Jaster may have… miscalculated.
He miscalculated badly.
When the Republic tried one of the most insulting attempts to see him overthrown in years he made his ire known.
When their foolish Senate had come to him with pathetic apologies and promises that they hadn’t known about the assassin, or the terrorists, or the money trail leading straight to a high-ranking senate aide. That they had taken care of the issue. That they wanted nothing more than to improve relations between their people.
Jaster had rolled his eyes behind his helmet and kept his posture annoyed.
They came to him over holo with their empty placating gestures and offered a gift, to make up for the incident, to demonstrate their sincerity. He knows of course that they are only biding their time, waiting until they feel prepared for war.
The senate as it is will never be content with a united and strong Mandalore on its borders. He could tell them over and over that he had no ambitions of conquest and they would never listen. After all, how could they understand when they themselves have such dreams of power?
They are too cowardly to truly act with anything but underhanded tactics. They do not have the military might to oppose him… yet.
He is not foolish enough to believe they aren’t working on it.
So, when they offered a show of good faith in traditional Mandalorian form he waved his hand dismissively and said fine.
He figured they would send him some artifact perhaps, nothing dangerous but culturally important, that would certainly be traditional. His people would rejoice at its return.
Or, perhaps something else valuable.
Mandalore was known to have difficulty obtaining certain supplies, especially more expensive and luxurious food items.
They had not offered details and he had not asked, tired after hours of speaking with them and trying to obtain any kind of direct answer to even a single one of his questions. He figured they would not be so foolish as to insult him.
He should have known better.
He should have considered that the Republic did not know much of Mandalore in the time since its great conquests and atrocities.
He should have known.
By the time he makes it over the Republic ship is long gone, leaving its cargo behind.
He wonders why his guards sound upset, far more upset than any insult should have made them.
It doesn’t take him long to realize why.
There is no artifact, no supplies, no object.
Just a little child.
A tiny little child with baby fat clinging to their cheeks and wide, innocent eyes.
A child who takes one look at Jaster and nearly stumbles back with fear.
He had miscalculated.
He had underestimated just how much the senate thought them monsters.
The Republic sent him a child.
He takes a moment to think and examine his "show of goodwill."
To get his anger under control.
The first thing he notices is how small they are, they have to crane their neck to meet his helmet’s gaze.
It makes them look helpless, he is sure they feel helpless.
The second thing is the clothes, a far too large brown robe swamping them. They’re…
The Republic sent him a Jedi child.
There had been a time, despicable and terrible as it was, when the Mandalorians, twisting themselves into monsters untold, had taken children from their enemies.
They had stolen children, from other clans, from subjugated planets, from those they considered weak.
There had been a time, so long ago as to almost be forgotten, when valuable children were offered up as collateral, as tribute. They were rarely treated well.
The Republic has sent him someone so vulnerable, so alone, so completely dependent on him and the fate he decides for them.
The Republic has essentially sent him a slave.
The little one knows it too.
They shake with fear and poorly hidden terror.
“Are, are you the M-Mand’alor?”
He is almost surprised they can still speak, as frightened as they are.
He nods, not sure he’ll be able to keep his fury from his voice.
They swallow before bowing deeply and handing him a small box.
He hadn’t even noticed they were holding anything.
He can only hope it isn’t something that will make him angrier.
Based on the way the child’s shaking only gets worse once he takes it, he has no illusions of that being the case.
He turns off his external comms and allows himself to sigh.
Once he feels slightly less likely to snap at a guard, or worse, the wide-eyed little one before him, he crouches down in front of them.
Even crouched, Jaster doesn’t need to tilt his head up to meet their gaze.
It makes him angry all over again, that they thought he would want a child.
“Hello ad’ika, what’s your name?”
“Obi-Wan.” The answer is barely a whisper, they duck their head and keep their eyes carefully down.
“Well met Obi-Wan, my name is Jaster.”
They nod although Jaster knows they won’t dare call him that yet.
He tilts his head.
What to do.
They need to feed them.
Examine them for injuries.
He will need to… express his displeasure to the appropriate bodies.
Reassure Obi-Wan that whatever their terrified mind has conceived won’t be happening.
He needs to figure out just how… involved the Jedi were in the incident.
He has met only one Jedi in his life, ancient enemies or not, he did not think they would give one of their own willingly to such a fate. After all, the sayings passed around less savory circles about masters and padawans did not come from nothing.
There is… much to do.
He looks down at Obi-Wan again.
“Have you eaten yet, Obi-Wan?” It is late for mid-meal, most have already eaten but he has no faith in the Republic’s care at the moment.
They hesitate, their gaze jumping momentarily to his helmet before locking back to the ground, as if remembering themself.
“No sir.”
“Well, I believe it’s nearly time for midmeal. Will you join me?”
“Of course, sir.”
He grimaces from the safety of his helmet and almost regrets asking, if only because he won’t be able to hide behind it while they eat.
He glances over at the guards, still obviously furious by their body language and barks out a few instructions over the internal comms. He’ll handle it.
He stands carefully, no need to throw his knee out on top of everything else, and gestures for the child to follow.
He leads them into his own apartments, not wanting to overwhelm the still vulnerable, anxious child.
Seeing them hesitate over where to stand makes his heart hurt.
“Why don’t you sit on the couch for a bit Obi-Wan, I’m going to make us something.” He pauses, grimacing, he had not expected the sudden responsibility of a young child. “Are you… allergic to anything?”
A cautious shake of the head before they hesitate.
Jaster waits, patiently, listening as best he can for that small voice.
“...’m allergic to hoi-broth… sir.”
Small steps.
That was good.
He scribbles a note on some scrap flimsi about the allergy and leaves it with the box Obi-Wan had given him.
A quick look through his stores reveals some leftover stew.
It isn’t a very spicy dish by Mandalorian standards but outsiders don’t always agree, especially young outsiders.
He warms it up quickly and makes sure to include a roll next to Obi-Wan’s dish to help with the spice along with plenty to drink.
He gestures for them to join him at the table and they kneel very politely on the cushion he set out for them.
He takes his helmet off and sets it down gently, carefully ignoring the cautious eyes of his guest.
“Here you are, it might be a little spicier than what you’re used to so take it slow.”
They nod obediently but don’t move, not until he sighs lightly and takes his own first bites.
He only barely stops himself from snarling as they do.
Because they had been hiding restraints in the sleeves of their too big robes.
Not only was the senate so foolish and cruel as to send him a child, they sent him one in chains.
Deep breaths Jaster.
He interrupts their awkward attempt at eating with both hands.
“Obi-Wan.” He tries not to startle them, it doesn’t work.
They flinch back, dropping the spoon into their stew.
They quickly drop their hands back on their lap and stare blankly at the edge of the table in front of them.
Jaster was hoping to feed them first.
“Can I take those off?”
That gets their attention, wide-eyes staring at him with clear disbelief before they manage to school their expression back.
He almost thinks they won’t respond at all.
Just as he’s about to sigh in defeat they move their head in a very careful nod.
“Thank you.” He smiles gently.
They clearly don’t know what to do with that, just ducking their head again.
He walks over to his rooms, trying to remember where he might find something to help get them off when he remembers the box.
It’s still sitting innocently on his counter.
His opinion of the Republic may have taken a massive hit today but he doesn’t think them so stupid as to leave him without some way to take them off.
He bypasses the flimsi note and the recorded message immediately, he’ll deal with those later. Below those is exactly what he needs.
A small remote, helpfully labeled with instructions he carefully breathes through. That he would hurt a child is an insult, that he would be such a coward as to do so remotely is… there are few words to describe it. If he were a more impulsive man he would have rallied his troops already.
Luckily, with some investigating he figures out how to disarm it. He doesn’t understand the Jedi or their force but Jaster’s willing to risk it if there is even the slightest chance being cut off from it is painful.
He walks back over to Obi-Wan and holds out his hand. The little one studies his face carefully before cautiously holding out their wrists. They are so brave to trust him like this.
There’s an audible gasp when the lock clicks open and Jaster removes the restraints.
He carefully takes them away to his office, not wanting to frighten them and comes back to a sobbing child.
They’ve pulled the robe around themself like an awkward blanket and sit curled up, hiding their face in their knees.
Jaster would be worried if it didn’t look so much like desperate relief.
The food is definitely getting cold at this rate.
He leaves them for a few minutes and mixes up some hoth chocolate, hopefully the sweetness makes them feel a little better.
“Obi-Wan?”
They glance up, immediately dropping their hands and sniffling quietly.
“Would you like some hoth chocolate?”
Obi-Wan nods seemingly on instinct and sniffles again, reaching out to take the mug from him.
Jaster retakes his seat and sighs, he had hoped to delay this conversation until Obi-Wan had a chance to eat at the very least. He doesn’t even know how to begin.
“Obi-Wan? Can I talk with you a bit?”
The wariness is back, clouding their eyes as they cautiously nod.
“I was not… Do you know why you’re here?”
They hum a little, sipping at their chocolate. “‘m from Stewjon.”
“I see…” That tells him nothing.
He sighs and tries another approach. “I was under the impression the Senate was sending me… a relic perhaps, they did not tell me you were coming. I’m very sorry this has happened, I-, Mandalorians believe that children are sacred. I promise that no one will hurt you here, and if they do they will be punished.”
“Really?” Their eyes shine with quiet hope.
“Really, I did not expect you but you are welcome to stay and we will do our best by you. I will have to ask, it does not have to be now, about how they came to send you.”
“You can ask now.” He isn’t sure about that, the reassurance and drink seems to have done some good. They aren’t nearly as tense and in fact, if Jaster isn’t mistaken, are well on their way to a peaceful nap.
“Hmmm, perhaps in a little while. First, would you like to try and eat a little more?”
They nod again and Jaster takes a few moments to just breathe before taking his spot opposite them and quietly taking a few bites. It’s cooled to lukewarm, but still palatable. He makes sure to subtly watch the little one.
It doesn’t take long for their eating to slow down to a crawl, stubbornly trying to finish but obviously worn out by the day.
He walks over and offers a hand to help them up. He is quietly pleased when they take it and let him guide them to a couch.
They’re out completely before he’s finished draping a blanket over them.
It has no doubt been a long journey.
His mind conjures the image of little Obi-Wan, alone and terrified.
It infuriates him.
That the Republic would not only insult him so grievously, but hurt a child in the process.
It is a stain on him.
Obi-Wan stirs slightly in their sleep, letting out a tiny whimper.
Jedi child.
Right.
Jaster does not know much of the Jedi but he has heard they are often aware of the feelings around them.
He can’t imagine anger is a pleasant thing to sense, especially from someone they don’t fully trust.
His mind wanders again to the box and its contents.
He takes everything to his personal office, close enough that he should know if Obi-Wan wakes but with enough beskar between them to hopefully keep his emotional reaction contained.
He debates whether to start with the flimsi or the recorded message first before curiosity wins out.
The Republic Senators are nothing after all, if not skilled in the art of talking around the point, and they certainly seem to love their own voices.
The note is from the Jedi.
He reads it once, and then again.
It was clearly written quickly, the handwriting rushed and the wording unpolished.
It pleads with him, they are careful not to make it too obvious, but that is what it is.
The note begs his mercy for their little one, promises that they would send him an adult, any adult to take Obi-Wan’s place if he would only let them.
It dampens some of his anger at least, that the Jedi did not want this. That they were apparently taken off guard just as he was.
That only leaves the recorded message.
It’s from the Senate of course, the representatives so proud and pleased with themselves. He can see in their eyes they believe he will be happy with their “show of goodwill.” His jaw clenches painfully as they explain themselves.
They see nothing but a simple solution to their problems, an innocent sacrifice for their own stupidity.
He dumps the contents back in the box for safekeeping and presentation to his council. The flimsi he keeps out, for the commcode at the bottom.
He will not ask them to send an adult in Obi-Wan’s place, he certainly will not send a child back to people unable to keep them safe.
He can give them some reassurance in the meantime.
Jaster takes a quick holo of Obi-Wan’s sleeping form, pulling down the blanket just enough that they will be able to see their unfettered wrists.
It is an adorable picture, for all that Jaster wishes the circumstances were better.
He sends the holo along with a single line.
“Your child will be safe with us, I swear it.”
He doesn’t bother waiting for a response, there might not be one and even if there is it will take time for the message to reach them all the way on Coruscant. Not to mention, he does not know whether it is secured or not. If they were as hurried as he thinks it may just be a personal unsecured line. Instead he messages Silas and Jango.
He has no doubt the rumors have spread far and wide across the compound by now, many of his people are probably rearing for a fight. He likely has a very disappointed medic’s report to look forward to from all the sparring.
Silas arrives first, frowning deeply.
Jango is only a few moments behind him, light panting telling Jaster he must have run over.
Jaster doesn’t bother with anything beyond a tight smile before leading them past the living areas and to his office.
They both pause at the sight of the bundle on the couch before he pointedly tips his head in the direction of his office.
So much to be done.
Mace is having one of the worst weeks of his life.
Actually, scratch that, the Jedi as a whole are having one of the worst weeks any of them can remember. Which is quite the accomplishment considering the ages of some of their oldest members.
The Senate have certainly been overstepping, they’ve been pushing the boundaries of the Jedi Order for quite some time but… nothing like this.
They had protested the Senate’s plan from the beginning, not wanting to give up a Jedi to such a fate, they had argued and fought but ultimately… they didn’t have the power to deny them. And wasn’t that a terrifying revelation, that they had somehow been stripped so thoroughly of their choice, that they didn't even know when it had been taken from them.
So, they asked for volunteers among the knights and masters of the temple. A few agreed, a couple had even offered some experience with Mandalorians on past missions.
It felt wrong, it was wrong but there was nothing they could do.
Then, beyond all expectation, It got worse.
The Senators came to collect, but not the Jedi’s choice. No, they came with their terribly polite smiles and horribly sugary words and said that they had made their own choice. You see, depending on your definition, Stewjon is in Mandalorian space. Don’t you think the Mand’alor would appreciate the return of one of his own?
They had all held their tongues rather than say they were not his own to be returned. They had done no wrong in taking the child in the first place. And oh did it hurt that it was a child. There was only one Stewjoni Jedi in the Temple, an initiate, not even a junior Padawan yet, not even close to being chosen.
They had fought and argued against it but the Senate’s mind was made up. They could not say no when they threatened the younger ones, the ones too young to even hold a saber.
It was made even more terribly certain when Obi-Wan had emerged, wide-eyed and so terribly brave, from behind a pillar and volunteered. As if there was a choice. As if they hadn’t all just realized how little of a choice they had. Mace’s heart had broken for the self-sacrificing child.
He had watched the shatterpoint break over chubby cheeks, and hoped beyond everything that it was a good one. That it did not spell misfortune.
He raged inside when they denied him the chance to even say goodbye to his creche.
It took only a moment to realize something had to be done, before their child was taken away without any hope of rescue.
Mace had no time to temper himself or ensure his words were professional and diplomatic. In his rush he scribbled his own commcode to save any council padawans from the messages.
He barely had time to slip it along with his robe to the child before he was whisked away.
The Council had been discussing the recent overstepping by the Senate for some months now. There had been much arguing and debating about what to do.
It felt like nearly every meeting since Mace joined the council had touched on it in some way.
There was no arguing in the aftermath.
The vote was unanimous.
The Jedi would have to leave.
They could not risk their children. They hadn’t even realized that they were, that the Senate would be so callous and unfeeling. That they would feel entitled to even their younglings.
Mace sighs into his arms.
The last week has been filled with endless arguing. They all agree that they must leave, that they must leave soon. There is only the problem of where to go.
None of the old temples, not even the ones not actively falling apart, have the supplies or ability to sustain them.
Illum is too frigid, Jedha cannot hide them, even if it were logistically possible.
The Corps are doing their best but the reality of it is, the Jedi are not ready.
There are too many factors, too many things to go wrong.
If the Senate catches wind of their thoughts, it will be over. Mace dreads what they might do, should they learn of the Order's intentions.
The atmosphere in the temple is darker than it’s been in years. Mace cannot remember a time like it. The light dimmed by the fear and frustration of the Order itself.
Mace can only hope something changes for the better.
He almost ignores the chime of his comm, too busy stewing in his own thoughts and too tired to attend yet another emergency meeting, before he remembers.
He gave his commcode to Obi-Wan.
He waits with bated breath as the image loads.
Mace lets out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding.
He examines the image for deception but finds nothing, there are signs Obi-Wan has cried recently but Mace can easily chalk that up to the frightening experience and not something the Mandalorians specifically did. At least he hopes it wasn't something the Mandalorians specifically did.
He sees no sign of the restraints the Senate promised or pain in his expression.
The reassurance means more than the Mand’alor could possibly know.
Mace takes a moment to breathe, finally able to start releasing some of the fear and uncertainty of the last days.
He stands to call for yet another emergency session.
-
Silas breathes in and out slowly, between him and Jango at least one of them should be calm.
He’s furious. There is no one, from the most traditional armourer to the most pacifist New Mandalorian who isn’t. Word spread like wildfire. The cowards in the Republic sent a child to bear their sins.
It’s a reminder of all the things they’ve done their best not to become.
Death Watch is gone, has been gone for years, and they will not be remembered kindly.
A mistake, soldiers blinded by memories of former glory, glory that was never real in the first place.
Silas is glad at least that Jaster was able to get them comfortable enough to sleep.
He focuses on his Mand’alor’s expression, and is pleased to find him as furious as the rest of his people.
“I am going to tell you what I’ve learned and then I will hear recommendations before I present this to the council.”
Silas and Jango nod seriously.
“They are a Jedi youngling but I do not think this was the Jedi’s doing. Obi-Wan gave me two messages along with…” His words fail and he simply gestures to a few objects on the desk.
Silas takes another steadying breath.
Jango swears violently from his side.
“Elek. I think we’ll start with the Senate.” Jaster nods decisively, his expression a grim line.
-
Silas has never felt like killing someone quite as much as he does now.
His Mand’alor could make the call and he would sack Coruscant without question.
The cowards don't even understand what they've done. It is that realization above everything else that shocks him. It didn't even occur to them.
Jaster gives them both a tight ironic smile.
Jango gets up and starts pacing furiously.
“The Jedi?” Silas does his best to focus. There must be a reason they have not drawn his Mand'alor's fury.
“Elek.”
He hands Silas a piece of flimsi, Jango stops his pacing for a moment to glare over his shoulder.
Silas can tell without reading it that it was rushed, the aurebesh unpolished and slanted with haste.
Yes, Silas can see why Jaster does not blame them for this. The desperation present was not faked, Silas would argue could not be faked.
He speaks up for the first time. “Before we discuss this further, what have you done already?” He can't imagine his Mand'alor has been completely idle.
Jaster smiles, a little genuineness coming through this time.
“I sent a holo of Obi-Wan to the commcode the Jedi provided and promised they will be well treated.”
Silas nods. “Good. Do we know if it’s secure?”
“I suspect not, the message was rushed, it would be prudent to assume a personal comm.”
He leans back, thinking over their options.
“As much as I would like too,” he begins, “I cannot recommend invading Coruscant at the moment.”
Silas ignores Jango’s protesting. He’s still bears the impulsiveness of his youth. He is not wrong to be angry, there is no shame in the passion of youth but... there is a time and place for impulsivity and it is not here and now.
“We need information, who is responsible. War brings death, brings destruction and chaos no matter how justified.”
Jaster nods. “It is not a decision to be made over an insult, no matter the severity. We will leave our options open for now.”
“Elek.”
Jaster stands with all the bearing of the leader he is and speaks. “Silas, summon the council, we will discuss our options. Jango, I have something for you.”
Obi-Wan wakes up groggy and disoriented.
Where is he?
He doesn't remember a couch like this in the crèche.
He reaches out in the force instinctively and finds another person in the room with him.
He sits up and rubs at his eyes, trying to place the strange signature, it feels wrong.
He doesn't understand why it feels so strange.
“master?” He mumbles, yawning lightly.
Their presence flares with anger.
Obi-Wan flinches back, eyes flying open in alarm.
There’s a Mandalorian leaning against a wall across from him.
A very angry Mandalorian.
That’s right, how could he forget? He’s on Mandalore. The Senate sent him and he has to be good and he has to be quiet and he can’t use the Force and he can’t be annoying or a bother or disobey or cause trouble and he doesn’t know what that means.
Everything is so strange here and he doesn’t know what they want from him. The Temple makes sense, the Masters smile at him and he bows and everything is alright. He doesn’t know what the Mandalorians want. He can’t be good and quiet and well-behaved if he doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t know who this is or what he did wrong or what’s going to happen to him and he’s all alone and this person isn’t the nice Mand’alor who took his cuffs off and promised they wouldn't hurt him and what if they put them back on and he doesn't want that! He never wants to feel so empty and alone again but he isn't strong enough to stop them if they want to hurt him or take the Force away again and, and...
Obi-Wan starts to cry.
He really doesn’t mean to but everything is just so much and so scary and so unfamiliar.
He doesn’t want to be here.
“Kark! Uh, kriff, um, don’t repeat that!”
Obi-Wan just sobs.
He wants this all to be a bad dream. He wants to wake up with his crèchemates and his smiling crèchemaster. He never wants to feel the Masters as scared as they were when the Senate said it had to be him or else they’d pick one of the little ones.
“I wanna go home!” He chokes out.
The Mandalorian makes a jerking motion like they can’t decide whether to come closer or not.
Obi-Wan doesn't want them to come closer.
He pulls the blanket around his shoulders and curls up tightly.
“Uh, there, there. It’s alright.” The Mandalorian tries.
Obi-Wan just cries harder, they don’t sound like his crèchemaster or Master Yoda or any of his family.
“Kark!”
The Mandalorian feels like panic.
Obi-Wan starts breathing even faster.
He’s choking on air and feeding on the panic in the room.
He wants it to stop.
His heart is pounding and he can't breathe and he's so scared.
He wants it to stop.
He doesn’t know how to make it stop.
He tries, he really does, but he doesn’t know how.
He barely registers the click of a comm.
-
“Myles! Help me!”
Myles loves his friend.
He would follow Jango to the ends of the earth.
He would also spend at least some of that journey laughing at him.
He rushes over as soon as Jango calls, countless worries and simulated disasters flying through his mind.
Myles makes it to the Mand’alor’s rooms in record time, ready to face whatever crisis is upon them.
He quickly surveys the situation and almost immediately bursts into suppressed laughter.
Jango Fett, son of the Mand’alor looks at him in an obvious panic.
He’s standing awkwardly in front of a small child crying their little heart out.
Myles really shouldn’t laugh, the little one’s very distressed and so is his friend.
He just can’t help how funny it is.
He’s seen Jango fight warriors twice his size without flinching, he’s been by his side though missions gone wrong and admired his calm in the face of crisis.
Jango Fett is one of his favorite people.
He’s never seen him panicking like this before, and over a crying child no less.
“Myles! Stop that and help me!” He snaps desperately.
Myles would shake his head and leave him to his fate but the kid is genuinely very upset and is that... he takes a better look and sees that... yes, there are several objects floating unnaturally in the air.
His teachers would kill him for not noticing that immediately.
So... baby Jedi.
Baby Jedi who could probably shove him into a wall as easily as make a cup float.
See, he pays attention to threat assessment.
“What’d you even do?”
“Nothing! They just started crying!”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
Myles schools his expression and moves slowly to crouch in front of the child.
Jedi or not, Myles can handle a crying little kid.
It can't be that different.
They're just... making things float instead of... not doing that.
He takes a deep breath, freaking out will only make it worse.
“Hey there, what’s wrong ad’ika?”
They pause their sobbing for a moment and sniffle miserably.
“wanna go home.”
He glances over at Jango who subtly shakes his head.
The rumors must really be true then.
“Sorry about that kid… Um, I'm Myles, do you want a hug?” He holds out his arms in a silent offering.
Myles’s little cousins always love hugs but he isn’t sure about baby Jedi.
They just sniffle and nod miserably, holding out their arms.
Well, Myles can do that.
He sits down next to them and scoops them up, waving hand signs behind their back at Jango.
Jango looks endlessly confused but ultimately obeys and plucks a floating cup out of the air with a disgruntled expression that almost has Myles losing his composure again. Eventually he returns grumbling from the kitchen with a glass of water.
Myles tips his head to the low table in front of the couch and lets the little one cry themself out a little.
Hearing the sobs tapering off into hiccups, the various objects slowly lowering as they run out of tears, Myles pulls back a little.
“Hey, ad’ika, want some water?”
They nod before burying their face in his shoulder again.
He grabs the water and helps them maneuver into a more comfortable position on his lap.
“Feeling better?”
They nod a little.
Myles makes eye contact with Jango, a little at a loss.
“Uh, want some uj cake? It’s really good I swear.”
Another nod, slightly hopeful this time.
Myles can definitely work with that.
-
Jaster waits for his council to calm.
At least they all agree for once.
The New Mandalorians may not want war, but they are not opposed to revenge in all of its many forms.
The fire that sparks in Jaster’s people does not always show itself with blasters and vibroblades.
The True Mandalorians may desire vengeance, but they are not blind to the realities of rushing into a conflict on impulse.
The fire that sparks in Jaster’s people does not always burn with recklessness. Although, as Jaster's mind wanders without his permission to more than one unfortunate jetpack incident, there is certainly also plenty of that.
“So, we are agreed?”
“Elek, Mand’alor.”
“Jate.”
The Republic will face consequences, one way or another.
Jaster takes a moment to listen at the door.
He hopes Obi-Wan did alright.
As much as Jaster didn’t want to leave them with a stranger, he couldn’t leave the council any longer. Ideally, they slept the whole time and Jango will get to loudly complain at him about how boring babysitting is.
He can hear a low level of noise, a low level of conversation that tells him Jango and Obi-Wan aren’t alone.
He sighs and resigns himself to hosting one of Jango’s friends.
Obi-Wan is already staring at the door when he opens it, Jaster very carefully doesn’t startle at their attention.
They’re still on the couch, wrapped snugly in their massive robe. He wonders absently if one of the older Jedi gave it to them. It’s clearly made for an adult. Obi-Wan certainly seems to find comfort in it.
He turns his attention to the rest of the room. One of Jango’s friends, Myles, is sitting next to Obi-Wan. Jaster must have interrupted a dramatic story given his wide grin and the position his hands are frozen in.
Jango is easily found on one of the chairs across the room. He's draped over the chair on his back, both arms hiding his face dramatically. Ah, the story must be about him then. Jaster wonders which of his son's glorious exploits Myles has deemed worthy today.
He nods to the two teenagers in acknowledgement and leans against the wall next to Jango's chair, gesturing for Myles to go on.
The teen studies his face for a moment before apparently deciding it's safe and turning back to Obi-Wan.
"So, we had come upon our bounty buying fruit in the stall next door of all things! A glorious opportunity! Unfortunately, you may remember, Kho was supposed to be in charge and we definitely weren't supposed to go after him by ourselves."
Obi-Wan nods seriously.
"But! It was such a good opportunity! and he was such a slippery bugger! Surely we could handle it!"
Obi-Wan nods seriously again, it's very cute.
"We approached him from behind, careful not to give ourselves away."
Obi-Wan's eyes are large and interested.
"Suddenly! He turned!"
A small gasp from Myles's audience member.
"He had seen us! We froze. His hands were full of fruit, no way to reach for his blaster without dropping his purchases. Jango called for his surrender... but before we could try to cuff him... a splat!"
Another gasp.
Ah, Jaster remembers this one now.
"I looked over at Jango to find... fruit running down his buy'ce! It was bright purple and slimy." Myles makes a disgusted face.
Jango groans from his place on the chair.
"We were both so shocked we didn't move! So, he threw more fruit at us and ran as fast as he could. I'm telling you Ob'ika I was covered in purple and green slime!"
"gross." They wrinkle their nose in solidarity.
"I know, it was awful! We couldn't let him get away now! So, Jango led the way through the streets. He kept throwing fruit at us but you must never underestimate a Mandalorian! We were so close! We had him in our sights and Jango was ready to stun him! Do you know what happened then?" He pauses dramatically and waits for Obi-Wan to shake their head.
Jango makes a vaguely embarrassed complaining noise.
"He fell! Into a robo-dumpster! buy'ce first, just all the way in!"
"really?"
"Really." He nods. "He went head over heels! I was so surprised I completely failed to keep chasing the bounty! Then, to make everything worse, the robo-dumpster started leaving! Stealing my best friend away to fates unknown!" He splays a hand over his heart dramatically.
"I had to chase after it, covered in sticky fruit juices."
"Was he alright?" Oh, what a sweet child.
Myles makes a dismissive motion. "Oh, Jango was fine. Robo-dumpsters don't move very quickly and it stopped eventually. He smelled terrible though. And the local insects wouldn't leave him alone for a moment. Not to mention, Kho was definitely going to kill us for chasing and losing the bounty without permission." Seeing their worried expression Myles hurries to clarify. "She wouldn't have really killed us don't worry! It's an expression."
"Oh."
"Yeah, but I came up with a brilliant plan! We didn't have to tell her what happened right? We might lose out on the bounty but even the best bounty hunters fail sometimes. All we had to do was get cleaned up!"
"Did it work?"
"No..." This time it's Jango who answers, finally showing his face again. "The Sha-" he wisely cuts himself off at Jaster's look. "She tracked us down before we could figure out how to get the stains out."
"Did you get in trouble?" Their eyes are wide and Jaster knows the answer will be added to their limited pool of knowledge about his people.
"Oh yeah," Myles steps back in. "She chewed us out for going off on our own without any backup and not telling her anything and made us polish our armour three times as punishment, it was awful."
Obi-Wan looks thoughtful but not frightened at the punishment, Jaster doesn't doubt the Jedi have similarly reckless teenagers with troublesome streaks.
All told Jaster doesn’t think things have gone too catastrophically in his absence.
He listens as the two teenagers devolve into quiet bickering for a moment before turning fully to Obi-Wan.
“Have Jango and Myles been taking good care of you?”
They make a small agreeable noise, offering Jaster a shy smile.
“Myles gave me uj cake.”
“He did?” Jaster raises an eyebrow in his direction for a moment but keeps a kind smile directed at the child. “Did you like it?”
“Mmhmm. It was tasty.”
“I’m glad. Now.” He turns to Jango, cutting off whatever comment he was in the middle of making. “I believe you have some work to get to?”
Jango’s mostly contented pose changes in an instant to a dramatic slump.
He lolls his head over to look at the child. “Have you ever had to take diplomacy classes?”
Obi-Wan shakes their head solemnly.
“See, not even the little Jedi have to take diplomacy classes. They're terrible I'm telling you!”
“Jan’ika, you’re sixteen.”
“So?”
“I’m fairly certain the Jedi have to take diplomacy classes at some point.”
He glances over at Obi-Wan, hoping they aren’t nervous about the discussion’s turn.
He’s startled by a tiny little giggle, even Obi-Wan jumps at the sound before gathering themself. It’s adorable, such a sweet noise. Jaster is so glad they’re feeling better.
“That’s so old! You might be a senior padawan by then! How’re you supposed to do anything!?”
The room freezes for a moment before Myles breaks into hysterical laughter.
“Yeah Jango, how’ve you been living all this time? You haven't even finished taking basic diplomacy classes yet!”
Jaster allows the teasing to continue for a bit before having mercy on his son and shooing them both out with a pointed comment about Myles’s own despised logistics courses that has the tables turning and both teenagers shoving each other playfully on their way down the hallway.
He turns back to look at the couch and his little guest.
He sighs dramatically. “Looks like it’s just the two of us now Ob’ika.”
They nod solemnly.
“Is there something you’d like to do?”
It feels like their adorable big eyes are staring into his very soul.
They shake their head.
“Are you hungry?”
Another negative.
Jaster isn’t quite sure how to handle someone quite this small. He likes kids of course but Jango’s been a more or less an awkward surly teenager for several years now and a grumpy traumatized preteen before that.
“Would you like to see the palace?”
Children like exploring? That sounds right.
They tilt their head a little, clearly judging his sincerity before silently nodding.
“Wonderful.”
He offers a hand and they take it without hesitation this time, hopping off the couch. They almost trip over the end of the oversized robe. He bites back a suggestion to leave it, he knows it wouldn’t be accepted.
“Ready?”
They look up at him and squeeze his hand lightly with a nod, taking a deep breath and facing the door.
Kho watches the Jedi dance across the valley, deflecting blaster bolts with an ease only an incredibly well trained warrior could achieve.
It is good that she was sent instead of one of the younger ones. They have a tendency to get distracted by young and impressive fighters.
She has a hunch that several Jedi will be playing awkward heartbreaker in the aftermath of the Mand’alor’s scheme.
She allows herself a few moments more before deciding she’s seen enough.
No one without a lifetime of training could wield a weapon quite like that, they are not an imposter.
She takes her own blaster out and joins the fray with steady determination.
-
Feemor really isn’t sure where his day went wrong.
The Force has been upset lately, and loud.
He’s been thrown off balance, as all the Jedi were, by the news from the Temple.
He hasn’t allowed himself the time to consider what it means, needing to focus on his own mission first.
And yet, staring at the tall, broad-shouldered Mandalorian before him, he doesn’t think he has the luxury of avoiding it anymore.
“Jedi.”
“Ah, hello… Mandalorian.” Hopefully that isn’t rude.
“Kho.”
“...Well met Kho, I’m Jedi Knight Feemor.” He does his best to put on a polite smile.
They nod, which is baffling, seemingly content to stand there in silence.
“Do you… need assistance?” His expression is getting a little strained.
The Mandalorian doesn’t move, at all.
Feemor really doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do here.
“The Mand’alor has sent me with a message.”
“I see…” Feemor does not see. He would like to. He does not.
They clear their throat lightly.
“The Mand’alor would like to speak with your leaders, independent of your Senate.”
“Alright…” Feemor is not sure what that has to do with him.
“We need a way to do that.”
“Right…” That makes more sense, he can help with that, probably. He does know how to connect to the secure comms.
“Also are you doing anything important right now?”
“Yes…?” The negotiations may have gone completely off the rails but he isn't giving up.
The Mandalorian, Kho, sighs heavily.
“How long?”
“How long…?”
“How long will it take?”
“I don’t know…” Feemor has no idea, it could take hours, it could take days. These things aren't exactly predictable and he hasn't had enough solo missions to confidently gauge his own tendencies.
They stare at him with… consideration? Maybe? It’s so hard to tell with all the beskar and the helmet hiding their face.
“I will help.”
“Oh, um, alright, if you’re sure?” He could probably use a little backup, provided they actually listen to him.
“Yes.”
Great.
Feemor really hopes this doesn’t blow up in his face.
-
The Mand’alor will be pleased.
Kho not only got a commcode from the Jedi to call their leaders, she also got a Jedi!
That part wasn’t in the Mand’alor’s instructions but Kho knows how upsetting it can be to find yourself alone in a new unfamiliar place.
She is confident that the Mand’alor and his family will do their best but… there are some things that cannot be helped.
She does not understand the Jedi, none of her people do and a stressed star-touched child is bound to be trouble. They would never blame them for any loss of control but... Kho is of the opinion that it would be better to avoid issues with an expert rather than deal with the aftermath.
-
Feemor is fairly certain he’s been kidnapped.
Only fairly certain because Kho has been remarkably agreeable through the whole process.
And the Force seems very happy with his current predicament.
She still talks like she’ll be fined by the word but from what he can gather she… thinks the little Initiate the Senate sent to Mandalore needs a Jedi friend?
Which is… honestly really considerate.
He isn’t sure he’s the best choice for it.
Stars, he’s barely a knight!
He’s going to try.
-
Feemor stares at the massive city before him, it’s nothing compared to Coruscant of course but it feels alive.
The Force isn’t clouded and miserable like one might expect on a mostly dead world.
There’s a low buzz of anger that makes him uncomfortable and shifty but that’s understandable. From what little he gathered from Kho, the Mandalorians took Obi-Wan’s arrival as a grave insult to their honor.
She leads him up to a building that must be the palace or capitol building, whatever they call it on Mandalore.
He nods politely to the Mandalorians who meet them on the steps.
“Kho… who is this?” Feemor feels more than a little relieved at the confused body language.
“Jedi Knight Feemor. Mand’alor Jaster Mereel.” She gestures to each of them in turn.
Feemor jerks in a quick reflexive bow. It’s shallow, the Mand’alor looks slightly uncomfortable anyway.
He turns to someone behind him and from what little Feemor can tell, gives some kind of order that has them retreating back to building behind them.
“I was wondering why you didn’t check in. Did you kidnap a Jedi? I thought I said the Senate couldn’t know!”
She puffs up in a way Feemor has learned to recognize as satisfaction and pride.
“I faked their death.”
“You what!?” She hadn’t said anything about that! “How did you do that?”
Feemor certainly doesn’t remember faking his own death.
She shrugs casually. “Blew up your ship.”
“What!? I liked that ship!”
She turns her visor incredulously to him.
“It was falling apart.”
“It was fine.”
“I would not trust that ship with a droid.”
“I named it!”
She tilts her head slightly in what might be amusement.
“My condolences.”
The Mand’alor snorts loudly enough to be audible through his vocoder.
“I’m glad you’ve found a friend.” He directs that to Kho.
Before either of them can respond there’s a little blur rushing out from behind the Mand’alor, a guard following after with an air of futile exasperation.
Feemor has no time to react before the little blur leaps for him.
He barely manages to juggle the sudden armful of child without dropping him. He’s heavy.
Obi-Wan lets out an excited squeal and throws his arms around Feemor’s neck.
“Master!”
Oh, Feemor thinks as his Force presence brushes against Feemor’s with a certain desperation and sense of terrible loneliness, he’s glad he came. Even if he had to sacrifice his favourite ship in the process.
He secures him in his arms as best he can and reaches back gently with the Force.
“Hello Obi-Wan.”
“You’re here!”
He adjusts his hold with a grimace so the Initiate’s knee isn’t pressing painfully into his ribs.
“Yes, I’m Knight Feemor. Do you remember me, young one?”
Obi-Wan hums in pleased agreement and nods. Finally, he curls up in his arms, presence still pulsing with surprised joy.
“See, ade need aliit.”
Kho crosses her arms smugly.
The Mand’alor sighs.
Obi-Wan doesn’t ever want to leave Knight Feemor.
He’s so quiet and peaceful.
The Mandalorians are so loud.
He knows they try not to be, they always speak softly when they ask him if he wants something and they’ve been very nice.
He understands why Jango keeps muttering about stupid politics and politicians now. They must really be stupid to think the Mandalorians would want to hurt him.
They’ve been really nice and Obi-Wan thinks the tapestries and armour are very cool! They also clearly have a very developed taste in desserts.
They’re so loud though.
They feel so much all the time! It’s exhausting! Obi-Wan doesn’t know how they can stand it! Can't they feel how overwhelming it is?
Some of them still get angry when they see him.
Jaster told him it isn’t because they’re mad at him, they’re mad at the Senate for sending him. Obi-Wan understands, he didn’t really want to come either.
It doesn’t stop how loud it is.
Obi-Wan’s never going to complain about shielding practice ever again!
Knight Feemor is quiet in the Force, only a little affection and fondness coming through his shields. He wants to curl up in his presence forever!
He can’t of course.
That would be selfish. He can’t keep Knight Feemor away from his missions or eating or sleeping and Obi-Wan thinks it would be very difficult to do those things if he has Obi-Wan clinging to him.
Knight Feemor deserves to try spicy things and eat uj cake just like Obi-Wan.
But Obi-Wan likes Knight Feemor’s quiet presence and he’s so happy to have someone else in this strange place. He can stay for a little bit, right?
“Hmmm, what’re you thinking about Obi-Wan?” The words are soft and Obi-Wan can feel them rumble in Knight Feemor’s chest, it’s nice.
“don’t wanna let go.” He mumbles into the Knight’s robes.
He hums goodnaturedly in response. “Well, I would like my arms back eventually,” Obi-Wan’s head springs up. “But-” he hurries to continue, “-I think we can delay that a little longer.”
“Thank you.” Obi-Wan settles back into his arms.
“Of course, little one.”
“It’s really loud here.” He grumbles.
Obi-Wan feels a slightly wry chuckle. “Yeah, it sure is. Would you like some help with that?”
He nods eagerly and relaxes as the Knight helps to shore up his beginner’s attempts at shielding. The clambering noise of emotion and life and the unfiltered mass of the Force dulls a little and he slumps completely.
-
Feemor smiles fondly at the little Initiate as he yawns and wriggles into a more comfortable position in Feemor’s arms before redirecting his attention to the Mand’alor still standing patiently at the stairs.
He squeezes the Initiate in his arms lightly in reassurance and walks over.
“Knight Feemor. While I certainly wasn’t expecting you-” His helmet moves to focus pointedly on Kho for a moment before facing Feemor again. “You are welcome on Mandalore and we would appreciate your assistance.”
Feemor nods in agreement. He’s not sure exactly what the Mandalorians want assistance with beyond contact with the council but he’s certainly willing to help.
“I don’t think this one’s going to want to let go anytime soon but if there’s anything I can assist with in the meantime, I’m certainly willing.”
The Mand’alor seems to consider this for a moment before reaching up to remove his helmet and clip it to his belt.
His face is kinder than Feemor would have guessed.
“Thank you.”
Feemor follows his lead into the palace complex before them.
The Mand’alor keeps a quiet running commentary on the various objects and pieces of art around the halls, careful not to wake the now sleeping Initiate. Feemor is certain Madame Nu would viciously interrogate him if she knew about all the knowledge being shared.
Eventually, Feemor finds himself in an official looking meeting room.
“This is where we hold most of our council meetings. It is equipped with some of our best communications tech.”
Feemor nods, it’s a logical place for it.
“I’m not sure how much Kho explained, she has a tendency to…”
“Underexplain?” Feemor suggests, the Mand’alor grimaces lightly.
“Yes. As we understand it the Senate sent Ob’ika to us, without the Jedi’s approval.”
Feemor nods cautiously and readjusts his grip. “I don’t know much, I wasn’t there for it but… no, the Jedi did not know. We were warned the Senate had decided to send you a Jedi and protested strongly but were led to believe that it was our choice who was sent. We never would have sent a child.”
The Mand’alor’s force presence is tight and taut with anger although none of it shows on his face. Feemor takes a moment to breathe and strengthen the shields around himself and Obi-Wan.
“As I understand it, as the Council explained, although not in so many words, they were very careful in the report, the Senate threatened the other children and Obi-Wan volunteered. There was no time to protest further.”
The Mand’alor makes an inquisitive noise to show he’s listening, his presence tainted with more anger.
“We had never thought that things would grow so dangerous. That the Senate would overstep so far. The Temple can be defended, if given warning, there are protocols. It, we,” he takes a steadying breath. ”We cannot endanger our younglings by fighting openly. There are too many and we have not fought such a battle in generations. A siege is not viable, there are ways to sustain the population for long periods but…”
“It would be a losing battle from the start.” The Mand’alor finishes.
“Yes.”
“So your Council made a difficult choice.”
Feemor lets out an upset noise.
“If it could be called a choice.”
Obi-Wan whines slightly and Feemor distracts himself by soothing the little one in the Force.
“I would like to speak with your council, if you have a secure way of contact.”
“Of course.”
-
Jaster straightens as the call goes through, he has explained his theories to his own council and they have made their suggestions. His decisions today will have weight, how much, he does not know.
He may be starting his people down a path that will see great accomplishments, even if he never lives to see all of them.
This may be his greatest legacy.
They made the decision to have Feemor join the call from a spot next to Jaster.
The Jedi would probably appreciate knowing their Knight is well, especially if the news of his apparent death traveled quickly.
He’s glad Ob’ika has someone though he suspects Feemor is more than a little overwhelmed. He isn’t sure when Jedi children come of age. He’s certainly old enough by Mandalorian standards but there’s a shine of inexperience to him, perhaps new to dealing with system leaders.
He’s no doubt glad to pass off further discussion to his leaders.
The holo forms to show a diverse group of beings, some of whom he can identify the species of, some he can’t.
Feemor takes a steadying breath from his side and leans over to be more visible.
“Masters.”
“Knight Feemor.”
It’s difficult to tell over holo but Jaster thinks he sees stress seem to bleed out of them at his appearance.
"We are glad to see you well."
He nods gratefully before they move on.
“Initiate Kenobi. Doing well, is he?”
Feemor shuffles a little, presumably to give the Jedi a better view of the little one.
“As best as can be expected I think.”
They seem even more relieved at this. One of them takes a visible steadying breath and directs their full attention to Jaster.
“Mand’alor.”
“Jedi.”
“To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Jaster smiles sharply in response before returning the speaker’s grimace with his own.
“It has come to my attention that the Republic may have… inaccurate ideas about my people. We are happy to keep Obi-Wan safe for as long as necessary but what the Senate has done is a great insult to my position and my people. That it has harmed a child, with or without my consent is something that must be remedied. I have heard from Knight Feemor but I would like to hear from you. How has this happened?”
Ultimately, their accounts agree and Jaster is satisfied.
He may not be able to sense lies but years of reading people in armour have left him skilled in the art of subtle body language. The Jedi are very good at keeping their reactions to themselves but Jaster sees no lies, only grief and helpless regret.
Once they’ve given their account and explained the impossibility of their situation Jaster allows himself a smile. A vicious grin that promises destruction.
“Might I suggest a solution to both our situations?”
“Hear you, we will, Mand’alor.” The one who introduced himself as Master Yoda declares.
“Wonderful. I don’t particularly desire an empire, I cannot justify it over a slight like this, no matter how serious. Mandalore still struggles producing enough food for our people, we are self-sufficient but only barely. War takes resources, resources that are only tenuously stable at the moment. I will not risk dependence on the Republic or its corporations, not to a body that has done me such dishonor.”
Feemor shifts at his side, clearly uncertain where he’s going with this.
“I understand you may be able to assist with this?” He pauses for an answer.
The Kel Dor called Plo Koon leans forward, drawing his eye.
Good, they are catching on.
“Our AgriCorps.” He glances at something out of view. “It may take generations, to undo the damage. It may not even be possible but… much is possible with the Force.”
“I understand. I think that…” He takes care with his words, his council had agreed but these things must be handled with care. He cannot afford a misunderstanding. "Your children are no longer safe under your Senate, on this we agree."
Several of their number visibly droop at the reminder.
“I think that an attempt to heal our dead worlds could certainly be paid back with space and protection...”
Feemor straightens slightly as he no doubt catches on to Jaster’s intent.
“...And 'stealing' the Jedi Order would certainly satisfy the insult done to me and my people.” He finishes.
One of the Jedi abruptly clutches at his head and groans in pain.
The rest sit in various states of shock.
“Someone call Master Che!”
Jaster sits back, giving them a moment to recover.
Master Yoda leans forward and bangs his stick on the ground.
“Deliberate, we will. In time, an answer, we will give.”
Jaster nods, he had not expected one right away.
“This line is secure, if you have questions or when you have come to a decision.”
The small Jedi nods with a sense of finality to Jaster and the line cuts off.
The room is silent until Feemor lets out a slightly helpless laugh.
It rouses Obi-Wan, grumpy with sleep.
“What happened?”
Jaster takes pity on Feemor in his shocked state.
“Hey Ob’ika, what would you say to the rest of your family coming here?”
“Really!?” Their eyes shine with clear delight.
Obi-Wan races through the halls as fast as he can. Everyone’s been trying to keep him distracted and occupied but he’s very good at sneaking.
He knows they wanted to keep it a surprise, when exactly his family was coming. Obi-Wan can appreciate the thought but… it’s his family! It’s his crèchemates and his crèchemaster and all the younglings and initiates and padawans and knights and masters and...
He wants to know the moment they arrive!
Obi-Wan jumps high to avoid slamming into a Mandalorian turning a corner. She startles and opens her arms to catch him. Obi-Wan only giggles, he doesn’t need catching, he has the Force!
“Ob’ika, you’re going to give half the planet a heart attack!”
He lands safely and pauses just long enough to give her the news. “Kho! Did’ya hear? Did’ya hear? My family’s coming!”
She softens a little and reaches out to ruffle his hair.
“That’s wonderful news Ob’ika.”
“Yeah! I’m gonna meet ‘em!”
With that, he races off again, his joy ringing loud and clear in the Force.
He bounces up next to Feemor and Jaster, standing idly next to one of the landing platforms, still bleeding excitement and anticipation.
They aren’t here quite yet, much to his disappointment, but Obi-Wan is a Jedi. He can be patient, even when it’s so very difficult.
“Why hello Obi-Wan.” He grins up at Feemor. “What brings you here?”
“It’s today! I saw it!”
Feemor sighs and offers a hand to Obi-Wan which he happily takes and swings back and forth absently.
“Of course you did.”
“Yeah!”
Obi-Wan ignores Jaster’s slightly baffled look and Feemor’s exasperated smile. He’s so excited!
“How long?”
Jaster smiles and answers, “they just broke atmo, so not too long now. Would you like to help us welcome them to Mandalore?”
Obi-Wan nods heartily and turns his eyes to the sky, watching for any sign of his family.
It feels like forever but finally, finally the first ship finishes all the landing protocols and the entrance opens with a quiet hiss.
Obi-Wan strains in Feemor’s grip, feeling very much like he would like to tackle whoever happens to come out first.
The Force is almost as giddy as Obi-Wan himself, which certainly isn’t helping. Feemor and Jaster feel happy and the whole compound has been buzzing with excitement for days.
Obi-Wan would probably have cried a few times if Feemor wasn’t around to help with everything being so loud. It’s a good loud though.
A wonderful loud, filled with exciting new beginnings and strange new possibilities.
He starts bouncing again when the ramp finally lowers and someone steps down the ramp. Feemor loses his grip on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and he takes off again.
It’s Master Windu! Obi-Wan’s been wanting to thank him for letting him borrow his robe for so long.
Obi-Wan screeches to a halt before he can actually tackle him. Jaster said he could help welcome, Obi-Wan is certain that welcome parties don’t usually tackle people in hugs.
Master Windu blinks at him.
Obi-Wan takes a step back and bows solemnly, it’s a very good bow, he doesn’t want anyone to think he forgot how to bow.
“Welcome to Mandalore, Master Windu.”
He can hear Jaster holding back laughter behind him and turns to see what’s so funny. Jaster just smiles pleasantly and makes a dismissive waving motion. Obi-Wan doesn’t sense anything wrong so he leads Master Windu and the other Council Members slowly making their way out of the ship over to Knight Feemor and Jaster.
“Masters, this is Mand’alor Jaster Mereel and Knight Feemor.”
Master Windu gives him a slight smile that has him grinning back.
“Well done Initiate, you’ll make a wonderful diplomat yet.”
Obi-Wan brightens even further at that. Master Windu is so nice!
“Now, I think there might be a few people anxious to see you.”
“Obi!”
Obi-Wan whips his head around back to the ship entrance. There, standing at the top of the ramp, is his whole crèche! Obi-Wan doesn’t stop himself from tackling anyone this time. The only reason they don't fall over completely is their crèchemaster's steadying hand. Even Bruck gets a very tight hug that has him spluttering!
“I missed you.” He whispers once they’ve managed to stabilize into a proper group hug.
“We missed you too.”
He relaxes into his family, embracing each of them in the Force.
They all stay like that for awhile, Obi-Wan doesn’t know how long.
Eventually he pulls back, taking the time to examine each of them carefully.
He’s certain his joy is loud in the Force, maybe even a little too loud. He can’t help it, not when his family is echoing their happiness back at him.
Finally, he stands and helps pull them up. The adults are still talking, looking serious and making complicated faces. One of the Council Members calls their crèchemaster over with a question.
“C’mon! I have so much to show you!”
He takes one of Bant and Garen’s hands in his own, it really is too bad he doesn’t have enough arms to hold all their hands, but that’s okay! They don't need to hold hands to know how he feels.
“I bet if we all look sad enough we can convince Jango to let us have uj cake!”
He’s been getting better at holding strong but Obi-Wan is certain he’ll fold if presented with enough pleading younglings.
Feemor catches his eyes as they pass by and gives him a look. Obi-Wan tilts his head just so, the way that usually gets Jaster to melt. Feemor just narrows his eyes. Obi-Wan huffs, he’s not even doing anything!
One of the Masters makes some comment Obi-Wan doesn't quite catch that has Knight Feemor blushing and turning back to the conversation at hand.
Obi-Wan hurries to drag his crèchemates away before anyone else can get it in their head to bother them. They’ll be fine.
He has so much to show them!