Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Jaster had taken his place as the new Mand’alor there had been a lot he didn’t know. Thank the Ka’ra that there was someone he knew had all the information he lacked. The Armorer had taken one look at him and had known why he’d come. After staying with the Armorer’s clan for two months to learn all he could about being a proper Mand’alor he was summarily packed up and sent off to Stewjon with an honor guard.

When he arrived on the planet he was greeted by the last vestiges of what appeared to be a city wide celebration. They knew who he was the moment his boots touched dirt and in the split second it took him to blink he found he was the only one still standing. The Armorer had warned him this would happen but he still didn’t feel prepared for it.

“Welcome to Stewjon, Mand’alor, we are here to serve.” Their Mando’a was flawless but that wasn’t news to him, just interesting to hear coming from a people who seemed so different. He spied various pieces of armor, though it looked more ceremonial than functional, among those who were kneeling and realized they must be the Stewjonian’s own honor guard for him. He felt ridiculous. He didn’t become Mand’alor to be catered to. He wanted to unite his people.

Shaking off his thoughts he slipped his helmet off and nodded politely toward the one who’d spoken to him. “You know why I’ve come?” There was a muttering among the group but one look from the leader and they were silent once again.

“Of course, we have staffed the Soul Garden estate in preparation for your arrival.” They looked to his guards. “Your people will be taken care of in the meantime. The Soul Garden is not far from here but I am afraid that your guards will have to be housed elsewhere, as only the Mand'alor may enter." There was a note of apology in their voice but Jaster waved it off.

“That will be fine, thank you.” One thing he knew for certain was that he was absolutely safe from the Stewjonians. His guards, on the other hand… Actually seeing the way that the Stewjonians were looking up through their lashes at the Mandalorian warriors he let out a small huff of amusement. It didn’t look like they were in any danger either. If anything he might not be the only one leaving the planet with a spouse.

“If you are ready, Mand’alor, we will take you to your estate now.” He gave one last look at his commandos, silently ordering them to behave, before he allowed himself to be led toward a speeder.

The planet itself was filled with lush forests, beautiful lakes, and architecture that looked as if it came from a dream. The word for Stewjon in Mando’a closely resembled the ancient word for paradise, and now he could see why. Entering through the large gates he was guided along a garden path and had to stop for a moment to breathe it all in. If it weren’t for the wind and the sound of gentle running water coming from somewhere nearby he was certain the silence would have done him in. It felt like years of tense anxiety were being stripped from him, leaving behind an almost peaceful state of mind.

The mansion itself was clearly ancient, although well maintained, and he spied what he assumed were servants scurrying around at the corners of his eyes. He was brought before an elder who gave him a slow once over, as if judging him personally, and he instinctively stood straighter under their scrutiny.

“I am Obi-kua Kenobi, she/her, Mistress of the Soul Garden.” Jaster gave her a slight bow. He could tell she was someone he did not want to get on the wrong side of.

“Jaster Mereel, he/him, Mand’alor.” She nodded.

“Welcome to the Soul Garden. Would you like to settle in first or meet the Candidates?” Jaster tried very hard not to grimace. The Armorer had been very clear that Candidate was an honorable and envied title. Jaster didn’t know how he felt about people fighting for the honor of becoming his spouse.

“First, are there any rules or protocols I should follow?” The Mistress paused and he swore there was a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“We only ask that you enjoy yourself, Mand’alor, and if you happen to find a spouse quickly that you let us know so we may throw the appropriate celebrations.” His cheeks heated slightly.

“Nothing else?” He asked to be sure.

“Mand’alor, you are our great ruler, the sole leader of our people. If you wished to bed every person in this estate we would not stop you. If you were to kill someone who displeased you we would only ask for time to clean the mess.” Jaster felt a chill of horror run down his spine and immediately shook his head in angry denial.

“I would never!” He growled, certain that he couldn’t bring himself to hurt these soft people who had welcomed him so readily. The Mistress smiled.

“Then you truly are the honorable warrior I expected.” He blinked in confusion as she turned around and let out a piercing whistle. It took maybe thirty seconds for twenty Stewjonians to gather behind the Mistress, bowing to him. “These are the Candidates, chosen for compatibility.” Five of them were quite obviously feminine, either in dress or physical appearance, while five were clearly masculine in either dress of appearance. The rest wore neutral clothing in styles that made it difficult to discern, not that he would have assumed anyone’s sex or gender from appearances alone. There were far too many species in the galaxy to make that the first thing one should notice about a fellow Mandalorian.

The Mistress allowed each of them to introduce themselves and he was surprised how many of them were warriors from their clan. Four of the twenty were even karking Force Sensitive. It was a bit much but he made sure to be polite to each of them.

“You have a Stewjonian month to choose one of the Candidates. Twenty days will be set aside for each Candidate to spend the day with you. The last ten you may ask for any Candidate to return to your side. If you find someone you wish to take immediately we will honor your decision. If there are two whose souls call to you we can consult further on where to go from there. At the end of the month if none of the candidates catch your attention we shall find new Candidates.” Jaster nodded, there wasn’t much else he could do but agree.

When he was finally in his own room, a lavish suite decked out in dark reds and bone white, a tribute to the ancestors, he finally felt able to relax. Looking around, half paranoia and half curiosity, he noticed something that looked like markings and stepped closer. On one far wall there was a list of what looked to be names. Curiosity piqued further he set down his helmet and went to inspect it. He didn’t recognize a lot of them until he got to the bottom of the second row. Tarre Vizsla, Aga Awaud, Ranah Teh Naast, Dral Sparr… they were the names of past Mand’alor’s spanning back what had to be thousands of years.

As if possessed by some unknown force he found himself pulling out a small utility knife and carefully carving his own name into the wall beneath that of Dral Sparr. When he was finished he stepped back and for the first time since he’d stepped foot on the planet’s surface he felt welcome.

The first week of his stay was a little awkward but quite relaxing. Jaster had been to a couple of resorts and fancy hotels in his life and this wasn’t all that different. Immediately he noticed a few key differences between these people and the Mandalorians. For one the servants, regardless of sex or gender, wore their hair fairly short while the warriors had long hair woven into braids or otherwise tied up in some manner. Their clothes were all vibrant and colorful but it was the patterns that intrigued him. Mandalorians tended to have very understated clothing with subtle designs that meant something to the one who made it, while the Stewjonians had a myriad of patterned clothing that didn’t seem to mean anything at all.

Halfway through the first week he noticed that the holobooks he had taken with him had been neatly rearranged on the small shelf next to the bed. A day later he noticed new holobooks had been added and, curious, he went to look them over. Each one had a topic of interest to him, much to his surprised delight. There was one on Mandalorian history from the perspective of Stewjon, one on cultural practices that was quite helpful, and even a copy of a journal from a past Mand’alor.

Once two weeks had passed and he realized someone was not only cleaning his room but keeping his shelf stocked with new and interesting reading material Jaster set a bit of a trap. There were apparently three servants who rotated out daily and he had yet to meet the one who kept leaving him such wonderful reading material. So far he had confronted two of them but the third remained elusive.

Begging off early, he could already tell that he and the Candidate for the day would not get along, he had a quick shower and changed into something less intimidating than the outfits that had been prepared for him. Thank the Manda that they were at least in a traditional Mando style in dark colors or he would have just worn his damned armor. Telling the guards that he would be taking a stroll alone he doubled back around and climbed onto the balcony.

Honestly? He could have just asked the Mistress if she knew who had been stocking his shelf but this way was far more fun.

A servant entered the room and quickly cleaned up, Jaster wasn’t all that hard to look after considering he was a tidy individual to begin with. Before they left they looked around for a moment before slipping a couple of holobooks from their clothes and slotting them onto the shelf. Quietly he entered through the balcony, he’d left it unlocked earlier, and stood waiting for the servant to notice him.

They turned around, ready to leave. Brown eyes met jade green and Jaster felt as if all the breath had been knocked out of his lungs. The moment lasted for what felt like an eternity before the servant fell gracefully to the ground in supplication.

“Mand’alor! Forgive me for intruding on you.” Their melodic alto voice said quietly. It took him a moment to get his bearings.

“There is no need to kneel. I, ahem, I had a couple of questions for you, if you wouldn’t mind indulging my curiosity.” They looked up at him for a moment before slowly getting to their feet.

“I will answer what I can, Mand’alor.” They promised softly.

“You the one who’s been replacing my holobooks?” They flushed slightly and nodded, eyes falling to the floor. “Thank you.” Their eyes darted up in surprise before a small smile crossed their face. “Where are my manners? Jaster Mereel, he/him, but you probably already knew that.”

“Sul-tan Honsul, Alor, also he/him.” Jaster smiled. “

A pleasure.” What came next was nearly an hour of back and forth about favourite works and authors, history, culture, and language. They even touched briefly on philosophy. The longer they spoke the more Jaster began to relax.

“Forgive me, Alor, but I have other tasks I need to complete before the Mistress chides me.” He felt a small pang in his chest but nodded in understanding.

“Of course, don’t let me keep you from your work.” Smiling a little more openly Sul-tan bowed, gathered up the hamper of dirty items, and hurried out of the room. Jaster frowned slightly at the faint feeling of loss but ignored it. Maybe a walk in the gardens would clear his head.

The next week he felt a little off, almost impatient. When the day for Sul-tan to take care of his rooms came Jaster made certain he was there, sitting on the balcony with one of the holobooks Sul-tan had left him. The man froze when he saw him but quickly relaxed, smiling.

“Good day, Alor.”

“Good day.” He watched them man for a moment before standing from his chair and coming inside. “Listen, I was wondering if you might do me a favor…”

Later that day, as the sun was beginning to set, he met Sul-tan for a walk in the gardens. “This must be hard on you, Alor, if you need someone to talk to who is not one of your Candidates.” Jaster let out a deeply aggrieved sigh and grinned to himself when Sul-tan put a hand against their mouth to stifle a chuckle.

“This wasn’t what I thought would happen when I took up the mantle of Mand’alor. Not that I’m complaining, just…” Sul-tan made a noise of agreement.

“It wasn’t what you saw yourself doing?” Jaster smiled at him.

“Exactly. Although the time here has been good for me, I’ve had time to finalize more of the new Codex I wish to introduce to the Mandalorians.” He looked at the slightly shorter man. “I also wished to thank you. The holobooks you left me gave me much needed insight into the history of Manda’yaim.” The man’s cheeks flushed, pleased with the compliment.

“It was nothing, Alor, just a hobby of mine.” Jaster smiled.

“A noble hobby, if you ask me.” They shared a smile before Jaster had to tear his gaze away from glittering jade green eyes that lit up in the low light of the sunset. The night ended with Jaster laying awake in bed, thinking about how easy it had been to spend hours alone talking with Sul-tan, hours that had felt like mere minutes. The next day, after breakfast, the Mistress came to him with a searching look.

“Have you found a candidate you feel comfortable with yet, Mand’alor?” Jaster thought about the question, frowning.

“Not yet.” The elder woman tutted.

“Well, there are still five more Candidates before you run out. Do not worry if none of them are the right fit. I’ve heard that it took Dral Sparr six months to find their own spouse once they arrived on Stewjon.” Jaster raised an eyebrow, letting out a low whistle.

“Who was the shortest?” The Mistress chuckled.

“Tarre Vizsla. They knew the moment they entered the estate that their spouse would be one of the house guards, rather than one of the Candidates. It was not a surprise to us, we had been warned ahead of time that they were Ka’runi, one with inner power.” So much history that had been lost on Manda’yaim after the Dral’han had been preserved on Stewjon, thanks to the way they revered the Mandalorians. It still made him feel uncomfortable how easy it was for them to drop everything and obey his words but he knew that half of it was the Manda. They knew he could no more harm these people than they could harm him. They were children of Manda, just like he was.

The next week passed slowly, far too slowly for his liking, and oddly he didn’t get a chance to talk to Sul-tan that week. Instead a different servant came in to clean his rooms and, while they were respectful, he found he missed those intelligent jade eyes smiling up at him in excitement as they spoke about different historical events and figures.

With a clear and sudden insight he let out a groan and pressed his hand to his face. Here he was, thinking about how he would rather be walking the gardens with Sul-tan, while he was supposed to be paying attention to the Candidates. But the Mistress herself admitted that a past Mand’alor had chosen a spouse not from the Candidates, but from the guards

That day he asked the Mistress if he could choose anyone to spend his free days with. The elder gave him a knowing look before asking in a mild tone, one that he wasn’t buying at all, if he had anyone in mind.

Jaster knew who he wanted.

They spent an entire day together, uninterrupted, and it felt nothing like any of the days he had spent previously. There was just something about them that clicked, he could see it in the way Sul-tan stood closer whenever he could, how he leaned in to listen with rapt attention, and how he had no qualms tearing Jaster’s arguments to shreds as they talked about galactic politics.

“Have you ever left Stewjon before?” The man shook his head, although he looked curious rather than frightened of the idea.

“I’m no warrior, my family are all either scholars or serve the Greater Houses. It’s not recommended for anyone who isn’t a warrior to leave the planet, let alone the system.” Jaster cleared his throat.

“I could teach you to defend yourself, if you like.” The man blinked at him owlishly for a moment before letting out a small laugh.

“Alor, you will surely be leaving soon and I have my work. I thank you for the offer but you are a busy man.” Jaster had no idea what to say to that, so he opted for not saying anything at all. Grasping the man’s face he brought their lips together in a kiss he hoped would get all of his emotions across. Sul-tan melted into him, letting out a small whimper. Jaster pulled away, giving the man some space to breathe.

It was Sul-tan who pulled him back.

"Alor..." Jaster shook his head.

"Call me Jaster." Sul-tan swallowed hard.

"Jaster." He let out a low growl of approval and kissed him again.

When he tugged on the man's hand, looking toward his rooms, Sul-tan was eager to follow.

Later that night as he lay in bed, the lithe redhead snuggled up against him and sleeping peacefully, he wondered if this was what bliss felt like. Running his hands through soft locks he knew what he had to do in the morning.

When he woke Sul-tan was nowhere to be found. Jaster washed and dressed quickly, intent on speaking with the Mistress. “

You’ve made your decision, then?” He nodded.

“How do I make it work? They aren’t a Candidate, they didn’t sign up for this.” The elder woman seemed amused.

“Everyone who is here in the Soul Garden is eligible, each was asked if they wouldn’t mind leaving their life behind if they had a chance to find their match.”

“Oh.” The elder woman had the nerve to laugh at him, although in the end he was also smiling at himself in amusement.

"I will make the announcement.” She promised him. An hour later Jaster was pacing back and forth, feeling more nervous than he had ever felt in his entire life, as the Mistress finally returned. “It’s time, Mand’alor.” He turned to walk into the other room but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

“Have no fear, you are destined. I have foreseen it.” He blinked in confusion as she swept out of the room ahead of him, beckoning him to follow. Ka’ra, the old woman had grabbed every single person on the estate and gathered them together. No wonder it took so long.

“Our Mand’alor has decided.” There were excited murmurs amongst the gathered Stewjonians and Jaster had to take a deep breath to steady himself. His eyes roamed those gathered until he locked onto his target.

The man looked upset for some reason and Jaster felt the irrational urge to maim anyone who had caused him to look that dejected. Stalking over to the ones standing in front of him he motioned for them to move aside. They parted, bowing slightly as they did so. Jaster stopped in front of Sul-tan and noticed that his body was tense.

Was this not something he also wanted? Was this a mistake? “Sul-tan.” He said quietly, reaching up to caress his face. “I knew the moment I laid eyes on you. Will you come with me?” He tried to make it a request, not an order. Jaster didn't want someone to think they had to reciprocate his affection if they weren't interested. He wanted a spouse, an equal partner, not a slave.

The man let out a small sob before throwing his arms around Jaster’s neck. “Yes, Jaster!” His heart soared and he swore he could hear the Manda trilling in happiness.

“Come then, let us say the vows. Together.” Sul-tan stepped back, wiping his tears from his face and nodding almost frantically.

When Jaster left Stewjon he was not alone. At his side, staring out at the void for the first time, was a beautiful gift in mortal form.

Chapter Text

When the birth of a new Mand’alor was felt on Stewjon the people gathered in the streets to celebrate their joy. Manda had once again blessed them with a Star Emperor, the one whose very spirit anchored the gods to the material plain. Of course Sul-tan didn’t quite believe those old legends, not in the way most people did at least. The new Mand’alor wouldn’t be a god given flesh, that idea was absurd. They would be a person. A person who was more in touch with the cosmos, but a person nonetheless.

When the current Mistress of the Soul Garden sent out invitations to the largest and most influential families Sul-tan was surprised to find an invitation extended to their House. It was all but forgotten that they had once been a Greater House until a disaster had devastated their numbers and pushed them into obscurity.

Looking over the letter curiously he glanced up at his parents. Sul-gyr and Sul-vika watched him with calm expressions. “This does not state one has to be the eldest child of the House, just that one has a willingness to serve the Mand’alor in all ways.” Up to and including bonding with them if that was what was desired.

“We know you, Sul-tan, you are not ambitious like your siblings.” He wanted to sigh. All of his elder siblings had gone on to serve Greater Houses, while he preferred his datapads and holobooks. “If you had your way you would forever sequester yourself in your room with your studies.” The two shared a look that was full of meaning.

“But we also know that you have one wish beyond that. A wish to find the other half of your soul.” He flushed, looking down at his hands as his carrier placed her hand on his arm and squeezed gently in reassurance. “No one here has ever struck your fancy, we know, but there will be more than the Mand’alor coming to Stewjon. They will have an entourage. Maybe what you need is a big strong warrior to sweep you off your feet.” Sul-vika said with a small giggle.

“Carrier!” He cried in embarrassment, certain his face was now as red as his hair.

“Your carrier may joke but we think it would be good for you to meet sovereign-worlders.” Sul-gyr, his caregiver, shook her head gently. “But it is up to you, Sul-tan. Only those who accept all that comes with a possible match to a sovereign-worlder are allowed into the Soul Garden. You have four days to decide. Let us know on the third day what you wish to do.” Sul-tan ran a hand through his hip-length hair.

“I will tell you my decision by the third day, Caretaker. Might I be alone to ponder this decision?” His parents looked at one another before they both stood.

“Use the meditation garden if you need to, Sul-tan. We do not want you to rush this decision.” He inclined his head in acceptance and smiled at them as they left together- still clearly in love even after having five children together.

Sul-tan sat in the small garden, listening to the trickle of water and the faint chiming of the wind crystals. He knew he should not make such a decision in haste, after all it could be something that changed his life forever.

With a sigh he lay back on the grass, uncaring that is outer robe was getting grass stains. Closing his eyes he reached out to the light he knew was there, just behind his eyes and deep in his chest. There was no feeling of danger or urgency. Just a content sort of warmth. Well that was at least comforting, to know he wasn’t in any danger.

But he would still take the time to think about this before making up his mind. Becoming a part of the Soul Garden was a big change from his everyday life.

In the end he chose to apply as a servant of the garden, certain he was neither qualified, connected, or even pretty enough to attempt a Candidate position. Besides, the Candidate positions were jealously fought over and even more jealously guarded. Sul-tan didn’t want to attract that much attention, not if it meant fighting with more competitive Stewjonians.

In the end he was selected as one of the household servants and two Sovereign Guards were sent to collect him four days after the selection. In front of the guards he allowed his carrier to cut his long hair and presented his parents with the braid, to remember him by if he never returned. Once his hair was shorn close to his head, no longer than his ears, he was led to the Soul Garden where he would undergo a short training period.

The training wasn’t difficult. Simple etiquette was taught to all Stewjonians along with the basics of service. One never knew when one of the sovereign-worlders would have need of them after all. Not that Sul-tan had ever expected it, since sovereign-worlders tended to stick to the larger cities rather than the more urban areas like the one where the Honsul family lived.

In the Soul Garden there was the Mistress, twenty Candidates, thirty servants, twenty of which were assigned permanently to a Candidate to serve as their personal housekeeper, and fifty guards.

The Mistress interviewed them personally and after a very long moment of uncomfortable silence he was assigned to the Mand’alor’s room as a housekeeper. One of three.

Sul-tan had never felt so honored and unnerved in his life.

When the Mand’alor arrived they were all called to greet him, although the Candidates took center stage of course. From what he could see of the Mand’alor he felt that sudden and inescapable draw of a Stewjoni to their King. It was such a warm and comfortable feeling, a sense of absolute certainty that he would be protected, safe. He could see how it would be easy to drown in the feeling if one weren’t prepared.

For the most part Sul-tan barely saw the Mand’alor. Only a glimpse here or there as he, the warrior had claimed himself to be a male and Sul-tan would respect his wishes and refer to him as such, spent his days with the Candidates.

The first week of the Mand’alor’s stay Sul-tan made sure to put his observational skills to good use. When he noticed the holobooks had been moved, and that there were a couple datapads stacked on the nightstand, he realized that the Mand’alor was an avid reader. Intrigued he carefully looked through the titles, trying not to disturb anything just in case. What he found surprised him quite a bit. Politics, philosophy, history, and even culture. The fact that their Mand’alor wasn’t just a competent warrior with the stars in his soul but a well read and intelligent man made Sul-tan feel reassured.

Noting the lack of variety in the texts he quickly left the room and returned with a few from the library. Since the new texts would be noticed anyway Sul-tan rearranged the bookshelf in a more organized way.

Unlike the other housekeepers assigned to the Mand’alor Sul-tan did not actively seek the man out. He deserved both his privacy and time to unwind from the activity packed days he was spending with the Candidates. If he wished for company- he would call for it. So it came entirely as a surprise to Sul-tan when, at the beginning of the third week, the Mand’alor himself appeared in his room during a time he knew the man should be busy.

He had just finished placing more texts on the shelf with a satisfied smile, noting the texts on the nightstand were all ones that he had placed on the shelf before, when he turned to leave. There, standing in front of the waning light of the balcony, was the imposing figure of the Mand’alor himself.

This close Sul-tan could see the way the traditionally cut Mando tunic hung across broad shoulders cinched tightly around his solid waist. But it was his fathomless brown eyes that truly caught his attention. For a moment the entire world held its breath as something in his chest felt warm. Then he realized he was standing in the presence of the Sole Ruler and immediately prostrated himself.

“Mand’alor! Forgive me for intruding on you.” He spoke quietly in Mando’a, uncertain whether he had erred or not and hoping he wasn’t being a nuisance.

There was silence for a long moment and he dared not raise his head.

“There is no need to kneel. I,” the man cleared his throat as if nervous, much to Sul-tan’s confusion. “I had a couple of questions for you, if you wouldn’t mind indulging my curiosity.” Looking up he was again struck by how vast the man’s dark eyes were as he slowly rose from the ground.

“I will answer what I can, Mand’alor.” He promised softly, wanting nothing more than to be helpful in this moment.

“You the one who’s been replacing my holobooks?” He flushed slightly in response, knowing he had been caught. His eyes fell to the floor and he nodded, feeling guilty.

“Thank you.” Looking up in surprise at the man he saw a smile of gratitude on his face and couldn’t help but to smile in return. “Where are my manners?” He asked suddenly. “Jaster Mereel, he/him, but you probably already knew that.” It was clear what the man wanted.

“Sul-tan Honsul, Alor, also he/him.” The Mand’alor smiled at him and it did something interesting to Sul-tan’s insides.

“A pleasure.” Came the gentle reply in that rumbling voice, making Sul-tan shiver slightly.

After nearly an hour of just standing there and talking about all manner of interesting topics, the man was well read indeed and wickedly intelligent as well, he regretfully had to leave. The fact that the man had slowly relaxed in his presence made him feel welcomed and accepted in his private space, but a job was a job. Even if the topic on the way Mando’a and Sonja had slowly begun to intertwine was absolutely fascinating.

“Forgive me, Alor, but I have other tasks I need to complete before the Mistress chides me.” There was a small wrinkle in the man’s brow and he glanced toward the chrono on the wall.

“Of course, don’t let me keep you from your work.” Smiling openly, no longer afraid he had been bothering their king, Sul-tan bowed politely before gathering up the dirty hamper and scurrying off to his chores.

As he left the faint spark of warmth in his chest faded and Sul-tan frowned. It must have been the proximity of the Star Emperor who held the Manda in their soul that had made him feel so warm, and now that he was out of the man’s vicinity he was feeling that loss. That had to be it, right?

After two days of doing other chores around the estate Sul-tan was once again entering the Mand’alor’s quarters. Coming into the rooms he spied the balcony doors open and stopped in surprise. Once again the Mand’alor was wearing a traditional tunic, this time with in a style that showed off his muscled arms. He tried hard not to stare.

“Good day, Alor.” He wondered if the man remembered him. Vainly he thought that he might, seeing as Sul-tan was from one of the few Houses who had true green eyes and thus was distinct even among the other redheaded servants.

“Good day.” The man watched him for a long moment before he set down the datapad in his hands and came inside the room. That same warm and jittery feeling from last time returned and Sul-tan realized with sudden clarity it was because he found the man almost unbearably attractive. “Listen, I was wondering if you might do me a favor…”

Sul-tan felt self conscious as he wore the outfit that had been shoved to the back of his closet, the one his parents had ordered him to take with him just in case a nice sovereign-worlder took notice of him and he wanted to show off. Of course now that the Star Emperor himself had asked him to accompany him for an evening he was very grateful they had been so pushy about it.

Walking throughout the gardens in the evening they spent some time just allowing the peace of the garden to settle in as they spoke quietly on a more broad range of topics. He wasn’t surprised that the Mand’alor had once been a justice officer, what he referred to as a Protector, but the man looked pleasantly surprised when Sul-tan remarked that his normal job was as a researcher and low level scholar.

When a relaxed silence descended once again he glanced over at the man. He looked as if he were deep in thought. Sul-tan bit the inside of his cheek, still feeling a little nervous. “This must be hard on you, Alor, if you need someone to talk to who is not one of your Candidates.” He hadn’t known whether he should bring it up but he was honestly curious. After all part of the reason he’d avoided the man was to give him some time and privacy.

He let out such an aggravated sigh that Sul-tan had to hold back a chuckle, lest he offend the poor man.

“This wasn’t what I thought would happen when I took up the mantle of Mand’alor. Not that I’m complaining, just…” Sul-tan hummed in understanding.

“It wasn’t what you saw yourself doing?” He asked gently, knowing he was right.

“Exactly. Although the time here has been good for me, I’ve had time to finalize more of the new Codex I wish to introduce to the Mandalorians.” The Mand’alor looked down at him slightly. “I also wished to thank you. The holobooks you left me gave me much needed insight into the history of Manda’yaim.” Sul-tan couldn’t help the flush of joy that came to his cheeks.

“It was nothing, Alor, just a hobby of mine.”

“A noble hobby, if you ask me.” He smiled up at the man before he seemed distracted by something and his eyes suddenly darted away. Sul-tan nibbled on his bottom lip. Had he done something wrong?

They left on an amicable note, with Sul-tan returning quietly to his own room. He didn't want to read too much into it but the way the Mand'alor had gently touched his arm and thanked him for the evening made Sul-tan want to hope for something more. He shook his head. The man had just needed a friend, nothing more. If he'd wanted something else he would has said so... wouldn't he?

The fourth week passed but Sul-tan didn’t catch the Mand’alor in his quarters again. Probably for the best. He doubted that the man had much time to waste on the likes of a servant. Even if they seemed to share many of the same thoughts on a wide range of things.

During one of the days he was supposed to clean the Mand’alor’s quarters one of the Candidates, Kij-vek, bumped into him when he was trying to right a picture frame in the hall. The frame dug into his hand and he hissed in pain as blood began to well up. Even the other Candidate with Kij-vek seemed startled at this behavior.

“Why?” Was all Sul-tan asked, wrapping a clean piece of linen around his hand to stem the bleeding.

“Little sneak!” Was all the, currently going by feminine terms, Candidate hissed.

“Let me help you.” Mal-tun said quickly, glaring over their shoulder at the other Candidate as they took the reigns and wrapped the wound more thoroughly. “Come on, we’ll tell the Mistress and she can decide what to do with Lady Illukij.” With their testimony added to Sul-tan’s the Mistress forgave him leaving his post and sent him along quickly to the medical room.

In the end Kij-vek was confined to her room until the Mistress could sort out the issue and someone else was sent in Sul-tan’s place to clean the Mand’alor’s quarters as his hand was treated with high grade bacta.

According to Mal-tun they had heard Kij-vek speaking disdainfully about the servants of the estate, treating them as lesser. When everyone heard about how the Mand’alor had requested a servant accompany him in the gardens for an evening she had become jealous. It wasn’t that hard to find out who had accompanied the Mand’alor and so she had lashed out.

Lucky him.

A few days later the Mistress requested his presence and he was worried that an issue with Kij-vek had come up. But as he stood there, uncertain, the woman had smiled at him. “The Mand’alor is requesting your presence for tomorrow.” His heart pounded in his chest.

“Me? But I’m no one important, not even a Candidate, I mean, I-” The woman laughed and placed a wizened hand on his shoulder.

“Those things don’t matter.” She looked him in the eyes, searching. “Do you want to spend the day with him? Get to know him better?” He sucked in a breath and for a moment was still. Did he want that? Yes. Yes, he really did. Heat bloomed on his cheeks and he finally nodded. “Then that is all you need, child.” She looked him up and down again before smiling. “Come, I have spare clothes that should fit you. I know you came with little and you’ll want to look your best for our Alor.”

From the moment he woke in the morning he felt excitement all the way to his bones. After a quick shower he changed into the nicer clothes the Mistress had leant him but hesitated over the jewelry. From the talks he’d already had with the Mand’alor he knew the man thought that such finery was nice but impractical and Sul-tan had agreed with him. So instead of wearing what the Mistress had given him he chose to wear the simple pendant his parents had gifted him on his Blooming day. It was a local red flower encased in clear crystal.

Over breakfast they talked about cooking and flavors, laughing at how Outsiders thought that the Mando’ade only ate spicy food. They spent some time in the library and he smiled as the Mand’alor realized they had actual physical books, among other things. For lunch they spoke about the Republic Senate and he listened as the man grumbled about how they were using the New Mandalorians to mine Beskar on the planet and sending it off-world. Everyone knew how expensive and rare Beskar was but only someone who knew about Mandalore’s history would understand the cultural and spiritual significance.

After lunch they were taken out to the stables and Sul-tan had to admit that he knew nothing of horses. His House had been scholars for a long time and had never really interacted much with animals. The Mand’alor was kind, gentle, as he led Sul-tan through how to saddle a horse and how to ride. Being helped onto the horse would have been humiliating if he hadn’t been so focused on how the man had lifted him as if he weighed nothing.

It left him feeling flustered and wondering how else he might use that strength.

At the end of the day, after a quiet dinner, they found themselves out in the garden once again. They sat on a bench by a small stream and watched the sun slowly sink beyond the horizon.

“Have you ever left Stewjon before?” He shook his head, unsure where the question had come from.

“I’m no warrior, my family are all either scholars or serve the Greater Houses. It’s not recommended for anyone who isn’t a warrior to leave the planet, let alone the system.” The Mand’alor cleared his throat, a question burning in his eyes.

“I could teach you to defend yourself, if you like.” Sul-tan stared at him for a moment, baffled, before he let out a small laugh. It was probably a little more harsh than he intended seeing the furrowed brow on the man’s face.

“Alor, you will surely be leaving soon and I have my work. I thank you for the offer but you are a busy man.” The man stared at him for a moment before he flew into motion. In a single move he placed his hands on Sul-tan’s head and leaned forward, pressing their lips together in what was clearly a kiss. The warmth in his chest burst into an inferno and Sul-tan whimpered as he pressed forward slightly.

It was only once they’d run out of air that the man pulled away. Inexplicably the Mand’alor move even farther away, letting his hands drop and giving him space. Was he… was he waiting for Sul-tan to get angry with him for being so forward?

Oh this sweet, sweet, man.

Sul-tan reached for his wrists and gently pulled him back so their thighs were touching, placing one of the man’s hands on his waist and the other on his shoulder. “Alor…” The man shook his head, dark eyes focused and intent.

"Call me Jaster." Oh.

“Jaster.” He said, nearly breathless. The man let out a low growl of approval and Sul-tan shivered with delight as he was kissed again.

Jaster stood, releasing him, only to take his hand and gently tug him up off the bench. When it was made obvious they were returning to Jaster’s quarters Sul-tan was more than happy to follow him.

The night was filled with the feeling of calloused hands against his skin, the taste of salt on his tongue, and the low rumbling of a commanding yet gentle voice that carefully took him apart. Until all he could do was chant a litany of the man’s name.

He woke early that morning, used to waking with the dawn birds. His body ached in many places but it was a delicious ache, the kind that only came from spending a night in more than enjoyable company. Looking down at Jaster’s sleeping face he couldn’t help but want to reach over and run his hands through brunette locks.

But… Jaster wasn’t his. Enjoyable night or not this was a new day. His time was up. Staring down at Jaster’s sleeping face he realized that he didn’t want to leave. Something inside of him was breaking. If he had to actually say good-bye he wasn’t sure he could do it without breaking down.

Quietly he gathered his things, changed, and snuck over to the door. He took one last look back at the Mand’alor before he quickly ran away.

It was only a couple of hours later, thankfully after he’d made himself presentable, that the Mistress called the household for an announcement.

“Our Mand’alor has decided.” The Mistress said as she came to stand before the household, the Mand’alor standing nearby and looking around with a small frown.

This was it then.

Sul-tan didn’t want to bring himself to hope, and yet he found himself desperately begging the Stars to grant him this one thing.

Jas... the Mand’alor strode toward him and Sul-tan held his breath. The guard and another servant who had been standing in front of him quickly parted out of the way as the Mand’alor stopped before him.

Please, please, please!

“Sul-tan.” The gentle fingers against his face made his eyes flutter closed, his entire body filling with want. “I knew the moment I laid eyes on you.” His eyes opened in surprise and he was captured by that intense gaze, unable to look away. “Will you come with me?” He could hear how Jaster hesitated, how he tried to give him a choice.

But it was no choice at all. There was only one option Sul-tan would accept. “Yes, Jaster!” He threw his arms around the man’s neck and had to hold back a sob as warm hands wrapped around him, making him feel safe.

“Come then, let us say the vows. Together.” Stepping back he wiped the tears from his face, nodding so fast he felt light-headed. Or maybe that was just his happiness? He couldn’t be sure.

Later, standing on the bridge of Jaster’s ship, he looked out toward the stars and wondered just how far from Stewjon he would travel. Looking up at Jaster he realized that it didn’t matter. After all his home was not a place; it was a person.

Chapter Text

As long as he’d known Jaster the man had been nearly unflappable. He was intelligent, honorable, and inspired loyalty in his people. He was a hard man to argue against, stubborn, and in the end he always got his way.

Unless he was talking with his riduur.

The redhead was slender and soft spoken, a self admitted scholar rather than a warrior. At first it hadn’t made sense to him. Jaster was the perfect example of a warrior and yet he had taken this delicate flower with him to the stars. The man didn’t even wear full armor. Just the bracers that had been crafted for him to mark his status as the Be’alor. No one really thought much of the pretty little thing who tended to stay in the Mand’alor’s quarters more often than not.

Even when learning to fight it was clear that he would only ever use his skills to defend himself and escape, rather than actually fight anyone.

Then, three months after he’d been brought on board, he showed exactly why Jaster had chosen him above all the others.

It had been after an attack on a civilian area, including a school. Jaster was simultaneously drowning in guilt and enraged that Kyr’tsad would dare do such a thing just to try and bait him. Everyone was on edge and nothing was getting done. No one wanted to be the one who set Jaster off. Even the Manda seemed to be singing a song of revenge in their veins.

Then the door opened and he appeared.

Clad in slippers and still wearing traditional Stewjoni clothing he almost seemed to float as he walked. The buzzing anger around the room dimmed as this fragile seeming man passed by enraged warriors as if he were on a calm stroll. Their emotions slid off of him like water and when he finally reached Jaster at the center of the maelstrom he left a bewildered calmness in his wake.

“Jaster.” His voice was soft, gentle, as he reached up and cupped the Mand’alor’s face with both hands. The man leaned forward, going onto his toes, and pressed their foreheads together.

Myles only heard the exchange because he had been standing close to Jaster, about to hand the man a datapad with new information.

“My Gift, you shouldn’t be here.” Came the rumble from the Mand’alor.

“You needed me. I wasn’t about to stay away when I could feel your heart breaking.” Jaster shuddered slightly and reached up to pull his riduur closer, one arm around his shoulders and one around his waist. “No one will think you are weak if you grieve, My Heart. You are not alone, and that is your strength.” Jaster murmured something further but Myles had turned his attention away from the couple out of respect.

“I will help you.” Sul-tan said quietly.

“You don’t want to bloody your hands with this. Revenge isn’t glorious or honorable.” Jaster’s voice was filled with regret and it made Myle’s stomach fall through the floor.

“Justice isn’t revenge, My Heart, and you are not a lesser man for wanting to protect your people. I will help you.” No one ever really won an argument with the Mand’alor.

Except his riduur.

From then on the Be’alor could be found working in the comms center, going over strategies with the tacticians, and working in logistics. He was a balm that soothed Jaster’s wounds and smoothed his jagged edges. He made their Mand’alor a better leader and everyone knew it.

So it was no wonder that Ky’tsad decided to send out their assassins to kill him three years after their vows.

Watching Jaster fall to pieces was one of the worst experiences Myles had ever been through. Everyone felt absolutely powerless as the man who had led them through hell and back collapsed to the ground with tears running freely down his face. His eyes were lifeless, like all the stars in the galaxy had gone out in a single instant. No words could get through to him and someone made the stupid mistake of trying to touch his shoulder in sympathy. It took eight warriors working together to take him down so a medic could jam a hypo in his neck and stop his rampage.

That was the beginning of the end for the Haat’ade. The day the very heart of them died.

Chapter Text

Carried away from the town by Jaster an eight year old Jango did his best to wipe away the tears running down his face but they just kept coming. The man who had saved him would glance down at him now and then, giving him soft words of encouragement, but otherwise he was preoccupied with his soldiers. It was a surprise to learn that this man was the new Mand’alor, Jaster Mereel, the one his father had been secretly supporting during the monthly meetings amongst all their neighbors.

It took a while to get back to the ship that would carry all of them but by that time Jango was far too tired to care. He was all out of tears and his limbs were heavy. He felt thankful that Jaster hadn’t forced him to walk, handing him off to one of his soldiers when he had to start giving orders.

“…ame back hurt. I knew it wasn’t a good idea, My Heart.” Voices pierced the dark veil of sleep, ones he didn’t recognize. Frowning he curled up tighter into the soft warm blanket beneath him and tried to ignore them.

“I’m fine, My Gift. But Vizsla escaped us again.” That was Jaster’s voice. He recognized it from earlier.

There was a small sigh.

“He certainly is resilient, isn’t he. Like a womprat.” Said the unknown voice. It didn’t sound like any of the soldiers from before though.

There was a snort of amusement.

“About the boy…” Jango went still.

“You don’t have to say anything. I know that look in your eye.” There was a soft laugh. “But it’s up to him. He might have relatives elsewhere, My Heart. No matter how mandokar the boy is we can’t keep him if he doesn’t want to stay.” He felt his throat go tight and heat gather in his eyes.

The Mand’alor wanted to keep him?

Jango wasn’t quite certain how he felt about that.

“You should ask him,” said the unknown voice, “he’s awake now.” Face flushing slightly in embarrassment he opened his eyes to a dull grey ceiling. It looked like bare metal. Sitting up he looked over at the only other people in the room. Jaster, the man who saved him, was a brunette with dark brown eyes. While the other… man? had red hair gathered into a low ponytail and striking green eyes.

“Hey kid.” The Mand’alor said with a tired smile. “Welcome back.” Next to him the person without armor let out a small huff of amusement.

“Here, you must be thirsty.” Pouring him a glass of water the second person smiled gently at him. “You’ve been through a lot in a very short time.” They shook their head sadly. “I’m Sul-tan Mereel, he/him. What’s your name?” Jango drank the water from the glass in one go, not realizing just how thirsty he had really been until the cool liquid touched his tongue.

“Didn’t he tell you?” He asked, nodding toward the Mand’alor.

“Even if Jaster did tell me your name, it is not my place to assume I have permission to use it.” Jango blinked at him, momentarily confused, before he smiled shyly.

“Jango Fett. Um, I’m a boy.” Sul-tan laughed and it was a pleasant thing, light and airy.

“A pleasure to meet you, Jango Fett. I wish it was under better circumstances…” The sadness in his voice was almost too much for Jango to take as his eyes filled with tears at the edges.

“Come on, kid your age needs hearty meals.” The Mand’alor said gently. “We can talk after.” Wiping his face on his sleeve he slipped off the bed and headed over to the small table, feeling more than a little awkward as he sat between the Mand’alor and Sul-tan.

When Jaster had gone off on the latest mission to try and deal with Vizsla, Sul-tan had not expected him to come back with a child sleeping in his arms. The boy had curly dark hair and a tanned complexion, his skin dry and hands rough from hard work. There hadn’t been much time for Jaster’s team to stop and get cleaned up so there were still smudges of dirt covering the boy’s cheeks.

Montross scoffed at him as he walked past and Sul-tan had to call to mind his family’s meditation garden not to round on the pompous thug. Holding out his arms he chuckled at Jaster’s bewildered head tilt. “Give him to me, My Heart, I’ll get him settled in our quarters for now. You need to get cleaned up and out of your armor so I can see to your wounds.” With a grunt the man gently handed him the child, who snuggled into Sul-tan’s chest with a small sigh.

As Jaster vanished into the fresher he lay the boy down on their bunk and prepared a damp cloth. Wiping the grime away from the boy’s face he scowled at the bruises that were already darkening on the child’s skin.

Whoever hit the boy had better be dead.

Knowing Jaster they probably were.

It didn’t take long for the child to wake and when he did Sul-tan felt his heart melt. He could see a sharp intelligence and stubbornness in the boy that reminded him of his riduur and knew that they would be keeping the boy, if the boy wanted to stay with them of course.

“Sul-tan comes from a world with a diverse range of plant life. Tell me, have you heard of Stewjon?” Focusing his attention back on the conversation he saw the boy shake his head. “Stewjon is part of the Old Empire, settled by our Taung ancestors during the expansion.” Sul’tan couldn’t help but to chuckle at his riduur.

“Already filling his head with our history and legends?” He asked as he rearranged some of the dishes on the table to be within easy reach of the boy.

Jaster shrugged, unrepentant, as he gathered what he wanted for his meal. Sul-tan waited until his spouse was finished before serving the child and then himself.

He made sure to give Jango a choice in what he wanted, for the most part, but it was obvious from his clothes and appearance, and the fact that they were on Concord Dawn, that the boy was used to eating whatever was placed in front of him. He didn’t complain when Sul-tan added a healthy amount of greens to his plate, though he did grimace slightly in that way all children were known to do.

“My people are easy to spot because of our red hair and blue-green eyes, usually coupled with a pale complexion. We also favor bright colors in our clothes and items.” He nodded toward the bed where the intricately woven blanket he had covered Jango in earlier was laying. It was a wedding gift from his third elder sibling and was well loved for it’s warmth.

“They are a protected people and allies of true Mando’ade. If you ever need help you can always count on a Stewjoni’ad.” Jaster said cheerfully, looking as if he was refraining from reaching out and ruffling the boy’s hair; like he did to all the other children who belonged to House Mereel.

He frowned slightly. “My Heart?” When Jaster looked over at him Sul-tan switched to Sonja. “Is it wise to tell him all this?”

The man’s eyes glinted and the grin that crossed his face made Sul-tan duck his head slightly, an answering smile crossing his lips. “He’s from one of the old clans. If he doesn’t know our history yet then he should know it. I can feel it in him, he has the potential to lead.”

Sul-tan blinked and looked back over at the boy, who was watching them with narrowed eyes even as he shoved another forkful of food into his mouth. Sul-tan let out a small huff of amusement.

“You understand.” He stated, amused by Jaster’s look of surprise as his spouse turned to scrutinize the child.

The boy swallowed his mouthful first, thankfully, before speaking. “Little. Not know… lots.” Jango said with a frown of concentration. “My buire were teaching my ori’vod but said I was too little to know…” He looked down for a moment, quiet. “But I… remember it?” The poor boy looked so confused.

Sul-tan blinked in surprise. If the boy was remembering the language even without being fully taught… it could mean he had a Stewjoni ancestor.

Jaster tapped his leg under the table to catch his attention and made a sign with his hand. ‘Potential.’

Sul-tan wanted to roll his eyes in fond exasperation.

“If you’d like I could teach you a little more. But it’s up to you.” He said to Jango, smiling when the boy grinned at him.

A moment later his expression fell and the boy looked dejected. Sul-tan leaned across the table and reached for him before stopping himself, wary of startling the boy after all he’d been through. “Are you okay Jango?”

The boy looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. “…do you really want me?”

Jaster jolted, more than willing to comfort the boy, but Sul-tan was faster. Standing he knelt next to the boy and carefully wrapped him in a gentle hug. “Of course we do, you are a very brave and remarkable ad. But we’ll only keep you if you want to be here. It is your choice.”

The boy sniffled, choked, and began to cry. But Sul-tan was certain that beneath the quiet sobbing he heard the words; “I want to stay.”

Jaster stood and came over to place his hand on the boy’s head. Jango looked up and was met with a gentle kov’nyn from the Mand’alor. “Then you’ll stay. Ni kar’tayl gai sa’ad, Jango Fett.” He said firmly.

“Welcome to the Haat Mando’ade, Jango Fett of the Mereel Clan.”

Chapter Text

[Montross]

“Do you want to repeat what you just fucking said?” Jango snarled, anger in every line of his fourteen year old body.

Those standing just far enough away to catch what had been said looked over at the young teen in concern. Normally he was fairly well behaved, calm and collected. But at the moment the boy, so close to manhood but yet so far, looked as if he was about one step away from attacking the larger Mando’ad.

Montross looked at those he’d been speaking in hushed tones with but they had all backed away, conflicted looks on their faces.

He was all alone.

“It’s just a joke, lighten up.” He tried to deflect but the narrowing of Jango’s eyes and the way the others nearby shifted in discomfort meant that more and more attention was being brought to him and the son of the Mand’alor.

“A joke? Is that your only defense?” The teenling spat. “You said that my buir would do better to shut his mouth and stay on his knees, like a good Stewjoni’ad, rather than get involved in Haat’ade business!” His voice rose above the noise of the hangar and everyone suddenly stilled, as if some instinct had them all freezing in place to not attract the attention of a superior predator.

Glancing around the now deathly quiet hangar Montross grit his teeth as he realized he was completely alone. No one there was going to back him up. Especially when most of the Haat’ade adored the Be’alor. The soft redhead was a calm and steady presence, someone anyone could go to for advice, and it made Montross sneer internally at the thought.

The fact that Sul-tan was a scholar and not a warrior just cemented the idea in his mind that Jaster was weak. The little whore had charmed the Mand’alor into letting him get away with things that a true blooded Mando’ad would never allow a Stewjoni’ad to do. Like ordering around his troops or standing next to him during a formal address.

The fact that he was also physically male when he could be giving the Mand’alor a real heir instead of adopting some fucking hick kid was just the straw that broke the eopie’s back.

If only Tor’s plan to kill the redhead had gone through.

“Your buir,” he sneered, “should be in the Mand’alor’s quarters with his actual child- where he belongs.” He glared at those around him. “And I’m not the only one that thinks so, I’m just the only one strong enough to say it; unlike these cowards.” He glowered down at Jango.

“You bastard!” Jango launched himself at Montross, the dig at his adoption making him lose the last thread of calm he had. One of the verd closest to the boy grabbed the back of his armor and stopped him but from the way Jango was wrenching this way and that it wouldn’t be long before he was at Montross’ throat.

Just as Montross got ready to defend himself from the teen’s inevitable attack a booming voice broke the silence.

“What is going on here?” The pressure that had already been building in the room reached it’s peak as Jaster himself stalked forward with a predatory stride, looking every inch a deadly avatar of the Manda itself.

Keeping stride with the Mand’alor, expression deeply concerned as he looked between Jango and Montross, was Sul-tan. As always he was unarmored except for the vambraces he had been gifted by Jaster during their riduurok, wearing a long tunic over pants with soft slippered feet.

“Jango, nin aldi, mef’aal ti gahn?” The bastardized Mando’a rolled musically off of the redhead’s tongue as he came closer, ignoring Montross in favor of checking on the teen.

“Montross cair takisal gahn, Su’bihr.” Jango said through gritted teeth, something much like a low growl rumbling from his chest as he spoke.

The fact that the little hick was speaking the same language as the weakling made him want to spit in disgust.

“They are just words, nin aldi. Words cannot cut you unless you let them.” The man said softly as he gently shooed the verd holding Jango back. “One sentient’s opinion of me means nothing if they have not earned my respect.” Placing a hand on the teenling’s shoulder the man smiled gently.

The fight left Jango in one harsh exhale, his shoulders loosening although he was still glaring daggers at Montross.

“Unlike my riduur, I believe that words can indeed cause harm if left unchecked.” Jaster turned to Montross, brown eyes sharp. “I want to know exactly what was said.”

Jango opened his mouth but was stopped by a slight shake of the head from the redhead.

“Alor, if I may?” One of the three Mando’ade he had been talking to before Jango overheard them took a step closer, thumping their fist against their chest.

“Llwanis, you may speak.” The man acknowledged.

“Tanis, Ylessa, and I were doing some equipment maintenance when Montross approached us. He struck up a conversation with us, asking us about where we’re from and how we grew up. I’m not sure how the topic turned to Stewjon but he had very strong opinions about what he thought of the planet, the culture, and the people from there. Including your riduur.”

The verd didn’t even look in his direction as he spoke. Montross clenched his hands at his sides. He was going to have to do something about this mess, and soon.

“What opinions are those?” Jaster asked, eyes boring into Montross’ skull.

The verd sucked in a breath, taking a moment before he finally responded. “That your spouse is property, and should either be pregnant with, or already have, your ‘legitimate’ child by blood. That he should be kept out of the way in your quarters and stay out of the daily running of the Haat’ade… that he’s only useful for sexual gratification.” The man hesitated at the end, expression tight with disgust.

The tension that had been building in the room suddenly exploded into an inferno as Jaster let out an animalistic snarl that sent a shiver of dread through Montross’ body.

It was as if the air around the man was vibrating with pure violence. “You dare!?” Jaster growled as he stalked forward.

“Wait, My Heart.” With one sentence the Mand’alor was stopped in his tracks, turning to look back at the redhead. “That kind of sentiment is familiar.” The man’s green eyes turned to look at Montross and he swore the man could see into his soul. A look of sadness and what might have been pity crossed his face. “Our intelligence agents have said similar views are widely held by those in Kyr’tsad.”

Montross’d had enough of the charade. Pulling his weapon he aimed it at Jaster’s head. But as he attempted to pull the trigger something slammed into his hand hard enough that his shot went wide. Hissing he looked over at Sul-tan, whose hand was outstretched toward him, eyes hard as stone.

Before he could even open his mouth he was being tackled to the floor by Jaster.

[Jango]

While the other mando’ade watched Jas’buir kick the absolute osik out of Montross, Jango’s attention was caught by the deep red streak slowly trailing from his Su’bihr’s nose. Staggering in place Jango had just enough time to wrap his arm around him to slow his descent to the ground. He was still too small to stop his fall completely but at least this way the man’s knees didn’t crack into the plating of the ship as his body began to shake.

“Su’bihr!” Those closest to him jumped into action, alerting one of the verde who had medical knowledge and moving out of their way.

“What happened?” They asked calmly, flashing a small light into Su’bihr’s eyes and using a cloth to stem the blood coming from his nose.

“I don’t know! He just collapsed!”

A hand came up weakly and landed on his short curls, a wan smile crossing Su’bihr’s face. “I’m alright, my child. Just channeled too much of Manda’s star-fire.” His eyes were slightly unfocused and he hissed when the medic pinched his nose and tilted his head forward.

“Don’t tilt your head back, the blood will flow down the back of your throat and might clog your airway. Don’t swallow the blood, that could cause you to vomit which will not help the nosebleed. Spit into this instead.” The medic held out another cloth and Su’bihr gingerly took it, looking disgruntled.

“Alor, I want you to time ten minutes on the clock. Then we’ll check to see if the nosebleed has stopped.” The calm and firm voice of the medic was enough to keep Jango from panicking further as he quickly set a timer on his vambrace.

He was so focused on keeping watch over the time that he missed the end of the fight. He startled slightly when Jas’buir suddenly knelt next to him, reaching out to grasp his shoulder as he looked down at Su’bihr worriedly.

Su’bihr spat into the cloth, making a face, before smiling up at Jas’buir. “Is he dead? Or did you leave him alive for an interrogation?” His normally refined and melodic voice was a little weird with the medic’s fingers pressed against his nose but he was thankfully understandable.

“He’s alive, barely.” Jas’buir growled. “Now don’t talk, My Gift, you’re making it difficult for Baar’ur Ruusal.”

Su’bihr let out a small huff. “It is just a nosebleed, My Heart. And exhaustion from overreaching myself. I will be fine after a cycle of rest.”

Jas’buir looked over at the medic who shrugged slightly. “If the nosebleed stops in the next ten or twenty minutes he’ll be fine. If not I might have to cauterize it, in which case it would be better to have him stay the night in the medbay.”

Jango’s vambrace beeped and the medic carefully pulled the cloth away from Su’bihr’s face, inspecting his nose carefully. “Doesn’t look like it’s about to start up again.” Pulling out a tube of bacta he used a small applicator to smear some inside Su’bihr’s nostrils, which had Su’bihr making another face. “Don’t blow your nose or stuff anything up there for at least twelve hours. Drink lots of water and get some rest.” The medic looked between the three of them before thumping his fist against his chest. “Mand’alor, Be’alor, Ven’alor.”

Jango froze for a moment, eyes going wide.

Ven’alor. The medic had called him the future ruler, the Heir.

Jango looked between Jas’buir and Su’bihr as Montross’ words came back to him. He was not their legitimate child. He was adopted. Did he even have the right to be called the Ven’alor?

“My child, do not question your place with us.” Su’bihr said gently. “You are the child of our heart. We could not love you more than we already do, even if you were a child of our blood.”

Jango bit the inside of his cheek as tears welled up at the corners of his eyes. He was almost an adult now, he didn’t want anyone to see him crying like a baby.

A large hand pressed against his back and he looked up at Jas’buir’s proud smile. “You did good, ad’ika, standing up for your buir. We do not tolerate that sort of ignorance or discrimination in the Haat’ade. Just another reason to take down Kyr’tsad as quickly as we can.”

Jango nodded in grim understanding.

No one should be looked down upon for their species, gender, or place of birth. Su’bihr wasn’t a warrior like they were but he was just as valued for everything he had contributed to the Haat’ade since he’d married Jas’buir and joined up.

“Come on, My Gift. Let’s get you back to our quarters so you can rest.” Helping Jas’buir get Su’bihr to his feet Jango kept an eye on the verde around them.

Something Montross had said still niggled at the back of his mind. He was on edge as he stayed next to Su’bihr, guarding his buire as they focused on each other.

“Alor.” Jaster stopped so Jango did too. The one standing nearby had their helmet in their hands, looking a little guilty.

“What is it?” His Jas’buir asked, voice deceptively calm.

“I…” The verd slowly went down on both knees and set their helmet down beside them. “I had heard Montross make similar comments before, but I was too much of a coward to call him on it.” They bowed their head. “I want to offer my sincerest apologies to the Be’alor. I knew that Montross held these views and I kept my silence. I have shamed the Haat’ade.” They took a deep breath and let it out. “I would ask that you come up with a fitting punishment for this act of cowardice.”

There were murmurs all around them as the rest of the Haat’ade in the hangar watched the scene before them.

Su’bihr looked at Jas’buir and they held one of those silent conversations before Su’bihr turned to address the kneeling verd.

“I will be deciding your punishment, I trust there are no objections?” The verd didn’t say anything, only lowered their head further. “Does anyone else wish to say anything in this warrior’s defense?”

After a moment of silence another verd stepped forward and joined the one on the floor. “Only that I wish to join my vod in penance.” They said seriously.

In the end five verde knelt in front of Su’bihr and awaited their verdict.

“If anyone else wished to come forward later, my office is open to you. I will be giving all of you the same punishment.” That said Su’bihr looked down at the five verde and his features softened. “From this moment onward I am sending you all on a mission to Stewjon. You will be stationed at the Haat’ade barracks for the next three months. Perhaps experiencing a new culture will give you a better understanding of where you all veered off the path of honor.”

Jango looked to Jas’buir and found the man trying, and failing, to hide a fond smile. He had no doubt that the Mand’alor would have assigned the same mission if they had approached him instead.

The steadfast faith they had in each other was inspiring and Jango hoped he would find someone to share that kind of relationship with one day.

“You heard him, once we’ve returned to Manda’yaim you’ll have three days to get your affairs in order before I send you all on a shuttle to Stewjon.”

“Yes, Alor.” The five verde thumped their chests in salute and his buire nodded at them in return.

“Now, no more delays. You need to rest, My Gift.” Jango snickered at the fond exasperation that crossed Su’bihr’s face before the redhead allowed the Mand’alor to gently ferry him away to their quarters so he could rest.

As he followed behind his parents he saw a group of verde dragging Montross’ unconscious body away and grinned in fierce satisfaction.

The bastard would get his soon. No one attacked his Aliit and got away with it.

Chapter Text

Once Montross had been placed under arrest for treason every single thing the man had touched was put under scrutiny. Every squad he’d helped create or train, every contact, every job he’d screened and set on Jaster’s desk. All of it was combed through thoroughly by Myles and Su’bihr.

As they worked they uncovered a pattern of lost shipments, heavy casualties, and funds skimmed off the top hidden behind falsified documents. The more they uncovered the more upset Jaster became, until he retreated to his quarters and gave the order that he was not to be disturbed.

Su’bihr disappeared an hour later, leaving Myles to continue sifting through the information with growing disgust and anger.

Five hours after that Jango stood outside his buire’s quarters and hesitated to knock on the door. He knew that they didn’t want to be bothered but… his instincts were telling him he needed to do something to help his Aliit. Clutching the tray of food he squared his shoulders and knocked before inputting the door code and heading inside.

The lights were dimmed to near-dark and he could just make out feathers strewn across the floor, coming from a torn pillow lying forlornly in the corner. He swallowed nervously and set the tray down on the low table. “Buire? It’s been seven hours, you should eat something.” He said calmly into the darkness.

Amongst the Haat’ade, and even outside of it, Jaster was known as a calm and reasonable individual. More focused on talking and problem solving that fighting. Jango wasn’t sure if it was the ancient blood that flowed through his veins or not but on the rare occasions he did reach the breaking point… he was kind of terrifying.

Su’bihr on the other hand was a wellspring of endless calm and patience. His anger was even more rare than Jaster’s but when it was roused it was a cold thing, icy and calculating rather than fiery and explosive.

Something in the back of the room shifted, where he knew his buire’s bed was located. “Thank you, Jango. Your buir is resting right now, he’ll be awake soon.” Came the gentle voice of his bihr. There was more shuffling noises before Su’bihr came out of the darkness to sit at the low table.

His hair was loose and disheveled and his tunics looked a little askew. Jango eyed him carefully, wondering if he really wanted to know. “Are you… alright?”

Su’bihr let out a small snort of amusement. “I’m fine, my child. My hair tie snapped and I haven’t had a moment to braid my hair. That’s all.”

It wasn’t really an explanation but… yeah he’d rather not know.

“Myles was looking through the recent job offers and scrapped most of them. He said he’d poke his contacts for something less sketchy to tide us over.” He said conversationally as he set the table.

Su’bihr gave him a reassuring smile as he reached over to help, only for Jango to bat his hands away. The man chuckled. “Mother-tooka, just like your buir.”

Jango clicked his tongue in mock offense, even though he was actually pleased. “The Baar’ur said to take it easy. You don’t look like you’ve been taking it easy.” He muttered.

“Your buir was struggling with the betrayal of someone he thought he could rely on, someone he’d left alone with his spouse and child as a bodyguard on multiple occasions. He needed me.” Su’bihr said easily as he lifted the lid on the porridge with dried fruit and uj syrup on top. “But I did rest, and I will be resting further once your buir is ready to go back to work.” He took a delicate bite. “How has Myles been faring?”

Jango winced. “He’s looking pretty ragged. Cursed for a minute straight when he tracked one job back to Kyr’tsad. Looks like they were trying to lead us into a trap to ambush us. Not sure how yet, but Myles has Thera and Yar’ssk working on it.”

Su’bihr let out a sigh. “Once I’m feeling better I’ll contact the Stewjoni’yaim outpost and have them add their resources to ours. They’ll be able to find things we might have overlooked.”

Jango nodded and watched the redhead eat for a moment. “Su’bihr?”

“What is it my child? Is there something on your mind?”

“There’s something I still don’t get.” He said hesitantly. “If Vizsla thinks he’s the Mand’alor, why hasn’t he gone to Stewjon to try and prove it?” It was the one thing that never made any sense to him.

“Because that coward knows he’d be rejected and driven off the planet by the Star Guard.” A rough voice came from the shadows. “He might have the blood of our ancestors but his delusions of grandeur make his mind weak.” Jaster said as he finally levered himself out of bed and wandered over to the table, sitting down heavily between Jango and Sul-tan.

A large hand reached over to rest on his hair, slipping to the back of his head and urging him to lean forward. Jaster tapped their foreheads together in a gentle kov’nyn and gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry if I worried you earlier. I’m alright now.” He said quietly.

Jango let out a relieved sigh.

“Hm, yes. The Star Guard wouldn’t allow an usurper to land on the planet, let alone allow them anywhere near the Soul Garden.” Su’bihr agreed. “Thanks to the mingling of our peoples since ancient times we Stewjoni’ade are attuned to the Manda. We know the Manda lives and dies with the Mando’ade and Stewjoni'ade both. While Mando’ade believe that overcoming challenges fuels growth and strength I doubt that the Manda wants their people to kill each other. That does not bring strength.”

Jas’buir nodded towards his riduur. “Strength lies in unity.” He said firmly. “Although I still believe that the Stewjoni’ade are tapping into the Force rather than the Manda. How else would they be able to send Stewjoni’ade to the Jeti’yaim and have them accepted as Jetiise?” There was a quirk to his buir’s lips and a crinkling around his eyes.

Uh oh.

Su’bihr let out a small indignant huff. “And I’ve told you, My Heart, that there is a distinct difference between the Force and the Manda.”

There they go again.

“Unfortunately you still haven’t been able to cite any texts on the matter, and I’m not sure how reliable those old local legends you told me really are.” Jas’buir said as his expression turned mischievous.

Jango rolled his eyes and stood up from the table, catching his buire’s attention. “I delivered your meal and checked to make sure you were still breathing.” He said dryly. “Now I need to go report back to Myles that you’re fine and will be coming to relieve him soon.” He gave Jas’buir a pointed look and the man had the decency to look a little apologetic.

“Tell Myles he can shelve it for now. I know we need to get the job done quickly but he won’t be good to anyone if he burns himself out. Exhaustion will make you sloppy, Jan’ika. Remember that.”

Jango huffed. “Yeah, I remember. Sleep deprivation training was a real son of a-”

“Finish that sentence, my child, and I will have you on comms duty for the next three assignments.” Su’bihr said, tone deceptively mild.

Jango clamped his mouth shut and swallowed what he had been about to say. Jas’buir burst into gales of laughter.

“…sorry Su’bihr.” He said, even as he gave Jas’buir a disgruntled glare.

“Accepted, my child. Now, hurry along and tell Myles to take a break before he-”

There was a frantic knock at the door that had the three of them looking at one another in confusion.

“Enter!” Jas’buir yelled.

A second later Myles was standing there, breathing heavily. “Mand’alor, you have to see this.” Pulling out a holo projector he set it down on the table and set it to play. “We just intercepted this message a moment ago.”

There was static before the form of a sentient around Jango’s age appeared. They looked ragged, face gaunt and smudged with something that could be either blood or dirt.

“This is a message for the Jedi Order of Coruscant. I am Obi-wan Kenobi, contacting you from the planet Melida/Daan. I am calling to entreat you for aid. The children on Melida/Daan are dying as their own parents turn weapons on them to further a civil war that has been-.” A pale hand shakily paused the recording and everyone turned to look at Su’bihr.

The man looked ashen. "My Heart, that child is a Stewjoni’ad. A Kenobi. They are Star-callers of the Harobi House.”

“The adiik said that buire were turning weapons on their ade.” Jas’buir said with a growl that had something inside Jango sparking with angry energy.

“There were attached coordinates. Melida/Daan isn’t far. I can have everything we know about the planet pulled up in a heartbeat.” Myles looked as if he were about to vibrate out of his armor. “What are we going to do?”

Before Jas’buir could say anything Su’bihr was already standing and walking over to the vanity. “I’m going to contact the Honsul and Harobi Clans for aid. We can’t leave children in such a terrible situation.”

Jas’buir got that sappy look on his face that made Jango want to roll his eyes.

“I’ll gather the commanders and we’ll start planning a rescue.” Jas’buir turned to look at him. “Gather your Grunts. I want you out there with me on this. If these ade have been fighting against adults they might be more comfortable talking to you.” It wasn’t a sleight on his young age, Jango knew he’d earned his place as a leader. It was just logical that kids being hunted by adults would feel safer with someone around their age.

"My Heart, I’m going as well.” Su’bihr said firmly as he returned with a length of ribbon and a leather clasp for his hair, hands working furiously to braid the long red locks.

“No, My Gift, you should stay and coordinate betw-” Jas’buir began.

“Jaster.” The tone was deceptively soft but as Jango glanced up into Su’bihr’s face he nearly flinched back at the sharpness of his deep green eyes. “Am I or am I not a Haat’ade?”

“Y-you are, My Gift, of course, but-” Jas’buir tried.

“Am I or am I not the Be’alor and a true Stewjoni’ad.” There was something almost frightening about how the gentle calmness surrounding the redhead seemed so unnaturally still.

Jas’buir deflated. “All that and more, My Gift. But I would prefer it if you were to stay back with the baar’ure.”

Su’bihr’s demeanor changed and the coldness receded. “Of course, My Heart. I’m no warrior. But the Stewjoni’ad may need the reassurance of someone familiar. It can’t have escaped your notice that they wore the clothes of a Jetii, as damaged and dirty as they were.”

Jango blinked and squinted at the holo. He’d been so shocked by the message he hadn’t really paid attention to their clothes. Now that he was looking though he could see the very distinctive style.

“…and if they’re calling for help it’s clear their Jetii mentor is either incapacitated or dead.” Jas’buir shook his head angrily.

“We don’t have a lot of time.” Su’bihr said gravely. “This kind of stress might cause irreparable damage to their biology as well. It might send them into their Veh Sasarald early.”

Jango wasn’t quite sure what that was yet, Su’bihr hadn’t sat him down to fully explain it, but he knew it was an important part of being a Stewjoni’ad and that it could be incapacitating. His concern for the Stewjoni’ad grew.

“Myles, I want you to find everything you can about Obi-wan Kenobi. I don’t care if you have to slice into the Jeti’yaim’s servers. I want the baar’ure to have as much information as possible.” Su’bihr commanded softly, turning to regard Jaster’s new second in command.

Myles stood straighter. “Yes, Be’alor. It will be done.” He said with a thump of his fist against his chest plate.

“Go gather your Grunts, Jan’ika. I’ll call you in when I have everything ready for the commanders.”

“Yes, Alor.” He said, mimicking Myles’ respectful salute.

He left with Myles as his buire began rapidly talking in Sonja. Just from that alone Jango could tell how concerned Su’bihr really was about this whole situation. He was normally composed, calm, and graceful but his body language and movements had turned harsh and frantic now.

“Hey Jan’ika.”

He glanced up as Myles as the man unclipped his helmet from his belt.

“Never bet against your bihr.” He said seriously. “Our Be’alor can be just as terrifying as Jaster when he sets his mind to it.”

Jango snickered. “You’re just finding that out now?” He knew his Su’bihr was a competent leader. “Has he ever given you the disappointed look?”

“Stars, it’s the worst.” Myles said in agreement as he slipped his helmet on. “I’ll see you in the war room later. Good luck wrangling your group of di’kute.”

Jango glared at him but didn’t rise to the bait. There were bigger problems on his mind than some playful teasing.

He pulled on his own helmet and commed his Grunts. They had a rescue mission to prep for.

Chapter Text

Scanning the area ahead through a set of ancient binoculars, something they’d scrounged up from a ruined old museum, the young redhead bit back a curse. Three days ago he’d sent out a distress call to the Order, even though both Nield and Cerasi had been skeptical of the idea. Despite his choice to leave the Order they were one of the only groups he knew had the resources and ability to help. Even as a disgraced ex-padawan he knew he could still petition them for aid directly.

What he hadn’t expected was someone to intercept his signal.

“What’s wrong, Obi?” He looked down at Serena and tried to school his face to something less dire.

“Outsiders have landed on the planet. We need to go tell the others.” Shimmying out from his hiding place he jumped down from the tree, slipping the binoculars onto his belt as he did so.

“What kind of outsiders, Obi?” The little one asked, looking worried.

“Mandalorians. They’re called Mandalorians.”

Landing on the planet had been the easy part but finding the Stewjoni’ad was going to be difficult. From the information Myles had been able to gather Kenobi was only a year younger than Jango and had been through some pretty bad missions. At least, that’s what they thought considering the amount of redactions on the pre-teen’s files.

Gathering as many of his grunts who looked the least intimidating, or at the very least not as ‘adult sized’ as the others, he conferred with his buire. It was decided that his squad would run scouting missions and be on the look out for any of the ade. If they found one they would either approach as cautiously as possible or follow them back to their bolt hole and offer aid.

It wasn’t the best plan, but until Su’bihr could get a feel for Kenobi through the Manda, or until some of the more powerful Force users arrived from Stewjoni’yaim, this was the best they could do.

The discussion with Nield and Cerasi was long and arduous. They didn’t seem to understand that the Mandalorians were dangerous, especially for him. As an ex-padawan they would probably want to kill him on sight.

“But you said they’re mercenaries, and the best in the galaxy. If we can convince them to help us we can end this war once and for all.” Nield said with a look of fierce determination.

In the end he was outvoted. But at the very least they agreed with him to wait and see what the Mandalorians were trying to accomplish before the Young attempt to contact them.

It took less than an hour to find a group of local inhabitants, and less than ten minutes for Jango to hate them. All they spoke of was a war with no end, about how it was all the fault of someone else, and about how they were betrayed by their own children.

The fact that all of this was addressed to Silas, who was taller and slightly older than him, just made Jango all the more certain that these were the demagolkase they were on the look out for.

“Ser Mandalorian, you have to help us! We’ll give you all the riches we can gather, and you can take as much as you want from those Melida dogs!”

Silas stood stiffly, looking between the Daan and him. “I’m not the leader of our squad.” He said, nodding in Jango’s direction. “Alor’ad Fett is.”

The Daan scoffed and turned their noses up. “Clearly that is a child, is this some sort of test before you take our contract?”

Jango grit his teeth and stepped forward. “If it was a test then you just failed. Mando’ade don’t care about age when it comes to leadership. I’ve had enough of your insults. Tell me if you know of anyone named Kenobi and I’ll let you leave.” He really should just kill them and be done with it, but something was staying his hand.

“Kenobi? Wasn’t that the child the useless Jedi brought with him? He’s probably dead by no-” As the Daan began to speak dismissively something inside him flared with boiling anger.

The man was dead before he could finish his sentence.

Everyone stilled, the Daan staring at Jango with open surprise. “Right, anyone else want to say something stupid?”

“You traitorous cur!” Said another of the Daan.

Jango shrugged and turned his blaster on them. “I’d have to be one of you first to be a traitor.” He said evenly as he leveled his blaster at their head. “Last chance. Do any of you know where Kenobi is?”

“Why do you even care about some redheaded Jedi brat?” The fourth member of the group snapped.

“Because he’s ours.” Jango growled. “Not the Jetiise’s.”

There was a long pause and Jango knew that even his Grunts were reeling at his claim.

“I… I heard that the Jedi bra-,” Jango turned to glower at the speaker, “er, Kenobi, has been seen with the trait- uh, other children. Red hair, single braid, still has the brown robes. But no one has seen him wielding a lasersword. So no one knows if it’s really him or not. Please, I told you all I know! D-don’t kill me.”

Jango scowled in disgust within the safety of his helmet but lowered his weapon. “Fine, I won’t.” Waving at his squad he signed their new orders.

In one swift action his Grunts took out the Daan, all except the one who had given him the information. He stepped closer to them as they cowered. “Tell everyone that if we catch them hurting any children we’ll kill them where they stand. Now go.”

The Daan nodded franticly and scrambled away from him, not even grabbing a weapon before leaving the dead behind.

Jango let out a harsh sigh and kicked the leg of one of the corpses on his way back to his Grunts.

“Alor, you okay?” Silas asked him over their private comm channel.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Switching to the other comms channel he waited for it to connect to the Mand’alor.

“Jango, report.”

“We met some of the inhabitants. I interrogated them but they wouldn’t give me any information, so I killed one. One of them broke and told me they suspect Kenobi is with the other children, even described their appearance. No kad’au though, which could mean Kenobi either lost it or it was broken somehow.” He took a deep breath and let it out again. “Left one alive to warn the others away from hurting any more children. Awaiting further orders.”

Jaster let out a small sigh. “Understood. Were attempting to leave supplies in easy to locate areas with messages for the children, letting them know we’re no threat to them and an offer to aid them if they’ll speak with us. For now, keep up your scouting and report back every half hour.”

“Yes, Alor. Fett out.” Shutting down the line before his buir could ask if he was alright, something he wouldn’t be able to answer without lying, he turned to the rest of his squad. “Alright, time to move out. Mand’alor’s orders are to continue our scouting mission.”

“Yes, Alor!”

They would continue their search for the children. And if they happened to meet more child murderers, well, at least Jango had a target for all his frustration and anger.

“Big brother Obi!” Tying off the bandage around the new child’s leg, they hadn’t spoken a word yet since they’d been rescued, he looked up at Lalla as she came barreling into the room.

He gave the new child a soft smile and looked to Byron to take over for him before he addressed the little girl. “Is everything okay, Lalla? Am I needed for something?” He asked as he cleaned his hands of the blood, always more blood, and tried to breathe through the permeating pain and anguish of the small medical area.

“Higs and Torte found a big box that the armor people left! They said it’s full of food and medicine and stuff! But they wanted to ask you if it was okay first!” The little girl grabbed his hand the moment it was clean and clung to him in that way all children did when they wanted attention and affection.

Reaching over he brushed his hand over her short hair, a necessity, and gave her a smile that definitely wasn’t sincere. “Do they think it might be poisoned or a trap?”

The girl shrugged as she started pulling him along.

Obi-wan wondered just what he was getting himself into.

It was two weeks into their campaign on Melida/Daan.

There was a report that someone matching Kenobi’s description had been seen inspecting one of the supply crates they’d left for the children to find. Although the footage was blurry it was hard to mistake Jedi robes, raggedy as they were.

It appeared that the children had taken their supplies, which meant that they were able to track the kids back to their bolt hole. From there they set up scouting parties and a couple of perimeters to ensure that any stragglers were protected on the way back to where the kids were hiding.

The fact that it seemed to be an old sewer system from when the area had been a city drove many of the Haat’ade to fight even more fiercely against any of the two factions that tried to recruit or attack them.

Jango only hoped that Kenobi saw the message his bihr had written them, telling them they were safe and that they would be brought back to the Temple and their Clan if they wished.

As much as the Manda was practically screaming at the very thought of allowing Kenobi to return, he would follow the wishes of the Stewjoni’ad once they were found. Mando’ade were not meant to cage the Stewjoni’ade, after all, but to protect them so that they had the freedom to choose.

It was a lesson Jas’buir had taught him early on, and one he would never forget.

“My child, you are fretting again. I can hear your turbulent thoughts from here.” Su’bihr said with a chuckle.

Jango grimaced. “I’m just worried about Kenobi. The Manda is trying to tell me something about them, I just know it!”

Jas’buir and Su’bihr shared a look. “Once they are safe we will explore what the Manda might be telling you. For now, get some rest Jan’ika. You’ll need your strength.”

Jango grumbled about it but under the combined stares of his parents he retired to his tent.

It took him a long time to fall asleep.

It had been a trap set by the combined forces of the Melida and the Daan. How it was that they could band together to fight a bunch of children rather than settle their differences was beyond his understanding.

Nield and Cerasi had finally decided the Mandalorians were trustworthy enough to approach and they had been on the way to their camp when the ambush happened.

The fighting was intense and it seemed almost like he was being targeted specifically. The bolts that hit others near him were stunners and with a rising fear he realized they wanted him captured, not dead.

Perhaps they wanted to gift him to the Mandalorians in the hope that they would leave the planet? He had no idea.

In the thick of the fight he frowned in concern when an unfamiliar sound rose above the din.

It was the Mandalorians. They had come to join the battle on the side of the Young.

While Obi-wan was glad they were helping his friends in the Young he couldn’t help feeling that his time was suddenly up. Once the battle ended they would no doubt demand his head, or something.

With his focus split he wasn’t as diligent in protecting himself as he used the force to divert bolts away from his friends. But that didn’t seem to matter. Because a short, green clad, Mandalorian was taking out anyone who attempted to shoot in his direction.

“Kenobi duck!” It was the first words spoken by the green clad Mandalorian who had been fighting almost in tandem with him, protecting him, and for a moment Obi-wan could have sworn the world narrowed to a point as their voice echoed in his mind. Without his input his own body betrayed him as he swiftly crumpled in on himself. There was a slight flash as a bolt whizzed past, where his head had been a moment prior. Yet even as he tried to force himself to stand and face his attacker, his body refused to listen.

The Mandalorian used their jetpack to dash across the field until they were half standing over him. Obi-wan’s breathing grew ragged as he tried, once more, to move and found he could not.

Since when did Mandalorians have control of the force?

“What are y- osik! You can get up now.” Like a magic spell the Mandalorian’s words washed over him and he straightened, before turning and aiming his blaster at their visor. “…you won’t shoot me, verd’ika.” They said, as if it were fact.

“Give me one good reason not to. I know that Mandalorians don’t like Jedi.” He tried to keep his voice steady but he was already exhausted from fighting and there was a faint tremble of fear he couldn’t quite hide.

They didn’t answer, only looked upward as a group of more Mandalorians descended from the sky and landed around them. Obi-wan turned his weapon on them before realizing he was outmatched and lowered it.

Better to let them think he was giving up than to try and fight this many head on.

“Obi-wan of House Kenobi? We’ve been looking for you aldi.” The voice beneath the helmet sounded warm and the words resonated deep in his chest. There was something about this particular Mandalorian that the force just seemed to like.

“Why would Mandalorians be looking for me? I’m just a Jedi Padawan… Ex Jedi Padawan.”

“Oh, aldi, you are much more than that.” The Mandalorian who felt like a warm bonfire in the force reached up and pulled off their helmet.

Obi-wan’s breath caught in his throat.

“Ni gai Jaster Mereel, Ori'aliit bal Aliit Mereel, Mand’alor. Bal gar, Obi-wan Kenobi, cuy echoy'la Jaon'ad b'Aliif Kenobi be Stewjoni'yaim.”

Chapter Text

Ever since the day Jaster had asked him to be his riduur eleven years ago, Sul-tan had done his best to rise to the position of Be’alor and aid his spouse in any way he could. At first leaving his home and his family had been difficult. For although he had knowledge of the Mando’ade and their ways he had never experienced their kind of nomadic life-style in person before. But living amongst them and learning from Stewjon’s protectors he had come to understand their ways more intimately. Now, after many years, he could follow the thread of his riduur’s thoughts as if they were his own. But even without trying he knew exactly where Jaster’s thoughts had gone.

Thankfully his riduur was a smart man and knew that trying to keep him bound to the ship would only anger him further. But that did not mean he had to disregard the care and worry of his spouse. He knew that he was no warrior, and he had never claimed to be. He was a scholar and, at times, a negotiator for the Haat’ade. And his task at present was no different than any other time before.

The comm connected and a familiar face blinked at him in surprise before the warrior straightened, smiling. “Be’alor, how may we aid you today?”

Sul-tan’s grim expression must have tipped them off to the seriousness of the situation as the smile quickly fell. “This is not a social call, unfortunately. We’ve received word of a Stewjoni’ad in trouble. A child of the Kenobi House. I need you to connect me to the Heads of the Kenobi, Honsul, and Harobi Houses as soon as possible.”

The warrior straightened further and nodded brusquely. “One moment.” Their hands flew across the terminal before them, switching frequencies and inputting codes by memory. “I’m not sure how quickly they’ll answer but I used the priority codes, so it shouldn’t-”

Even as they were speaking two more figures joined the call. The first was a woman he was very familiar with.

“Tan! It’s been far too long, child. You need to call more often.” Sul-gyr Honsul, his biological sire and current Head of House, was the first to speak.

“Caregiver, I apologize for not contacting you more often. I’ve been quite busy as of late.” He said sheepishly before turning to the second figure. “If I am not mistaken you are the Head of House Kenobi, are you not?”

The elder’s gaze sharpened and they gave him a firm nod. “Obi-jan Kenobi, she/her. You claim that a child of my house is in trouble, yet all of our children are accounted for. What is this truly about?” She asked sharply.

Sul-tan took a deep breath. “There is an Obekal Jetii’ad, somewhere between the ages of ten to twelve, who sent out a distress call to the Jetiise. They claimed themselves to be Obi-wan Kenobi and are in dire need of rescue from a hostile planet.”

There was a look of shock on the elder’s face. “Wan? Little Wan is alive?” Tears came to her eyes but she quickly blinked them away. “Do you have proof of this?” Her voice turned hard as durasteel, blue eyes like a rising storm.

“I can transmit a copy of the distress call. One moment.”

After sending the video he waited with bated breath. Even if the child was not a Kenobi he was certain he would receive at least some help from the family, if only to find out why the child mistakenly believed they were part of the Kenobi House. As he was waiting a third figure appeared and he straightened.

“Head of House Harobi, you honor me with your presence.” He bowed slightly in his seat. It wasn’t every day he was able to get an audience with the leader of one of Stewjon’s most influential Greater Houses. Even as the Be’alor.

“Be’alor, the honor is mine. I have been informed of the current issue and regardless of what House Kenobi wishes to do, we shall offer you some of our House Guard and supplies. Whether the child is one of our extended members or not, they are a child and an Obekal.”

“Thank you, Head Harobi. I am-” Before he could finish speaking Obi-jan returned, expression fierce.

“That is our Wan, I know it. They look just like- like-” The elder woman swallowed hard, her voice shaky. “It is like looking at my little Lan, but with Woor’denn’s nose and sharp eyes.” She sat up and pulled her shoulders back. “House Kenobi will send you our House Guards as well. But once little Wan is safe I want a full investigation launched. I want to know why I was not informed that my grandchild was still alive!” She practically hissed.

“We have one of our warriors looking into his Jetii records as we speak. If we find any information we will send it to you immediately, Stars forsake me if I lie.” Sul-tan swore earnestly.

Obi-jan nodded, satisfied. “Then I shall bid you farewell. I must make arrangements. Stars guide you and Manda keep you.”

“Stars guide you.” Sul-tan said in return. He looked to his caregiverca.

“You already know we’ll support you. We might not have as much influence as the other Greater Houses but we are known for our research. We’ll help your warrior dig up as much information as possible. Call us again soon, Sul-vyr is finally getting married and will want to hear your well wishes.” She sassed.

Sul-tan laughed. “Of course, caregiver. We’ll speak again soon.”

And with that he was left with the leader of House Harobi.

“I must also make arrangements, and I am certain you have duties, so I will keep this short. If the Kenobi House insists on allowing Obi-wan Kenobi to return to the Jetiise after this debacle- then House Harobi will claim the child for our own.” Their eyes were sharp with intent as they spoke. “There is a darkness brewing in the galaxy. I have a feeling that Obi-wan is, if not at the heart of it, then tightly bound to the future of this darkness.”

“I see… I will keep it in mind and inform the Mand’alor of your claim over the child as part of a lesser house governed by the Harobi. For now I think it is best we focus on finding the child and ensuring their safety first.”

“Of course, Be’alor. May the Stars be your guide and Manda watch over you.” With that the leader of the Greater House disappeared as well.

Sul-tan let out a sigh of relief and sagged in his chair. At least now the hard part was over. He had spoken to the Houses, now all he had to do was wait to coordinate the Stewjoni forces with the Haat’ade.

He only hoped that by the time they arrived Obi-wan would still be alive and relatively unharmed. “Stars guide you and Manda watch over you, Obi-wan Kenobi. May the Force protect you until you are returned to your family.” He prayed.

A bright feeling of warmth filled him and Sul-tan gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. A smile crossed his face as the feeling morphed into one of hopefulness and belonging.

Filled with purpose he stood from his chair. As he left the quiet comms room he was now certain their mission would succeed. Stars, Manda, and Force willing.

Chapter Text

[Jaster]

Looking down at the little redhead, far smaller than he had expected, Jaster gave the child as reassuring a smile as he could. Even as he swallowed the angry growl that tried to claw its way up his throat at the child’s appearance. Disheveled and torn clothes, dark rings around the eyes, malnourished, dull dirty hair, and skin so pale that even their freckles seemed to have faded. That wasn’t even mentioning the bruises he could see on the child’s face. But the worst offender, the thing that roused his protective instincts most, was the brittle and tattered feeling of the child’s spirit. You could see it in their eyes, the hopelessness and exhaustion.

“I-I’m sorry? I-I’m afraid I don’t understand the language you’re speaking.” The child said, licking their lips nervously and glancing around at the gathered protection detail like an animal caught in a trap.

“You don’t…?” The child was a Kenobi, an Obekal, and they were claiming they didn’t understand Mando’a… what the kark?

Around him he could practically taste the surprise and confusion from the gathered warriors. An emotion that was rapidly shifting towards offended outrage.

How could a child of Stewjon not know Mando’a? Especially one raised as an Obekal, where learning both Mando’a and Sonja were a top priority.

Maybe the child was just suspicious of them? Or they were too traumatized by their experiences to trust anyone?

Jaster took a deep breath and slowly knelt, setting his helmet on the ground beside him. “My name is Jaster Mereel, my Clan and House are also Mereel. I am the Mand’alor, the leader of the Mandalorians.” He repeated in his accented Basic. “You are Obi-wan Kenobi, lek? The ad, child, who sent out the distress call?”

The child stiffened, eyes going wide. “I, er, yes. I am Obi-wan Kenobi. And yes, I, uh, sent out the distress call. B-but…” They were trembling now, becoming more cagey.

“You’re alright now, ad, no one here is going to hurt you.” If he ever got his hands on the demagolkase who had hurt this child of Manda and made them so paranoid as to not trust their own people- the perpetrators ends would not be swift.

“But you’re Mandalorians!” They blurted before clamping their mouth shut and hunching in on themselves.

“Yes, we are.” What that had to do with anything he had no idea. From the corner of his eye he could see his warriors shifting on their feet in distress and agitation. Something was terribly wrong here.

“Alor.” Looking over at Jango he raised a brow in admonishment. The lad sighed and he could practically hear the pout in it. “Jas’buir, I called Su’bihr. He said he’s on his way. I tried to tell him not to but…” The lad shrugged. Both of them knew how difficult it was to argue with Sul-tan when he decided on a course of action. It had to be the Taung ancestry, it made Stewjoni’ade stubborn at the worst times.

“Obi’ika, my…” kriff, what did you call a riduur in Basic again? “My life-partner will be here soon. He is a Stewjoni’ad, like you.”

The child gave him a startled look, eyes sparking with curiosity before they dulled with distrust. “Why would another Stewjonian need to see me? And why were you,” he turned to glare at Jango, “stalking me?”

Jaster shared a look with Jango, even if his son was wearing his buy’ce he knew where his eyes were behind the visor. He motioned that Jango should also take off his buy’ce, to show the Stewjoni’ad that they weren’t a threat.

Reaching up his son pulled off his buy’ce and grumbled at the amusement of the gathered verde over his helmet hair. The poor lad needed a haircut again.

Because Jaster was close to the Kenobi child he was able to hear the sharp intake of breath.

“I wasn’t stalking you! I was protecting you because you’re one of ours.” His child said with a stubborn frown. “Mhor Ste’wouni’ad.” ‘Our child of Paradise.’ Jango declared, the archaic words rolling off his tongue in a growl that would have done his ancestors proud.

The Kenobi child went perfectly still for a long moment, their eyes distant and unfocused, before they shuddered and swayed on their feet. “Woah, yudira aldi!” ‘Go easy child!’ Without thinking about it he reached out and caught the redhead by the shoulder, holding them steady.

The moment he spoke the child suddenly sagged into his hold, as if they could no longer stand. Panicked he pulled the child to him and turned to look at his son. “What’s your Su’bihr’s eta?”

Jango’s brow was furrowed in that way that looked angry but was actually just concern. “Should be here in ten minutes or so. Jas’buir, we need to find somewhere we can-”

“Hey! Let him go!” Startled by the sudden shout his warriors gripped their weapons, ready for an attack, before they realized the “threat” was another child.

They looked as rough as the Kenobi kid and held a blaster steady in their small hands. “Don’t try anything funny! We’ve got you surrounded.” The child declared firmly, chin up and eyes burning with determination. “If you let him go we won’t fight you.” The child promised.

“Yeah! Give big brother Obi back!” Came another young voice from somewhere amongst the rubble.

“Alor, I’ve got multiple heat signatures on my display. They do have us surrounded, but there’s only a few of them.” The verd hesitated for a moment. “They’re all very… small.”

Jaster wanted to curse but he held back. These were children and he didn’t want to scare them any more than they already were. “I believe you, ad, but if I let go of Kenobi they’re going to fall. I think their Force might have a hold of them.” Looking down at the child he could see how their eyes darted about, not actually seeing anything. It was very concerning. “I’m going to take off my cape and lay it on the ground for Kenobi. Then you can come see for yourself that they’re okay.” He told the other child evenly.

The child scowled at him, blaster still gripped tight in their hands. “No one trusts Elders and Obi was scared of you.” They stated.

Jaster felt the wrongness of that deep in his soul and grimaced. “What can we do to prove we aren’t a threat to you, verd’ika?” ‘Little warrior.’ In calling them that Jaster was honoring their bravery in wanting to protect their comrade. Not that the children here would understand the cultural significance.

“Hanmii…” The child in his arms stirred and Jaster carefully shifted his hold as their eyes began to clear. “They… they aren’t going to hurt anyone… er, well… they aren’t going to hurt any of the Young.” The child rectified, looking up at Jaster with something akin to sheepishness. “Um… I can stand now.” There was a faint flush on the child’s cheeks and Jaster had to hold back a small chuckle of relief.

Helping the child to stand he kept a hand on their shoulder, just in case. “Are you feeling alright now, ad?”

The child perked up slightly, even as their shoulders came up in embarrassment. “I’ll be okay, um, Alor-?”

Jaster smiled and nodded down at the redhead to reassure them. “Good, that’s good.”

Kenobi relaxed a little more before looking toward the other child who had a gun aimed at them. “Hanmii, it’s okay. The Force says that they’re not going to hurt us. They’re not like the Elders.” They turned and motioned towards Jango. “See? They even have a Young like us with them. And they protected me during the fight with the Elders.”

It was an odd way of phrasing things but as the other child slowly lowered their weapon he just counted it as a blessing. “We won’t hurt any of you, I swear on my name and armor.”

Even though the child looked a bit skeptical about his claim Jaster could not have made a more binding promise, unless he swore on the Manda and the Ka’ra. But he doubted any of the children there would know what either of those were, or would understand the significance.

“…okay Obi.” They hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Är du säker på att det är säkert?" They asked in a language that went completely over Jaster’s head.

"Ja, det är säkert.” The Kenobi child responded with a small smile, though there was some strain around their eyes that concerned him.

As Kenobi spoke the odd words the other child relaxed completely and finally began to smile. They raised their hand to their lips and let out a whistle that was impressively loud for such a small child. A moment later six other children came out of hiding. Each of them was armed and had suffered the same amount of neglect as Kenobi.. One of them was carrying a sniper rifle that was almost too large for them to handle properly. If he had to guess their age based on their appearance he’d have somewhere around ten.

It was disconcerting to say the least.

Jaster could feel how his warriors were going protective-soft-intrigued-contemplative and coughed to hide a snort of amusement. If they didn’t end up with a slew of adoptions within a tenday he’d eat his own buy’ce.

“Wow! You’re huuuge!” One of the children said, eyes wide with excitement as they looked up at one of Jaster’s warriors. “How’d you get so big?” Without an ounce of fear the child practically latched onto Jiri.

The slightly older child looked twitchy at the interaction but didn’t say anything as Jiri knelt down and took off her helmet to smile at the little one. “I was born big.”

“Um, Alor?” Looking back down at Kenobi when they spoke he gave them a smile.

“What is it, ad?”

“What are we, er… what are you going to do now?” There was a brittleness about the child’s words and how they’d changed what they had been about to say nearly broke Jaster’s heart. They way the kid separated themselves from their people.

“We, ald’ira, are going to sit right here and wait for my riduur to arrive with the medical supplies. He should already be on his way with medical supplies and extra rations.” He lowered his voice so only the Kenobi child could hear him. “You’ve been doing well to take care of yourself, but you don’t have to do this alone anymore. We’re here to help- if you’ll let us.” He patted their shoulder one more time in reassurance before stepping away to go speak with the other children.

As he went he subtly signed to Jango to watch over the Kenobi child. His ad nodded firmly and tried his best to look casual as he sidled closer to the redhead.

From the scowl on the child’s face Jango wasn’t doing a very good job at being casual. So the lad just gave up, shrugged, and jogged over to stand beside his charge.

Jaster shook his head and turned to address the other children, hoping to coax them into eating a couple of ration bars and sip some water while they waited.

[Jango]

Standing next to Kenobi as the redhead glowered at him, Jango hid a grimace of his own. He hadn’t meant to use his voice to make the kid obey, it had been entirely unintentional. His worry for their wellbeing had overridden his own self control in the heat of the moment.

Clearing his throat he held out his arm, being sure to look directly into the kid’s eyes as he spoke. “I’m Jango Fett. The Mand’alor is my buir.”

The redhead looked at him oddly for a moment before attempting to take his hand. Jango shook his head and reached for their arm. Slow and careful he wrapped his hand around their forearm, close to the wrist. “This is how we greet each other.” He explained, even as he thought it was weird they already didn’t know.

The redhead let out a small gasp, their mouth forming a surprised oh, before a faint flush of red tinged their cheeks. “Th-thank you for showing me. I’m Pa- Obi-wan Kenobi, he/him. And… thank you for helping me.” The flush grew a little darker and their eyes dropped to the ground for a moment before rising to meet his once more.

Jango nodded, a small grin crossing his face. There was something about Kenobi that he liked. Maybe it was the Manda, or maybe it was how they kind of reminded him of his Su’bihr a little bit. Whatever it was he certainly wasn’t opposed to standing near the kid.

“Um…” The boy looked a little flustered as he looked down at their joined arms. “You can… let go now.”

Jango felt his face heat up as some of the verde chuckled, including a couple of his own Grunts. As he let go he realized he was going to be teased mercilessly later and let out a resigned huff. “Why don’t I introduce you to my traat’aliit?” ‘Squad.’

The redhead looked at him quizzically, though there seemed to be a spark of recognition in his stormy eyes.

Rather than dwell on it Jango took Kenobi over to his squad to introduce them to one another. The more he interacted with them without trouble the more he seemed to relax. Although there was still a thread of nervousness and skittishness about him. But that wouldn’t be going away any time soon. Jango had seen that kind of wariness in warriors who came back from long or harrowing engagements. Battle Exhaustion or Battle Weariness, they called it. To see it on a Stewjoni’ad, an Obekal no less, made Jango want to curl around him in protective rage.

Thankfully the shuttle arrived before anyone could get too worked up in front of the children.

Jango could feel a tug in his chest, the faint warm feeling he always got when Su’bihr was around. Turning around he watched the door of the shuttle open and smiled when the older redhead glid down the ramp. The smile slowly left his face as Su’bihr practically stormed past Jas’buir, not even stopping, and headed straight for Kenobi.

Kenobi startled and turned around in surprise. He must have sensed something with the Force, or maybe the Manda? Jango couldn’t be sure which.

Sul-tan Mereel stopped in front of the Kenobi child and the two stared at each other for a moment. At first Kenobi was tense, wary, but with a sudden shudder their whole body sagged with relief. Su’bihr knelt on the muddy ground, ignoring the mess that was getting all over his nice tunics. “You are not alone.” Su’bihr said firmly, his voice soft and warm, like the times he had talked Jango through his nightmares as a kid. “You were not forgotten, and you will not be left behind. The Stars shine bright within you.”

While Jango stood there in confusion the younger redhead began to tremble, then shake. When Su’bihr opened his arms with a gentle smile Kenobi dove into the offered embrace and hid his face. From where he was standing Jango could hear muffled sobs and grit his teeth at the feeling of helplessness that came over him.

Su’bihr looked up at him and shook his head, motioning towards the shuttle. It was a subtle order to go help out and cool off a little so he didn’t upset Kenobi, or himself, further.

As Jango walked away he could hear Su’bihr speaking again. “It’s alright Obi-wan, Wan’ira, we’ll take care of you. You’re one of ours, and we take care of our own.” A wide grin crossed his face as he slipped his buy’ce back on and went to help the others moving cargo.

Obi-wan Kenobi was home.

Chapter Text

[Sul-tan]

Finishing the last reports and correspondence for the day he set the datapad in the box with the rest of the finished work and took a moment to stretch his arms above his head. While Jaster and Jango were off scouring the planet for the lost Kenobi child, and rescuing any other child they came across, he remained with the main force to keep everything running smoothly.

What had irked him most about Montross’ beliefs about Stewjoni’ade had not been that he should be no more than a toy and broodmare at the whim of his spouse- but that he was incapable of stepping up as Jaster’s equal. He’d like to see how Montross dealt with reports that were anywhere from undecipherable to impeccably wordy while translating them from one of nine separate languages.

Weak and useful only for breeding indeed.

Looking at his comm he sighed when he realized his loved ones hadn’t yet checked in for their mid-day meals. He would have to send them a reminder.

These warriors, always so focused on what’s right in front of them that they forget to look to the future. What would they do without him, he wondered fondly.

A knock came from the door. “Enter!” He called, lacing his fingers in front of him on Jaster’s desk.

The door opened and Myles came in with one of his cousins. He smiled at Sul-kor, who was an accomplished slicer, before he noticed the aura of exhaustion and the concerned frown.

Sitting straighter he looked between a grim Myles and his worried cousin. “What’s wrong? Myles, Kor?”

Without a word Sul-kor placed a datapad on the desk before practically collapsing into one of the chairs across from him.

“Be’alor, you need to read this. It’s everything we could gain access to about Kenobi. We had to slice pretty deep into the Jeti’yaim’s systems and they almost caught us a few times.”

Sul-kor sighed. “I used one of the emergency codes that alerted the Obekal to our need for assistance. They were able to get me farther than I would ever have thought possible. But what we found surprised us both. Did you know that Obi-wan Kenobi was never properly registered?” There was an anguished smile on their face now. “They only found out about the child being a Kenobi when they were nine and already entrenched in their creche clan. There was no way to transfer Obi-wan without betraying the Oath. By that time some very influential Jetii’alore already had their eyes on the child.”

Sul-tan turned on the datapad and was about to begin reading when Myles placed a hand on the screen, stopping him. He looked up at one of Jaster’s most trusted warriors, and someone he would count as a close friend. “Take it slow.” Grey eyes bore into green for one long moment.

He nodded. “I will.”

Thirty-two tense minutes later Sul-tan gently set the datapad face down on the desk. Across from him Myles and Sul-kor had gone stiff with nerves.

He smiled gently. “Contact the head medic from the Harobi House. They and I need to have an in depth discussion about what can be done for Obi-wan when the child comes into our care. I will leave the drafting of a grievances letter to Jaster after this campaign is over. But it is safe to say that unless some assurances are made as to the care of the child- they will not be returning to the Jeti’yaim.”

Myles thumped his fist against his chestplate before offering Sul-kor an arm up from the chair.

His cousin looked at him, green eyes wide. “You’ve changed, cousin. You were never this… forthright before.”

Sul-tan’s smile widened. If it was a little more predatory than before he didn’t notice. “That’s because I’ve found my place and purpose, cousin. With purpose comes conviction.”

After the two of them left Sul-tan let out a loud sigh and tried to rein in his temper. The moment his eyes landed on the datapad, however, he felt another wave of rage roll through him.

How dare the Jetiise treat a child like this? Just the idea that they had sent the Kenobi child away at all, without contacting any living relatives, was enough of an offense all on its own. But the fact that the child had been sent to Bandomeer, and on a shady mining freighter without an actual escort, resulting in the child being kidnapped and put into slavery- the sheer negligence alone made him wonder if the entire Jeti’alore had gone completely round the bend.

By the time he received Jango’s comm he was much calmer than before, though his anger was still thrumming in the back of his mind. Thankfully he’d already spoken with Head Medic Obi-liz Harobi about what kind of medical attention the child would need once found. So he had no other pressing matters to attend to.

“I’m coming to your location.” He said firmly to his child after he’d finished his report.

“Su’bihr, I-I don’t think-”

“I will see you and your buir soon, nin aldi.” With that he closed the comm line and opened a channel with one of the verde who’d been put in charge of distributing and ferrying the supplies.

While no one said anything out loud he knew that the verde were nervous about him being away from their base of operations. It was always adorable how protective the Mando’ade were of him. But he could feel the pull of the Manda, calling him to the Kenobi child.

One way or another they would get the child the help they deserved. Even if he had to pull rank on the other Houses and claim the child for Clan Mereel.

[Obi-wan]

As he was slowly getting used to the idea that these Mandalorians weren’t going to hurt him, even with the Force telling him it was the truth it was a bit hard to believe, he felt something in the center of his chest pulse with warmth. It was like… like… a feeling of coming home. While the Mand’alor’s presence was much stronger, much brighter, there was something about this new presence that felt like falling into freshly laundered linens- warm and comforting.

Turning in surprise he gaped at a being with red hair much like his own, though their eyes were green. He felt as they reached out to him with the Force, and stiffened as he scrambled to identify if they were a threat or not. But what he felt from the delicate touch was the exact opposite of Dark. It was welcoming and almost unbearably kind.

Shuddering from the gentleness of the touch he sagged in exhaustion and relief. So far all of his expectations had been completely shattered. First the Mandalorians and now this.

The older redhead knelt in the muck of Melida/Daan, dirtying their expensive tunics, and stared him in the eyes. “You are not alone.” Their tone was firm but their voice was gentle. “You were not forgotten, and you will not be left behind.” The words washed over him, sincere and filled with conviction. “The Stars shine bright within you.”

It was something so simple, something he couldn’t completely understand, but the words had a profound effect on him. As his eyes began to burn from holding back the tears a faint memory, an echo of a feminine voice, whispered that he was safe. When the older redhead opened their arms, an invitation for comfort he’d not had in a long time, Obi-wan crumbled.

A delicate hand carefully ran through his greasy hair as sobs tore their way out of his throat. He knew he was going to be embarrassed later for losing his composure like this. But in the presence of such a gentle light, a light that pushed away the sludge of dark emotions soaked into the planet, he couldn’t help but to fall apart.

“It’s alright Obi-wan, Wan’ira, we’ll take care of you. You’re one of ours, and we take care of our own.” Their accented voice said above him as they just gently held him there, letting him cry out all the heart-sore on their beautiful tunic.

He wasn’t sure how long he remained there, held in the older redhead’s arms, before he finally felt empty. But when his tears had finally dried up he let out a horrendous sniffle and looked up at a smiling face.

“That’s a bit better, isn’t it Obi-wan?” They pulled something out of a pocket and handed it to him. “Blow your nose, aldi.”

Taking the handkerchief he did as instructed. “Th-thank you, Ser.” He said, face flushed a little in embarrassment.

They clicked their tongue at him in a gentle reprimand. “I am Sul-tan Mereel, you may call me Sul-tan or even just Tan if you like.”

As they stood back up Obi-wan’s mind reeled. “Mereel?” He asked in surprise. “Isn’t that the-” turning he looked toward the Mand’alor, who was kneeling in the muck and smiling indulgently at Jarren.

“Yes. Jaster is my riduur, my spouse. That makes me the Be’alor. But you don’t have to worry about titles, aldi. You are under our protection for the time being.” They promised him.

“But why? I don’t understand. I… I thought…” He’d thought that Stewjon didn’t like Force sensitives. At least that’s what all the research papers he’d been able to find on the subject had to say about it.

“There is a lot about Stewjon you don’t know, but that is not your fault. If you’d like to learn I would be more than happy to teach you. But first I think it’s time we brought you and your little group to the healers. We’ve brought food, water, and medical supplies with us but they are mostly kept secure at our base. There are showers and hot meals waiting for all of you.”

Obi-wan wanted so desperately to trust this person, but after months of fighting against adults he couldn’t help but hesitate. Trusting in the Force he took a deep breath and tried to consult it as he had been taught. But all he felt was a strong push to go with the older redhead and the sense that he was safe now.

“I should comm the other leaders of the Young. If I disappear they’ll get worried.” And probably do something foolish trying to save him.

“Of course, we wouldn’t want your companions in arms to come to harm. If you can convince them to come along as well we can extend our protection to all of the children.” There was a cold wave of anger coming from the being now. But it was laced with a firm feeling of protection and care. The redhead wasn’t angry at the Young, they were angry for the Young and what had been done to them.

A sentiment that Obi-wan fully understood.

“Do you need a proper comm?” They asked kindly.

“That… that would be great, yeah. My comm took a hit and it’s been cutting in and out.” He admitted a bit sheepishly.

“Jango, nin aldi, haan’lir eyoha’gouk!” They called out over their shoulder.

The words tickled the back of Obi-wan’s mind, which was a really weird sensation. It was almost like he could understand them but at the same time… not. Of course then he realized who Sul-tan was speaking to.

“Leizh Su’bihr!” Jango said before rummaging around in a crate and hurrying over. They smiled at him, feeling helpful and pleased in the Force, as they held out the comm.

Obi-wan felt his face go warm as he took the communicator. “Thank you.”

Their smile turned into a grin, dark amber eyes bright. “Dar’baati, if you need anything else just let me know.”

As Jango stared right into his eyes he felt the heat spread to his ears and ducked his head. “I-I’ll let you know.” He cursed internally as his voice cracked and quickly turned away to comm his co-leaders in the Young.

When he felt Jango’s presence move away from him he couldn’t help but turn to watch him interact with Sul-tan. It was very obvious that they were family by the way the Force was filled with care and affection around them.

Then the comm connected and it was time to work on convincing the Young that they had new allies.

[Jango]

Once everything had been settled at the make-shift camp they’d made and the younger kids had been given a once over by the field medic, they waited with bated breath as Kenobi convinced the other children that the mando’ade were safe. A lot of it went over his head and when he turned to look at Su’bihr he could tell that his bihr didn’t understand the language either. Which was pretty impressive since his bihr knew at least twelve.

Fidgeting as the kids were brought onto the shuttle he turned to his buir but couldn’t quite find the words he wanted to say. There was something in the Manda that was prickling under his skin but he had no idea how to articulate the feeling.

“Jas’buir, I- can I stick next to Kenobi?” He blurted when his buir finally gave him a look.

Su’bihr chuckled next to him, not even trying to hide his amusement. “Why don’t we assign you as their guide for now? You are around the same age and they are friendly with you.”

Jas’buir thought about it for a moment before nodding his assent. “They’ll be your responsibility. I hope you take this duty seriously.”

“I will! I swear- truth, honor, vision.” Something in the Manda thrummed with approval and his buire shared a look between them.

“Obi-wan?” Su’bihr called. “We’re assigning Jango as your guide. He’ll show you around the ship and help keep you up to date on all of your friends. We don’t have space at the base camp for all of the wounded so some of them will have to be taken to the ships. We’ll discuss it further after you’ve had a visit to the healers.”

The kid looked as if they were going to argue but was stopped by a look from Su’bihr. Uh-oh, it was the disappointed look. Jango winced, that look was the worst.

“Medical care is non-negotiable. You can’t tell me that the Jedi have no need of medical care, or that they don’t conduct examinations after someone returns from a difficult mission?” 

Kenobi winced and wilted under that look. “I-no, we do have healers, and we’re supposed to report to them after every mission.” They admitted.

“See? It is just standard procedure for any well organized group or people.” Su’bihr watched the kid for a moment before his expression gentled. “If it helps- you’ll be seeing a Stewjoni healer. They know better than anyone how to handle our unique biology.”

Kenobi looked up in surprise, making Jango frown. Why was that surprising?

“Unique biology? Aren’t we just baseline human?” They asked.

Even Jango let out a growl at that. Seriously, how did they not know any of this? What in the actual hell?

“No, we’re not. But I won’t be going into a long explanation here. The healers would be better suited to that conversation anyway. All you need to know is that we are just different enough from baseline that a lot of medicines don’t work properly and that there are various health problems that might have been overlooked by someone who doesn’t know the difference.” He could tell that Su’bihr was hiding something, something that made him angry enough to make Jango shiver.

“I… I’ll have to trust your judgment then, Be’alor.” They said as they bowed.

“I told you to call me Sul-tan, Obi-wan. We don’t stand on ceremony here.” Su’bihr said with a chuckle.

“Camp’s in sight, prepare to disembark!” Came the voice over the shuttle’s comm.

Seeing Kenobi frown he remembered that they didn’t understand Mando’a. He stepped closer to them, ignoring the slightly wary look. “Pilot said the camp is close. We’re landing soon.” He didn’t think he’d translated it as well as he could have, Basic was a confusing language, but it was obvious Kenobi understood him when they smiled.

“Thank you, Jango. I guess it will be nice to have you as my guide, if only to translate everything.” They laughed at his faux affronted look and he couldn’t help grinning in response.

Normally he was a bit of a grump when it came to being teased, but somehow he didn’t mind the sound of Kenobi’s laughter, or the way their smile was reflected in their eyes.

The shuttle dropped suddenly and he instinctively reached out to pull Kenobi closer, grabbing onto the handle for dear life. Once the shuttle settled he looked down into stormy blue eyes and felt his neck go warm when Kenobi smiled gratefully. 

Oh… kark.

Thankfully no one said a thing as they gathered up the children and led them out to the waiting healers. He didn’t notice the amused looks of his buire as he kept in step with Kenobi.