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“I told you I don’t need a baatir’ade Cody!”
Instead of finding his older brother bent over some boring paper work on his desk when he burst into Cody's office like Rex expected, he was met with the startled gaze of a man he didn’t recognize and a raised eyebrow from his brother that meant he was in trouble.
Rex folded his arms and stubbornly refused to leave. He was already in trouble.
Cody sighed, seeing Rex was not going to leave, and turned an apologetic look to the man sitting across from his desk.
“I apologize, Prime Minister. It appears my brother requires my attention.” Cody said dryly. He was sitting back in the big leather desk chair, legs crossed and hands folded neatly in his lap. Rex didn’t feel too bad for the interruption, since Cody seemed to be so at ease, what they were discussing couldn’t be that serious if his brother’s body language was anything to go by.
The other man reached for his discarded hat and buttoned his suit jacket as he stood.
“Quite all right Commander. Do have a good trip and say hello to the Duchess for me.”
Cody nodded, smiling politely at the politician as he turned to leave. Rex dipped his chin respectfully as the man passed and waited until the door shut before stepping forward.
“Why did he say you were going on a trip?” Rex asked, just as demanding as before.
Cody’s eyes were glued to his desk as he reshuffled some papers.
“Was there something you wanted, Rex?”
Recalling his reason for interrupting his brother’s day, Rex felt his original irritation bloom in his chest again.
“Madame Nu said The Temple was sending another baatir’ade this morning.”
Cody nodded, reaching for a gold fountain pen nearby on the desk. It was his favorite. He ran his thumb carefully over his father’s name, engraved on the side.
“Yes. I believe they should be here before mid meal.”
“But I don’t need a-”
“I heard you the first time Rex.” Cody snapped, his eyes coming up sharply to meet his brother’s. Rex was still gangly and young, but Cody could see his shoulders starting to broaden and his chin becoming more defined, more a man than a boy with each passing day.
It made his heart twist in his chest.
Rex bristled at his brother’s tone, but was interrupted before he could respond by a knock at the door.
“Come.” Cody called out and smiled at the old butler with unnaturally wide eyes and golden white hair. “Yes, Threepio?”
“Sir, there is a Mister Kenobi waiting for you in the main hall. Shall I show him to his room?”
“No, thank you Threepio,” Cody sighed and stood from behind his desk, “I’ll greet him and introduce him to the boys first. Please make sure the kitchen has prepared an extra place setting for lunch?”
“Of course, sir. The cook did ask me to let you know lunch would be a bit delayed today.”
“And why is that?”
Threepio paused, eyes skipping briefly to Rex and then back again. Cody raised an eyebrow.
“A mishap in the kitchen, sir,” the man explained haltingly, “some of the boys were helping the cook and mixed up some of the spices. Quite accidentally I might add.”
Cody’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘Mishaps’ were rather commonplace around the Fhett compound and they were very rarely ‘accidental’.
“Very well. That will be all Threepio.”
“Of course sir.” The old butler turned and left, teetering with his odd limping gait. It was due to an old war wound Cody was pretty sure.
“But Cody.” Rex hissed as his brother walked past him toward the door, falling into step behind him.
“Perhaps if you kept a better eye on your brothers they would get into less trouble and I wouldn’t need to hire a baatir’ade to watch over you.”
Rex balked. “That’s not fair!”
Cody nodded. “I know. That’s why I hire them. So you can focus on things a sixteen year old boy should be focusing on.”
"Like endless sims and blaster training?" Rex grumbled.
Cody sighed at his brother's petulance. "They're for your own good, Rex. You know that."
Rex’s face was pinched in anger and disdain, Cody knew the next words out of his mouth would be weaponized and aimed true.
“Buir’e swore never to give us a baatir’ade.”
Cody didn’t flinch, but his eyes flashed with hurt. He stepped into his brother’s personal space and lowered his voice.
“They also swore never to leave.”
Rex’s mouth closed with a click and his face hardened again. It made Cody’s chest hurt too badly to look at it.
He swallowed hard and did an about face, making his way toward the main hall at a brisk pace his old general would have been proud of.
There was someone in his parent’s ballroom.
The man was young, younger than Cody maybe, or at least the same age. He wore Jedi robes (odd things that. If you were going to wear that much cloth why not just wear armor?) and had fiery red hair. He was turning in a snow circle, marveling the detailed scrollwork and turn of the century decadent golden wallpaper in the room.
His mother had always had ornate taste.
She had loved to throw balls too. And parties. Any excuse for dancing and a glass of champagne really. She’d been able to light up an entire room. The entire world.
Cody could always see her most vividly in his mind when he was in this room.
Which was why, most of the time, he kept the doors shut.
Cody slammed the door opened, startling the Jedi, who turned as red as his hair.
The man stared at him with wide eyes. Cody paused a beat and then stood to one side, allowing the Jedi to rush out past him.
“You will find there are certain rooms in this house which are not to be disturbed.” Cody said, perhaps a bit too harsh. But with the look of hurt on Rex’s face and the memory of his mother still clinging to his skin, sometimes the only defense he had was an unearned flash of anger. A trait he had unfortunately inherited from his father.
“I meant no disrespect.” The Jedi said immediately, eyes cast toward the floor.
Cody hmm’d giving the man a long, thoughtful look as he reached into his dress grays for his whistle. The Jedi’s eyes widened further when he blew it a couple times and doors slammed above them, followed by thundering footsteps from all over the house.
A moment later six of Cody’s brothers were standing in line, tallest to shortest, at perfect attention.
Rex was the last to arrive, still glaring at him and taking his time to get in line. Cody decided not to call him out on it, this time.
“Alright, when you hear your number step forward and say your name. You, bar’ade,” he gestured toward Obi Wan, who looked at him as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of him, “will listen carefully. As members of the Mandalorian Nobility you will have to use their numbers on quite a bit of formwork going forward.”
Obi Wan nodded dutifully and Cody called out the first boy's number.
“CT 7567!”
And so they went, down the line, each boy stepping forward and announcing themselves with military precision.
Except for the youngest, Tup, who seemed to have forgotten why they were there halfway through.
“I don’t expect you to remember all of that,” Cody said, a hint of a smile around the right corner of his mouth. Obi Wan felt himself relaxing at the first sign of humanity from the oldest Fhett. “The boys will help you.” He turned toward the young men still lined up beside them, his voice going stern again. “Won’t you?”
“Sir yes sir.” They called out in perfect unison.
Obi Wan looked surprised again.
The old butler who had let Obi Wan in appeared at the other end of the room and Cody made a noise as if he’d forgotten something.
“Well, I have some business to attend to. Madame Nu will show you to your room, lunch will be ready soon and dinner is at 7. If you’ll excuse me.” Cody clicked his heels and turned to make his way out of the main hall, disappearing around a corner.
Obi wan turned back to the boys and found that even after their brother left, they continued to stand staring straight ahead, chests puffed out proudly.
Obi Wan released the tension and anxiety he was feeling to the Force and tried to smile.
“Um,” he waited, but the boys kept their eyes straight ahead. “At ease.”
As one, all seven boys shifted their feet shoulder width apart and tucked their hands behind their backs.
“Well, now that it’s just us,” he smiled when a couple of the younger ones looked at him. “Would you please tell me all your names again and how old you are?” He motioned toward the eldest, the only blonde of the group who was glaring only slightly less now than he had been when he entered.
He's stepped forward. “I’m Rex. I’m sixteen years old and I don’t need a baatir’ade.”
Obi Wan dipped his chin and released another wave of anxiety.
“Thank you for your honesty Rex, perhaps we could just be good friends instead.” He gestured to the next boy, who had his hair buzzed short and had a large semi-circular birth mark that covered part of his forehead, left eye and cheek.
“I’m Jesse. I’m fourteen. I’m impossible.”
Obi Wan chuckled. “Really? Who told you that?”
“Knight Bilapa. Four bar’ade past.”
Before Obi Wan could respond the next boy stepped forward.
“I’m Echo.”
Obi wan felt the mirth and mischief burst out of all the children at the name, but was impressed none of their faces betrayed it. Except for Tup, who wrinkled his little nose in confusion.
“You didn’t tell me how old you are, Fives.”
The next boy stepped forward a perfect copy of his brother with matching military style haircuts, shaved close on the sides and long on top, like Cody’s.
"I'm Echo. He's Fives. We're 12 years old, and you're smart. I'm five minutes older than him, and I think your clothes are the most ridiculous things I've ever seen."
"Echo you shouldn't say that." The next boy in line spoke up, a stocky boy who was only an inch or so shorter than the twins.
"Why not? Don’t you think it’s weird he's not wearing armor?" Echo asked, throughly aghast at the entire idea.
It had not escaped Obi Wan’s notice that all the boys wore plated armor, painted with varying patterns of blue and gold, the Fhett family colors. Obi Wan knew from his research of Mandalore that they would get their full Beskar sets once they reached the age of inclusion and were old enough to go into battle for their clan.
"Of course I do, but he's a Jedi, what do you expect?" The last boy said, as if the entire thing could not be helped. He gave his brother a tiny shrug and stepped forward.
“I’m Hardcase, I’m eleven, I’m incorrigible.”
“Congratulations.” Obi Wan said around a tiny chuckle, amused by the sibling’s back and forth.
“Um,” Hardcase spoke up again, sounding a bit hesitant, “what’s incorrigible?”
Obi wan folded his arms and stroked his beard. “I think it means you want to be treated as a Mando’ade.”
Hardcase nodded dutifully and averted his gaze once more just as Obi Wan felt a small tug on his robes.
“Yes young one?”
“I’m Dogma, and I’m going to be seven on Tuangsday. And I'm going to get my first training blaster!”
Obi Wan smiled and crouched down to be eye level with the child.
“I got my first training saber when I was seven too.” He unclipped his lightsaber and held it up for Dogma to see.
The boy’s brown eyes lit up and he tilted his head, drawing a finger carefully down the side of the weapon.
The last boy in line stamped his foot, grumpy about seemingly having been forgotten.
Obi Wan stood and chuckled, clipping his saber back to his belt.
“Yes, you’re Tup.”
The child nodded, his long hair, much much longer than any of the other other boys', bobbed where it was tied in a loose bun on top of his head. He held up one hand, fingers splayed.
“And you’re five years old?”
More enthusiastic nodding.
“Why, you’re practically ready for your beskar!”
Tup beamed and Dogma smiled, elbowing his brother playfully.
Obi Wan sighed, hands sliding into his sleeves.
“Now, I must confess, I’ve never been a bar’ade before.”
The was a shift in the force, like sharks smelling blood in the water.
“You mean you don’t know anything about being a baatir’ade?”
Obi Wan shifted on his feet as the children slowly stepped forward, encircling him. “Well, I’ve done my turns in the creche but…no. Not really.”
“Well,” Fives began, exchanging a glance with Echo, “the best way to start is to be sure to tell Cody to mind his own business.”
“You must never come to any meals on time.” Jesse chimed in, followed by Hardcase and Echo with equally poor advise. Obi wan was attempting to turn and keep all the children in his periphery at once when Tup pushed to the front of the crowd.
“Don’t listen to them Bar’Obi Wan.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“Because I like you.”
The children’s ‘advice’ was interrupted by someone clearing their throat.
“Master Obi wan?” A woman, old enough to be Obi wan’s grand master, was standing at the base of the stairs in the main hall. She wore a simple, respectable black dress with her white hair pinned neatly on top of her head.
The Jedi took the opportunity to step away from the throng and smoothed down his robes.
“Knight, actually.”
The old woman nodded. “I’m Madame Nu the housekeeper. Come with me, I’ll show you to your room.”
Obi Wan did so, gathering his bags. He frowned as he ascended the stairs, wondering at the sense of hope and uncertainty that had fallen over the children, followed closely by a wave of resignation, like the last leaves to fall in Autumn. At the top he turned to look out over the railing, watching as the group of little soldiers made their way outside.
“Where are they going?”
There was a pause as Madame Nu followed his gaze.
“Outside to run their sims."
"Sims? But...they're so young."
"The Commander works hard to ensure his brothers are always ready for battle.”
Obi Wan’s eyebrows drew together and he mulled over the housekeepers words. “What happened to their parents?”
Madame Nu glanced at him leading the way down the hall. “They were killed by insurgents during the Civil War. The younger boys were away at school and Cody was stationed on Concord Dawn at the time. When he was discharged two years ago he brought all the boys home and has continued their training here.”
They had arrived at Obi Wan’s room, he was still looking thoughtful as he put his bags on the floor.
“That’s all they do? Study and run sims?”
“His brother’s safety is the most important thing for the Commander.” Madame Nu said, and it was answer enough.
“What about playing? What about running around and being children?” Obi wan pressed.
Madame Nu smiled, polite. “I’ll leave you to your unpacking.” She bowed out of the room and shut the door. She’d only made it a few steps away before hearing a muffled thud-pop from the new baatir'ade's room.
With a sigh and a prayer to the Manda, Madame Nu turned around and went back.
Obi Wan turned from where he was facing the wardrobe when he heard the door open and Madame Nu pressed her hand to her mouth to hold in a gasp and the entirely inappropriate urge to giggle.
He was covered, covered, hairline to boot-sole in blue and gold paint. It was dripping from his robes, splattered around the wardrobe and even speckled on the nearby walls and ceiling.
With a sigh, Obi Wan pulled off his robe and used the clean side to wipe his face and hair.
“I do believe I will shower before unpacking.” He said, sounding surprisingly calm.
Madame Nu nodded.
“You’re lucky," she informed him with a serene smile. “With Bar’ade Vos it was a stink bomb.”