sure the child fully understood the question, “How did you know where to find me?”
Instead of a direct answer a flood of impressions crashed over him:
A child, Grogu -Grogu was his name- being called away as he tried to rush through the temple. He wanted to play with the ships.
There was a man, red hair, tall, so tall from this perspective, with white plastoid on his shoulders, robes in tan billowing behind him in an unusually dramatic fashion. He was watching him board the shuttle with an aura of resigned determination. Others seemed to await him in there. They seemed so sad, so exhausted and it radiated from them.
As Grogu leaned further out of the window, trying to gasp at the strands of anguish, a hand caught him around the hips. It was none of other than Master Beq. Sighing at the youngling’s frantic movements and panicked cooing, the Jedi Master brushed a hand across his face, before following his gaze.
“Ah, Master Kenobi,” he said, with a familiarity that Ben did not reciprocate, “he is a good Jedi Master. Don’t worry for him, he will make sure that things are well in time.”
These were words meant to calm a child, nothing more, but he could still feel the sense of faith they had inspired in young Grogu back then.
“Come let’s clean you up, little rascal.”
He turned Grogu in his arms and Ben became aware of the dots all over the ground, blue and green and on his shirt as well. It seemed the youngling had run from a finger painting class.
Cooing in displeasure at the prospect of a bath, Grogu tried to protest.
The Jedi Master chuckled -the chuckle turned into a gargling, blood flowed out of his mouth, the scene had changed, this was not Coruscant, this was a much more dangerous place and now…
- “hide, Grogu, hide!”-Beq sent through the message a Force compulsion, limping, sabre in hand, turning away-
– Ben took a sharp breath.
Few could emerge themselves so deeply in the Force that they could share memories without deliberate shared meditation. An untrained child this young doing it seemed impossible, but then again, Grogu was neither fully untrained, nor that young, was he?
“What have you done?” the Mandalorian growled. He had pointed the Beskar staff at Ben’s neck, where Ben was leaning over cradling the crying child. With shock he discovered that there was wetness on his cheeks as well. He swallowed. He could not waste water.
“He has shown me a memory,” he pressed out, “his name is Grogu and he was once at the Jedi temple of Coruscant.”
“Grogu,” the Mandalorian whispered and instantly the crying stopped. “Grogu, like she had said. We were on our way back to Tython, to try again. And now we found you,” he muttered and the tiny bundle flooded with light again, grief flowing away like mud in rain and he jumped out of Ben’s arms, waving his arms excitedly at the Mandalorian.
The man made a sound that sounded like a broken down water purifier.
“I do not know how you got here,” Ben started, but was immediately interrupted. “Force osik. I was trying to bring the child to its people and we found a group of people who sold Force osik things. We reached an agreement, and they gave me something, a stone, shiny, supposedly full of your magic to guide the child. I thought maybe it’s for in the weapon, like this one.”
The Mandalorian pointed at his hips – and wasn’t that a topic they had to discuss as well – Ben was already tired. He was not used to so much talking and Grogu’s memories had been a bit much for him.
He watched as the Mandalorian pulled out a stone. This was definitely not a kyber crystal.
Whatever it was, it was not crystalline at all, more resembling a miniature holocron or a dung beetle fossil.
“Huh,” he added eloquently. “The child touched it while we were in hyperspace and suddenly we are in the atmosphere and I can barely slow down enough.”
He looked behind him. “Sorry for your...camp.”
“It is alright. It would not be safe to stay here anyways now that you have discovered and so blatantly marked it on a map.”
There was still smoke coming from the wreck. Ben wondered how long it would take to cool down so that he could recover his few precious possessions, like Anakin’s lightsaber. And how much longer until the Jawas took the rest? The Mandalorian nodded.
“Then come with us. You teach Grogu until I have found more of your own and then I will help you settle in a safer place. This is the way.”
“I cannot leave Tatooine. I have responsibilities here.”
The bucket leaned to the side. “You mentioned a boy.”
“Yes,” Ben said curtly. It had been a mistake to mention Luke at all. One he would not repeat.
“We can take him with us. Tatooine is not a good place for a child.”
“Tatooine is safer than any alternative. I cannot help you.” The Mandalorian looked at him through his vizor, a gaze so strong he could feel it like a touch in the Force.
“Then care for the child temporary. I must take care of responsibilities as well.” He gestured at his belt again.
Ben swallowed, unsure if he really wanted to ask. How many more confirmed deaths of his family could he handle?
“Whose lightsaber was it?”
The Mandalorian’s shoulders sank, as if he too felt the burden of loss. He took it out of his belt and handed it over. It was heavier than expected and it shook as if murmuring old wisdom instead of singing with the clear vibrations of kyber, different than any other lightsaber he had seen before. In its grip… was that beskar?
“It’s mine.”
“Yours?”
Grogu cooed at the mans leg and he lifted him with one hand, making sure to keep the “Force osik” object, as he had so gracefully put it, out of the child’s reach.
“It is a symbol of the Mand’alor. I have defeated Moff Gideon and now I have to return it to a Mandalorian who wants it.”
“And the Jedi who built it?” Ben asked sceptically. He had studied Mandalorian history, not just for his attachment to Satine, the vode or the culture itself, but also to understand how the Sith had gotten control of Jango Fett so long before the war. But even with all his studies the Darksaber had remained a rumour. He had been sure that if it had existed until the time that it had been lost with the end of Death Watch. And he had not expected it to look like this and even less that it would one day be so casually thrust into his hands.
“The Jedi?”
“It was taken from the Jedi. Last I heard was that it was with the Mandalorian Jedi’s descendants. The Death Watch? Viszla?”
The Mandalorian leaned backwards. “Why would Paz have the Darksaber?”
“Who is Paz?”
“He-something is wrong,” the Mandalorian interrupted himself. Something foreboding was filling the Force. Ben had to make a choice and he had to make it now.
Hastily handing back the saber hilt, he declared: “I will take care of the youngling, go and return the Darksaber to its rightful owner, but go now. May the Force be with you.”
The Mandalorian gave him the child.
“This is the way,” he whispered, as Grogu tried to cling to him, unwilling to part with his buir. He turned away, before turning back around.
“Here take this, too.”
And with these words he pushed the questionable Force object into Ben’s arms.
Grogu launched for it and his buir’s hand, before blinking at Ben.
The youngling smiled up at him, blinking again and then everything fell apart.